False Charity (17 page)

‘Bea!' Nicole was almost spitting with rage. ‘Tell this woman, and her whatever he is, that we have an engagement to—'

‘Madam, I was invited here. Were you?' asked the ex-squadron leader.

‘We're not moving,' said Coral in tones which would have wobbled if she hadn't been so wound up. ‘Or anyway, not till Bea has heard what—'

‘Oh, spare me the sob story!' said Nicole, casting up her eyes. Her little dog continued to yap, screwing everyone's nerves up a notch.

Bea told herself to stand up straight and deal with the situation. ‘Nicole, I'm so sorry you've been bothered. I was going to ring you to say I couldn't make this outing, whatever it is you've so kindly arranged. As you can see, I'm up to my neck in business, but—'

Nicole tapped her little dog on the nose to stop it creating. ‘You don't understand. It's taken me ages, but I've managed to set up appointments with three estate agents for you to view the properties—'

Bea injected some metal into her voice. ‘Wouldn't it have been better to consult me first? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not free today.' This had sounded a bit harsh. She didn't want to show Nicole up in front of Coral. Bea tried to soften her tone. ‘But now you're here, Nicole, would you care for some lunch?'

The squadron leader was not enjoying this. He touched Coral's arm. ‘Look, if it's not convenient to—'

Coral thrust out her jaw. ‘If you're going to accept the loss of your business lying down, well, I'm not. Bea, we were right and Leo didn't get paid for the International Relief do either. He tried to go to the small claims court, but as the phone numbers and addresses the charity have given are false, he can't find anyone to sue. But if you're going to their event on Saturday night—'

Nicole allowed herself a frown. ‘You don't mean the International Rescue appeal for the after-effects of the tsunami? This Saturday at Green's Hotel? What about it? I wouldn't have thought you'd be going to that. The tickets cost—'

Bea said, ‘Are you going, Nicole? I thought you said you had a constituency function on this weekend and that's why you couldn't invite me over.'

Nicole reddened, shifting the dog from one arm to the other. ‘I was mistaken, got the dates mixed up. Yes, we're taking a party to it. What's wrong with that?'

Bea tried not to dislike her. ‘I think that we'd better sit down and bring one another up to date with what's been happening. Nicole, tell us how you got to hear about the event, will you?'

The phone had been ringing downstairs for some time, but everyone had ignored it except for Oliver, who now popped his head around the door. ‘Sorry, but Mr Abbot's on the line downstairs. He tried ringing on the line up here but couldn't get any reply, and he wants to know where you are because you didn't turn up for the tour of the House that he'd arranged for you, and are you going to be there for lunch or not.'

‘What?' cried Nicole. ‘He didn't tell me.' She subsided, looking put out.

Bea tried to be conciliatory. ‘This is getting complicated. Nicole, everyone … we shouldn't be discussing business up here. Let's all go down to the office and then we'll be on hand for phone calls, right? Oliver, will you give my son my excuses, say I'll ring back later? And see if Maggie's up to making us some sandwiches?'

Coral raised her eyebrows. ‘We wouldn't want to be any trouble.' Coral had been ruffled by Nicole's manner and wasn't going to make it easy for Bea.

Bea felt like smashing their heads together and only desisted because it would take too much trouble to clear up the resultant mess. ‘Fine. Shall I lead the way?'

Downstairs, Nicole took the big chair – the client's chair – and set her little dog on the floor. To Bea's horror, he immediately lifted his leg against the desk. Bea opened the doors to the garden, and he shot out to bark at a squirrel who had been exploring in one of the big flowerpots.

Bea closed her eyes momentarily, told herself that the day would end at some point, that every minute that passed would never come again. Eventually she would have the house to herself in peace and quiet. She would make herself some smoked salmon sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off. She would take the sandwiches and a glass of chilled fruit juice to the card table in the window upstairs and, perhaps, soothe herself by learning how to play a game of patience.

Except, of course, that the table was no longer there.

‘Nicole, a small mystery. Do you know what's happened to Hamilton's card table that used to be in the window upstairs?'

Nicole shrugged. ‘It got moved, I suppose. Things did. Parties, and so on.'

‘I'll ask Max. Leo, would you and Coral like to sit on the settee? That's lovely. Now, Nicole—'

Nicole was consulting an expensive wrist watch. ‘Five minutes and I must go. I had all those meetings set up so I'll have to ring and apologize.'

‘Thank you, Nicole. Now, can you tell us how you got your tickets?'

‘From my cousin, of course. She's always going to charity dos. She's on the board of the local one for animals, at least I think that's the one she's on, and they tap into the corporate entertainments market, highly lucrative. She introduced us to this woman and suggested we take tickets for one of their functions. You remember my cousin, don't you?'

Bea remembered, all right. Not just a double-barrelled but a triple-barrelled name and a voice that would disgrace a corncrake. Married three times – or was it four? – heavily bejewelled, excellent alimony, which she spent on being seen at all the right places with the right kind of people. Not Coral's sort at all. Nicole might well end up with much the same sort of life.

Nicole peered over her shoulder, trying to see where her little pet had gone. ‘Hamish, come here! Hamish!' Hamish paid not the slightest bit of notice. He'd seen off the squirrel and was now rooting under a bush at the bottom of the garden.

Nicole consulted her watch again. ‘I really must go. You've been out of touch for so long, Bea, you don't understand how these things work. We have to dispense a certain amount of hospitality, it's expected of someone in Max's position, so these charity dos are invaluable. We take a table and fill it with our guests, everyone has a perfectly splendid time and the money goes to charity.'

‘Or not, as the case seems to be,' said Bea. ‘At least, I suppose they might send some money overseas eventually. The problem is that at the moment they are taking the money from the punters without paying for the wine and the food. They may not be paying the cabaret, the venue, the DJ or the people who supply party favours, either.'

Nicole shrugged that it was none of her business. She stood up and went to the window, calling, ‘Hamish, we have to go now! Where are you, Hamish?'

Coral exchanged an eye roll with Bea, while the ex-squadron leader pinched at the knees of his trousers and stared ahead.

Bea said, ‘Nicole, doesn't it worry you that Max might have paid for an evening out under false pretences?'

‘He got his money's worth.'

The ex-squadron leader gave a little cough. Everyone looked at him, including Nicole. He continued to stare straight ahead. ‘I suppose you invited lots of important people for these charity events, Members of Parliament and so on and so forth? I don't suppose they'd be very pleased if they knew the charities were fake and that you'd invited them under false pretences. I don't suppose they'd like that titbit of news to get into the papers.'

Nicole clutched at the back of her chair, breathing hard. ‘What, what? I don't, you wouldn't, you couldn't! It would ruin Max!'

Bea and Coral, exchanging glances, saw that it would, indeed, hurt Max's reputation. Nicole stumbled back into her chair. She plucked at her neckline. ‘No, no. Impossible. We acted from the very best motives.'

‘Ignorance,' stated the ex-squadron leader, ‘is no defence, in law.'

Nicole began to hyperventilate. Bea felt sorry for her. Almost. ‘Calm down, dear. I'm sure we can find some way to work round it. For instance, if Max were instrumental in exposing the fraud, wouldn't your guests be grateful?'

‘Hoo, hoo … yes, I suppose. But … hoo, hoo … how?'

‘Tell us everything you know about the people who ran the function you went to before, and the one you're going to this Saturday.'

Nicole found her handbag, dug out an inhaler and used it. Was she really asthmatic? Possibly. Bea told herself that she must be kinder to her daughter-in-law.

Nicole's breathing eased. She shook back her hair, crossed her legs. Decided to cast in her lot with Coral and Leo. ‘The woman who runs it is called Briggs. Hyphenated. Briggs something, or something Briggs. Very well dressed, a widow, I think. American? Or an American ex-husband? Over here because … I can't remember why. Son in university here?

‘She'd been devastated by the news of the tsunami, wanted to do something about it, which is where my cousin came in. They'd met … now where did they meet? She did say. Covent Garden, some committee or other? I'm not sure. Anyway, we chatted about it, and I saw straight away that we could return a lot of hospitality by taking a table at her next function—'

‘Did she suggest it, or did you?'

‘She did, I think. Max agreed and we got up a table, and it was fine, except that the cabaret artist couldn't make it for some reason. But there was a darling little man who played the piano awfully well, got everyone going, and then a really good disco with a young man, a real knock-out. He was making up to one of our guests' daughters, even asked her for a date, would you believe. Luckily she was going back to the Sorbonne the following day.'

‘Do you have any names for the piano player and the DJ? We really need to contact the other people who helped them, to see if they got paid or not.'

Nicole fidgeted. ‘They were introduced, I suppose. Yes, I'm sure they were, but who remembers the name of somebody like that?'

‘You say the DJ was making up to a girl on your table. Didn't you hear his name?'

Nicole shook her head. ‘If I did, it's gone. You know what these occasions are like. So noisy. I was concentrating on our guests.' She glanced again at her watch. ‘You must excuse me, the estate agents will be waiting for me, I must phone them, apologize, though what I'm going to say I don't know. And where is my naughty little poppet? He always disappears when I'm in a hurry.'

Bea nodded at Oliver, who'd been hovering in the doorway. ‘Oliver, do you think you could phone the estate agents, if Nicole gives you the numbers? Apologize, say the prospective buyer is staying where she is.'

‘Oh yes, much better if you do it,' said Nicole, delving into an enormous bag for the estate agents' details.

Bea stood up to ease her back and knocked the waste-paper bin over. A used condom spilled on to the floor in a pile of junk mail. Ah. So Maggie had brought her handsome boy into this room last night? Tacky. Bea made a mental note to see that her office was locked up every night in future.

She tried to think straight. ‘Now who's going to tackle what? Leo, could you write down everything you know about these people, what names they used, their phone numbers, addresses, everything? And compare your list with Coral's? Nicole, let's you and me go to look for Hamish, and think who we know who might help us.'

‘Lunch, anyone?' Maggie appeared in the doorway with a tray of sandwiches and iced fruit drinks. She was wearing Bea's skirt and a long-sleeved blouse to hide her bruises. And oversized dark glasses. She'd tied her bright hair back and altogether looked most unlike her usual self.

‘Splendid,' said Bea. ‘Thanks, Maggie. Let's all help ourselves and then get down to work. We'll pool what we know in an hour, say? And Oliver, any ideas that may occur to you …? Absolutely splendid.'

Bea thought she was beginning to sound like an infant-school teacher. ‘Always praise, never blame.' Well, if they would act like children, why not? She wondered whether she would ever again feel emotion. She couldn't remember feeling anything much since Hamilton died. She was going through the motions of this absurd enquiry to pass the time, really. She didn't really care about it. She wondered how many long years of life she had left to her.

Friday, noon

Noel picked up a copy of the
Metro
freebie on the Tube, and glanced through it, yawning. It had been a good night as far as he was concerned. Maggie hadn't been particularly gifted in the art of pleasing a man, but she'd put up a pretty show of reluctance, which always spurred him on. And on.

He smiled. And then stopped smiling, because on one of the inner pages there was a news item about Shirl, an earlier … er … problem. A man was being questioned about her death.

Noel had thought Shirl's death would have been passed off as accidental. He'd only banged her head against the tree a couple of times to make her stand still, and had been really surprised when she'd gone all floppy on him.

Well, so long as it wasn't him who was being questioned.

He shrugged, turned to the sports section.

Friday, afternoon

B
ea went out into the garden with Nicole to retrieve one dirty but happy small dog, minus tartan bow, from the undergrowth. Nicole washed him in the kitchen sink while Bea made them some herbal tea – so much more digestible than coffee – which they took outside to sit under the tree. Bea half-closed her eyes while Nicole droned on about the difficulties of being an MP's wife.

Finally, Bea shook herself into action, and asked Nicole to ring her cousin and find out what she knew about this Mrs Briggs-whatsit.

Nicole grimaced but did as she was bid, handing the phone over to Bea.