False Wall

by Veronica Heley

  It did take time. When she’d finished, he said, ‘You’ve forgotten something. What’s all this about finding some human bones in Leon’s garden?’

  ‘I know very little about them. The builders turned up some bones, thought they were from the dogs that had been buried there over the years. It was a pets’ cemetery, with headstones for Fido, aged eighteen, at one time. I never went into the house or the garden, so I didn’t see them myself. The bones were old, but the builders thought they might be human and called in the police, who dug up all the bottom of the garden. Their tent was there for a while, but it’s gone now. Someone said that if the police were interested, they would want to dig up the drains and take up the floorboards at Leon’s house, but I can’t see that they’d bother since he’s had everything renewed. That’s all I know.’

  She thought back. ‘Leon asked me to find out something about the people who’d lived there years ago. Lady Payne did mention them. Something about her neighbour having had a husband who died at sea and that she’d then set up a charity in his memory. It did cross my mind to wonder if he hadn’t been lost at sea, and that it might be his bones in the garden, but I can’t see why she’d have buried him there. Isn’t there some sort of law about preventing proper burial? Anyway, dear Edith said the old lady has gone doolally, so there won’t be much point in questioning her about it. The police have all that in hand. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  Bea shrugged. ‘I don’t think she said.’

  ‘Do you know if your own particular contact in the police is involved in this?’

  ‘I haven’t heard from him for a while. He got overworked and took a long leave of absence. When he came back he applied for some kind of desk job, I don’t know what exactly. I haven’t seen him for a while. And no, I can’t talk to him about this. And I can’t go to the police because, if I do, it’ll come out that Leon was supposed to have abused Venetia … at least, I suppose it was Venetia. We’re hamstrung. Can’t move.’

  ‘Let me think over what you’ve said. Maybe I can come up with an idea or two.’

  ‘Leon,’ she said. ‘Hasn’t he rung yet?’

  He handed her over her phone. ‘No. You want to try him now?’

  Bea tried his new number and it went to voicemail. Again. So Leon was still busy. She left a short message for him to ring her when he was free.

  She relaxed, sliding down into the embrace of the settee. Leon, who had seemed so close to her, so much a part of her life, now seemed to have receded into the distance. He had his priorities and she had hers, and never the twain shall meet. She’d hoped they could bridge the gulf, but it seemed less and less likely as time went on. It was painful to accept this, but not as painful as she’d thought it would be. Perhaps she was just numb and couldn’t feel anything much any longer.

  She was startled when her phone rang. It wasn’t Leon, though. It was Zoe, his PA. ‘You rang, Mrs Abbot?’

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Zoe. I was trying to reach Sir Leon.’

  ‘He’s been asking after you. Where are you now?’

  ‘At home. Complications.’ How could she explain in two words?

  ‘Are you not coming out to join him? He’s expecting you.’

  ‘I have to get the agency back to work—’

  ‘Can’t you get someone else to see to it for you?’

  ‘Not really, no. Where is he now? Did he manage to find out what the link was between the Admiral and his business affairs?’

  ‘What? Oh. No. I think that was just last-minute jitters, someone starting a rumour without foundation. I don’t think the Admiral’s involved at all. It was just bad luck that Sir Leon fell sick with food poisoning at their party. No great harm done.’

  ‘But the hospital results showed that we were drugged, and didn’t you say that some reporter or other was on your track—’

  ‘Clearly, it was nothing. The sale’s going through, and Sir Leon is expecting you to be at his side when it does. So, how soon can you come?’

  ‘It’s tempting to think I can abandon everything here, but there’s the agency to consider.’

  ‘Yes, yes. He says you always think of others before yourself, but let’s put things into proportion, shall we? He understands that the agency is your pet baby, and has provided you with a living of sorts, but isn’t it time you thought of retiring? Or selling it? He suggested that he might buy it off you. You’ll have to close for a couple of months anyway, till you can get it up and running again, so why not take the opportunity to have a holiday while you’re at it?’

  ‘I can’t do that. I have a responsibility to my girls—’

  ‘And he has a responsibility for the jobs of thousands of people around the globe. You can’t compare the two.’

  That was a blow below the belt. Leon thought that his job was far more important than hers; that she should recognize their relative importance in life, and behave accordingly. It was a shock. And yet, she realized she ought to have seen it coming.

  ‘No,’ said Bea, slowly, reluctantly, knowing that her words would change their relationship for good. ‘I can’t throw away everything I’ve achieved, everything I’ve worked for, just because I could do with a holiday. That would be irresponsible of me.’

  ‘But Mrs Abbot—!’

  ‘Have fun. I’ll catch up with him when he gets back to London.’ She ended the call and dropped the phone. She felt dull and empty. She was going to regret refusing to fly out to him, wasn’t she? Yes, she would regret it, but she knew she’d regret it even more if she turned her back on everything that had made her what she was.

  ‘Good,’ said Oliver. ‘Now, I’ll get started, shall I?’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Finding out the connection between Admiral Payne and Leon.’

  She didn’t say that was an impossible task. Oliver was a bright lad, and if he thought he could do it, then that was exactly what he would do. She shook off her rug and stood up.

  ‘I’ve thought of something that I can do. I’m going to check back over all the phone calls that have been coming in for the agency, to see if there’s anything I’ve missed. I particularly want to find out who’s been spreading the word that the agency has gone kaput. Hopefully, that’ll lead us back to the Admiral or to Lady Payne.’

  THIRTEEN

  Sunday evening

  First, Bea made a list of all the phone calls that had come in since that morning. Some were from her staff. Anna and Betty had replied to all these, but Bea worked her way systematically down the list, checking that everyone knew exactly what was happening and that they would turn up on time tomorrow. She warned them that the main telephone line was still out of action, but confirmed that she’d reimburse anyone who used her mobile for work.

  Only Carrie seemed unsure about returning, citing a bad cold. Or flu. Or a failure of nerve?

  The other girls were excited and horrified by what had happened, but were anxious to keep their jobs and promised to be there on the dot. Two of them even offered to bring in food and bottled drinks! Bea told them she’d rescued some personal items and hoped they’d be all right, but that if they’d got damaged they must claim against her insurance … without going overboard to claim for a gold fountain pen when they’d only lost a cheap biro! Cue laughter from the girls.

  Then Bea started on the calls from customers and clients. There were ten of them. Again she worked her way down the list, reassuring everyone that the agency would be open again on the morrow, and that nothing would change in the way the agency would be operating. At the end of each call, she asked how they heard about the fire … and found two names cropping up time and again. Both had been on the phone to the agency’s customers, spreading the word that Bea was finished.

  And yes, Lady Payne was one. The other was Bea’s next-door neighbour, the one who’d been about to host a bridge party, and whose husband had wanted to go down and help Zander cut up the tree. I was a giant in those days. And t
hat woman had said the Admiral had told her to send all her bills to Bea. And so the story had gone full circle.

  The question remained: how had Lady Payne discovered the names of Bea’s customers? Ah. Of course. There were testimonials to good service on the agency website!

  Bea took the list to the back window.

  The daylight was definitely fading, even though the sky was still bright. Her garden was full of shadows, softening the wreckage caused by wall and tree. No birds sang. Nothing moved below.

  Across the ruined wall, Leon’s house stood stiff and silent, its windows blank. There were lights on in the Admiral’s house. No blinds had been lowered there, no curtains drawn. Television lights flickered. The youngsters passed in front of the windows on the top floor, drinking from cans. Beer? Probably. They didn’t seem to be going out …?

  What about the youngster – what was his name? Rollo? – who they’d said was too young to go clubbing with them? No, there he was, crossing one of the other bedroom windows. There was a flicker from a television set in his room, too.

  Bea lowered her gaze to the next floor down. That’s where the Admiral and his wife slept … and presumably their son and daughter-in-law on occasion? Two people who had the right to leave cosmetics and clothes in those rooms, anyway.

  The rooms on that floor were apparently unoccupied. The Paynes had either gone out, or were downstairs in the big sitting room, watching the telly, perhaps. Yes, the reception rooms on the ground floor were brightly lit, and yes, a telly light flickered there.

  Down in the basement there was also an overhead light and a telly on. Now, who was it who lived there? Lady Payne had said something about … her sister? An elderly relative? Bea didn’t know her name.

  Bea raised her eyes to the sky. No longer did the tree impede her view of the church spire, which was lit to burnished gold in the rays of the gradually sinking sun. A sign of hope?

  A few clouds hovered, way up high, touched with pink and gold. The wind had dropped.

  Dear Lord, such a beautiful evening. What a pity it is that we mortals spend our time fighting one another instead of enjoying the beauty of the world you made for us to live in.

  I stand here with my life in fragments around me but, looking at that sky, I am filled with wonder at your goodness to me. I cried to you for help, and you sent friends to stand by my side.

  From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

  She heard her name called from the kitchen, and went down to find Hari tacking some dark material over the back door and window. A bright bulb in a wire holder – powered by the generator? – illuminated the central unit and left the rest of the room in shadow.

  Oliver was crouched over his laptop, stroking his newly grown beard and looking pleased with himself. ‘Mrs A, I’ve found the Admiral. He sits on the board of a large number of companies, including one of the Holland Holdings companies. It’s not an international one, but some of his fellow board members also sit on the board of Holland Holdings International in the Far East. It would give him contact with people who might want to upset the sale for some reason. I’m going to dig a bit more, see if I can get the minutes of the last meetings …’

  Hari said, ‘I’ve suggested that Piers go home. He refuses. Does he always get into such a frenzy when he’s painting?’

  What a nuisance Piers could be! ‘So that’s why he wouldn’t move his stuff out of the lodger’s room! But surely the light’s fading for him now?’

  ‘He says he’s painting a door, which doesn’t make sense to me, but there … what do I know about painting? Do you want me to turf him out?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with him in a minute.’

  Hari tacked the last nail into place. ‘I’ve covered over the windows in your new office already so no one can see in. I’ll do your bedroom in a minute, and then the top of the house. The enemy will think the house empty if no lights show. I’ve fixed up a camera in the window of the front room focused on the water meter on the pavement outside, and another which will operate if anyone interferes with the wire I’ve strung across the back of the garden. I’ll sleep in here on the floor.’

  Bea knew better than to argue that he indulge himself by sleeping on a settee or in a bed. ‘You think they’ll try something else tonight?’

  ‘I trust you’ll get a good night’s sleep.’ As bland as milk chocolate.

  Meanwhile, a name and a face had slid into Bea’s head. Tippi van Dekker. Divorcée, remarried. Well connected. A gossip. She was one of the people who’d rung the agency in a state about a forthcoming party because Lady Payne had told her the agency had folded. Bea had glimpsed Tippi at the Admiral’s party on Friday night. Tippi might well have some gossip to relate. Tippi’s current husband was something in one of the ministries, wasn’t he? And lived not far away?

  Bea picked up her phone, and was fortunate enough to find Tippi at home. ‘Mrs van Dekker, it’s Bea Abbot here from the agency. I’m sorry to interrupt on a Sunday evening. But could you spare me a minute? Oh, no. Nothing to do with the arrangements for your party next month. That’s perfectly in order. I noticed you were at the Paynes’ party the other night and I wondered if I might ask you about them. You see, we’d never been invited before but …’

  A high, sweet voice with the very slightest rolling of ‘r’s and ‘l’s. ‘This is the perfect time to ring as I’ve been at home alone all day, feeling neglected. I am the archetypal golf widow. Hugo Payne put my husband up for this club, which is oh-so exclusive, and entered him for a tournament which has a big pot on the table, or wherever it is that they keep their pots. I tell myself it’s better being a golf widow than being dunned for gambling debts, which my last husband but one used to do, and I must say that this one never blenches at my credit card bills.’

  ‘Hugo Payne?’ said Bea, her heartbeat going into overdrive. ‘Lady Payne’s son?’

  ‘Got it in one. He’s secretary of a prestigious golf club somewhere in the Home Counties. I only went once. Everyone either looked at me as if I’d two heads, or tried to peer down my cleavage. I don’t know which is worse. You’ll hardly believe it, but they don’t allow women into the clubhouse until after eight or something equally antediluvian, although I gather there’s a number of members who are revolting – too, too amusing. But Hugo says he’s been fighting a rear-guard action to keep the women out. So, how do you know the Paynes?’

  ‘We’re neighbours. Our garden walls adjoin, and my friend Sir Leon Holland has bought the house next door to them.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s it. I must confess I was the teeniest bit surprised to see you there with the Big Bad Bear—’ did she mean Leon? – ‘though I must say I think he’s rather dishy, and we won’t talk about who’s sleeping in whose bed like Goldilocks, will we? You’ll bring him to my little party, won’t you?’

  Had Bea received an invitation? No. But she was going to be given one, so that she could take Leon along? Bea crossed her fingers. ‘So kind. At the moment we’re all at sixes and sevens, but—’

  ‘Yes, Edith said. As I told you earlier, she rang me to say you’d gone out of business. But you really haven’t, have you?’

  ‘Certainly not. Now, I’m not very well acquainted with all the members of the Payne family. Could you bear to sort them out for me? First there’s Edith, Lady Payne. She rules the roost, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Known her for ever. Our people come from the same village – squirearchy and all that. We even went to school together. Well, she was Head Girl in the sixth form when I started in the reception class. She got married while I was still at school. I remember going to her wedding. She had six bridesmaids and we all thought he was so handsome; well, it’s the uniform that does it, isn’t it? I don’t know whether you know it or not, but he’s only a Rear Admiral. He got made up for counting lifebelts or something equally banal. Born at the wrong time, never saw any real action at sea. Mind you, if you listened to Edith, you’d think he’d won every sea battle since Trafalgar. In my view, h
e’s a lightweight with a pretty moustache and beard. Oh, and a bottom-pincher. Retired long since. In naval terms, he’s a dinghy and she’s a battleship.’

  Bea spurted into laughter. ‘I like that. What about their son, Hugo? You say he’s the secretary of an exclusive golf club?’

  ‘That’s the beginning and end of him, my dear. A prestigious job that he can boast about but which doesn’t bring in much money. His wife is a wishy-washy creature, manages a dress shop which she’d like to pretend she owns, but doesn’t. They live in a pretty little town in Surrey, the sort that has a market every Friday which sells cheap clothes and plastic toys. Private school fees practically wiped them out and they’d been going to put the kids into state schools till the family came to the rescue. I would feel sorry for them if they didn’t put on such airs and graces. You should hear them boasting about their “town” house and their “little country cottage”. You’d think they owned the house in Kensington whereas they’re only allowed to stay there for the occasional night, and their “country cottage” – which is their main residence, by the way – is a hideous Victorian building that used to be a rectory conveniently situated halfway between the church – which has long fallen into disuse and been converted to flats – and the gates to the golf club.’

  ‘They were here for the party?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Fridays and Saturdays, all weekends, he has to be at the golf club, and she’d never miss a Saturday in the shop because that’s when they do their best trade.’