She swung her legs out of bed. Hamilton had always said they should check and check again before taking action. Maggie might well have missed something, being infatuated with Zander. Bea groaned. By now Maggie, Charlotte and their two swains would be well on the way to Bruges, perhaps already in the Tunnel or even emerging into sunlight in France. It was all very well for some.
Oliver might be sleeping late after all that trauma yesterday. Bea told herself she would support him in whatever way necessary to get him to university. On the other hand, she sincerely hoped he wouldn’t leave her.
She remembered that Philip was returning next weekend. Good. Sandy was going to be operated on today. Not so good. Bea sent up an arrow prayer for him and prepared herself to face the day.
Oliver was tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed at breakfast. Also monosyllabic. Bea decided that she wouldn’t refer to their late-night discussion unless he did. Which he didn’t. She remembered the lost correspondence from the tax office and winced. Well, she had more urgent things to think about now, didn’t she?
She reminded him that she was due to clean at Maggie’s flat that morning and he roused himself to say he’d work on Philip’s phone while she was out. She told him to put his dirty crockery into the dishwasher and he did so, while sending such a wounded look her way that she wished she hadn’t mentioned it.
Then off she went down the hill to the flats, wearing her cleaner’s gear. She had a quick exchange of opinions about the weather with Randolph, the doorman, and went up in the lift to Maggie’s floor.
Once inside, she sniffed the air. Surface dust, surface dirt, another stain on the carpet. Luckily the Friday night party had been upstairs or it would have been much worse.
The boys’ bathroom was a tip, of course … how did they manage to get it so dirty in a couple of days? She would give Liam’s room the once over and skim through the rest … except that there was a Do Not Disturb sign on Liam’s bedroom door, the sort of sign hotels used.
She couldn’t work out what it meant. Surely Liam couldn’t be here still? He and Zander should be in France by now. Bea raised her hand to knock on the door and heard an unmistakeable fart. Someone was occupying Liam’s bedroom.
Frowning, she went on into the sitting room and started work there. The stains on upholstery and carpet needed expert attention, but she did a superficial job of dusting and tidying. The boys’ bathroom was next. Philip had taken his shaving things with him when he left. If Liam and Zander had left that morning, then their kits ought to be missing, too. But they weren’t. Both were still there. What was going on?
Feeling anxious, she checked Philip’s room, which looked exactly as she’d left it, except that someone had closed the window that she’d left open. Charlotte? Probably. Bea didn’t bother to do any cleaning there.
She took the vacuum cleaner to Zander’s room, which was a mess. This rather surprised her, since she’d assessed him as being neat and tidy. She stood in the doorway, trying to make sense of what she saw. His clothes had been pulled out of the wardrobe and chest of drawers and stuffed higgledy-piggledy into his suitcase and sports bag. Neither would close properly, and there were still a lot of his belongings left over. A good leather jacket hung over the back of a chair, and he’d forgotten to pack his shoes, or his books.
She moved into the room to see better. An expensive laptop had arrived in her absence. A black dustbin bag was under his desk. She lifted a corner to reveal the papers that had been stored in the drawers. His briefcase had been knocked over. It was still locked.
What was going on? If Zander had gone to Bruges, why had he left everything in such a mess? Surely he’d only need a small overnight bag for a couple of days in Bruges? But this … confusion? It looked as if he were planning to move out of the flat and had been interrupted before he finished packing. But why?
A noise from down the corridor made her jump, and she hastily picked up the vacuum cleaner and moved out of Zander’s room.
A strange man dressed only in tracksuit bottoms opened Liam’s door and blundered out, groaning, heading for the bathroom. He caught sight of Bea and froze, mouth agape. Unshaven and unkempt, he looked like a killer weasel with a narrow head and tousled, thinning mouse brown hair. His gaze fell on the vacuum cleaner she was carrying, and he relaxed. Yawned. Rubbed his eyes, clutched his head.
Would this be Liam? Presumably. She wished she’d had the sense to get a description of him. She wondered if she should offer to get him some black coffee but decided that a cleaner wouldn’t, so she didn’t.
He cleared his throat, still clutching his head. ‘Mrs Thing? Forgot about …’
A mobile phone bonged. He staggered back into his room, reaching for the mobile phone on his bedside table. Bea could see him through the half-open door. She didn’t want to start up the vacuum cleaner, which would have drowned out his conversation, so she got out her duster and started on the skirting boards, which certainly needed attention.
‘Charley?’ His voice was so croaky, he could hardly get the words out. ‘Sorry. Bad head. Yeah, had to work all night, will join you later … yeah, sad about Zander, but Maggie’ll get over it … yeah, yeah, I know the time.’ Through the half-open door, Bea saw Liam look at his watch and half rise to his feet, horrified. He cleared his throat again. ‘Yeah, it’s later than I … look, hold on a minute. I’ve got to …’
He dropped the phone and lunged across the corridor and into the bathroom. There were retching sounds, and then the sound of running water. Bea moved down the corridor into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her.
Liam returned to his room, wiping his mouth. He sounded more lively when he picked up the phone again. ‘Sorry about that. The old tummy playing up … yeah, yeah, I’ll be all right in a bit. So you’re through into France, and everything’s gone to plan?’ A long pause while Charlotte quacked at him.
Bea could still catch a glimpse of him in profile, but apparently he didn’t see her presence as a problem, for he continued his conversation without bothering to lower his voice.
‘You find driving on the other side of the road difficult? I’m sure you’re managing OK. Have you stopped for coffee? Well, you’ll soon be in Bruges and … you need the name of the hotel? Now what was the name? I can’t think straight this morning. Oh, hang on. I’ve got it. The Belfry, right behind the belfry, anyway. Two double rooms booked in my name. If we miss one another, we’ll meet in the Markt at six, on the steps of the post office … Yes, I’m sorry about Zander, too. He was really cut up about it, but if he wants to climb the ladder at work, he’s got to jump when they need him to sort out a problem. Look, I’m taking the next Eurostar train, see you in the Markt at six. My friend’s due then, and we can all four of us go out on the town, right? … What was that? … You’re breaking up … curses … my battery’s running down. Look, don’t ring me again. I’ll text you, instead.’
He shut off the phone with eyes that had difficulty in focusing and groaned. Addressing the air in front of him, he said, ‘I did make the booking, didn’t I? Ouch! She’ll kill me …!’ He scrambled off the bed and made it to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Bea moved to one side, to let him pass. This time when his eyes fell on Bea, he seemed to have second thoughts about her being there. ‘You can do my bedroom now, and then make yourself scarce, right?’
‘But …’ said Bea, thinking she ought to object to having her hours cut short.
‘Just do it, right?’ He reached for the instant coffee.
Bea went into his room. It stank of stale gin. She opened a window and started to make the bed, listening out for Liam’s return all the while. How long did she have to poke around? Not long. Her foot kicked an empty gin bottle under the bed. She got down on hands and knees to check, but there was nothing else under the bed. Not even a dirty glass. He must have drunk from the neck of the bottle. Ugh.
The room was tidy enough, and after Maggie’s ministrations on Friday, reasonably clean. There was a portable telly, new-ish
. CDs, DVDs, whatever. An iPod. Liam liked porn magazines, apparently. Maggie had spotted them, too. Bea wondered whether Charlotte knew about them, or didn’t care. There were two suitcases at the bottom of the big built-in wardrobe. He’d left his mobile on his bedside table. She would have loved to have seen what numbers were in its memory, but didn’t dare.
Bedtime reading was raunchy paperbacks and spy thrillers. Well, at least he did read something. A locked drawer in a solid oak chest of drawers probably contained paperwork. There was a flutter of opened mail and some unpaid bills on the table by the window. A different outlook from Philip’s. Nicer. Everything was just as it should be.
Liam appeared in the doorway, looking fractionally better than before. ‘Out, you,’ he said. Bea didn’t dare protest. She shrugged, put her cleaning things away, and left the flat.
She was out of the building and walking up the street when her mobile phone rang. Maggie, in something of a state.
‘Is that you, Mrs Abbot? Things have gone a bit pear-shaped. Zander’s been called away by his firm so he couldn’t come with us and as for Liam, he woke us up at some unearthly hour to say he’d had to work all night and we were to go on without him and he’d join us later. Charlotte said he looked ghastly and she’s worried that he might be going down with flu or something. She’s tried to ring him back, but he’s shut the phone off because the battery’s running down, so she can’t contact him. You’ve got the keys to the flat, haven’t you? Do you think you could drop back and see if he’s all right?’
‘He’s quite all right,’ said Bea. ‘Hungover, but recovering. He woke up and found me cleaning the place ten minutes ago and told me to get out. I really can’t go back.’
‘N-no, I suppose not.’ Maggie didn’t sound too sure about that. ‘The thing is, we know the hotel’s called The Belfry, so we can sign in there when we arrive, but we’re supposed to meet this friend of his at six and if Liam’s going to be late, we won’t recognize him, will we? Liam’s friend, I mean. It wouldn’t matter really except that it’s a business thing and we’ve got Liam’s presents for the man. Oh, I do hope Liam manages to get the next train, but even so, he’s not going to be here for hours, is he?’
A prickle ran up and down Bea’s back. The girls were carrying presents for someone they didn’t know?
Maggie suddenly sounded brighter. ‘Oh, Charlotte’s just had a text from Liam. He’s catching the 12.57 train. So that’s all right. Sorry to have whinged.’ She cut the phone off.
Bea stared at her mobile, cut the call and rushed up the road and into the house looking for Oliver.
‘Oliver, what do you think of this? The two girls have arrived in Belgium without Zander – who’s got to work – and also without Liam, who says he’s joining them later. They’re carrying gifts for a business friend of Liam’s. What does that sound like to you?’
Oliver’s swarthy skin took on a yellow tinge. ‘Drugs! Tell me it’s not true! They’ve really been stupid enough to carry gifts through Customs for someone else? Someone who didn’t even travel with them?’
Bea sat down on the nearest chair with a bump. ‘I hadn’t thought of drugs, but of course it’s possible. I was thinking it might be the stolen Millais. They could have cut the picture from the frame, rolled it up and put it in one case, and the frame – dismantled – may be in the other.’
‘What!’ He gaped. ‘But … they wouldn’t carry stolen goods out of the country, would they? That would make them accessories to murder!’
Bea ran her hand through her fringe, sweeping it across her forehead. ‘It might not be that, it might be drugs, but … which is worse?’
Oliver tried to rise to his feet, and sat down again, both hands holding on to his desk. ‘We’ve got to stop them.’
‘How? They must be nearly at Bruges by now.’
‘I’ll get the next train. Oh, I can’t. No passport. I was on my father’s passport for years and then we didn’t go abroad for some time and I always meant to apply for … I’m rambling.’ Oliver ground his teeth. ‘How could Maggie have been so stupid!’
‘She’s in love.’
‘Which won’t prevent her from spending some years in jail if what we suspect is true. The first thing Customs ask is, “Did you pack your case yourself?” And what will silly Maggie say? “Yes, of course,” she’ll say. And they’ll have her banged up in no time. The stupid, stupid …!’
‘It may not be drugs. It may be the picture. On balance, I hope it’s the picture. My first thought was to ring the policeman I met the other day, he’s not too bright but adequate. Only, that would be pointing him in the direction of Maggie and maybe the girls are only carrying tins of shortbread and … what was it? Some kind of expensive coffee service? I’m burbling. We don’t know that they’re carrying drugs. We don’t know anything. It could all be perfectly innocent.’
‘You don’t believe that, and neither do I.’
Her mind was made up. ‘I’ve got a passport. I’d better go after them. See if you can get me a slot on the train to take the car over. Or would it be quicker to fly? Can you find out for me? What will I need? Some Euros. No, wait. There are some in the safe for emergencies. For everything else, I can use my cards. See what you can unearth for me while I throw a few things together.’
She told herself not to panic, but couldn’t help thinking that the facts pointed to danger. First Philip and the picture had disappeared. Now the two girls had been conned into carrying who knew what through Customs, without either of their menfolk to look after them. Zander had drifted off and Liam … who knew what scenario Liam had in mind? Would he really catch the next Eurostar train as promised?
This is crazy, Bea said to herself. I’m sure the girls are all right, and there’s a perfectly good explanation for the men’s behaviour. I hope. Dear Lord, let it be so. And if there is something wrong, show me how to deal with it.
She threw some things into an overnight bag – she had to use Hamilton’s, since Maggie had taken hers – and hurried downstairs to hear the good news and the bad from Oliver. ‘I can’t get you a slot to take the car over on the train. Fully booked, middle of holidays. The ferry would take too long. No seats for the plane till later this evening, and anyway, it takes ages to get to and from the airport this end and in Belgium. So I’ve got you a first class ticket on Eurostar, leaving just before one, arriving in Brussels two hours later.’
‘That’s the one Liam’s supposed to be taking. Maybe I’ll run into him on the train … but no, I doubt if he’ll travel first class. We may well arrive in Bruges at the same time. It’s going to be an interesting confrontation, isn’t it?’
‘What’s the name of the hotel they’re booked into?’
‘The Belfry. I can’t remember a hotel called The Belfry, but that’s what he said.’
‘It’s the height of the tourist season. You usually stay somewhere else …?’
‘The Europ. It’s a bit further out, quiet, overlooking a canal, a family-run place. I’m sure they’ll find me a room if they can. Can you get online to them? Or ring them. One of the big rooms at the top, if possible. How are we off for money?’
Oliver handed over two envelopes. ‘One for euros, and one for sterling. The cab’s booked and will be here straight away. Anything else?’
‘A spot of prayer might come in handy.’ She didn’t know why she’d said that. She didn’t know if Oliver believed in God or not. Anyway, it was said, and he didn’t look astonished, so maybe it would be all right.
She didn’t spot Liam in the departure area at St Pancras, but there were so many passengers milling about that she might well have missed him. She bought a newspaper to hide behind just in case. As they pulled out of the station, she rang Maggie. Ought she to warn the girls that they might be carrying a couple of bombs in their luggage?
‘It’s me, Mrs Abbot. I’m following your advice and taking a few days off in Bruges, hoping to arrive about five your time. Where are you now?’
‘There’
s a thing!’ shrieked Maggie, loud enough to make Bea to cower in her seat. ‘Are you really coming, too? Charlotte, my boss is on her way over. Won’t that be fun? Hi, Mrs Abbot, where are you staying? We’ve been trying to find this hotel that Liam booked us into but we think he’s given us the wrong name, because there isn’t one called The Belfry, though there is one just behind the belfry, which is a huge tower in the centre, and there are several hotels all round it, but so far we’ve not found one that knows anything about us …’
What on earth was Liam playing at?
Maggie was close to tears, but trying to laugh with it. ‘… So here we are, sitting in the most amazing square, really stunning, the sun is shining, we’re being chatted up by some husky Germans and a silky Italian … yes, we were, Charlotte. I know you are only waiting for your loved one, but I quite fancied the … yes, all right. Keep to the point. Well, the thing is, Mrs Abbot, that we’re in a bit of a fix. I’m dying to dump the luggage somewhere and go off to do some sightseeing but Charlotte insists we have to sit here like lemons till Liam turns up and we haven’t a clue when that’s going to be … yes, all right, Charlotte, I’m not moaning but it is true, you know.’
Bea tried to think. ‘It sounds as if there’s been some mix-up over the hotel reservations. Listen, I’m booked into a quiet place that we always used to stay at. Let me ring them and see if they can fit you up for tonight, just till Liam arrives to sort things out.’ This would at least get the girls and their suspect luggage off the streets. ‘I’ll ring you back in a few minutes.’ She killed the call before Maggie could protest that Liam would see them right.
Had she got her address book in her bag? Thankfully, yes. She got through to the hotel and yes, they’d booked her usual room for her, one of the family rooms on the top floor overlooking the canal. And yes, the one beside it was vacant if she would like to book it for her friends. What were their names? Delighted. They’d be arriving soon? Good. And yes, they had remembered that she liked an extra pillow on her bed, and a bottle of mineral water in her room.
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