False Pretences (31 page)

It was Lettice's chance to make her pitch, and she took it. ‘Business degree, King's College, London. Two years working for a headhunter, based here in the City. After that I spent some time studying the political system in America, and since my return to London I've been working as a researcher in the House of Commons. I have no particular ambition to stand for Parliament, though it has been suggested that I do so. I am currently looking for an opportunity to work in a company where my talent for organization would be appreciated.' She treated them to a smile, looking into the eyes of each one of them in turn, and followed Bea and Oliver to the door.

Down the stairs they went, in silence. Once down in the hall, Bea and Oliver paused as Lettice exclaimed and dived into her handbag for her mobile, which had been set to vibrate. She noted who the call was from and killed it.

A door opened above them, and they could hear someone else speaking on his mobile. Mr Trimmingham? He didn't see them, concentrating on his phone call. ‘Honoria, something's come up . . .'

Oliver held the front door open as they passed out into the sunshine.

‘What are the odds they'll take me?' said Lettice.

Bea shrugged. ‘Depends on how scared they are. I suppose they're even now discussing you. Some will be all for having a woman on board, some will be against it. But the modernizers should win, I think. Knowing them, it will take several days for them to act. Then they'll make you an offer, which I suggest you refuse – at first. They'll up the offer. You'll refuse again, but express some doubts about doing so. Eventually you'll agree. I think you'll be very good for them.'

Oliver said, ‘I suppose I'd better drop by the police station to make sure they've found the letter about the will. Won't Honoria be mad when she finds out!'

‘That thought does not aid digestion. Oliver, I want you to be really careful for the next couple of days, till the police catch up with her. They've got all the information we've managed to get together, and perhaps they'll question her today, but it's more likely that they'll take some time to evaluate the evidence. We must drop the deadlock on the front door at the house, always remember to switch on the alarm, and never go out at night alone.'

‘Sure,' said Oliver, buoyantly.

He might remember, and he might not. Bea began to calculate how long it was likely to take before the police arrested Honoria, even they could be convinced that she was their man. Woman. Whatever.

Lettice was wearing an abstracted expression. She caught Bea's arm. ‘A moment.'

Oliver lengthened his stride. ‘See you back at the ranch.' And disappeared.

Lettice put her arm through Bea's as they followed him at a slower pace. ‘I suppose I'm safe for the moment, since Honoria doesn't know where I live. But . . . I was just thinking. If I get the job, and make a success of it, then Piers would paint me, wouldn't he?'

Bea fought down impatience. What was it with these two sisters? Sibling rivalry at its worst. ‘He does paint the great and the good, yes. You understand that I have no influence there.'

Lettice gave her an old-fashioned look. In many ways she was far more acute than her sister. ‘You don't know what it's like, being brought up in the shadow of a beautiful older sister.'

Bea smiled, said nothing. They both seemed to think the other sister had blighted their lives.

‘I enjoyed dominating that meeting. You're right; I could make a success of that job. If I don't get it, though, would you be prepared to help me get something else?'

‘I could look around.'

Lettice looked off to one side. ‘If you did . . . if I did get a good job . . . and Nicole produces a healthy baby, I promise I'll give Max up. I'll even give you his letters to destroy.'

Bea felt her heart go thud. So Max had been stupid enough to put pen to paper? Of course – be still my heart – the letters might not be incriminating, they might be absolutely innocent in intent. But in the hands of someone who wished him ill they'd be lethal.

‘Thank you, Lettice.' What else could she say?

SEVENTEEN

B
ack home, Bea didn't know what to do first. She must warn Maggie to be careful, see what problems might be lurking downstairs for the agency, organize something for supper, restrain herself from ringing up the police every five minutes to see if they'd arrested Honoria yet.

A series of images kept flashing through her head. First was that of a taffy-headed girl lying on the floor with her head beaten in. That would be Milly, Della's niece, who had narrowly missed being killed the previous night. Or was it young Kylie from the pub near Honoria's home? Both had given Honoria cause to wish them harm.

Then came another image, even more disturbing. Nicole, reading a love letter from Max to her sister. Another image, even worse: Nicole, reclining on Bea's couch, surrounded by shopping, weeping, while Honoria crept up behind her, arm raised to strike.

Bea held her head in both hands and shook it. She closed her eyes. She was overtired, over-imaginative. Over the hill. Too old for this lark.

She reached for the phone and dialled the local police station. Was told DI Warner was not available. She asked if he'd gone out to arrest someone and was given the brush off. Of course they wouldn't be able to tell her that, even if it were true.

She paced the floor. Stood in front of the portrait which Piers had painted of her beloved husband, and stared at it. The man in the picture stared back at her; a kindly, intelligent, loving and caring gaze.

But he was long gone, and she was on her own.

She went down the stairs to the agency rooms. Cynthia and Miss Brook were packing up for the day. She tried to smile, to behave normally. Wanted to scream.

‘How are you managing? I shouldn't have left you alone all day, but . . .'

‘That's all right, Mrs Abbot. We quite understand,' said Miss Brook. ‘There was a little problem this afternoon when Cynthia was due to attend an interview in the City, but she decided against going so that we could keep on top of things here.'

With a shock, Bea remembered that Cynthia had said she was looking for another job and had some interviews lined up. Without thinking it through, Bea said, ‘I'm extremely glad to hear you didn't go, Cynthia. Instead, I wonder if you would consider a full-time job here? I know it's not as glamorous as working for some city magnate, but . . .'

‘I was hoping you'd ask,' said Cynthia. ‘I like finding the right jobs for people and making people's lives so much easier. And it's only a hop and a skip from the little flat that my cousin wants me to share with her, and not much further from my niece, the one who's expecting soon. I'd as soon not work in the City, come to think of it, with all their scandalous goings on, pension funds going missing and everyone getting bonuses that they've no right to in my book.'

Miss Brook inclined her head by way of approval. ‘I was telling Cynthia that there's a nice little cafe across the road where we could have our lunches when the weather gets cooler, very near the library, and there's more than enough work for the two of us to do. In fact, when Mr Oliver goes to university, I'm wondering whether we could perhaps take on a part-timer, someone who can spell us for holidays. It's no use saying that Maggie can fill in, because she doesn't find the computer compatible with her nature, and she's certainly more use going out and about and dealing with workmen than she is here, forgetting to save documents and leaving the filing in a mess.

‘We've talked it over, Cynthia and I, and we've decided we'll continue working in this room so that if we have to consult, we can do so with ease. We'll leave Oliver's room for Maggie to spread herself out in. And if we do get a temp in at any time, then we can easily make room for her in here as well.'

‘You have it all arranged,' said Bea, laughing because everything was falling into place, and at the same time wanting to cry at the thought of Oliver leaving. Had he really discussed leaving with Miss Brook already? She pulled her mouth back into a smile. ‘Cynthia, shall we have a quiet word in my office, start the paperwork?'

And explain it all to Oliver as soon as possible.

‘Is that the police station? Has Detective Inspector Warner returned yet? No? Oh. Will you tell him I called? Mrs Abbot. Yes, I rang earlier.'

She put down the phone, tried another number. ‘Is that The Feathers pub? Would it be possible to speak to Milly? I believe she may be staying with you because of the fire at—'

‘Who is this?' A woman's voice, middle-aged and smoky. The landlady?

‘It's Mrs Abbot here. I called on her aunt last night. We – that is, my companion and I, a neighbour from the next road – called the fire brigade and the police.'

‘She's back there, at the house now. With the police. My husband's gone with her because she's wrecked, poor kid. He'll bring her back here soon. Who shall I say called?'

‘Mrs Abbot. Did the police warn her that she might be in danger, too? That whoever killed her aunt might be after her as well?'

‘Really? Whatever for?'

‘We think she and her aunt may have upset someone at the Trust where she used to work. You know what happened to Della, and I'm worried the same thing might happen to Milly. The police haven't said anything to you about it?'

‘Not a thing. Are you sure?'

‘Yes, I'm sure. The police are going to arrest the woman responsible, but until they do, would it be possible for you to keep an eye on Milly?'

‘There was a man at the Trust that she liked, but he died.'

‘Yes. But his wife is on the warpath. It would be awful if something were to happen to Milly, too.'

‘I'll have a word with my husband about it. Who did you say you are?'

‘Mrs Abbot. I'll give you my phone number, just in case. Do you have a pen?'

Next was Kylie. Except she didn't have a phone number for Kylie. What was the name of the pub she'd worked at? Bea couldn't remember that, either. She told herself to hold it together. She was not going to go to pieces. No.

Think, woman! Oliver took us to the pub which was at the bottom of the hill, within spitting distance of the manor. She could visualize its frontage, but for the life of her, couldn't remember its name. The Chequers? No. Cross Keys? No.

She went round the house, closing and locking windows in spite of the heat. She closed and locked the grilles which had been fitted over the windows overlooking the garden at the back. She double-locked the front door and set the alarm, which she didn't normally do till after dark.

It was still very hot. Sultry, almost. What should she cook for supper? If anything?

Where was Oliver? She went downstairs. The agency rooms were empty. So where was he?

And where was Maggie? Had something happened to them? Had Honoria caught up with them somewhere? Because if so, there was no point in preparing supper for three. What a stupid, stupid thought!

She was wittering like an old woman, jumping at shadows.