She’d promised to go to work this afternoon, so why not drop it in the garbage at the Abbot’s flat? No one would ever look there for it, and it would be amusing to think of evidence being thrown out by that woman’s own family.
Jamie sighed. ‘Anyway, we have to go to the party so that I can give Hermia a cheque.’
‘What for?’
He yawned. ‘A loan she made me when the bill came in for repairing the roof back home. The money’s come through just in time. Now I can pay off all my debts.’
‘Debts?’ Her voice was hard. ‘How much do you owe?’
‘Just over a million and a half to Hermia, and another million or so to various tradesmen.’
She went rigid with fury. Had she worked so hard, done so much for him, only to find he’d frittered away over two million pounds? And to Hermia, of all people, the only one of the group who looked as if Claire were a turd on the pavement.
Well, watch out, Hermia, for I’m still a force to be reckoned with, and one day soon I’ll find a way to wipe that smug smile off your face. Perhaps even tonight . . .
She looked at the clock and bounced out of bed. She was going to be late to the Abbot’s. The baby needed her. She paused, adjusting her bra. Of course, if that interfering mother-in-law were going to cause trouble for Claire, there might be something Claire could do about it. She could always leave a little sleepy juice in one of the baby’s bottles for his overnight feed, couldn’t she? No one would be surprised if he died, because he really was a puny little thing. And it would be a pity to waste the last dose.
EIGHTEEN
Bea and Oliver settled down to work in the kitchen so that they could hear if Hermia’s mobile rang. They both jumped when their own landline sounded off, but it was only Maggie, spitting feathers because the decorator hadn’t done the job to her exacting standards. She said that unless she was needed urgently, she was going to stand over him till he got it right.
Within minutes of her ringing off, Hermia’s phone rang. Oliver got off his stool and ran into the hall, only to meet Hermia staggering blearily out of the sitting room, her mobile clamped to her ear. She screwed up her eyes as she listened to what was being hoarsely shouted at her – and shout was definitely the word.
She said, ‘All right, all right. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Sorry. I’m glad you’re feeling better—’
This set whoever it was off again. Bea rolled her eyes at Oliver and put the kettle on.
Finally Hermia made it to a stool and sat down, shutting off her mobile. ‘That was Alan. He’s discharged himself, says he’s perfectly all right except for a sore throat and wants to get back into the flat, only he can’t because we’ve stolen his key, so he’s taken refuge in the pub on the corner of the road. I said we’d get over there as quickly as we could. He doesn’t want to stay at the flat any more. He seems to think Claudine dosed the bottle of water with something nasty on purpose. I can’t think why she should, but that’s what he says. He wants to collect his things and take them over to his brother’s in Peckham. He says Claudine needn’t try to talk him round, though I don’t think she’ll even try, do you?’
Claudine walked in, holding on to the door, yawning. She reached a stool and collapsed on to it. ‘Was that Alan?’
Hermia repeated the gist of the conversation she’d just had. Claudine shook her head. ‘He’ll be hell to work with for the rest of the term, won’t he? I’m glad he’s all right, of course. But it’s an ill wind . . . I’ll be glad to get him out of the flat.’
‘Coffee or tea?’ said Bea.
Hermia wanted coffee. Claudine said, ‘Green tea if you have it.’
‘I wonder,’ said Claudine, who’d got the fidgets. ‘Do you think we could borrow someone’s computer to—’
‘See if the money’s in?’ Hermia flushed. ‘I’m so stupid. I’m always slow when I first wake up.’
Oliver said, ‘Use my laptop,’ and pushed it across to her.
The girls laughed, though there was no reason to do so. Nerves, of course.
‘Silly us,’ said Hermia, her eyes brighter than usual. ‘Of course it’s there. It’s just that it’s been so long waiting.’
Hermia accessed her account, her colour high. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. ‘It’s there.’
She turned the laptop over to Claudine, who fumbled the job. Tears stood out on her lower eyelids. Finally she got through. ‘Yes, it’s there!’
A moment’s silence and the two girls got their arms around one another and started jumping up and down. ‘We’re rich!’
‘I never really believed it would happen!’
‘Oh, thank the Lord!’
Indeed.
Both girls began to cry. Hermia embraced Oliver, because he happened to be standing next to her. Claudine punched the air, gave Hermia a high five.
Hermia grabbed her mobile phone again and ran out of the room, talking into it. Claudine sought for and found the box of tissues, using them one after the other.
Relief. Between gulping sobs, she said, ‘Thank God I never told Alan the whole thing, or he’d have been hanging around my neck, wanting his share. All I said was that I was expecting a few thousands by way of inheritance from an ancient aunt and, with that and a bank loan, I was proposing to buy into an independent school. He said he might have some savings to put in, but I won’t need him now, will I? He can’t come back to me on that, can he?’
No, probably not.
Hermia ran back into the room, her cheeks still brilliant with colour. ‘Gregor says he’s got his. But, since so many of us have died, we’re scrubbing the celebratory meal at the restaurant. It would be too ghoulish thinking that that’s where so and so was sitting last year. Anyway, we’re all too excited to sit and wait for food in a restaurant. So Duncan’s organizing the champagne, and we’re all to dress up and take a partner – that’s if we want to – and meet at his place at eight. Then Chris will make a video recording the occasion, and we can go on to eat somewhere after that, either as a group or with a friend or whatever. Gregor wants Chris to get to Duncan’s in about an hour, to start setting up. I’d better tell him.’
Off she ran again.
Claudine finally pushed the box of tissues away. Her eyes showed her brain was engaged in calculation. ‘I don’t need a man, do I?’ The question was rhetorical. ‘I always thought I’d get married, but I never wanted children of my own, and I certainly don’t want men making up to me for what I’ve got.’
Bea said, ‘Best not tell anyone, then.’
Claudine sniffed. ‘I can keep a still tongue in my head.’ She probably could, too. She added, ‘More than some can.’
‘Who do you think has shared the secret? Gregor?’
Claudine almost laughed. ‘Of course not. Nor Duncan; what with worrying about his job and not being sure that Mandy loves him for himself, he’s fit to be tied. He says he’s going to propose to her tonight before he tells her about the lottery money, otherwise he’ll never know for sure whether she really loves him for himself or not. I couldn’t be doing with that.’
‘Understood. Do you think Hermia told anyone, apart from her father?’
‘She says she didn’t tell even him, and I believe her. She says most of the men she knows have one eye on her father’s money, anyway, and she wasn’t about to weight the odds even more.’
‘That’s why she kept going back to Jamie? Because he had something other than money to offer her? Didn’t she fancy being Lady Fairley?’
A shrug. ‘The title didn’t weigh with her. He’s a childhood friend. They could be comfortable going around with one another, because they knew neither was going to get serious.’
‘Except that things changed when Tomi arrived. Or did they change before that, when Claire arrived?’
Claudine drew back. ‘I liked Tomi. She meant no harm. I was really sorry to hear that Harry killed her.’
Mm. Yes. Well, maybe.
Hermia burst back into the kitchen. ‘Ch
ris says he’s all hyped up and ready to go.’ She laughed out loud. ‘Chris is a doll, isn’t he, Claudine?’
‘Watch it! Dolls can be played with and put back in the toy cupboard; men can’t.’ Claudine got off her stool, looking at the clock. ‘I think I ought to get going. I need to clear Alan out of the place and get ready for the party.’
Hermia looked at her watch. ‘I must be on my way, too. Thank you so much, Mrs Abbot. You’ve been just great. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.’
Nice manners.
Claudine tried to tidy her hair. ‘I must look a mess. Mrs Abbot, can I get a taxi at the end of the road?’
Oliver helped her into her jacket. ‘I’ll see you out, help you to get one.’
Hermia waltzed around the kitchen, punching numbers into her mobile. ‘I could have danced all night . . . Is that you, Jamie? You’ve heard? Yes, I’m on my way home now. You heard we’re meeting at Duncan’s first . . . ?’ Her voice died away as she followed Oliver and Claudine out of the house.
Bea reached for her own phone. Was the danger really over? Her head said that it must be over, because any more killings wouldn’t increase the size of anyone’s share. Tomorrow they were all free to talk to the police, but – Bea sighed – even if the police were told everything, would they decide to follow up on cases which they’d already closed? The odds were against a prosecution, even if the remaining five friends did go to the police. If only they could produce even one piece of evidence.
Whenever Bea thought about Tomi, she felt anger surge through her. To let her death go unavenged was all wrong. Apart from that, the killer had got away with murder three times, so what was to stop him or her at three?
She considered that it might be a good idea to take a precaution or two. She made some phone calls and started to clear the kitchen, only to be interrupted by her landline ringing.
This time it was Chris, with instructions for her and for Oliver. ‘There’s some kind of confrontation planned for the party. Hermia plans to announce that she’s going to the police, in order to see what happens. That’s really why she wants me to film the event, to capture people’s reactions. I’m afraid this might put her in danger, but she says nothing could possibly happen to her in the group. Can you dress all in black, Mrs A, and keep to the shadows? Watch out that no one tries to slip her a lethal dose of something?’
‘Will do.’
‘The thing is, I’m not sure Hermia’s got the killer instinct, so she may need some help. Oliver says you know one or two things they don’t. Perhaps you could put a couple of tough questions if she fails to get through?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And, well, I may try to rig up something to record . . . I’ll have to give it some thought.’
He rang off. Bea put the phone down and wondered exactly who was pulling the strings tonight. Was it Chris? Unlikely.
One name pushed itself forward. Gregor. The more she thought about it, the more Bea suspected that he was the master puppeteer behind the group. Hermia might well have suggested that she tell the group about going to the police and that Chris make a video of the event, but only Gregor could have persuaded everyone to cooperate. Tricky, slicky Dicky. Untrustworthy with money, but the linchpin of the group. Remember he’d said they all took their troubles to him? She’d bet he knew the precise degrees of debt which each person owed. He must know – or suspect – who was responsible for the killings. Would he really be keen to bring the police in on the matter? Y–yes, provided he could keep in the background himself. Let someone else play the Grand Inquisitor; hence the invitation to Bea.
Yet, as Bea went off to the beauty salon, she realized that she felt comfortable about leaving the conduct of the evening in Gregor’s hands. Tricky he might be, but she had a feeling that under all that persiflage, he cared about right and wrong. She put in some praying to cover all the bases.
Monday evening
Bea surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. Hair, make-up, nails; all in order. She’d had a shower and had even had time to check on something that had been niggling at her on the laptop containing Tomi’s files. She twisted sideways to make sure her long black silk tube of a dress clung where it should and hung straight where it shouldn’t. She usually wore a padded gold lame jacket lined in black over it, but had turned it inside out so that only the piping shimmered in the light.
She saluted herself in the mirror. ‘Here comes the judge.’
She made one more phone call, checked that her small black evening bag held everything she needed, and left for the party.
As the clock on Duncan’s mantelpiece struck eight, Bea retired to a dark corner while Oliver, also dressed in black, prepared to play the part of butler.
Bea was interested to see that Chris, who also dressed in black and with a hood over his bright hair, lost all his boyishness when behind the camera. Most of the side lamps in the room had been turned off, while two powerful lamps had been rigged up to cast light over a brocaded settee, placed centre stage, so to speak. A boom hanging over the settee from a tripod held one microphone, while Oliver had concealed another under a small table nearby.
As Oliver ushered in the first guests, Duncan put down his glass of whisky and moved forward to greet them. Duncan was wearing full evening rig, as was Gregor, who had a raven-haired beauty on his arm. Bea thought the girl must be a model, so tall and thin was she. She was wearing a wisp of a dress that left her arms bare and showed off some extravagant jewellery, with a multicoloured glittering evening bag slung on a chain from one shoulder. Her IQ was probably not as high as her heels.
Miaow. Bea told herself not to judge the book by its cover.
Gregor shielded his eyes for a moment against the powerful lights, and then dismissed them from his mind. He was always on stage, anyway.
‘Congratulations all round!’ Gregor hugged Duncan, who hugged him back, though with slightly less exuberance. Gregor introduced his companion by the name of Marigold.
The girl said, ‘Pleased to meetya.’
Perhaps, thought Bea, these were the only words the girl might utter the whole evening. Was she really chewing gum? Unbelievable!
Another ring at the door. Gregor accepted drinks from Duncan and turned to greet Claudine, who was looking as cool and soignée as if sleepless nights had never existed. Her fall of straight dark hair was held back by a high Spanish-style comb; she carried a tiny gold evening bag to match her high heeled shoes. She was swathed in folds of dark green taffeta, which clung to her excellent figure and allowed her to look down her nose at Marigold’s conspicuous lack of boobs. The women checked out each other’s long, elegant legs and decided, without words, that honours were even.
Then in bustled Hermia, laughing and crying, kissing everyone in sight on both cheeks and giving Gregor a third for luck. She was wearing a glittering silver sheath dress which left her beautiful shoulders bare and showed off a prettily curved figure. Her dress screamed ‘Paris’, as did her silver clutch purse. She might lack Marigold’s slenderness and Claudine’s sophistication, but her warmth made her the focus of the room. She blew a kiss at Chris with a mischievous expression, but he refused to take his eye off the camera to socialize, even for her.
Close on Hermia’s heels came a long pale streak of a girl, who looked as if she were not quite sure she wanted to take part in a rave-up, but Mummy had always told her to smile and tuck her tummy in when wearing a new dress, and so she did. Pale blue wasn’t a good colour for her, and she probably looked at her best in riding kit. Landed gentry? This must be Mandy. Yes, she walked past everyone, smiling and nodding, but not kissing, to end up beside Duncan, who was dispensing drinks. A lively babble of voices showed the party was off to a good start.
Last came Jamie with the prettiest of little blondes on his arm.
The temperature in the room dropped five degrees and the room went quiet.
Jamie was also in evening dress. Claire was in white satin, trimmed with fluffy fe
athers, and carrying a huge designer handbag. Was the dress home-made? Was the length wrong? Something about her outfit wasn’t quite right. All the women in the party knew it immediately.
After a moment’s hesitation Hermia put the smile back on her face and went to kiss Jamie; just once, on one cheek. She held out both her hands to Claire and said, ‘Lovely to see you again, Claire.’
Jamie had his arm around Claire. ‘Congratulations are in order for more than the money. Show them, Claire!’
Claire held up her left hand, on which flashed a diamond ring.
Jamie was pleased with himself and Claire. ‘We bought the ring this morning.’
Hermia’s smile looked rigid. ‘Why, Jamie! How wonderful! When’s the wedding to be?’
The others crowded around making the right noises, but not much kissing went on. Bea, watching from the back of the room, saw Gregor exchange a wide-eyed look of dismay with Hermia. It seemed that neither liked this engagement much.
‘Come and sit down.’ Duncan ushered the happy pair to the settee.
‘A drink first,’ said Jamie, high on excitement.
Claire was smiling, too. Sleek and satisfied. Like a cat. Look what I’ve caught!
‘A toast, a toast!’ cried Gregor. ‘Come, let’s all gather round the settee so that we can register the moment on film. Claudine, are you with us? Jamie and Claire should sit in the front; no, I insist. I’ll stand here with my arms round the two best looking girls; Hermia, Claudine – and Marigold, where have you got to, girl?’
Marigold obediently went to his side. Yes, she was definitely chewing gum.
From nowhere Oliver appeared with a small camera. Kneeling before them, he snapped away. Flash, Flash! He hadn’t got in Chris’s way at all, but the flashing of his camera distracted everyone nicely. Soon perhaps they’d forget all about Chris, which would help them to relax and perhaps speak more openly.
Gregor raised his glass. ‘Everyone got a drink? Then here’s to us and to Lady Luck! Don’t spend it all at once!’
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