False Pretences (32 page)

Someone tried the front door. Someone with a key. The relief! It must be Oliver or Maggie.

It was both.

‘Why's the front door double-locked?' said Oliver. The alarm went off, and he killed it. He laughed. ‘Overdoing it a bit, aren't we?'

Bea tried to laugh, too. ‘I expect so. Just taking precautions. Maggie, are you all right?'

‘I suppose.' The girl was avoiding Bea's eye. Unusually subdued.

Bea decided not to probe. ‘How did it go today? Did the electrician turn up?'

‘Oh. Him. Yes, eventually. I think I'll have a shower. I'm a ball of sweat.' She went off up the stairs without a backward look.

Oliver was already in the kitchen, searching for a cold drink. ‘I dropped the stuff off at the police station. The DI was there, and we had a good chat. I gave him the stuff, like you said. What's for supper?'

Bea bit back the words,
They told me he was out
! She said, ‘Something light, I think. Chicken breasts, salad, baked potatoes.' She started to prepare the food. Her hands were trembling.

‘Not afraid of Honoria, are you?' Oliver upended an empty carton of orange juice. ‘They'll get her long before she can think about revenging herself on us. It makes me laugh to think how Denzil scuppered all her plans.'

‘She does frighten me, and if you've any sense at all – which I doubt – then you'd be frightened, too.'

‘They're on to her now.'

‘There's many a slip.'

Bea cut herself, slicing tomatoes, and ran her hand under the tap. The cold water stung. Oliver wasn't watching. He had his mobile out, was leaving the room.

Bea closed her eyes, tried to still the jitters.
Dear Lord, I know there's no sense in panicking. My imagination's running away with me, that's all. I hope. Could you give us a little extra attention this evening, please? Sorry to disturb, if you're busy with big wars and famines and all sorts of dreadful things happening all over the planet, but . . . Just a passing thought. I know you can put a protective apron round a million people and we're only three . . . Well, a few more than three if you count in all the other men and women who Honoria might wish to harm.

Oliver put his head back round the door. ‘Chris says is there enough supper for him as well? Then we're all going on to a party at one of his friends' house, if that's all right with you and you don't mind being left alone?' His voice changed. ‘Oh. I can see you do mind. Well, that's all right. What's one more party, anyway? I'll stay.'

She found a sticking plaster and put it round her forefinger. ‘Of course you must go. Maggie can keep me company.'

‘She's invited, too. You don't really mind being on your own, do you? I wouldn't suggest going out if it weren't that the DI said everything was under control.'

Did she believe everything was under control? No. Every instinct said she was being hunted down at this very minute. She breathed deeply. There was absolutely no point letting fear take over. ‘What was the nameof the pub where we met Kylie? I'd be happier if I knew she'd been warned to stay away from dark corners.'

He shrugged. ‘I'll give them ring, see if she's there, if it'll make you feel better.' His tone was so patronizing that she wanted to scream, but she didn't. She put the chicken breasts on to a baking tray and shoved them into the oven to cook. She wondered about having a slug of sherry to calm her nerves but decided against it. Went back to preparing baked potatoes and a salad.

Oliver burst back into the room. ‘Guess what? There's been a fire at Honoria's! Yes, really. Four fire engines, the police, ambulances, everything. They're all out in the garden at the back of the pub, getting an eyeful. This dry weather, all that timber framework, it must have gone up like a torch. Kylie's not at the pub, though. Got a cleaning job somewhere, helping her mum. Oh.' A change of tone. ‘Didn't Kylie say her mum worked up at the Manor, cleaning?'

Bea put both hands over her heart. ‘I wouldn't think she'd be cleaning this late on a Friday afternoon. But perhaps you'd better give your DI a ring, see if he knows. See if Kylie's safe.'

‘Why shouldn't she be?' But he was frowning as he punched numbers . . . and got no joy. He shut off his mobile. ‘The DI's not available. I expect he's on his way out there.'

‘Try the pub again. Explain that we're worried about Kylie, that she might be up at the Manor.'

‘You said—'

‘I know what I said. Just do it.'

He punched more numbers, waited for someone to pick up, which they did eventually. Bea unlocked and threw open the back door, gasping for fresh air. Winston was laid out in a shady spot in the garden but managed to lift his head when he smelled chicken being cooked.

Oliver said, ‘Yes,' and, ‘No, of course not,' and then his tone changed. ‘Hi, Kylie. How are you doing? Great dramas at your end, I hear.' Bea could hear an excited girl's voice on the phone. Eventually Oliver glanced at Bea, eyebrows raised, and said, ‘Yes, I suppose it would be worth another tenner to get the low-down, as you put it.'

Bea nodded, and Oliver settled down to listen, making appropriate soothing noises at regular intervals. Finally he said, ‘Well, how about that! And yes, I'll put the money in the post to you tomorrow if you'll give me your address.' Bea handed him the back of the shopping list they kept on the notice board, and he scribbled away on it. And then shut off the phone.

‘As you've gathered, Kylie's safe. The fire's out, though one engine's staying on to make sure the blaze doesn't start up again overnight. The kitchen wing is a write-off, but they were just in time tosave the rest. Some of the firemen have just dropped by the pub for a spot of lubrication, and they brought Kylie back with them. She's in shock. She was on her way up there when she saw the fire and rang for help on her mobile. It's a good thing she did, because otherwise it would have swept through the whole house.'

‘The police were there, and ambulances?'

‘Poor old Honoria. They don't know how the fire started yet, but it seems she was sitting in her car in the stable yard, and it was caught up in the blaze. It started in the kitchen, they think. The firemen have been through the rest of the house, but there was no one else there. One body, removed by ambulance.'

‘How very odd. Do they think Honoria fired the place herself?'

‘What else? She must have got word that the police were on to her – through Trimmingham, I suppose – and decided to kill herself and burn down her beloved Manor at the same time. I must say, it's a relief to know she's dead.'

Bea sank on to a stool. Honoria was dead? It was hard to take it in. Bea told herself she ought to be feeling a great surge of relief, but all she could think of was how unexpected it was. Now why was that? Because . . . because she wouldn't have thought Honoria was the sort to commit suicide or to be careless with matches.

Bea wondered how she'd done it. Had she dowsed the back quarters of the Manor with petrol, and then poured it all over herself and the car? Bea shuddered. Don't think about it. Nasty.

Be thankful, she said to herself. The cloud has lifted, etcetera.

She supposed she'd begin to feel better soon. She didn't rebound from fear as quickly as the youngsters did. Chris wandered in, sniffing the air, and Bea turned her attention back to providing supper for them all.

There was a lot of talk across the dinner table about the party. Maggie was in a sombre mood and decided not to go, but Oliver and Chris left together. Bea double-locked and put the chain on the front door, laughing at herself for shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted, but felt safer when she'd done so; and then she locked the back door as well.

She helped Maggie to clear away the supper things and start the dishwasher.

Maggie was abstracted, monosyllabic. It looked as if she'd begun to get ready for the party and then changed her mind. Her eyes were made up with a purple shadow that sparkled, and she'd gelled her hair into spikes, but she wasn't wearing any lipstick and had pulled on an oversize white cotton T-shirt and cut-off jeans. Of course, youngsters often did go toparties in those clothes, but Maggie went in for lurid colours and spandex when she was in party mood.

Bea made some good coffee – how many cups had she had that day? – and set one down in front of Maggie. ‘Want to tell me about it?'

Maggie gave a long sigh. ‘I don't know that talking's much help. I rang Zander today to see if he'd settled in all right. He said he had, though his new place didn't sound ideal to me. He asked if I wanted to go out for a drink or a walk or something and I said yes. And then I rang back to say I'd changed my mind.'

She sat on her stool, hunching over the coffee, both hands around the cup. ‘Why can't things stay the same? I'm going to miss him something chronic.'

Was she referring to Zander or to Oliver's going to university?

‘I know.' Bea sat next to Maggie and put her arm around the girl's shoulders.

‘I mean, we were all doing all right, weren't we? He liked the work, and he's got friends here and, well, everything.'

She was talking about Oliver. Probably. ‘Mm. But he's growing up. He ought to go to university. And yes, I'm going to miss him something chronic, too.' It was hurting her, too . . . but she knew she must let him go.

‘What are we going to do without him in the agency?'

‘I've offered Cynthia a full-time job, and we'll probably need to take on a part-timer as well, when Oliver's gone. He's been doing the work of three, hasn't he? We'll adapt, Maggie. You've already outgrown your original job here, anyway. You're out and about, bossing workmen around and consulting with architects. A far cry from being our receptionist. Why, one of these days you're going to need your own personal assistant to help you out.'

Maggie spluttered into a laugh. ‘Go on!'

‘No, really. When Oliver goes, you're to have his office as your own, and we'll employ more people as we need them.'

Maggie sniffed. ‘He doesn't even know how to boil an egg.'

Bea wanted to push the box of tissues nearer to the girl but decided against it. Maggie didn't like people to see when she cried. ‘I expect he'll be in a hall of residence at first. You and I will have to give him some basic lessons in cookery in the holidays. We'll keep his room for him, of course, so he'll always have a base to return to.'

‘You're serious about him taking your name?'

‘He needs someone in his corner for the next time he's hauled in by the police.'

‘Silly! He enjoyed every minute of that.'

‘In parts, yes. Not all the time. He is only eighteen, still.'

‘He loves the work here.'

‘No, he doesn't. He likes to be useful, but you know as well as I do that he could run the agency with one hand tied behind his back and never feel the strain. I can see the signs already. He needs to use his brains, or very soon he'll get bored. And then he'd look around for something more interesting to do, and we'd lose him completely.'

Maggie took a tissue and blew her nose, hard. ‘He likes solving crimes. Couldn't we turn ourselves into a detective agency?'

‘No, we couldn't. Trying to solve murders is turning my hair grey. I'm too old for it. Our domestic agency helps a great number of people to find the right jobs and generally spreads light and happiness around. Dealing with people like Honoria is another matter entirely.'

‘Someone has to solve murders.'

‘Someone tougher than me. Let's face it; Oliver is a high flyer, an eagle. And we are more like hedge sparrows, you and I.'

A giggle, sort of. ‘There, now. And I always thought I was more of a noisy, colourful parrot.'

‘And what am I?'

‘A wise owl, who knows all the answers.'

Bea didn't think she knew all the answers; in fact, she thought she knew very few of them. But she rubbed Maggie's shoulders, reassuringly, then let her go. The child would survive, and so would Bea.

The phone rang. It was Max, in hectoring mode. ‘Mother, I need to see you. What have you been saying to Lettice?'

‘Calm down, Max. Lettice and I have been getting to know one another better, that's all.'

Heavy breathing. ‘She's not picking up my calls.'

Ah, Lettice had noticed a call on her mobile as they left the charity's offices and had decided not to accept it just then. Had that call been from Max? And if so, was Lettice's decision not to take the call a good thing or not? ‘She makes her own decisions.'

‘You're at the bottom of this, I know. I'm coming round.'

‘It's not terribly convenient. Oh well, if you must. Ring three short and one long on the bell, and I'll let you in.'

‘What? What are you up to now?'

‘We don't want all and sundry ringing the doorbell tonight, that's all.' She killed the call.

Maggie was feeding Winston some chicken skin left over from supper. ‘I'm sure a proper detective agency would have a spyhole in the front door.'

‘I expect it would.'

The phone rang again. This time it was Piers. ‘Are you all right? I tried you just now, and earlier on. You were engaged both times. I want to show you the photos I took of Nicole, see what you think. I'll be round in a few minutes, right?'

‘Right. Use Beethoven's Fifth on the doorbell.'