She looked across the barbed-wire barrier into Leon’s garden. As Anna had said, the police tent had gone. The scaffolding still cladding the exterior couldn’t mask the fact that the house was a perfect example of its kind. Bea could move over there tomorrow with all mod cons laid on.
His garden was an eyesore. Nothing had been done to it for years. The builders had left some odd planks and bags of rubble behind, plus a metal drum or two, which didn’t improve things. There were mounds of earth here and there, from which bones – human and otherwise – had been excavated.
The human bones had probably been there for longer than anyone currently living in these houses. In any case, they had nothing to do with Bea.
She switched her eyes across the tumble of bricks into the Admiral’s garden. Their shed still stood, in a manner of speaking, leaning to the left and covered with ivy. The back of their house, by contrast with the gleaming new paint that coated Leon’s house, looked shabby. There were lights on in the basement flat, and the flicker of television on two of the other floors.
They were not nice neighbours to have, but you couldn’t choose your neighbours, could you?
‘I’m not moving,’ said Bea. ‘They want to drive me out of my house, to destroy my living and my credit, and I’m not going. I know restoration will be difficult and time-consuming and drive me to distraction. I shall probably regret staying many times before the house is back to normal. But I’m not moving.’
‘Good,’ said Anna. ‘I was playing devil’s advocate. I’m glad you’re not giving in. Do you have the slightest idea why you’ve been targeted?’
‘At first I thought everything that happened – the invitation to the party, the drugs, the “evidence” collected against us – was directed at discrediting Leon and upsetting this important sale he’s masterminding in the Far East. I thought the Admiral must have a financial interest in the sale not going through, because it looks as though he could do with an injection of cash. His house has been neglected and he seems to be the head of a large family. Greed is a powerful motive. I’m sure that that is partly what it is about, but it doesn’t explain why I and my house should have been targeted, too.’
Anna wasn’t sure, either. ‘To isolate Leon from his support group?’
‘Y-yes. There is that. I can also go along with the youngsters stealing my watch, misusing my phone and my makeup out of sheer deviltry. I know that some rich young things think they’re entitled to have fun at other people’s expense. They aren’t, of course. But they think they are. But why torch my house? Because they want me to be in so much trouble that they can blame me for the fall of the wall as well? No. No insurance investigator is going to stick me for responsibility for the wall once he’s seen the evidence. I think that the wall was pure accident, or pure stupidity … not sure which. I lean towards stupidity. Someone who didn’t know what they were doing had a go at the ivy and brought the lot down. The tree falling was collateral damage. Neither was intentional. But, torching my house was intentional. Why?’
‘The youngsters heard that the adults were out to get you, so thought it would be fun to make you suffer?’
‘Why didn’t they target Leon’s house, then? The party wall was down. There was no reason why they shouldn’t have thrown paraffin in that direction, too.’
Piers said, ‘Ah yes, but that fire might have spread to their own house, and they wouldn’t risk that.’
Hari said, ‘Where did they get the paraffin? Do you normally keep a can of paraffin around the house? I do because I use it when I’m painting. I buy it at a hardware store, and keep it in a locked container well away from my living quarters. But why did they have some?’
Bea opened her mouth to say she’d seen something, somewhere, which was relevant, but closed it again because she couldn’t bring it to mind.
Shrugs all round.
Piers leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. He quirked his eyebrows. ‘In my opinion, they thought you were the easier target. They thought that if they got you on the run, Leon wouldn’t have time to pursue the problems at his end. Only, Leon decided to attend to his business and left you to cope on your own.’
Anna and Hari froze. They’d been thinking the same thing? It mirrored what Bea had been thinking, of course. Leon had run away and left her to deal with a terrible mess. Yes, he had his own war to fight on another front, but … No, she must not be judgmental. She looked at her watch. He’d promised to ring her that evening. Perhaps he’d tried and she’d been on the phone. But he could have left a message, couldn’t he? That’s what she’d done when she’d rung his number and it had been engaged.
Meanwhile, she had to get on with her life.
Piers looked up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know exactly how you’re fixed, Bea, but if a sub would help …?’
She was so touched she wanted to cry. Instead, she managed a smile. ‘Thank you, but the insurance should cover everything and the agency really is doing well at the moment.’
Anna pushed her empty plate away. There were empty plates and dirty mugs everywhere.
Is the dishwasher working? If not, how am I going to wash up with cold water? I suppose I have to boil kettles. Ugh.
Anna said, ‘I’m trying to think what I’d do next if I wanted to upset you. You’ve lost your landline telephone, the electricity and the gas, but that’s collateral damage from the fire. The baddies – whoever they are, and I suppose we mustn’t name them without proof – didn’t target those things directly.’
Bea’s phone pinged once more. She’d turned it over to voicemail during supper, which had probably been a mistake. She might have missed Leon’s call. But it wasn’t Leon’s voice on the phone.
It was Zoe’s voice, icy cold. ‘So there you are! I’ve been ringing and ringing. Every time I’ve tried, you’re engaged or you’re switched off. Didn’t you realize I’d be waiting to talk to you about moving into Sir Leon’s house?’
‘Sorry. Problems. He said he’d give me his new phone number.’
‘Yes, of course. Have you pen and paper?’ An exasperated sigh indicating that she didn’t think Bea was organized well enough to find some. Actually, at that moment, Zoe was right.
Bea hooked the calendar off the wall and scrabbled for a pen in the mug where they kept the odd screwdriver, some biros and a bottle opener. ‘Go ahead.’
Zoe dictated the number. ‘You won’t catch him yet. He’s in a meeting and not to be interrupted. However, I’ve been in touch with the police and they don’t want anyone to move into his house till they’ve decided whether they need a forensic search in there or not.’
Bea started to speak, ‘But—’
‘Please don’t interrupt. I have only a limited time in which to speak to you. Because his house will not be available for a while, Sir Leon is leaving Switzerland for Brussels later this evening, and he’d like you to join him there. From Brussels he intends to leave for Dubai in two days’ time. He suggests you travel light as you can obtain whatever clothes and cosmetics you require in the hotel. I am arranging to courier your tickets to—’
‘Stop!’ What was this? Was Leon trying to carry her off round the world as a sort of adjunct to him? As a companion or as a mistress? Without discussing this with her, or asking her opinion?
Bea repeated, ‘Stop. I can’t leave. I’m staying put. I have work to do at this end. I will be happy to talk to him about it when he has a minute to spare. Perhaps you can ask him to ring me when he has a moment?’
Heavy breathing from the other end. ‘You don’t wish to accept his very generous offer?’ Incredulous. Offended? Yes, both.
Bea said, ‘It is a kind and generous offer but I have responsibilities here which I can’t ignore.’
‘I don’t understand you.’ Hard and judgmental. ‘Sir Leon is the most generous and kindly of men and he is anxious to help you out of your present difficulties. He will pay for you to take a well-earned break from the agency, which means he can h
ave the pleasure of your company while he deals with the fall-out from his own financial crisis. Am I to inform him that you consider your affairs more important than his?’
A trick question. Whichever way it was answered, Bea would be in trouble. She could say, ‘Give him my love,’ and leave it at that. However, as of that very moment, she didn’t want to send him her love. She wanted to hit him over the head with something large and lethal. And to do the same to Zoe. Bea controlled her temper with an effort. ‘I’m sure you already have a plan B.’
A short silence. Then, ‘Please don’t trouble yourself to ring back as Sir Leon needs me at his side.’ End of conversation.
Of course. If Bea declined to play games, then Zoe would step into the breach.
Bea found she was shaking. She checked her voicemail, noting there were other messages to deal with.
Piers watched her, his expression guarded. Anna and Hari flicked a glance at one another.
Anna owed her career to Leon’s generosity. Hari was a freelance who often worked for Leon as a security problem-solver and, occasionally, bodyguard. Neither of them would wish to upset Leon.
All three of them knew that Leon and Bea had talked of marriage.
Piers, however, had no particular reason to wish Leon well. In fact, Piers was now hiding a grin. Horrid boy!
Someone – probably Dilys, who thought such touches were important – had rescued a single red geranium from the shattered planters down in the garden, and placed it in a wine glass on the table top. The breeze from the open kitchen door stirred its petals. There was still dirt and grime in the air, but the flower spoke of revival. It seemed to say that the fall of the wall hadn’t destroyed everything good, and that a plant, though crushed, would bloom again. Perhaps Dilys had the right idea.
Anna flicked a glance at her own phone, lying on the table. Doubtless there were also messages there, awaiting her attention.
Hari’s phone buzzed. He looked down at it, and killed the call.
Bea tried to sound positive. ‘My dears, you have all been beyond wonderful today. I don’t know what I would have done without you. But really, I am quite all right now, and you must start thinking of yourselves. Anna, you have to be at work tomorrow bright and early, and so, I’m sure, has Hari. Piers, before you go, if you could tidy up your painting materials and stack them in the sitting room upstairs? My lodger will be back soon.’
‘And you?’ said Hari.
She managed a smile of sorts. ‘I’m going to change out of these filthy clothes and call on the Admiral and his lady. I want to claim my watch back, and I want to stir the pot till the scum floats to the surface.’
‘You’re not going alone,’ said Anna. ‘Hari?’
‘No need to bother Hari. I’ll come with you,’ said Piers. ‘I want another look at that painting of theirs which is supposed to be a Lenkiewicz and isn’t. Also, I think I spotted a pseudo-Sargent hanging in the hall. I’ll bet my bottom dollar it’s another fake.’
‘Hari, how about you?’ Anna repeated.
Hari twitched her a grin. ‘You know what I’m going to do. You go home and get ready for tomorrow. I’m staying put.’
Everyone looked at Hari’s phone.
Bea said, ‘You have had a summons on your phone from Leon asking you to take on another job? Perhaps to follow him to Brussels?’
A smooth reply. ‘I’ve recommended someone else.’
Anna worried at her bottom lip. ‘He does pay you well to—’
‘I’m freelance. He pays me by the job. I am unable to help him this time as I have a prior engagement to Mrs A. You’d do the same if you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you, Anna?’ He fixed his eyes on her face. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely sure which way she’d jump?
She nodded. ‘Yes, I would. Leon has been generous to me; he’s helped me forward my career. But Bea is my friend.’
The rather hard lines of Hari’s face relaxed. He nodded. Anna had come through, as he’d hoped she would.
Piers did a double-take. ‘Blow me! Hari, do you mean he’s already been on to you, asking you to abandon Bea and fly out to guard his back?’
‘Leon’s frightened,’ said Bea, excusing him, ‘but unwilling to admit it, even to himself.’
Hari said, ‘The danger’s here, not there.’
Everyone nodded.
Anna said, ‘I agree. But why?’
Bea sighed. ‘I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is that the Admiral believes I shouldn’t be running an agency in what is predominantly a residential district, even to the point that he’s raising the matter at a Council Meeting. But I really can’t see why he should bother. In the first place, my dear Hamilton’s aunts started the agency long before he or I was born and, so far as I know, nobody has raised an objection since. In the second place, the woman who sold Leon that house ran a charity there for years, which is one of the reasons he wanted the place for himself. I’m not sure how far negoti-ations have advanced, but he was negotiating to take on the directorship of a well-established charity which had rather lost its way recently, and he went through all the right channels to make sure he could run it at his new house before he closed the deal. So why is the Admiral complaining about the agency now?’
‘Then it must be something to do with the walls falling down?’
‘I can’t see why? Can anyone else think of a reason why I should be targeted?’
No one could.
‘Well, Mrs A,’ said Hari, ‘if you want to walk into the lions’ den, we should take precautions. It won’t be dark for a couple of hours, and everyone at the Admiral’s house is still up and moving about, which means I can’t get into the house through the basement as I did before. Piers, if you take her over there, I’ll shadow you both from Leon’s garden. Keep your phone charged up and my phone number on dial. Then all you have to do to get me is to press the call button. Right? Mrs A, the same?’
Anna was indecisive. ‘Bea, I don’t like to leave you, but it’s true I do have a report to write for tomorrow. While you get changed, I’ll listen to the messages on your phone and either return them, or write you a note so that you can deal with them later. Then – you are right – I must go home. Hari, I shan’t go to bed tonight till I know you’ve got Bea safely back here and that nothing further has happened. Promise to ring me?’
‘Promise,’ said Hari, and the warmth in his eyes promised more than a pledge to keep her informed.
Bea braced herself to face the chaos upstairs. Hopefully she’d be able to get into her en suite though it was probably filthy with soot. Then her walk-in dressing room had a window overlooking the garden … if the window there had been broken, she could imagine the state her clothes would be in. But, fix on a smile and up we go! Pretend we don’t mind that there won’t be any quiet place to retire to tonight. She toiled her way up the stairs.
Piers called after her, ‘You’re sleeping in the spare room, right?’
Bea opened the door into what had been her bedroom, and gasped. Her bed had been dismantled and the parts set against the back wall while all the furniture from her sitting room below had been brought up and arranged in their usual positions. Even the pictures – even that wonderful portrait of Hamilton, her beloved husband – had been re-hung on the walls. The settees and the big chairs faced one another across the big television set, just as they had done down below; the lamps with their heavy china bases were in their usual places on the side tables; the card table was in the back window, with its own chair, placed so that she might play patience in the evenings and look down over the garden and up to the church spire.
Her very own quiet place. Her refuge from the world.
Tears welled up. She brushed them away.
Piers could be a right pain in the whatsit, but she recognized his hand here. He’d used his gifts to provide her with a replica of what she’d lost. It wasn’t perfect; the telly wouldn’t work as the power was off, and he hadn’t tried to move the big mirror over the fireplace or rep
licate the embrasures on either side of the fireplace, either … Well, there was no fireplace in this room … But she could sit here in comfort in the evenings. She could even entertain in a small way. It was good.
So she was sleeping in the spare room? Yes. Again, it wasn’t perfect. She would have to sleep on a different mattress, and there were two dressing tables crammed in side by side. But she could get at her cosmetics, and use the shower room and … she’d better get a move on!
First, a shower. The water was cold, but that didn’t matter. Much. Now, what should she wear for this important call on the Admiral and his lady? She settled on a soft willow-green top over a darker green skirt. Matching shoes.
A sparing hand with the makeup. It wouldn’t do to keep Piers waiting. He was the impatient sort and, anyway, she had to keep going, because if she once stopped and thought about taking a rest, she’d fall on to her bed and never get up again.
Her full-length mirror had been wedged into the space behind the door to the en suite, but she managed to squirm round to check that her skirt hung straight. Handbag. New keys. When would young Oliver arrive from Cornwall? He’d only have keys to the old lock … well, she’d deal with that later.
A squirt of perfume. She didn’t usually bother, but she needed all the help she could get this evening. Would Leon try to ring her while she was out? She wouldn’t want to take his call while she was across the way. Oh dear. Well, it couldn’t be helped.
On with the play.
Piers rang the bell at the Admiral’s house. The street lay basking in pleasure at the warmth of the evening sun. Next door Leon’s house gleamed expensively in its coat of fresh paint. The panes of old glass had been cleaned, within and without. The ground-floor windows had been fitted with roller blinds which had been pulled down to keep out the heat of the sun.
Bea remembered that it was a Sunday. Here in the street, some families were leaving after a weekend break spent in Town, piling into cars with their luggage, stowing away fractious children, kissing relatives goodbye with injunctions to ‘drive safely’. Others were returning to the city from a few days away in the country; younger professionals hauling tote bags along, bearing bags of goodies bought from farmers’ markets, rosily tanned, calling to one another with sharp voices, some on their phones even as they put their keys in the door of their houses.
False Wall Page 15
