Curling iron-work stairs led down into the garden, which was not large but was protected on three sides by tall brick walls topped with spiky railings.
Bea saw that the sycamore tree in the corner had not been lopped that summer, so that it threw a canopy of green over the bottom part of the garden. Everything had been well looked after; the paved area around the modern fountain in the centre was weed-free, and the rambling roses trained to climb the walls had been dead-headed. Huge pots filled with busy Lizzies and ivy-leaved geraniums had been watered recently.
Garden chairs and a table had been placed beneath the tree, and Bea imagined Max and Nicole hosting a barbecue down there. Important people would attend; up-and-coming politicians, journalists, perhaps? People with money, definitely. Her mind went further back down the years … she remembered the boy Max riding his bike round and round, pretending it was a motorbike going vroom-vroom while Hamilton cooked the evening meal on the barbecue that he’d built himself. Later on, the four of them had been accustomed to eat alfresco meals at a trestle table Hamilton had found in a junk shop somewhere. She wondered where that table had gone.
Just to look at the garden lifted her spirits.
Neither Max nor Nicole were particularly light-hearted. Both were deeply serious about Max’s career. Nicole showed no signs of producing children and this had been a source of sorrow to Hamilton and Bea. Ah well, thought Bea. There’s still time. Hopefully.
Bea’s dear husband Hamilton had been light-hearted on the surface, but he’d had a deep sympathy for the underdog and the wronged in society, particularly if they couldn’t afford to hire expensive lawyers or go to the police.
Bea mourned his loss, greatly. They’d been together for many years; years of hard work in which they’d earned a good living while having the satisfaction of knowing they’d righted a lot of wrongs. Hamilton had been a good stepfather to Max. She didn’t like to think how her son might have turned out if Hamilton hadn’t been around to lend some stability to their lives. Max wasn’t perfect – too much under the thumb of his wife – but then, who was?
She thought she’d done most of her mourning for Hamilton during the years he’d taken to die, though now and then something came back to catch at her throat and make her shake with the pain of her loss. They hadn’t been lovers for a long time, but they’d always been good friends. What did the future hold for her? She couldn’t think, daren’t think. Was too tired to think.
She took out her mobile phone and listened to the message Piers had left on it. ‘Welcome back, and when can I drop round?’ She shook her head. Piers was best kept at a distance. She deleted the message.
The agency doorbell rang again. Wasn’t it after office hours? Usually the strident doorbell was muted by the last person to leave the office at the end of the working day, which was when the telephone was switched to Hamilton and Bea’s living quarters. Presumably the Maggie person was still working.
It needn’t concern her any more. Hamilton’s will had been a simple affair; everything to her, with keepsakes to the children and one or two old friends.
Hamilton had advised her to close the business, sell the house and leave the area to make a fresh start, but now the time had come to put his plan into action, she realized that the last thing she wanted to do was retire to the seaside and play golf. That had been Hamilton’s dream, not hers. So what should she do?
She’d think of something. Tomorrow.
Now she must find an apron and start clearing up from the party. Trust Max to give a party in someone else’s house and leave them to do the washing-up.
Someone had swept into the room behind her. A stick-thin girl with hair dyed pink, wearing too short a skirt over thin legs that didn’t warrant such exposure. Bea stifled a ‘Tut!’ and brought out a social smile. ‘You must be Maggie? Have you come to help me clear up? That’s kind of you.’
‘Welcome home, Mrs Abbot. You can safely leave everything to me, you know. Max said you might be glad of a hand after your journey.’ The girl couldn’t be more than twenty, but had the bossy manner of a good nanny. She bustled around, making a little too much noise for Bea’s tired brain. Bea thought that anyone watching might imagine Maggie was the hostess, and Bea the guest.
Bea said ‘Thank you,’ and tried not to wince as the girl clashed glasses together. Bea was so tired that her head was buzzing but she told herself that the girl meant no harm, and with jet lag it was better to keep going till bedtime if she could, allowing her body to recover its natural clock the quickest way.
The doorbell rang again downstairs, and the girl said, ‘Tsk! Can’t they read? Didn’t they see the notice I put on the door?’
‘I’ll get a tray,’ said Bea. She went through to the kitchen at the back of the house to fetch a tray and an apron. The kitchen, she noticed with resignation, was in a mess. Now that would need cleaning up before she went to bed. She could never sleep easily if her kitchen were in a mess.
Maggie came through with a double handful of dirty glasses, which she plonked down on the sink. ‘It’s probably that awful woman again. Nothing for you to worry about. I’ll pop down and tell her to get lost.’
Someone was already coming up the stairs, someone who didn’t mean to be fobbed off by Maggie or anyone. ‘She’s back, isn’t she? Out of my way, girl.’
‘Now wait a minute …!’ said Maggie.
A head of curly blonde hair hove into view, and Bea smiled. ‘Well, well. A voice from the past. How are you, Coral? Long time no see.’
Coral Payne was no more than five foot tall, with a big bust and the organizational ability of a sergeant major. She was also an excellent caterer who’d been on the agency books for years.
‘Bea Abbot, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I’m really, really sorry to hear about poor Hamilton but now you’re back, you can put everything right again.’
Which was when alarm bells began to ring for Bea.
Tuesday, early evening
Lena seated herself on the settee, removing her earrings. ‘He was gay, wasn’t he?’
The body still lay where it had fallen. A fly droned around the room.
Richie shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t have said so, no.’
The boy picked up the hint she’d given them. ‘I’m sure he was. Gay men often go cruising and meet with trouble, don’t they? Of course he played the field. I overheard him saying so, the day I was at the hotel—’
‘Mixing business with pleasure,’ said Richie. ‘If you hadn’t given the receptionist your phone number, he’d never have known how to contact us.’
‘How was I to know he’d recognized me? It was just bad luck that he’d worked at a place we’d done before. He shouldn’t have tried to blackmail us. It’s his own fault that this happened.’
Richie persisted. ‘You should have walked out as soon as he recognized you. We could have cancelled the function, got clean away.’
‘That’s enough,’ said Lena.
Noel turned a sunny smile on his mother. ‘So what do we do with the body, then?’
‘We’ll wrap him in a shower curtain and in a couple of hours’ time when everything’s quiet we’ll carry him down to the garage. We’ll pretend he’s drunk if anyone sees. Put him in the boot of the car, and dump him on Hampstead Heath. Being gay, it’ll cause no surprise if he’s found up there, beaten to death.’
A dark stubble was beginning to show on the older man’s chin. ‘Hang about, Lena. He’ll have taken some precautions, maybe told someone about us?’
‘Why would he have done that? He wanted to join us, not destroy us. He won’t have told anyone.’
Richie pointed his finger at her. ‘He might have told the receptionist.’
Noel brushed that aside. ‘He told her he needed my number to check up on something for Saturday. She’s too dumb to work it out. I’ll take her out again, make sure she forgets.’
Lena was frowning. ‘That reminds me. We need to get rid of his mobile phone, if it’s got Noel’s
number on it.’
‘What a fool he was,’ said the boy, grinning. He put on a camp accent. ‘“I know what you’re up to. I can help you, if you cut me in.”’ The boy rocked with laughter. ‘He said, “Cut me in!” and we cut him up!’
Richie grimaced. ‘If you hadn’t lost your temper, we could have paid him off and no one any the wiser.’
The woman shook her head. ‘I never liked the idea of cutting him in. This way is better.’ She needed to convince herself of that.
Two
Tuesday, evening
Coral surveyed the mess left by the party. ‘Left you to clear up, have they? Not surprised. Give me an apron and I’ll help you get things straight while we talk, right?’
‘Oh, come on, now.’ Maggie put both hands on her non-existent hips, preparing to do battle. ‘Mrs Payne, you know Max said he couldn’t help you.’
‘What young Max said is neither here nor there,’ declared Coral, seizing an apron, and tying herself into it with little jerks. ‘Mrs Abbot is here now, and we don’t have to take any more notice of Mr Hufflepuff.’
Bea repressed a grin. That description of Max was all too accurate, though of course she’d never hurt him by using it to his face. ‘Coral, dear, I’m delighted to see you, but I’ve only just flown in from the other side of the world and I’m shattered.’
Coral cleared a space on the kitchen table, though how she’d done it, Bea couldn’t imagine, for it had looked impossible a moment before. ‘I told Max, why don’t you get me and my team to cater for your mother’s homecoming? But no, he wouldn’t hear of it. That one always was penny wise and pound foolish. Maggie, make yourself useful; take a tray and start collecting glasses from the other room. Bea, you could do with a cuppa and a bite to eat, if I know anything about it.’
Maggie squawked, ‘You can’t just come in here and—’
Coral began to rinse glasses and stack them in the dishwasher. ‘Mrs Abbot and I have worked together more times than you’ve had hot lunches, girl. She knows I wouldn’t be invading her privacy like this unless it was important, and it seems to me it’s just as well that I did. Can’t you see she needs something hot inside her and a quiet sit down and chat before she sleeps off that terrible journey, because she didn’t eat anything on the plane, I’ll be bound? First she must eat; then we’ll talk.’
Coral pulled out a kitchen stool, removed a couple of dirty plates, wiped the stool down, and gave Bea a gentle push in its direction.
Bea reached for a kitchen tissue, and blew her nose. ‘Thank you, Coral. Maggie, it’s all right. Coral and I are old friends.’
‘Yes, but Max said that I wasn’t to let Mrs Payne bother you now the agency is closing down.’ The girl’s chin stuck way out. Really, she was a very plain-looking creature.
Coral slapped the door of the dishwasher shut. ‘Tip the rest of those nasty little bought canapés into the bin, and let’s see what we can find in the way of proper food in the cupboards, shall we? I remember how it was when my husband died. I kept myself so busy I forgot to eat properly, and then one day I tripped over the cat and sat down and howled for hours and hours. Then I made myself a big cottage pie, ate the lot, and felt much better.’
‘I’m just fine,’ said Bea.
‘You’re far too thin,’ said Coral. ‘I always say that when a woman’s head looks too big for her body, she’s been neglecting herself. Or dieting too hard. Which is it this time?’ The kettle boiled and she made Bea tea in a giant mug, sugaring it liberally.
Bea began to laugh, with a trace of hysteria. ‘After Hamilton died, I flew on to the South Island of New Zealand because we’d booked the flights and he’d been looking forward to it. It seemed logical at the time to carry on with our schedule, though now I think it was ridiculous. The scenery was spectacular but I couldn’t eat anything. I’m so glad he managed to see so much of the world before he died. He enjoyed everything right up to the end.’ She blew her nose again.
Coral nodded, emphatically. ‘That was Hamilton, all right.’
‘Coral, do you remember when you were doing that big wedding in the middle of the holiday season and we couldn’t get enough help for love or money, and Hamilton filled in as master of ceremonies, and Max and I helped out? And Max emptied a tray of champagne flutes into the bin, and Hamilton took the blame?’
Coral was laughing. ‘Max wouldn’t like his pals at the House of Commons to hear that he’d once earned money as a waiter, would he?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. They might think it proved he understood the working man. Let’s see what’s for supper.’ She checked the fridge and freezer. Nicole had stocked up for her with some frozen meals; a pleasant surprise. The child Maggie was looking thunderous, so Bea tried to defuse the situation.
‘Don’t look so shocked, Maggie. In those days we turned our hands to anything. Silver service, escorting children around London, clearing houses when old people died, and worse!’
There was a tinge of mischief in her tone. Maggie looked stunned, but Coral giggled. ‘I remember when …’
‘Not in front of the child,’ said Bea, mock serious. ‘It was hard work, Maggie, but it was fun, too. Or is distance lending enchantment? Will you join us in a scratch supper, Coral?’
Between them Coral and Maggie cleared up the mess left by the party, while Bea put some frozen meals into the microwave. She wondered if Nicole ever did any cooking; probably not.
Maggie declined to join them for supper, but insisted on dealing with the stains on the carpet next door while Coral and Bea ate at the kitchen table. Bea wondered if the child was a snob but reckoned she’d probably been trained by Max not to associate with ‘the help’.
Bea ate as much as she could. It wasn’t as much as she should, perhaps, but better than she had been doing lately.
Afterwards she and Coral had some coffee in the sitting room, so that they could sit by the open French windows and look out over the garden in the quiet of the early evening. Planes droned on overhead on their way to Heathrow Airport, but they were never more than a background reminder of the world outside. Bea pushed back fatigue, eased off her shoes and sighed with relief.
‘I must try to keep awake for another hour, if I can. So, what’s the matter, Coral?’
For the first time Coral looked unsure of herself. Her tiny feet hardly touched the ground, seated as she was in a Victorian button-backed armchair. ‘Maybe I should apologize, breaking in on you the day you got back. Truth to tell, I got my dander up good and proper and forgot you might be too tired to listen.’
‘It must be important or you wouldn’t have come.’
‘It’s important, yes. Max won’t help, saying it isn’t his responsibility, and maybe he’s right in law. I know the difference between right and wrong, and I say he’s wrong. Of course, now he’s an important person with a salary in Parliament, he doesn’t want to be tidying up loose ends from the agency, and maybe I shouldn’t have come bothering you but I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve tried ringing him, loads of times, and coming round to speak to him. All he says is that I can take it to the small claims court if I wish. But I can’t do that, can I? No more than I can go to the police.’
‘Ah. No proof – of what?’
Coral shrugged. ‘It was always a bother to me, keeping the wages straight, so I got my son-in-law to look after that side of things.’
Bea jerked herself awake. ‘You let that no good son-in-law of yours keep your books? After the hash he made of costings for the open evening at the art gallery? I thought you said years ago, that you’d never let him loose on your books again.’
‘He’s gone and done a business degree since then, and my daughter’s pregnant and begged me to give him another chance. And it was for a big do, wasn’t it? Charity organization. Proper letterhead and a cabaret and little pin things to give away. There was to be an auction and the guest list was to die for.
‘Max passed the job to me, said it would do me a lot of good, get my name known wit
h a better circle of people, people who count. I’d just lost one of my oldest accounts when they moved out of London so I was looking for something to fill the gap. The function was to be held in the Garden Room at a big roadside pub down the Great West Road.
‘Silver service, of course. I had to call in a few extra to help, and my sister helped out with preparing the food and though I say it myself, it was a sight for sore eyes and not much left over, I can tell you. The place was packed. Loads of people complimented me on the food and I thought I was on the up and up. Till the charity’s cheque bounced.’
Bea drew in her breath. She knew how much these events could cost. ‘How much were you out of pocket?’ She’d noticed that two of her pictures were crooked on the wall, so she got up to straighten them.
‘Thousands. Far more than I could afford to lose. That wasn’t the worst of it. I rang Max and told him what had happened and he said he was sure there’d been some mistake, that he’d contact the people who ran the charity about it for me. Sure enough, they rang me the next day to apologize. A woman it was. Nice as pie. She said it must be some glitch or other and the cheque had probably been taken from the wrong account. Their accountant was on holiday but they’d send me a replacement cheque as soon as he got back.’
‘And did they?’ She plumped up some cushions.
‘Wait for it! She said they wanted to make it up to me. She could charm for Britain, that one. She said they’d another function coming up, even bigger. Would I be interested in doing that for them? Meanwhile she’d see that I got my money as soon as possible. Like a fool, I believed her.
‘The next function was at the Priory Country Club, much the same as the first one, only bigger. All bare shoulders and bling for the women and silk shirts for the men, if you know what I mean. It’s true I got a cheque from the charity the day before the second event but of course there wasn’t time for me to get it cleared by the bank beforehand. That bounced, too. As did their cheque for the second event.’
False Charity Page 2
