He took out his smartphone, rang a number and said, ‘You can go home now. I don’t need you again tonight.’ Switched off.
Which meant her hint that he should leave had fallen on stony ground. Before he could return to the attack, she said, ‘Tell me. Did you and your partner never think of getting married?’
He winced. ‘She brought the subject up now and then. I was always too busy … and then she got cancer. I asked her to marry me then, and she refused. Said she’d lived alone and would die alone.’
Bea understood that his partner had taken her revenge on him by refusing an offer of marriage when he finally got round to it. Now he was feeling guilty about not having asked sooner. Serve him right.
She said, ‘When my dear husband died—’
‘Don’t pull that one. You’re divorced.’
Did he think that entitled him to jump her? She sharpened her voice. ‘One of the first things you should do when you take over your brother’s organization is to sort out your information department. I’ve been married twice. I divorced my first husband, who was Max’s father, yes. He was tom-catting around within a year of our marriage. We are now good friends and see one another regularly. Some years later I married Hamilton Abbot, who was my dear love and best friend for thirty-odd years till he succumbed to cancer. I still grieve for him.’
That gave him pause. He stopped pacing, leaned against the mantelpiece. ‘What was he like, this Hamilton of yours?’
‘Loving and caring, practical. Commonsensical, funny. He could make me laugh in the most difficult of situations. A good father to Max. He was a Christian, much further along the road than I.’
‘She was, too.’
His partner? That was interesting. But not him, presumably?
He flung himself back into his chair, relaxed, staring at the ceiling. ‘You don’t think I’m capable of taking over from my brother, do you?’
‘I have no opinion on the subject.’ But, now he’d come to mention it, perhaps not. And was that really what he wanted out of life? She supposed he might want to take over from his brother to assuage some long-held resentment of the way he’d been treated in his early years, but was he really the stuff from which Captains of Industry are made? Had he the cutting edge of a good diamond? Could he put the trauma of his partner’s death behind him?
On the other hand, he’d started a number of other projects and carried them through to a successful conclusion, and a man of principle could do a lot of good in the world if he took over a powerful organization.
She had a vivid memory of him working over Dilys’s body, trying to save her life. ‘Was it you who lifted Dilys from the hospital?’
‘Sybil and I arranged it between us. We asked Maria, my brother’s housekeeper, to collect Dilys from the hospital and take her to a private clinic. She needed peace and quiet. Sybil’s been visiting her, and so have I. The doctors didn’t think she ought to be told about Benton and the boys at first, but she’s getting better, slowly. Sybil did tell her that Benton’s dead. We hope she’ll soon be strong enough to hear the rest, but for the moment we’ve let her assume that the boys are with their sister and that Sybil is looking after them all.’
‘Bernice knows that the boys are dead?’
‘She does. Sybil’s taking Bernice to see her mother tomorrow, if she’s had another good night. Bernice is an oddly mature little person, isn’t she? Most impressive. It’s almost as if Dilys is the child, and she the parent.’
‘Does Dilys know that Benton might have been married before?’
‘What! No … Was he? Who to? Ah … not Ginevra! I suppose … But how …? What other secrets are you keeping from me?’
Bea was silent. She’d uncovered evidence which seemed to point to Benton as a bigamist, but perhaps there had been a divorce after all. If he had divorced his first wife, then his marriage to Dilys was legal, and she would inherit the house … that is, if he hadn’t made a will leaving everything to Ginevra and … Oh, let the lawyers sort that lot out. She said, ‘I said “might”. I’m not sure yet. Whether Benton was married to her or divorced or whatever, I don’t think Dilys should have to face Ginevra yet.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He closed his eyes. Was he going to go to sleep on her? How inconvenient. She said, ‘I’ll make you that coffee now.’
He nodded, and she went out to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Winston arrived to be stroked and given a late-night treat. She was so tired … Should she have some coffee, too? No, she’d never sleep if she did.
She took the coffee back into the sitting room to find Leon gently snoring. His chest rose and fell, rhythmically. She shook his arm, and he failed to wake.
Now what?
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If she let him sleep the night here, would he wake in a couple of hours’ time and try to force his way into her room? She could lock her door, but would that stop him trying to break it down if he felt like it? Think again, Bea.
Oh, the inconvenience of having a man around!
Tuesday morning
‘Mrs A! There’s a man in your bed!’
Bea started awake. Where was she? This wasn’t her bed, nor her bedroom.
Maggie’s concerned face hovered over her. ‘I took a cuppa into your bedroom, and there was this man – it’s Leon Holland, isn’t it? – in your bed. And not you.’
Bea rubbed her eyes. ‘I thought he might try to join me in my own bed, and Oliver’s was already made up so I came up here to sleep instead.’
Maggie danced from one foot to the other, subduing the giggles. ‘I thought … Oh, wait till I tell Zander! I’ll make you another cuppa, shall I?’
‘Bless you, my dear. Is Leon still in my bedroom? I need a shower and clean clothes and, oh, my make-up. I’m not facing the day without war paint.’
‘You’d best swap rooms. I’ll rout him out and bring him up here. He can use Oliver’s bathroom kit. What a carry on! And is it Nicole in the spare room? I could hear Pippin – at least, I thought it was Pippin – wanting attention. I’d better go and help her with him.’ Maggie was dressed in black and lilac today, with a lilac band around her hair. The effect was tasteful, which wasn’t always the case.
There was a prolonged peal on the front doorbell, and both women started. Pippin began to wail in earnest on the floor below.
Then the knocker went, bang, bang, bang!
‘I’ll see to it.’ Maggie disappeared.
Bea could hear the girl progressing down the stairs, turning on the lights as she went, for it was a dark morning. Then the radio came on as Maggie reached the kitchen. The front doorbell continued to ring at the same time as someone used the knocker. Too much noise!
Bea put on her dressing gown, made a face at herself in the mirror, and went down the stairs to the first floor … to be confronted by a washed-out Nicole holding a smelly Pippin in the doorway to the guest bedroom.
Nicole was staring in disbelief at a large man wearing nothing but a pair of well-filled designer shorts, who was propped up against the door frame of the master bedroom.
Leon was holding one hand over his eyes. Did he have a hangover? Serve him right.
The front door banged open. ‘Where is she, then?’
Max?
Maggie shut the front door behind him. ‘No one’s up yet. Do you want to go into the kitchen and make yourself a cup of coffee while you wait?’
The visitor was not listening. ‘Where is she? Nicole!’ In a bellow.
Maggie bounded up the stairs and said to Nicole, ‘Max wants to see you. I’ll take Pippin and feed him while you get dressed and go down to see your husband, right?’
Nicole recoiled. ‘No, no! I don’t want to see him.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Maggie. ‘Fifteen minutes.’ She took the child off Nicole and pushed Leon back into the master bedroom. ‘Now, Mr Holland. Gather up your clothes. Take them upstairs to the top floor, bathroom straight ahead. Shower and shave. Coffee downstairs in half an hour, ri
ght?’
Leon grunted and obeyed. He didn’t seem too steady on his feet this morning.
Bea floated past him into her own bedroom, had a shower, dressed and was putting on her make-up before Maggie returned with a second cup of tea for her and with Pippin on her hip. Sounds of marital strife could be heard from the rooms below.
‘You did!’ ‘I didn’t!’ type of thing. Maggie and Bea ignored them.
Maggie seated herself on the bed and proceeded to give Pippin his bottle. ‘I gave him soggy cereal and half a banana. Hope that’s right.’
‘Perfect. You’re really good with babies.’ Bea selected a pair of silver and topaz earrings to go with her grey silk top and skirt.
Maggie was pleased at the compliment. ‘I did want to train as a nanny but Mummy said that was no kind of career for her daughter. I’m looking forward to having babies of my own. I must say, Mrs A., you look better, even without your face on, than Nicole does in full fig. I hope I look as good as you when I’m old. Are you serious about Mr Holland?’
Bea shook her head. ‘He’s not cost effective.’ And I’m too old to tangle with tricky Dickies like him.
Maggie put Pippin over her shoulder to burp him. ‘Zander wasn’t sure he liked the sound of him.’
‘Meaning that you don’t, either? He’s stimulating in small doses.’
Pippin obligingly burped, and Maggie popped his bottle back into his pursed-up mouth. ‘You don’t want to marry him then. What about CJ?’
Bea was amused. ‘What do you think?’
Maggie wrinkled her nose. ‘Would he ask you to clean your teeth before he kissed you?’
Bea laughed so much, it took her three attempts to get her wristwatch fastened. ‘Have you time for breakfast before you start work? Where do you have to be today, and when?’
Maggie looked at her oversized watch and yelped. ‘No, it’s all right. I’ve got a late start today. Ten o’clock. I’ll start cooking. By the way, Zander’s seeing to a licence and a double bed today. We thought the sooner the better. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Bless you, my child. I’m over the moon. It will be good to have a man about the house again. He can fend off my unwanted suitors, and I’m sure he’s handy with a screwdriver. Perhaps he can even mend the toaster.’
Down the stairs they went. There was a significant silence from the sitting room. Bea and Maggie looked at one another, tried not to giggle and tiptoed past the door and into the kitchen. Winston was already there, waiting for his breakfast. Bea turned off the radio.
The doorbell rang. Bea set off to open it. ‘I know that ring.’ She opened the door. ‘Inspector, do come in. You’re just in time for breakfast.’
DI Durrell stamped his feet on the doormat. It was raining. ‘I wanted to ask Ginevra Benton some questions, but she’s done a bunk.’
Bea nodded. ‘You thought I might know why she’s disappeared? Well, I don’t know all the answers – oh, we’re just about to cook a full English, that do you? – but I think I can tell you where to look for the information you need. The trouble with this business is that there’s so many sides to it. The missing money. Dilys’s “suicide” attempts. Benton’s death. But they’re all so tangled up with his attempt to take me over … What does Ginevra’s partner say?’
‘Clodagh? Sleeping partner. She put money into the business but says she hadn’t seen Ginevra for weeks until Sunday, when they did the stocktake together.’
‘Clodagh? Wait a minute. Her partner’s called Ricky.’
‘Who’s Ricky?’
‘Don’t you ever check on Facebook? Well, if there are two partners, one for business and one for pleasure, that explains a lot. Oh, come on into the kitchen and sit down. Does this Clodagh share the flat with Ginevra?’
‘No, she doesn’t. She lives on the other side of the Common in a nice semi-D.’
Maggie said, ‘Can someone take Pippin off me while I make the coffee?’ She turned the radio on again.
The inspector took Pippin out of Maggie’s arms and jiggled him as to the manner born. ‘My men report that Benton’s house is empty, and there’s no sign of Ginevra. Packed up and gone. Her flat, likewise. Also, the shop was closed yesterday. Clodagh is incensed that Ginevra should have left her in the lurch. Who, she says, is going to run the shop, in which she has invested good money? Who’s Ricky?’
‘Her partner for pleasure, according to Facebook. I think he may also have been the man who took the boutique’s promotional photographs, and who was following me around on his bike. So what does this Clodagh do for a living?’
‘Part-time at a garden centre. Divorced. Put her alimony settlement into Ginevra’s boutique and claims to know nothing of her private life.’
Leon sleepwalked down the stairs, dressed but not altogether in his right mind. His eyes were half closed. ‘Grrffgh?’
Bea stifled amusement. ‘Try again?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Coffee?’
Max wrenched open the door to the hall and pounded up the stairs, tugging Nicole along behind him. She didn’t scream or yell for help, so no one intervened. The door to the spare room slammed shut behind them.
Maggie said, ‘Domestic spat. Take no notice, Mr Policeman. Mr Holland, do you want a full English breakfast?’
He cleared his throat again, and this time sounded almost normal. ‘I believe I owe you all an apology. My behaviour last night—’
Bea had her head inside the fridge, retrieving bacon and sausages. ‘Accepted. Send round some flowers later. Now, what do you want for breakfast?’
‘Er … half an avocado with a home-made dressing. Perhaps some smoked salmon and scrambled eggs afterwards?’
Bea slung ingredients from the fridge on to the table. ‘Full or part English. I’m doing the lot, and you can choose which bits you want. Maggie, do turn off the radio, there’s a dear. Inspector Durrell, can you sit over there by the toaster and feed it in the usual way? We will all eat and drink, and we will not talk business till we’ve finished. Winston; off the table!’
Max and Nicole did not reappear. Pippin was put in the walker Bea kept for him and given pieces of apple to eat. Winston sampled a bit of apple, decided it was not to his taste and spat it out. Pippin ate what the cat rejected and threw the rest on to the floor.
Leon ate what everyone else did, even polishing off a sausage that was going begging.
The inspector drained his third cup of coffee, squared his elbows and said, ‘Now, Mrs Abbot. You didn’t look surprised when I said Ginevra had disappeared. May I ask why? You said she could do with being investigated, but the only reason you gave was that she had a silly name.’
‘I didn’t think she’d been born “Ginevra”, which is the name of her boutique. There’s nothing wrong in that, but I did wonder what name she might have been born with, and I came up with “Jean”. Someone called “Jean Marsh”, who is the right age, does appear in the records as having married a man named Benjamin Benton some ten years ago.’
Leon quirked an eyebrow. ‘And divorced, I assume?’
‘I can’t find that she was,’ said Bea. ‘I wish I could, but I can’t. Inspector, you have better resources than I … Can you find that out for us?’
‘Where did you look?’
‘Oliver looked for me.’
‘If Oliver looked, then I think we can take it that there was no divorce.’
Leon clutched his head. ‘No divorce? But that means … Tell me I’m not going crazy. Was Benton a bigamist as well as a lecher and a thief? And where does that leave my niece?’
‘If it’s true,’ said Bea, ‘then Bernice is illegitimate. And if Benton was clever enough to get Dilys to sign over her share of the house and her shares in H & B, then it means your niece will have neither house nor income to her name when she comes out of the clinic. Unless, that is, Benton made a will leaving everything to her when he died. And somehow, I doubt that he did.’
Leon drew in his breath. ‘What a mess!’
&nbs
p; The inspector fed a morsel of bacon fat to Winston. ‘It gives Dilys a nice motive for killing Benton—’
Leon intervened. ‘It’s a good thing she’s been under supervision since the moment she was taken out of the house in an ambulance. Otherwise …’
Bea said, ‘Yes, she might well have been tempted to clock him one. If she hadn’t been so downtrodden. But she’d never have killed her own children. Fortunately, she has a solid alibi. As I have. As I gather Mr Adamsson has. But as Ginevra hasn’t. And neither, come to think of it, has Clodagh, who may well prove to be one of the missing pieces of the puzzle. Or Ricky.’
The inspector said, ‘You’re giving me a headache. Is there another cup of coffee?’
Maggie put the kettle on again. ‘Mrs A., why is Clodagh so important?’
‘I think she and Ginevra lied about what they did on Sunday. Ginevra said they were doing a stocktake together, which gives her an alibi. Inspector, I suggest you lean on Clodagh. Break that alibi. I think it was Ginevra who killed Benton and his sons.’
The inspector groaned. ‘I can’t cope with this. Back to basics. Why should his sister – no, you say she’s not his sister – why should his wife want to kill Benton?’
Bea sighed. ‘She should have stayed put and denied everything. Perhaps she realizes Clodagh won’t confirm her alibi if checked? Her flight is an admission of guilt.’
The inspector held out his cup for another coffee. ‘Start from the beginning.’
EIGHTEEN
‘Ginevra – or Jean Marsh if you prefer her birth name – married Ben Benton. Both were very young. For some reason they went their separate ways but didn’t bother to get divorced. Benton got a job at one of the companies owned by Holland Holdings. He got promoted and moved to H & B, which gave him the opportunity to chat up not only the chief accountant but also the boss’s daughter. The old man came to think Benton was the bee’s knees. Benton got Dilys pregnant by accident or design and – oops! – realized what a fix he was in. He asked Ginevra for a divorce, and she refused because she’d got pound signs in her eyes. He was too much of a coward to confess to the Hollands that he was already married and went through with the bigamous marriage, raising money somehow to buy Dilys a good diamond ring.
False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery Page 24
