False Wall

by Veronica Heley

  The second bedroom: to judge by various articles of clothing left around, a man occupied this one. Would this be the Admiral’s son? And the son’s wife – presumably it was his wife? – occupied the smallest bedroom, the one with the shower cabinet in it, which was littered with cosmetics and smelled of a ripe perfume? So, whoever they were, those two didn’t sleep in the same bed. Man and wife? Brother and sister?

  There was in fact plenty of room in this house for a large family, especially if the Admiral’s kith and kin had a second home somewhere else and only used this address for weekends or for entertaining.

  The house was definitely bigger than hers. Perhaps there’d be a fire escape? Yes, there was. It led out of the master bedroom at the back and descended into the patio, its exit blocked by the marquee, which snuggled up against the remains of that length of the party wall. The drinks hadn’t run out yet, judging by the sounds that rose from below, though the roof of the marquee hid the guests from her view.

  Perhaps Leon was still there, enjoying himself, with the Admiral’s luscious granddaughter on his arm. Bea didn’t think Leon liked that type much but … perhaps he did?

  One more flight up … though why she was doing this, she couldn’t think. Would Leon really be up here? Another floor, a different set of occupants. Younger. With a shower room and a bathroom. Was this where the granddaughter and those two young men whom Bea had noticed at the party hung out?

  Bea caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror, and shuddered. She looked like a bag lady, plucked off the streets, complete with aura of gin. She was offensive to herself. She couldn’t bear it.

  She sponged her top down, trying to remove the smell of gin – which persisted.

  Shoes. She must have something to wear. She sought for flip-flops or any sandals she could wear, and found some in a heap at the bottom of the girl’s wardrobe. It must be Venetia’s. Only one female occupied the back bedroom.

  She used the comb on the dressing table, but didn’t touch the cosmetics. Venetia was untidy, careless of her belongings. Expensive clothing had been thrown on the floor. Cosmetics left uncapped.

  No Leon. No landline phone.

  She looked out of the window. Could she manage to attract the attention of the police working under the tent in Leon’s garden? She looked out over the marquee to where her own garden lay, engulfed in the fallen tree. However was she going to get out of the house and back home?

  If she had a phone she could ring …

  Then it happened. Boom!

  A burst of flame.

  No, it couldn’t be!

  Her house was on fire!

  FOUR

  Saturday evening

  Bea screamed. She couldn’t help herself, though there was no one to hear.

  The noise from the party overrode everything. The police in their tent at the bottom of Leon’s garden couldn’t hear her, either.

  She had no phone!

  She could see flames rising up the back of her house. And she could do nothing but watch. And scream!

  As if her screams would be heard by anyone who would help!

  In fact, they might bring members of the family up to see who was making all that racket.

  Flames licked around the window frame of her office, spreading …

  She sobbed. ‘Dear Lord God, dear Lord God …!’

  Someone lifted up one of the canvas sides of the marquee. One of the waitresses looked out to see what that weird noise was … Sophy? Bea recognized her. She was one of the waitresses who used to be on the agency books. Milk-coffee coloured, fortyish, sensible.

  What would Sophy do?

  Hesitate? Call for back-up?

  Phone the fire brigade, Sophy! Now!

  Sophy yelled something back into the tent and got out her mobile. One of the other waiters – one whom Bea didn’t recognize – joined Sophy outside the marquee. He had another idea. He scrambled over the fallen wall into Leon’s garden and yelled for help to the police inside. No one responded. They must have gone home for the day. Evening. It was getting late.

  Bea checked her wrist. No watch.

  She leaned against the window in tears, willing the partygoers to take action, thinking it was going to be difficult for the fire engine to deal with a fire in the back garden of a locked house. There was no access to the garden, except through the house. And they couldn’t get into the house because the front door was locked and the alarm was on.

  Some members of the party crowded out of the tent into the ruined garden to see what was going on.

  Excitement ruled. People climbed rubble the better to see. Smartphones took photos. The fire engines would be there soon but too late, too late …

  However much damage had been done?

  Bea realized that even if she were on the ground at that moment, she couldn’t get back into her house.

  And Leon had disappeared completely and might be goodness knows where …

  Find him!

  Yes, but how?

  A disguise. Bea grabbed a brightly coloured short kimono from the stir-fry on the floor and pulled it on. It wasn’t silk but nylon, produced for sale in markets and cheap shops. She fumbled her way down the stairs as quickly and as quietly as she could till she reached the turn in the stairs to the ground floor. The big bouncer was still in the hall, facing away from her, on his phone … getting orders? Gesticulating. Angry voices, down in the basement. Edith and a man? Had they discovered their prisoner had disappeared? The lighting had not yet been restored.

  Guests crowded into the hall, excited.

  Did you see? What a thing! Some entertainment that was! We would have stayed to watch, my dear, but now the flames had died down, the show was over, and it was getting late, and they were due somewhere else, what an eventful evening, my dear …

  Lady Payne appeared, bidding farewell to her guests, trying to say the right thing, air kisses, Mwah! Mwah! Agitation showing through her party manners … Every now and then she hissed some words back to a young man at her elbow … ‘Look again! They can’t have gone far!’ … Before turning smiles on to the departing guests … ‘So sorry you have to leave so early. Yes, we must lunch, do ring me, and give my dear love to …’

  More and more of the guests pushed into the hall, checking their watches, ready to move on to the next entertainment.

  Bea couldn’t think straight. Did the departure of the guests mean that the fire had been put out? Surely they would have stayed to watch till the excitement was well and truly over? She’d seen with her own eyes … whoosh! Flames. Surely, her house was doomed!

  She slipped down the stairs to mingle with the guests moving into the house from the garden, wondering if she dared walk out of the front door with them … Keeping her eyes open for Leon … who was not with them.

  He wasn’t in the house. She’d have seen him if he had been. So out into the marquee she went, against the flow, no one recognizing her in her borrowed kimono.

  Some guests still hung around. They’d pulled up the sides of the tent to see the fire better. Leon wasn’t there.

  Almost, she despaired.

  Then she had an idea where he might be.

  She ducked under the canvas to get out of the marquee, and scrambled over the debris of the wall into Leon’s garden. Other people had done that, too, so she wasn’t alone. A couple still lingered there, looking over at her house. Bea didn’t give her house more than a glance. The flames did seem to have died down but …

  It was more important at that very moment to find Leon. That must be her priority. There was a shallow patio and balustrade at the back of Leon’s house, similar to the one at the Admiral’s house, and a similar shallow flight of steps leading down to an identical set of French windows.

  Someone shouted something.

  Had she been spotted?

  No. She breathed lightly, stilling her heartbeat. If they found her now … panic!

  She must keep her wits about her, although she felt wretchedly ill and s
leepy. If she allowed herself to relax for a minute, she’d be out for the count.

  She crouched down under the remains of the wall … and crept like a crab, sideways, down the steps to the French windows.

  It was no good. Leon’s builder had done as she and all her other neighbours had done. He’d installed a grille inside the windows to deter burglars. So she couldn’t get into the house that way. And, if she couldn’t, then neither had he been able to do so.

  She peered in through the window. A large empty room, wooden floorboards. Freshly painted. Unoccupied.

  Almost, she despaired. She’d guessed wrongly. She’d thought he would have made for his own house.

  The fire. The fire …

  Her own house, gone up in flames. She couldn‘t bear it.

  Forget the house. It is more important to find Leon.

  Perhaps he was still in the Admiral’s house, with unmentionable things being done to him? But where?

  She sank down, huddling against the window.

  He’d said once that her house was like a sanctuary to him from the world.

  Don’t think like that. That house is no more.

  Find him.

  If he’d got as far as her house, he might have been caught up in the blaze …

  Don’t think that way.

  Pray.

  Our father …

  Anguish. She would sleep for a bit and then …

  She heard a rough purring noise. Nearby.

  Leon didn’t exactly snore. He purred. Like a cat.

  She dragged her eyes open again. The sound was coming from a heap of builders’ planks, the ones the workmen had used to sit when they had their tea breaks in the garden. She dived for them. Leon had dragged a couple of planks over himself, and curled up against the remains of the wall to the next house – a wall which remained intact.

  She pulled the planks away and shook him.

  He was in a bad way. Scratched and bruised. Dishevelled.

  Jeans dirtied, stinking of gin, no shoes, his shirt a mere rag.

  Pockets? He might have his mobile?

  No, of course he hadn’t. No keys, no wallet, no mobile.

  She shook him again, but he was too deeply asleep to waken.

  If they’d given him too much of the drug he might die!

  She had to get help.

  How?

  She sat back on her heels, head reeling, eyelids wanting to close, forcing herself to think! She drove her nails into the palms of her hands, the pain reminding her to keep awake. She couldn’t afford for the Paynes to find them there when all their guests had gone …

  Why! Why had the Paynes done this? Or was it just Edith who …?

  Don’t think about that for the moment.

  I’ve got to get us out of here!

  The sides of the marquee were being rolled up preparatory to removal, so that Bea could see the hustle and bustle within. The last of the guests was departing. The Muzak had been turned off. There was no sign of the Admiral or Edith … or of the two young men who’d been enjoying themselves in the corner. The waiters and waitresses were beginning to stack used glasses in cartons. Miguel was in charge. Yes, that was his name: Miguel. Well, he wouldn’t help her, not after that incident in the embassy last month. But Sophy might.

  Bea unstuck herself from the floor and made her way unsteadily back up the steps, calling out, ‘Sophy!’

  Sophy looked up, her ready smile changing to a look of concern.

  ‘Mrs Abbot? You here? But …’

  Bea clutched at one of the poles which held the frame of the marquee upright. ‘Sophy, don’t tell anyone, but I need help. I came here with Sir Leon Holland, who has been taken ill. I can’t rouse him. He ought to be in hospital, but I don’t know how to get him there because I’ve lost my mobile and my keys.’

  ‘What’s that!’ Miguel. ‘Sophy, I need you to … Oh!’

  Bea despaired. He wouldn’t help her.

  Surprisingly, he said, ‘Mrs Abbot, you don’t look too good. Shall I fetch Lady Payne?’

  ‘No, it was she who gave me something strange to drink.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘I don’t know why!’ Bea almost cried with frustration. ‘All I know is that she gave me a drink and I fell asleep and she took my keys and mobile and my shoes—’

  Sophy broke in. ‘And then someone threw paraffin at the back of your house? Miguel, I know you said you wouldn’t work for Mrs Abbot again, but—’

  Miguel stroked his chin.

  Another waiter came up … Asian? Bea didn’t recognize him. He said, ‘What’s going on?’

  Sophy said, sharply, ‘Mind your own bizz, Fahad.’

  Miguel said, ‘Hang about. Mrs Abbot, you’ve always been straight with us, no messing, paid on the nail. I know I was annoyed when you ticked me off over that business at the embassy, but I have to admit I’d taken my eye off the ball, and you were right, I had got careless. Now this lot here … Admiral he may be, but he’s not treated us right. He’s cut our money to the bone, we’ve had to serve inferior wine and nibbles and got nothing but abuse for it. Sir Leon’s a bit of all right, too. We’ve done receptions for him a coupla times, been paid extra, always been well treated. Question is; shouldn’t we call the police?’

  Bea’s head was spinning. She made a big effort. ‘Agreed. It will have to go to the police, but for now, can you get us out of here without telling Lady Payne or causing any fuss? Sir Leon is unconscious. He’s been dowsed with gin, which I know he doesn’t drink. He ought to be in hospital.’

  ‘We’ve not been serving gin. Prosecco and red and white wines, basic.’

  ‘It was inside; they threw some over me, too, though I tried to wash it off. I don’t understand why this is happening, any of it. My house attacked, too. But the important thing is that Leon needs hospital treatment, now. Could you – I know it’s a lot to ask – but could you put him on one of your trolleys and wheel him out of the door and then I’ll get a taxi or something to take us to hospital … except that I haven’t a penny or a mobile or …?’ Bea was afraid she was going to cry. She took off her diamond ring and held it out. ‘Take this, in exchange for helping me get Sir Leon to hospital. If you bring it to the office next week, I’ll redeem it for five hundred pounds.’

  Sophy looked at Miguel. For permission to take the ring? She said, ‘I’d like to help.’

  ‘We’ll do it,’ said Miguel.

  Sophy took the ring, saying, ‘I’ll bring it back. Promise.’

  Miguel swung into action. ‘Fahad, you help me. Sophy, get those cartons off the trolley. Mrs Abbot, show us where Sir Leon is.’

  Bea led the way to where Leon was lying. He hadn’t moved since she’d left him.

  Miguel lifted Leon’s eyelids, and recoiled. ‘You’re right. His pupils are enlarged. He’s been drugged, and yes, he ought to be in hospital.’

  He and Fahad carried Leon between them into the marquee, put him on a trolley and placed boxes of drinks on either side of his head. A length of paper tablecloth was stretched over him, and the used lengths of paper from the serving tables placed on top.

  Sophy took off her own black jacket and helped Bea into it. ‘People like Lady Muck never look at our faces. Wear this and become a waitress, one of our team, brought in to help us clear up.’

  Bea gave one longing look at the back of her house, which still seemed to be standing, though heaven only knew what damage had been done … but that wasn’t so important as getting Leon to hospital. ‘Show me what to do.’

  ‘Carry this. Follow me.’ Sophy dumped a plastic container into Bea’s arms, took another herself, and indicated that they follow the men with the trolley.

  Into the house they went, the men easing the trolley up the two shallow steps into the big sitting room, and wheeling it along through the house. Edith was in the hall, arguing with the bouncer, while a couple of young men hung around in the background, one biting his fingernails, the other necking back a can of beer.r />
  Edith glanced at the waiting staff as they went through and shot a few words at them. ‘Hurry up! I’m not paying you overtime!’ She barely glanced at Sophy and Bea, bringing up the rear. The men eased the trolley down the front steps on to the pavement, and Miguel indicated their van, which was a couple of doors down the road.

  Bea was weak with relief. They were not out of danger yet because if Edith looked out of the door and saw …

  Miguel opened the passenger door of the van and, with Fahad helping, got Leon into the front seat. Sophy got on her mobile, speaking fast but clearly, asking for an ambulance. Bea felt her knees buckle.

  Miguel propped her up, ‘Whoops, now! Careful!’ He took the plastic container off her and stowed it in the back of the van. ‘You look like you need the hospital, too. Sit inside, in the front, next to Sir Leon.’

  Bea let the tears fall. Couldn’t speak. Could only nod. She got her arms round Leon, but he was too far gone to respond.

  A sharp voice, ‘What are you doing out there? I thought I’d made it clear I wanted everything cleared away by …’ Edith was approaching along the pavement. In a moment she’d see them and then … Bea closed her eyes.

  Miguel slammed the door on Bea. ‘One more trip, Lady Payne, and we should be out of your hair.’

  ‘I should think so.’ The voice receded, saying something about it being a disgrace.

  The car door opened. A mobile phone was dropped into Bea’s lap together with a couple of twenty-pound notes. From Sophy? The door closed before Bea could say, ‘Thank you.’

  Bea prayed that Edith Payne would be safely back in her house before the ambulance arrived … and here it came, gently easing itself down the road, in which cars were parked both sides. They would be looking for someone at number fifty-three, which meant Edith would realize …

  Bea opened the door and collapsed on to the pavement. She struggled to her feet, trying to see where …?

  A passer-by caught her arm. ‘Steady, now!’

  Bea managed to say, ‘Ambulance! For us!’ She heard someone … Sophy?… telling the ambulance men to hurry, two guests at the party had collapsed, very ill, they weren’t drunk, honest, although it looked as if they …