Burr, burr. Burr, burr. No service.
Bea cradled her receiver. She licked dry lips. ‘No service. Now what does that mean?’
She pushed the phone to Magda. ‘Try the barber’s?’
Magda retrieved her handbag from the agency rooms, rummaged through pages in her diary, and dialled. ‘Is that The Director’s Cut? I’m ringing because my boss, Lucas Rycroft, had an appointment with you this morning, but hasn’t returned. Can you confirm that …?’
The voice at the other end was not amused. It quacked. Indignantly.
‘So sorry.’ Magda put the phone down. ‘I said it was a black hole, didn’t I? Lucas never turned up.’ She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘I am not going to panic. I am not!’
Bea tried to think clearly. Lucas and Piers had been missing, or out of touch, rather – for well over an hour. It was no use trying to report their disappearance to the police, who would only act if someone were missing for twenty-four hours or more.
The two men were out there, somewhere. One had a mobile phone, though the battery might have run down. The other didn’t.
Bea said, ‘I think we must try to get hold of Lord Rycroft. Find out if he knows about the jewellery being removed from the bank.’
‘I don’t have his number. I was instructed never to approach him. It’s as much as my job is worth to do so.’
‘Possibly. But …’ Bea didn’t add, but thought that if Lucas had dropped off the planet then Magda would be out of a job anyway.
Magda thought it over and probably came to the same conclusion. ‘It’s the weekend and the trust’s office will be closed till Monday, but I could try Mrs Tarring because I do have her mobile number for emergencies.’
Bea nodded. Magda located the number and dialled. No reply. Eventually voicemail clicked in. Magda left a message for Mrs Tarring to ring her on Bea’s landline number, and put the phone down. ‘Any other ideas?’
Bea looked at her watch and half rose from her seat. She’d completely forgotten about her ward coming back home that weekend. Bernice ought to have been letting herself into the house with her key or ringing the doorbell half an hour ago. Or longer.
Now this was worrying.
There might have been a delay on the Tube? Yes, but Bernice had a phone and should have been able to ring and reassure Bea about what was happening.
The child might have been run over in the street and whipped off to hospital with fatal injuries. No. Stop right there.
There is absolutely no point in panicking just because someone is out of touch for an hour or so.
Bea tried to laugh at herself. She’d been playing down Magda’s fears while getting ready to panic herself. Ridiculous!
On the other hand, perhaps a spot of prayer might be appropriate.
Dear Lord, keep the child safe, wherever she is. And as for Lucas and Piers … This is all too much! I can’t think about them while Bernice is missing. Or not missing, as the case may be. Help, please!
The landline rang.
Magda started to her feet. ‘Lucas! Or Piers?’
Bea grabbed the phone. It was Bernice. Oh, the relief! ‘Bernice, where are you? I expected you over an hour ago.’
‘Sorry, Bea; sorry. Should have rung you earlier, I know, I know. Things happened, and I forgot.’
Bea almost shrieked. ‘You forgot! Here’s me beginning to think about ringing the hospitals—’
‘Keep your hair on. Honest, I’m fine. It’s just that something came up. My friend Alicia was invited to go sailing this weekend. She didn’t want to go by herself, so she asked me if I’d like to come, and I said – I really did – that I was due to stay with you this weekend, and she said her grandfather would ring you and fix it, and I’ve just checked and he hasn’t.’
‘No, he didn’t ring me,’ said Bea, telling herself to calm down, that all was well.
‘Some men have no brains,’ said twelve-year-old Bernice in world-weary tones. ‘I just asked him, checking up, you know, and he said he’d meant to ring you, but things had happened. Like I said.’
‘I see,’ said Bea, who knew and liked Alicia’s grandfather well enough, while not going into rhapsodies about his stock of common sense. ‘But this really won’t do, Bernice. If you’ve been invited out for the weekend, I need to clear it with your hostess. Do you have her name and contact number?’
‘Dunno. Mrs Something double-barrelled. I’ll ask her to ring you when we get there, right?’
‘No, it’s not all right. That’s not how things are done. Had you forgotten that we’ve got theatre tickets for this evening, and were planning to see your mother and stepfather this afternoon?’
‘Yes, I know. Sorry about that, but you know how it is with Alicia, and I’ve never been sailing. Alicia’s grandfather has a friend who has a boat on the Isle of Wight somewhere, and we’re going to—’
Bea almost shrieked. ‘The Isle of Wight?’ She identified background noise. A car, being driven at speed. ‘Bernice, don’t tell me he’s driving you down there as we speak!’
‘I told him you’d be cross. Here, I’ll hold the phone up so you can speak to him.’
A male voice, rather too hearty. ‘Hi, there, Bea! How you doing?’ William Morton, aiming for insouciance while very much aware that he was at fault for not having spoken to Bea and asked her permission to take Bernice away for the weekend.
Bea was incensed, and not inclined to let him get away with it. ‘William Morton! Do you realize I could have you arrested for kidnapping a minor?’
‘Sorree. I thought Bernice had asked you, and she thought I’d asked you and—’
‘You didn’t think it was important to get my permission?’
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing – wait while I just pass this lorry – I’ve only just met someone and she invited us to go sailing with her. Alicia said she wouldn’t go without Bernice and Bernice said she’d love to go, so …’
Ah-ha. So he’d just met someone who’d invited him to go sailing with her? Bea hadn’t encouraged William when he’d shown signs of wanting to make her his second wife, but she was undeniably narked that he had now found someone else. Yes, it was a dog-in-the-manger attitude and she ought to be ashamed of herself, but … and then she was struck by the thought that it was going to be easier to deal with Magda and Piers without having Bernice around. Bernice was a great girl, but yes, she was a demanding guest.
Bea said, ‘Oh, very well. But get your hostess to ring me when you arrive. I can’t let my ward go off into the blue for a weekend without knowing exactly what’s happening. I’ll see if I can return the theatre tickets, but Bernice had better ring her mother and make her excuses there. Will you bring her back here on Sunday evening, or take her straight back to school?’
‘We have an invitation for Sunday lunch. I’ll take them back to school on Sunday afternoon, right?’
Bea ground her teeth, and told herself not to do so. ‘Very well. Drive carefully. And, have a good time.’
She put the phone down, torn between wanting to smash something and relief.
Magda was pacing up and down, putting her hands under her arms and taking them out again. Magda didn’t know what to do with herself. ‘The phone! He could be trying to get through to us!’
Bea said, ‘Piers, or Lucas?’
‘May I try Lucas again?’
Bea handed over her phone, and Magda dialled. And listened, and replaced the phone. ‘Still no joy.’
Bea tried to be positive. ‘Piers knows both my mobile and landline numbers, so he can get through to me on either. And it wouldn’t be Lucas trying to ring because he doesn’t have either of my numbers. Now, calm down. That phone call means I’m free for the weekend. So let’s go and see what’s happening at Piers’s place, shall we? My car is parked in the mews at the end of the road. It’ll only take me a few minutes to get it.’
Magda grabbed her handbag. ‘Won’t it be easier to take a cab? Parking is always so difficult. And it will b
e quicker, won’t it?’
She was probably right. Bea phoned for a cab, grabbed a jacket and set the alarm on their way out.
Five minutes later they were in a cab and speeding towards West London.
On the way, Bea said, ‘Magda, let’s talk about the twins. They’re loose cannons, aren’t they? Almost feral. They think the quickest way to achieve results is to inflict pain. I wonder how they’ve got away with it for so long. You say there was a problem with some people who owed them money, but that it was all hushed up for the family’s sake? What does that say about them?’
Magda was hesitant. ‘I’ve told you what I’ve heard. I really am not supposed to pass the gossip on to anyone else.’
‘Only now you have to because Lucas is missing.’
Magda winced. ‘Well, one of the maintenance men said they’ve been a problem since they were born. Their father got through a fortune, gambling and drinking. He died a while ago. Last summer some time? Their mother walked out on them when the twins were little. It explains something about them. They live together, drive each other around in an expensive sports car, have never married. The maintenance man warned me never to let myself be alone with them. He said they like tormenting people who can’t hit back. He said they used to confine their attentions to people they didn’t think would run to the police, but then it escalated and there was a nasty case which the family had to hush up.’
Bea said, ‘One thing: they’re not overly bright, because first you and then I fooled them. But I must admit I don’t wish to meet them again without backup.’
Magda sighed. ‘Me, neither.’
Bea said, ‘So, about the jewellery, we haven’t a clue whether it’s stolen or not. Or who it actually belongs to. Presumably the head of the Rycroft family? I expect you’d like to get it back to the trust, but we can’t do that till we neutralize whoever it was who organized its removal from the safety deposit box in the first place. Someone was supposed to collect it from Piers’s place, but … who?’
Magda nodded. ‘It must be someone Lucas thinks has the right to it.’
‘These professor types. Did he forget what he was supposed to be doing this morning, and head back home?’
Magda objected. ‘Lucas is not that far gone. He wouldn’t forget that he was supposed to be meeting Piers. He really was looking forward to having his portrait painted.’
Bea handed over her mobile. ‘On the off-chance, see if he’s gone back to the flat. Try his landline there.’
Magda tried. Burr, burr. Burr, burr. She handed the phone back to Bea. ‘He doesn’t have an answer phone, said they wasted his time. As I said, they’ve both dropped into a black hole.’
The taxi slowed to a crawl as they turned into the road where Piers had currently rented a house.
‘Uh-oh.’ The cab driver stiffened. ‘Police. Is this where you want to go?’
There were two police cars parked in front of Piers’s house, and a policewoman was standing at the door. Then came the wail of a siren, and an ambulance loomed at the taxi’s back bumper, urging it to move on. The cabbie drove on, slowly.
‘Piers is injured?’ Bea felt faint. Piers had been in her life since she was eighteen, and though their marriage had not lasted, he’d always been there. They were on good terms nowadays; when they met, it was as if no time had elapsed since they last talked to one another.
‘Is it Lucas?’ Magda’s voice went high with anxiety.
There wasn’t enough space for the ambulance to park. It continued to loom over their taxi, wailing away to get their cab driver to move on. A small group of bystanders had gathered on the other side of the road.
A large policeman thumped on the taxi’s window. ‘Move on. If you please.’
The cab driver moved on, saying, ‘Do you want me to stop?’
Bea said, ‘I don’t know. I can’t think. Can you find somewhere to park?’
Piers has always been there in the background of my life. What will I do if he dies?
The traffic built up behind them. The taxi driver rounded the corner while the two women turned in their seats to watch as the ambulance double-parked outside Piers’s house.
Magda’s voice wobbled. ‘The police are there. What do we tell them?’
‘Make up your minds, ladies.’ The driver was relaxed about it.
Bea was sharp. ‘If only we knew who the ambulance was there for! Cab driver, could you let me out, please? I need to see who’s been injured.’
‘I can’t stop here.’ The cab driver was being reasonable. They were in a moving stream of traffic and there was absolutely nowhere to park. Bea said, ‘I’m going to get out! Now! Circle the block and pick me up when you can.’
Pray God it wasn’t Piers who was hurt!
Bea got out and ran back, dodging through groups of people speculating as to what all the fuss was about. A policeman was holding back the groups of gawpers.
Bea caught his arm. ‘Please, who is it?’
He took no notice. ‘Back,’ he said. ‘Let them through.’
A gurney was being taken across the pavement, with a man strapped to it. Pale face, floppy fair hair under some kind of bandage. Floppy fair hair? It wasn’t dark-haired Piers!
The gurney was lifted into the ambulance. The policeman turned on the bystanders. ‘Come on, now. Show’s over. No one’s dead.’
No one was dead. And it wasn’t Piers!
Bea leaned against the nearest garden wall, trying to control her heartbeat. Another patrol car arrived. The taxi chuntered up again, with Magda’s alarmed face at the window. Bea stumbled into the taxi.
The policeman loomed up. ‘Move on, please!’
Magda craned to look out of the back window. ‘Did you see who it was? Was it Lucas? The ambulance is leaving. They don’t take dead bodies in ambulances, do they?’
Bea comforted herself with the reflexion that Magda was right, and that if someone had died, instead of an ambulance there would have been a forensic team on site. So, nobody had died. She said, ‘A man, I think. I couldn’t see much of him, but I think he had fair hair. Rather fine and floppy.’
Magda tried to smile. ‘Not Lucas, then. He’s fair haired but turning grey.’
Not Lucas, and not Piers. It must have been someone who’d collapsed on the pavement? But, glory be, it wasn’t Piers or Lucas.
Magda fretted. ‘But where could he be?’
Bea said, ‘Let’s try Lucas’s place. Perhaps, if he did have an absent-minded turn, or if something happened to distract him, he might just have forgotten all about the meeting with Piers, and gone back there.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Magda’s colour had risen. ‘That will be it. I suppose. No need to get all excited.’ She wasn’t convinced, but she gave the cab driver the address.
Lucas lived at the end of a terrace of expensive houses set back from the road by a strip of communally planted gardens behind iron railings. Millionaires’ territory. Stucco-faced in cream, there were pillared porticoes over the front doors and smoothly glistening old glass in the tall windows. So far, so eighteenth century.
The cab driver parked and, while Bea paid him, Magda shot up the steps to an imposing doorway and used her key to let them into a wide, black-and-white paved hall. She ignored the door directly ahead to take a curving staircase up to the first floor. Bea followed her into the hall at a slower pace and started up the stairs behind her. Magda put her key into a door on a first-floor landing. Entering a square hall she called out, ‘Lucas?’
Bea followed her. Daylight streamed down from a lantern two floors above. A second, graceful staircase curled up the inner wall. The walls were dressed in fresh-looking wallpaper in a subdued green and cream and the woodwork was painted white.
Magda ignored an alarm panel to drop her handbag on a hall table and dash around, opening doors. Then she shot down a short corridor under the stairs to what, presumably, must be the kitchen quarters.
‘Lucas?’
No reply. The very air seemed dens
e, unused. The tiny sounds they made as they walked about seemed muffled. They couldn’t hear any noise from the street. There was a faint trace of paint in the air. Good-looking pictures on the walls. Victorian watercolours and some old engravings, which Bea guessed were antique Baxter prints. Low bookcases lined every available wall space. Everything looked clean and tidy – thanks to Magda, no doubt.
Bea made a note to herself. Magda hadn’t turned an alarm off when she let them in, therefore one couldn’t have been on.
Why not?
Magda appeared in the doorway at the end of the corridor. Her eyes were wild. ‘He’s not here. He hasn’t been here. He always drops his keys in that brass bowl on the hall table when he comes in. But someone else has been here, in every room on this floor.’ She wrung her hands. She was only just about under control. ‘We’ve been burgled!’
FOUR
Saturday lunchtime
‘You’re sure?’ said Bea, and knew it was a stupid thing to say. Of course Magda was sure.
‘See for yourself.’ Magda gave Bea a tour of the rooms. ‘The library, where he works; every drawer has been pulled out from his desk and someone’s toppled books out from their shelves. Why would they do that, for heaven’s sake?’
The walls in the library were lined with built-in shelving; mahogany, no expense spared. Each shelf had been stuffed with leather-bound books, many with a crest on them in gold. There was a Victorian kneehole desk with a modern adjustable typing chair behind it and a Pembroke table laden with more books, some open and some shut. And, looking out of place, a modern business desk with computer and printer on it.
Yes, all the drawers in the desks had been pulled out. This room hadn’t been painted yet. Where they could be seen for books, a greyish-cream wallpaper begged for renewal.
Bea said, ‘They were looking for a safe?’
‘There is no safe.’ Magda ushered Bea into the next room along. ‘Dining room. It gets the morning sun. He was having breakfast here when all this started. He left The Times neatly on the table when he went to do his phoning, and look at it now … tossed anyhow into the fireplace. His chair is always placed so that he can see out of the window over the gardens below, and now it’s turned right round.’
False Pride Page 4
