False Wall

by Veronica Heley

  And that was that.

  FIVE

  Saturday evening

  ‘That’s it, now. Open your eyes …!’

  Bea wandered up out of the depths, recalled that something terrible was hovering over her, decided she couldn’t cope and sank back down into the darkness.

  Slowly, slowly, she came back to consciousness. Feeling dreadful. Knowing that she had to do something, urgently, that it was important …

  She cried out and made a convulsive movement.

  ‘Take it easy, now!’ A woman’s voice. Kindly but firm.

  Bea tried to open her eyes. Made it halfway. A stranger. A nurse. Bea looked beyond and above the face and whispered. ‘Hospital?’

  A smile. ‘Good girl. Now, just you relax and—’

  Bea remembered. ‘Leon! Is he all right?’ She tried to sit up, but the nurse pressed her back.

  ‘Your husband, is it? Did he come in with you?’

  ‘My fiancé. Leon Holland. I couldn’t wake him. They poured gin on his clothes, but he doesn’t drink gin any more than I do!’ She heard her voice climb. Hysteria. That wouldn’t help. Quivering, she fought for self-control. ‘We went to a party. We were given something in our drinks. We passed out. We were robbed.’

  ‘You’ll want to report it to the police, then.’

  She nodded. She thought, This is a nightmare. It’s not really happening. Is anyone going to believe that the Admiral and his wife would drug two of their guests? It’s ridiculous. They’ll think we’re mad, have taken hallucinogenic drugs or something. We’d better say it must have been a foolish prank on somebody’s part.

  Frantic thoughts skittered through her head. Her lost keys and phone, Leon’s lost keys and … was this a plot to interfere with one of Leon’s business projects? That would make sense. Yes, it was the only thing that made the least bit of sense.

  Her house! Her wonderful home! Her whole adult life, her business, everything. She wanted to wail and tear her hair. There’ll be time to think about that later. She said, ‘Leon?’

  The nurse said, ‘Relax. You’re going to be all right. I’ll see if I can find out what’s happened to your fiancé.’

  Bea closed her eyes again. Would Leon object to her calling him her fiancé? Well, he’d asked her to marry him a couple of times, so … The nurses probably wouldn’t tell her anything at all if they didn’t think she and Leon were related, or about to get married.

  She’d lived in that house for so long that … Don’t think about what’s happened there, or you’ll break down. Push it to the back of your mind!

  We were drugged and robbed. Why?

  The only answer must be that someone wanted Leon out of the way, someone who was planning an attack on his business empire, and had got the Admiral to help. She remembered the slightly neglected air of the house. Was Admiral Payne so short of money that he’d agree to lay a trap for a wealthy guest? Using his granddaughter as bait?

  If so, then the attack on Bea and her house would be collateral damage, to get her out of the way. She was not important in the scheme of things, but he was. If someone had set out to ruin him …? Yes, that’s what this was all about. And she so helpless, could do nothing to help him or herself!

  An idea trickled to the forefront of her mind. She’d got Sophy and Miguel to help them get away and …

  She jerked upright again. Vertigo. She set her teeth and hung on to the bed.

  When the ceiling had stopped slithering sideways, she moved her eyes around. In a heap by her legs were a mobile phone and a black jacket which was not hers. Also not hers was the garish, short kimono which she was wearing over her own clothes. Her tights were laddered and holed. No shoes. Flip-flops.

  She reached out a wavering hand and, at the second attempt, picked up the mobile phone. Thank you, Sophy. I owe you one.

  The battery was low. She might only be able to make one call. So who …? She needed someone whose phone number she knew off by heart, who lived close by, was intelligent enough to grasp the situation quickly and was free to help her. Someone who knew that she and Leon were good friends.

  She discarded a number of names. Not in the country, not in London, not available, not sharp enough … and dialled the number for that well-known portrait painter and unreliable gift to womankind: Piers, her ex-first-husband.

  She’d married him straight from school, borne him a son and divorced him when it was clear he was incapable of remaining faithful to anyone for more than a week. In spite of that, in recent years they’d become good friends, and she thought she could trust him to help her.

  He answered, ‘Yes?’ Meaning, I’m busy, so make this quick.

  She must keep this short and to the point. If she let herself think about what had happened to her house, she’d break down and cry. And then where would they be?

  ‘Piers, I hope you’re not just about to get into bed with someone but …’ To her horror, her voice broke.

  ‘Bea?’ Alarmed.

  ‘I’m in hospital, don’t know which one. Charing Cross, I think. I’m on a borrowed phone and the battery is running low. Piers, I need help. Leon and I went to a party, our drinks were spiked, he’s unconscious—’

  ‘I’ve got someone here at the moment, but—’

  Well, he would have, wouldn’t he! ‘Listen! We’ve been robbed. Money, cards, mobile phones, keys and shoes. I think my house may have been set on fire, too, but that’s not important—’

  ‘What!’

  She was tempted to scream ‘My house! My house!’ But managed to control herself. ‘I think this may be an attack on Leon’s business affairs. Can you get through to his PA, name of Zoe, to let her know what’s happened, so that if there’s a run on his shares or something, she’ll be able to soothe the market?’

  ‘Do you have his office number?’

  ‘I have the clothes I stand up in and that’s it. Can you get her through his office or on the Internet?’

  ‘You said your house—’

  She choked back a sob. Her voice was going to break up, she could feel it. ‘Well, afterwards, if you have time, you still have keys, haven’t you? Would you take a look? But the alarm should be on.’ She hit her head. Tears flowed. She needed to blow her nose. ‘What’s the number, I can’t have forgotten … Oh, I remember. My birth date. Sorry, sorry! I can’t stop crying.’

  ‘Hold on, Bea. I’m on to it. I’ll ring you back, right?’

  ‘Now, then,’ said the nurse, bustling back in. ‘Put the phone down, there’s a good girl. The doctor’s here.’

  ‘Leon?’

  ‘Coming on fine.’

  Bea wasn’t sure she believed the nurse but, when the phone was lifted from her hand, she didn’t try to hang on to it. She thought she ought to do something about cancelling all her credit cards … and Leon’s, too. But the important thing now was to persuade the doctor that she was well enough to see Leon.

  Bea sat at Leon’s bedside and held his hand. The nurse said he’d been pumped out and they hoped he’d regain consciousness soon. At the moment he was still deeply asleep.

  A stir, and Piers brushed past the nurse to get into the cubicle, saying, ‘It’s all right. I’m her husband!’ He handed a black plastic bag to Bea. ‘Clothes and shoes for you. I hope they’re all right.’

  ‘But—’ said the nurse.

  Bea tried to smile. ‘Complicated situation, nurse. Piers was my first husband. Leon is my fiancé.’

  ‘You’re not wearing an engagement ring,’ said the nurse.

  ‘No watch, either,’ said Bea. ‘I’m not looking forward to telling the insurance people about everything we’ve lost.’

  Piers pushed the nurse out. ‘I promise not to stay long.’ Piers was dark, with a slightly twisted nose and enough charm to launch a cruise ship. It didn’t surprise Bea that the nurse had let him in. He said, ‘Leon’s not come round yet?’

  Bea shook her head, steeling herself to appear optimistic, trying not to cry. ‘Thanks for the clothes.’ />
  He magicked another chair from somewhere and seated himself beside Bea. ‘I got hold of Leon’s PA, Zoe something. She doesn’t panic easily, does she? She says that there is something strange going on and she wants to know if Leon can go into the office to deal with it. I told her he was in no condition to leave hospital. She insisted it was important that she see him, so I told her to come here. I hope that’s all right.’

  They looked at Leon’s calm face. His cheek had been badly scratched but he hadn’t needed stitches.

  Piers said, ‘I told Zoe that all his things had been stolen, including his keys. I thought the motive behind the assault might be to rob his flat, but apparently he’s staying in some posh hotel or other. I suggested she rang the hotel to explain what’s happened and ensure that the staff don’t let anyone but her into his suite. I asked if she could cancel his cards, find him another phone and some clothes to wear, and she said she didn’t think she could do that without his permission. I suppose that’s reasonable. When she comes, she can see how he is for herself. I gave her my mobile number and she’s promised to keep in touch.’

  Leon was wearing a hospital gown and nothing else. Piers frowned. ‘He doesn’t look too good. Have they pumped him out?’

  ‘Yes. He’ll have a sore throat when he comes round. At first they thought we were both drunk. Understandable. So they breathalysed me and took blood samples from him. I was way under the limit, which made them more inclined to believe me when I said we’d been drugged. If they knew what we’d been given, it would be a help. They say we did the right thing, coming in to hospital straight away. Everyone reacts differently to drugs. As you can see, I’m more or less all right.’

  ‘You look pretty awful.’

  She tried to smile. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Yes, well. You’ll bounce back. You always do.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Are you ready for the bad news?’

  She steeled herself. ‘The house?’

  ‘The firemen were still there when I arrived, coiling up their hoses and all that. They had to break in the front door to deal with the flames at the back of the house, which meant they’d had to cut off the alarm, too. I told them you’d landed up in hospital. I showed them my keys and told them the code for the alarm, which convinced them I could be trusted to a certain extent, so they let me go in to fetch some clothes for you, under supervision. I had to itemize and sign for them. Nobody has been in, as far as I could make out.’

  He shot her a wary glance. ‘The agency office in the basement was flooded with water, which means that the electrics for the whole house are out. They turned off the gas, too. The fire officer said it looks as though someone tried to break through the French windows into your office at the back but couldn’t get past the locked grille inside. So they chucked a can of an accelerant, paraffin or the like, into the room and threw a match in after it. The curtains inside caught fire which spread via the carpet to your chair and desk.

  ‘The flames might have got much further into the building if the door to the main office hadn’t been closed, and what with that and the sprinkler system, the damage was contained. Forget your office. It is no more. The big office where the girls sit is mostly out of commission but the house itself is safe. The flames went up the back of the building but burned themselves out without causing too much damage. I’m afraid the firemen caused more damage by putting out the fire than the fire did itself.’

  Bea let his words sink in. Her house, her beautiful house. Her home. Her refuge from the world. And the agency, which was her life. She made no comment. She was not going to cry again. But what of Winston, her much-loved, difficult, food-stealing cat? Had he perished in the flames? Almost she broke at the thought. Somehow she must hang on to the hope that he’d survived.

  He sighed. ‘That’s the bad news. The good news is that although the hall is a mess and the agency rooms unusable, the rest of the house is OK, apart from smelling of fire. Even the kitchen doesn’t look too bad, though the back door is almost burned through and you’ll need to replace that and the glass in the windows at the back.’

  Bea tried to smile. ‘Thank you, Piers. You’ve done wonders. I think the plan was to take my keys and break into my house while I was out for the count. I’m a bit hazy about who did what to me, but I heard a man’s voice – a young man, I think – enquiring about my purse. I suppose they thought they could get into the house through the garden, but when they tried my house keys, they realized they wouldn’t work on the doors into the agency at the back. I don’t carry those keys around with me. So they decided to break the window and set a fire instead. It doesn’t matter.’

  Houses can be replaced. Leon can’t.

  Piers pinched in his lips. ‘The firemen did a temporary repair job on the front door, which means no one can get in at the moment. You’ll have to get a builder on the job first thing tomorrow. You can sleep at my place tonight. I couldn’t cancel your credit cards, since I don’t know which bank you’re using and they wouldn’t accept my say-so, anyway.’

  ‘Bless you, Piers.’ She continued to hold on to Leon’s hand, and he continued to sleep.

  Piers stroked his chin, already dark at this time of the evening. ‘Do you want to phone Max?’

  She shook her head, and he didn’t press it. Max, their son, was a hard-working, self-important but self-centred Member of Parliament, who would not wish to be bothered with other people’s troubles. She said, ‘Parliament’s in recess, isn’t it? He’ll be back up north in his constituency. I’ll ring him tomorrow.’

  Piers folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. ‘My successor in your life doesn’t look too chipper at the moment, does he? You know he’s asked me to paint you?’

  Bea shot him a frown. How irrelevant was that!

  Piers grinned. ‘I told him I’d been meaning to get round to it for years. And, looking me straight in the eye, all mild-like, he said that this time I was going to manage it. And, would you believe, I found myself saying that I would?’

  Silence.

  ‘Well, what do you know!’ said Piers, mock serious. ‘I make a play for his woman, and he doesn’t even have the courtesy to wake up and challenge me for possession!’

  Saturday night to Sunday morning

  Leon failed to regain consciousness. The doctor said Leon had to stay in overnight.

  Bea didn’t feel any too good herself, but they said she could leave if she wished to do so. She didn’t wish. She wanted to stay beside Leon’s bed, holding his hand. But, as the minutes ticked on, she began to fret. Someone had launched an attack on Leon and it had almost succeeded. Why? She could feel in her bones that things were happening out in the great wide world and that time was of the essence, but she couldn’t think what action to take.

  Perhaps Zoe would know?

  Piers decided to stay with Bea, and every now and then he tried to contact Zoe, whose phone was solidly engaged.

  Saturday night in Casualty meant drunks, druggies and accidents. Also, two stabbings and a shooting. Noise. Confusion. People screaming, blood; paramedics, doctors, nurses working flat out. The police moved in and out of the chaos, taking notes, trying to record what had happened to this person or that.

  When they got round to her, Bea told the police that they’d become ill after attending a party. Perhaps they’d eaten or drunk something that had disagreed with them? Perhaps a silly prank on someone’s part? The police asked if Bea and Leon wanted to take the matter further and said that, if so, they should report to the police the following day.

  Bea changed into the blue cashmere sweater and jeans which Piers had brought her, together with a pair of brogues. Fortunately, Piers had a good eye for colour, and she felt comfortable in these clothes. They didn’t smell too much of the fire, either. She only wished he’d thought to bring her some makeup, too. She thought she looked a shadow of her usual self, but Piers didn’t comment.

  At last, Zoe arrived. Thin, perhaps over-thin, she was exactly as Leon had described; fortyis
h, tough and humourless. She didn’t look a happy bunny, but then who would want to visit an Accident and Emergency ward on a Saturday night? Her manner was chilly to freezing. ‘Sir Leon? How is he?’

  Leon didn’t stir, even when Bea pressed his hand and called his name.

  Zoe narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What happened?’

  Bea shrugged. ‘We went to Admiral Payne’s drinks party. We were separated. I was given a spiked drink. Someone tried to pose me with my skirt up around my waist, for a photograph. I could hear them talking but I couldn’t move. A light fused and while they were trying to deal with that, I went looking for Leon. I found him in his garden next door, deeply asleep. I couldn’t rouse him. I got some of the waiting staff to smuggle us both out, and to call us an ambulance. We were not drunk. The hospital checked. They pumped Leon out. They say he’ll come round in due course, but …’ Her voice broke.

  Zoe, tight-lipped, said, ‘His face is scratched.’

  Bea shrugged. ‘His clothes were torn, as well. He must have struggled to get away.’

  Zoe’s expression indicated that she was not amused by the situation. ‘I really don’t know what to think. At seven this evening a reporter rang to ask Sir Leon to comment on a news item that is due to hit the headlines tomorrow. His story is that Sir Leon had been arrested for molesting an under-aged girl at a party.’ Her manner indicated that she was more than halfway to believing it, and for two pins she’d resign her post.

  ‘What!’ Piers guffawed, then saw that Zoe was serious.

  Bea clutched her head. ‘I’m beginning to see. We were drugged and set up to be photographed in compromising situations. That’s why Leon’s face was scratched. They used the Admiral’s granddaughter – who is, incidentally, quite something, but not under-age, no, not by a long chalk – to lure him into a honey-trap. She’s got Leon’s DNA under her fingernails, and they’re holding that as evidence against him!’

  ‘Ouch!’ Piers was quick on the uptake.

  Bea looked at Zoe. ‘What did you tell the reporter?’