False Wall

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Yes, a warrant is out for the murderer’s arrest, but she and her husband have fled the country.’

  ‘You should have told me.’

  She held her tongue with an effort. She’d tried to keep him updated, hadn’t she?

  She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  He said, ‘I don’t fancy living in a house which hides such a dark secret.’

  It wasn’t that house which had hidden a secret. But any excuse would do. He’s backing out of the deal.

  She said, ‘You planned to head up a worthwhile charity which had been going through a bad time. You said their offices were going to be in the basement of your new house.’

  ‘I’ve been rethinking.’

  ‘You’ve decided against going into the charity business.’

  ‘Well, maybe. I’ve been asked on to the board of a firm investing in IT devices for the future. Exciting.’

  Bea almost bit her tongue. Zoe was going to divert him from charity work because there wasn’t enough kudos in it? Or because she hadn’t suggested it?

  He said, ‘In fact, I’ve had an offer, an excellent offer, for the house as it stands. From some Middle Eastern oil potentate. They want my house and the one next to it, to throw into one. I’m considering it. A nice profit, and what do I need with something so large? I’ve been looking at some penthouses in the City. They’re amazing. Stupendous views. I’ll have to take on a housekeeper.’

  She stiffened. I didn’t see that coming. Will Mona be pleased to have an offer for her house? Possibly.

  How do I feel about him selling a house he’d bought only to be closer to me? I’m … devastated? Angry because he didn’t consult me? Heartbroken? No, not that, but … upset.

  He was waiting for a reaction from her. She kept the lemon out of her voice. ‘Congratulations. I’m sure Zoe can provide a housekeeper for you.’

  ‘She did suggest someone. I’ve met her. Thirtyish, blonde, victim of an abusive first husband, ready to start tomorrow.’ He turned away from the windows, but didn’t meet her eyes. ‘You think I can’t see the trap, but I can.’

  ‘It’s baited with honey.’ She took a deep breath. She must not show hurt or jealousy. ‘It seems to me that you are at a crossroads. On the one hand you can live in a gilded cage, cushioned from the world by your money, with a staff who will fulfil your every whim. Perhaps you will marry someone suitable from this world. If you do …’ She tried not to grind her teeth. ‘If you do, I’ll … I’ll send you a cheque.’

  He looked shocked … and then spurted into laughter. ‘I deserved that, didn’t I? On the other hand, I suppose you would say that I could choose to rejoin the human race and suffer blood, sweat and tears like the rest of humanity.’

  He had intended to take over/join a charity whose officers had been shown up as incompetent, if not corrupt. It would have been a mammoth task to clean it up and set it on a new footing, but he’d been prepared to do it before all this happened.

  She said, ‘I suppose there’d be the usual business lunches and expenses if you decided to go into charity work but, if I know you, you’d want to do it properly. To go the extra mile. People will call on you at inappropriate hours; they’ll traipse mud – figuratively and physically – all over your nice clean carpets. You’ll be misunderstood by the press and your staff will go off sick at the most inconvenient moments. You’ll wonder, at the end of the day, whether you have made the slightest difference to the world. You’ll waste energy trying to help people who want your money but won’t lift a finger to help themselves. You’ll miss meals because you stopped to listen to someone in trouble. You’ll lose weight.’

  He was smiling, if wryly. ‘A consummation devoutly to be wished, wouldn’t you say?’ His smile faded. ‘I lost sight of the ball, didn’t I? I was tired. Feeling my age.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I understand.’ And she did. She looked at the ruby. ‘I’m sorry I overreacted about the ring. I did tell you once that I didn’t care for rubies, but you weren’t listening, and I knew you weren’t listening. It’s a beautiful ring.’

  ‘But not for you?’

  ‘Buy me a tree for the garden. Something that fits in with my lifestyle.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, you don’t even need to do that. Because my staff have been using my kitchen here as well as my living room, and they’re so grateful about keeping their jobs, they’ve clubbed together to re-stock the garden and my freezer! Amazing!’

  ‘You really don’t want a ring?’

  ‘Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Perhaps I’m too old. I don’t know.’

  Someone rang the doorbell. Someone who intended to be admitted.

  Bea said, ‘Your chauffeur? Or Zoe? Or both?’

  He subsided into a chair and stretched out his legs before him. ‘This is your house. It’s more likely to be someone visiting you. Piers or Oliver. Or, what-his-name, your last tenant, the one with the orange trousers. Whatever happened to him? It’s your house, and your front-door bell. You answer it.’

  Was he opting out? Letting her decide his future? ‘My instinct tells me it’s for you and, if so, you are going to have to deal with it.’

  ‘Whatever. You’ll have dinner with me afterwards?’

  ‘No, but I’ll see if there’s anything in the freezer I can microwave for you, if you like.’

  He picked up the day’s newspaper and hid behind it. Just like a man!

  She went downstairs and opened the front door. She’d guessed correctly. There in the porch stood Zoe, wearing a sweet little black dress and a determined expression. At her side was a willowy blonde with a lot of teased-out fair hair which had recently had some extensions added so that it tumbled forward over her astonishing cleavage. The girl was wearing, just, a gold and white strapless tube that was two sizes too small for her, held up by willpower and a heavily underwired bra. She was also wearing a lot of luscious red lipstick on her pouting, Botoxed mouth.

  ‘Yes?’ said Bea, in a voice loud enough for it carry up the stairs to the first floor.

  ‘He’s late for his surprise party!’ said Zoe, thrusting Bea out of her way. She turned into the office. ‘Oh, but …’

  ‘He’s upstairs,’ said Bea, looking up and down the street to see if Leon’s chauffeur was still hanging around. And yes, he was. Which meant he’d disobeyed Leon’s instructions to go home. Which meant he was for the chop … probably.

  ‘Yoohoo, Leon!’ The blonde tottered up the stairs. Heels too high. Ditto skirt. She wasn’t wearing any pants, was she? Perhaps a thong?

  ‘Surprise!’ trilled Zoe, locating the right room at last. ‘To celebrate! Our treat! And of course Mrs Abbot must come, too, if she’s not too tired.’

  Translation: if she’s not too old and decrepit.

  Leon had taken off his tie and opened the top button of his shirt. A good move to show he felt at home here, but these two were going to take some getting rid of. He stood up as they came in, folding the newspaper, frowning.

  Zoe wagged her finger at him. ‘It’s been in the diary for days.’ She had a tiny camera in her hand.

  What for?

  The pneumatic Blondie cast herself on Leon’s chest and clung around his neck. ‘Aargh!’ Bea dived forward, knocking Zoe off balance.

  Flash! But, the camera had ended up pointing at the ceiling.

  ‘Oops!’ Bea held on to Zoe, to regain her balance. ‘So sorry. I caught my heel in the rug.’ There was no rug, and she was wearing medium heels.

  Leon twisted around, dropped the paper, and unhooked Blondie’s arms. She tried to cling to his arm, and he dropped her on to her bottom on the floor with a thump.

  Heavy breathing all round. Cross expressions.

  Leon said, ‘Zoe, I think you have my spare phone. Would you let me have it for a moment?’

  Zoe placed her handbag behind her.

  Bea reached behind the woman, opened her handbag, and picked out a couple of the latest phones. ‘This one? Or this?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,
’ said Leon. ‘They’re both owned by the company.’

  Zoe snatched at one and missed. ‘You can’t …!’

  ‘No,’ said Leon, ‘you can’t.’ He clicked one phone on. Listened to Bea’s voice asking for him, and then leaving a message. Clicked the other phone on. Looked at the list of recent phone calls. Bea remembered how good he was at remembering phone numbers. He only had to see them once to recognize them. He said, ‘Zoe, I believe you gave Mrs Abbot the wrong number on which to contact me. A foolish mistake.’

  ‘Did I? I certainly didn’t mean to do so. If she thought there was something wrong, she should have queried it.’

  ‘And I see your recent phone calls include the managing agents for the penthouse I’ve been thinking about buying, and for my house in the next street. These calls could be legitimate but I do wonder … if I contact them, will they confirm you are getting a commission on both sales?’

  Zoe blustered. ‘That is normal procedure.’

  Leon sighed. ‘Bea, will you see if she’s got any office keys on her? They’ll be on a ring with a lion tag.’

  Zoe made a convulsive movement as if to hug her bag to her, then shrugged and handed it over.

  Bea found the keys with the lion tag on them, and held them up for Leon to see.

  Leon said, ‘Zoe, I’m keeping the keys and the phones because they belong to me. Don’t bother to come into the office tomorrow. If you have any personal property there, I’ll have it bagged up and sent on to you. I will also send you a cheque for three months’ pay in lieu of notice. Understood?’

  Zoe went pale. ‘I was only thinking of your best interests.’

  ‘That’s for me to decide, not you. Now please remove this girl you’ve brought with you, and tell my chauffeur I’ll speak to him in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, Auntie!’ Blondie was in tears, which didn’t improve her looks. ‘I thought you said …’

  Bea had had enough. ‘Let me show you out.’ And did so, bolting the front door after them.

  She went into the kitchen and started to rummage in the freezer. She called out, ‘My staff have been bringing me home-cooked dishes to save me trouble. I don’t know who cooked what. Would cottage pie and frozen peas do you?’

  ‘Ah, domesticity.’ He reappeared, with the newspaper, and settled down in the kitchen to read it. ‘As I’ve said before, why don’t you take the Financial Times?’

  ‘Perhaps because I don’t read it? Why don’t you get it on your iPad?’ She checked the microwave timings.

  ‘You do realize I now have nowhere to lay my head? May I stay the night here?’

  ‘Certainly not. And you must be living somewhere. What about your flat in the Barbican? No, wait a minute, you’ve got a suite in a hotel somewhere.’

  ‘It’s cold and impersonal.’

  ‘That’s an easy problem to solve. Throw some money at it.’

  He laughed, and concentrated on reading the paper.

  She put the cottage pie and the peas on the table and served up. She tasted and chewed. Frowned. Whoever had made it … not Betty?… hadn’t been a particularly good cook.

  He said, ‘Perhaps some ketchup with it?’

  She pushed it aside. ‘Tell you what, let’s go out for supper, shall we? There’s plenty of good restaurants locally. You can choose. I’ll dispose of this in the recycling box, to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings.’

  NINETEEN

  Later that month

  The specialist bricklayers had almost finished sorting the fallen bricks into ‘discard’ and ‘reuse’ piles. Palettes of reclaimed bricks had been delivered to make up for those which had been lost. The workmen had dug out the channels for the new footings, and soon the new walls would prevent Bea from stepping from her garden and into Mona’s, but on that particular day it was still possible to do so. There had been a lot of argument about replacing or not replacing the wall between Mona’s house and the one which had belonged to Leon, because the new buyer was going to throw the two houses – and gardens – into one. So, for the moment, that part of the rebuild was on hold.

  Bea stepped carefully across the newly dug foundations ‘ditch’ and made it safely to the table in Mona’s garden. The two women had fallen into the habit of having coffee or tea with one another whenever they could snatch a moment in their busy lives, but this was the first opportunity they’d had to meet for over a week.

  Today, as Bea approached, she smelled wood smoke from a sluggish bonfire. A heap of the torn-down ivy plants which had strangled the wall for so long, were being incinerated. Householders were not supposed to light bonfires in London, but no one seemed to have objected, yet.

  Mona was struggling to put up a striped umbrella over a rickety table. Bea helped her. Neither umbrella, nor table, nor the chairs around it were in the first flush of youth, and looked as if they had been playing ‘house’ with spiders in the shed. Mona was wearing an old sun top and a rather decrepit pair of Bermuda shorts. Bea was in office gear.

  ‘Instant coffee,’ said Mona. ‘Milk, no sugar?’

  ‘Bless you.’ Bea produced a tin of biscuits. ‘Somebody’s home-made shortbread biscuits. Not bad.’

  Mona said, ‘Neither of my husbands could get enough of the sun. Personally, I turn red rather than brown.’ She seated herself in the shade.

  Bea closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun. ‘Ten minutes, and I’m happy. After that, I’ll join you.’

  They sipped coffee, and ate a biscuit each.

  Mona said, ‘How’s it going?’

  Bea shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘Leon’s buying a pretty little town house not far away. In a small close. It’s nothing like the grand penthouse suites or the mansions he was looking at before. Much cosier. More realistic. There’s a loft conversion for his office and bedrooms en suite for his elder sister – the one who mostly lives in America – and for his great-niece for their holidays. The girl’s going to boarding school here in the autumn. They’re both over here now, alternately cuddling Dilys’s baby and “helping” Leon to decide on decorating and what furniture he needs to buy for it. Their interference was driving him frantic, so he’s handed the project over to Maggie to manage. He wants a new kitchen. He says he intends to learn how to cook.’

  Both women smiled at that.

  Bea said, ‘I think he’s finally worked out what having a family means. He’s been to visit Dilys and held her little boy for five minutes, which is one minute more than I’d expected. But he’s besotted with Maggie’s Abby; carries her around and coos at her. I’m amazed!’

  ‘And what will he do to pass the time of day?’

  ‘I really don’t know. I don’t think he does, either. He’s had offers …’ A shrug. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m signing the contract for this place next week, and moving into the same block as Penelope. It’s a nice, sunny flat, and there’s a balcony to sit out on when the weather’s good. There’s only two bedrooms, one for me and one for Rollo in the holidays. You must come round and see it when I’m in.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  They relaxed. So much had happened over the past few months. So much was still going on. The Admiral and Edith had turned up in Jamaica. Despite the fact that they must have known Mona’s phone was being tapped, Edith rang her sister every few days begging her to send them some money, saying it wasn’t her fault, and so on and so forth. Mona had refused and told Edith to return to face the music, but they hadn’t done so, and probably wouldn’t till either their money ran out or the police succeed in getting them extradited, whichever was the soonest.

  Bea held out the biscuit tin to Mona, and took another herself. ‘Has Edith actually admitted killing your husband in any of her phone calls?’

  ‘A couple of days ago, yes. And the police recorded it. She says it was an accident. She tried to throw him out, he took a swing at her, she reciprocated, he stepped backwards, fell and cracked his head against the bottom step in the hall. The police have actually found tr
aces of blood there. After all this time. Who’d have believed it?’

  ‘Did the Admiral admit to having helped Edith bury the body?’

  ‘He says “no”. She says he did. I tend to believe her. It’ll be manslaughter, I expect. I don’t suppose she’ll have to serve much time, if any, due to her age and so on, but …’ She shrugged. ‘As for him, even if he’s convicted, as he’s a first-time offender, he probably won’t even get a custodial sentence.’

  They considered this. Bea said, ‘But, if what Oliver tells me is true, he’s lost a packet by backing the wrong horse on the stock market.’

  Mona took another biscuit, brushing crumbs from her top as she did so. ‘Edith says he’s gambled away his pension.’

  ‘How … satisfying,’ said Bea.

  ‘They won’t have much to live on when and if they return,’ said Mona. ‘A council flat, perhaps? Living on an old-age pension?’

  ‘What about his car? It was an expensive one, as I recall.’

  ‘They left it in the airport long-stay car park. Edith wanted me to retrieve it, sell it and send them the money. I knew it was a leased car because I’d had to come up with the monthly payments for them now and then. They were in arrears on it, so I told the finance company what had happened, and they’ve repossessed it.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Bea was slightly surprised that Mona had held out against Edith’s demands so well. ‘It’s a pity we couldn’t get them on their plan to entrap Leon – but, as he can’t really remember much about that evening, and as the only evidence we have is the hospital records saying he was drugged … well, I can understand why the police think it’s safer to concentrate on the long-ago murder – or manslaughter – or whatever it might actually have been.’

  If the envelope containing the evidence Venetia had taken ever came to light, it would be a different matter, but Rollo had said it had been destroyed, and perhaps it was best to leave it that way. Unless, of course, Venetia tried to bring it up some time, or Rollo did?

  Bea didn’t want to think about that. She moved round the table into the shade. ‘What’s the latest on the children?’