False Alarm (8 page)

In the sitting room, the furniture was slightly shabby but solid, most of it pre-war. With some reupholstering it would be good for another decade. The temperature in the room was warm, the windows hermetically sealed against draughts. Airless.

Mrs Emerson was called Lucy, and Mrs Kempton was Carrie-short-for-Caroline. Bea couldn't distinguish between the two, but perhaps that didn't matter since they spoke and thought as one. Perhaps they'd been friends from childhood?

Bea said, ‘You mentioned a flat on the ground floor that's up for sale—'

‘Probate hasn't been granted yet, but the word is that Sir Lucas will buy up the remainder of the lease. But the one opposite me—'

‘We must warn you it's not in good decorative condition because the removal people seemed to be there every other month. Tenants on short-term contracts, you know. Management level, moved around the world at a moment's notice. Carrie even said she wondered if a curse had been put upon it, though of course we don't believe in that sort of thing, do we? The people before last, such a pleasant couple, were posted to Manchester at short notice and had to sublet in a hurry—'

‘It's not that we pry, of course—'

‘But we couldn't help noticing, when we called on the new tenant, as of course we always do—'

‘To warn him about the end dryer in the basement which has never been satisfactory, and tell him about the caretaker who also does the cleaning but you have to speak
very
nicely to him because he takes offence at the slightest opportunity—'

‘And of course about keeping the noise down—'

Bea sat back and listened as coffee was poured into fine bone china cups and a plate of home-made shortbread biscuits was passed around. Carrie had a mole on her left cheek. Lucy had the larger bust. Or perhaps it was the other way round?

‘So you see,' they chorused, grey and brown eyes sparkling with what Bea could only think of as innocent malice, ‘he was warned.'

They both nodded.

‘More coffee?' asked their hostess. So she must be Lucy Emerson and the mother and grandmother of the children and young people in the silver-framed photographs lying around; two weddings, a christening and a degree ceremony.

‘I'd love some more coffee,' said Bea. ‘As you probably know, Lady Ossett's daughter lodges with me, so when I was asked to look out for a flat locally, I called round to see her, and she hinted . . . or perhaps you don't know about it? Am I right in thinking that Sir Lucas is taking a break from his marriage?'

Both nodded, heavy chins wobbling. ‘We hope it's not going to come to that, but—'

‘We did wonder, we did indeed. She says it's only temporary, but of course we know how such things happen. I do feel so sorry for her.'

The other bridled. ‘She never troubled herself to invite us for a cosy cup of tea in all the time we've lived here, but now her husband's done a runner, she's ringing up and suggesting we might like to spend the day with her.'

Her friend was more forgiving. ‘Well, dear; I expect her husband kept her busy. She must feel lost without him.'

The other tossed her head; she really did. ‘Making use of us. I declined for us, of course. We attend her bridge afternoons—'

‘It's very kind of her to invite us, but they're playing for rather high stakes now which I did mention to her, in passing, but she doesn't quite understand how it is for us, with the service charges seeming to rise every month—'

‘And we really do worry about how long we can stay on here. I was only able to get a short lease when I moved in, and it runs out in eighteen months which is all very worrying as I can't possibly afford to renew on the terms he's asking—'

‘Fortunately, mine has some years to go now. So we're thinking of dropping out. Of the bridge parties, I mean.'

Their dropping out wouldn't be anything to do with the sharpness of their brains. They were as bright as buttons but wouldn't wish to run into debt. Living on reduced pensions, with prices rising all round, the future did indeed look grim.

Bea prompted them. ‘You know about Sir Lucas's fall?'

A slight frown from Mrs Emerson. Lucy. ‘Oh, that. The landing light was out, or he hadn't put it on and missed his step. What a fuss! When my grandson broke his leg playing rugby, he walked around on it for two days before his mother made him go to the hospital and have it seen to. Young people nowadays have no stamina.'

Carrie lent forward, happy to gossip. ‘I heard him bellowing even above the wireless, would you believe. I almost didn't go out to see what was the matter because I knew the people above me were away because they asked me to rescue their post and put it through their door—'

‘Lucky you did though, dear. Might earn you brownie points with His Lordship.' A sarcastic tone. It seemed that Lucy was the one less likely to forgive and forget.

Carrie Kempton might be the less dominant personality, but she was no doormat. ‘I was never a Brownie or a Girl Guide like you, dear. I was evacuated during the war to Wales and never had the opportunity. Sir Lucas would have been all right, anyway. He was on the phone to the ambulance men by the time I got to him.'

‘But it was you who had to put yourself out by going downstairs to let the ambulance men in.'

Carrie gave a weak smile. ‘I suppose he was right to be frightened. He'd cut his head, and there was a lot of blood. The caretaker was
very
upset about that.'

Lucy announced, ‘I don't object to blood. When I was a nurse . . .'

Carrie nodded. ‘Yes, dear. And I've done first aid in my time.'

‘Not the same.'

A ripple of annoyance. So the two women didn't think as one all the time? Bea put down her empty cup. ‘So, Sir Lucas's fall was an accident. What about the other incidents that Lady Ossett referred to?'

A pinching of lips. A sly exchange of glances.

‘We . . . ll,' said Lucy, in grudging tones. ‘We don't wish to cast aspersions—'

‘We do feel sorry for him, in a way. But he did bring it all on himself, and as he's leaving anyway and he really does need to sell the flat, then perhaps we ought . . .'

Another exchange of glances. A nod each.

Lucy prepared to Tell All. ‘You can tell your friend that whatever happened, it's all in the past. It's true we have had one or two little problems—'

Carrie was enjoying this. ‘But nothing to take to the police. I mean, it was annoying when cards for call girls were left in the mail boxes in the foyer, can you believe it? It meant nuisance calls for some of us, which was—'

‘Irritating, of course. But not serious. No, dear. That wasn't the start of it, and you know it.' To Bea, ‘It all started when someone keyed Sir Lucas's car.'

‘I think it started even before that,' said Carrie, not to be outdone. ‘We've lived here for years and nothing untoward ever happened, except for the usual comings and goings and we were used to those. But when someone you've known for ever dies unexpectedly, well, it's a shock.'

‘Natural causes, dear.' Lucy swept her friend's words aside. ‘Natural causes. But there was nothing natural about the damage to Sir Lucas's car, was there? Even though it was understandable.'

‘You see,' said Carrie, drawing her chair even closer to Bea, ‘we knew who was responsible, and really we couldn't blame him. Or at least, not very much, and we don't want him to get into any more trouble.'

Bea looked a question.

Carrie looked around as if to check for eavesdroppers – she really was enjoying this, wasn't she? – and dropped her voice. ‘It was Tariq, of course. He lives opposite me in number eleven. He moved in when the last couple went up north. It was a sublet through someone at the firm they both worked for. I don't know exactly where his people came from originally – Tariq, I mean – but he was born here, and he's ever so polite, helping us up the stairs with our shopping when the lift is out of commission, and although he did have lots of parties at the weekend it wasn't so bad in the cold weather because we didn't have the windows open at night. It's true that Lady Ossett did complain about the noise a couple of times, and he did keep it down for quite a while. But then . . .' She hesitated, glancing across at Lucy for permission to proceed.

Lucy nodded in magisterial fashion. ‘A delicate matter. Of course we'd rather have seen him marry a nice young British girl, but you have to be broad-minded these days, don't you, and if hadn't been for the noise . . . You see, he invited a friend to move in with him to share the costs, and he was black as . . . Well, much blacker than . . . Really, really black. Though I know it shouldn't make a difference, but his taste in music was . . . well, like all on one note—'

‘It's called “rap”, dear.'

‘I don't care what's it's called. It was very loud indeed. Lady Ossett complained again, and I can't say I blame her.'

‘He was a really nice young man,' said Carrie, with the mildest of rebukes to her friend in her voice. ‘We understood that they were serious about one another and going to have a special ceremony, some sort of lifetime commitment, and of course they invited us to attend because . . . well, just because.'

‘Because we've always behaved politely to him,' said Lucy. ‘We declined, of course. They said to come to the party afterwards, and we didn't really want to, all that spicy food doesn't agree with us, but we said we'd love to drop in later and we bought a couple of pot plants to give them from Marks and Spencer's.'

‘Only, the music was so terribly loud that night. They left their door open, you see—'

‘And their guests kept coming up the stairs and using the lift and shouting and I said to Carrie – we were watching television together in here that evening as we sometimes do, particularly when it's a good thriller which we both like and it's so much more cosy watching with someone, isn't it? And my television is bigger than hers. Anyway, the noise was so loud, and the visitors were all very young, from all over the place, if you take my meaning, that I said to Carrie that I didn't think his idea of a party was quite our cup of tea and we could take the plants in later in the week. And she agreed.'

Carrie nodded. ‘But after our programme finished it got noisier and noisier. When I went back upstairs it seemed as if the whole building was shaking, and I wondered if there'd be more complaints, which there had been before only this was much worse. I took a herbal sleeping pill but it didn't seem to work and I was tossing and turning . . . I even thought of going across to complain myself but of course I didn't and I thought they'd get tired and stop but then I woke up with a start at just after four o'clock. Someone was banging on the door and I thought at first it was my door, but it wasn't. It was theirs. So I got up and opened my door a crack to see.'

Lucy's turn. ‘It woke me up, too. It was the Noise people. They had been round to warn Tariq earlier that evening but he'd not taken any notice, so they went in and confiscated all his lovely music equipment and people were screaming and . . . well, it was quite something. That was the start of it all, if you ask me.'

Carrie said, ‘Tariq's friend, or husband or whatever, left that weekend, which says something about his commitment to the relationship, doesn't it? It was his music equipment that was taken away, you see. Perhaps he loved his stereo more than he loved Tariq? And then we heard Tariq was being let go from his job. Under the terms of his sublet, he's got to find a new tenant or he'll be in debt for ever.'

Lucy nodded at a fine azalea on the window-sill. ‘We kept the plants, naturally. As my mother said, plunge the root ball in water to cover, once a week, and spray the leaves. Keeps them going a treat, even with central heating; though of course I don't keep mine turned up too high because I have to think of the fuel bills, don't I?'

‘Mine died,' said Carrie. ‘I've never been any good with house plants.'

Bea tried to gather her wits. ‘You think Tariq was responsible for the vandalism?'

‘We didn't think so, at first. But we wondered, didn't we, Carrie? Who it might be. When it was just the cards for the call girls, we though it might be someone who objected to the goings on in a certain flat . . . Well, no names, no pack drill . . .'

Bea mentally filled in the gap with the name of Carmela Lessbury.

‘Lucy thought it might be our caretaker because he disapproves of what he calls “those nasty goings on”. Then one of Sir Lucas's cars was vandalized, not the Rolls of course, but the sporty one, and we knew the caretaker wouldn't ever have done anything to it because he worships those cars. Spends hours cleaning and waxing and polishing them. No, he wouldn't harm those cars. But Tariq, now. It was Them Upstairs who brought in the Noise people and confiscated his music equipment, you see, and that caused the break-up of his marriage or whatever you like to call it—'

‘Careful, dear. Don't let the Thought Police hear you being so un-PC. But it's quite true. Sir Lucas was the one who complained—'

‘No, no. It was Lady Ossett. But we know it was really him who got her to do the complaining, and I'm sure she was very sorry about having to do so.'

‘And Tariq was let go from his job with Sir Lucas's firm the week after.'

They both nodded.

‘What happened to Sir Lucas's car?' said Bea, trying to keep up.

‘I think they call it “keying”,' said Carrie. ‘You take your keys and scrape the paintwork. And the hood had been cut with a knife. It's a what-do-you-call-it? A convertible. Very expensive, I'm told. I don't keep a car nowadays.'

‘I know nothing about cars,' said Lucy, grandly. ‘Sir Lucas kept his in the sub-basement. You won't have seen the entrance to the garage, perhaps? It's round the back. You have to pay extra for a bay down there. Tariq has had to sell his car already.'