False Charity (28 page)

There was a murmur of amusement as, indeed, they did.

‘One day, to everyone's amazement, the sea receded. Fish which had been swimming in the sea a few moments ago, flopped around on the sand. The children, laughing, ran about to pick them up. One of the old people remembered what happened when the sea disappeared. She screamed that everyone should run inland. Ana was working in their garden with her mother, who was pregnant. They ran down to the beach to find the younger children.'

Mrs Somers-Briggs' voice faded, and she took another sip of water. ‘Ana found the toddler. Her brothers and sisters were little dots, far out on the newly naked sand. Her mother ran, calling to them to come back, come back. The oldest boy started walking back, too slowly, too late. The others didn't hear her.

‘Then they saw the tidal wave coming, faster than a horse could gallop. Ana turned and ran, weighed down by the toddler. She reached the first house on the beach, the largest, strongest house in the village. She was breathless, could run no more. She tried to get into the house but was thrust away by those inside. Burdened by her little sister, she managed to climb a little way up the nearest palm and tied herself to it before the wave overwhelmed her. The water closed over her head.

‘After what seemed like hours during which she was pummelled and torn at by the wave, she found her head above water. She lived, but her little sister died. All that was left of the big house were some baulks of timber. Everyone in it had died. Ana was taken inland to where the survivors sat, staring at nothing, or wandered around asking for news of friends and relatives. Not one of the fishing boats ever returned to the village.'

Mrs Somers-Briggs paused to touch tears from her cheeks. She pulled Ana closer to the mike. ‘Can you take it from there, Ana?'

Tears marked trails down Ana's cheeks, too, but she spoke up in a small but clear voice. ‘The sea go back to its place. We find the bodies of friends, of family, but not my father. It is seven days when people come from outside, with food and fresh water. These people have mobile phones. They ask, have we other family? My father's cousin comes to Britain many years ago. He sends us money once. The people with the phones talk to my cousin in Southall, and he helps me come to Britain. Now I learn English. Then I learn to be a nurse, and after I go back to help my people.'

Noel was standing at the back of the room, waiting till he could take some more photos. The key to the honeymoon suite was in his pocket, and he'd already doctored the bottles of soft drinks from the minibar.

Watching Ana perform for the public, seeing how she lowered her eyes and pretended to be modest, gave him an idea. Ana would do anything for money, so he'd use her to get Maggie away from her family.

He'd already spotted where the girl sat with her aunt. He thought her new look rather appealing. Yes! It excited him, thinking about what he was going to do to her later that evening.

Saturday, mid-evening

D
uring the cabaret people began to move around, swapping seats, paying visits to the toilets or visiting at other tables. Max called for more wine for his party, and Piers ordered another bottle, even though he'd only drunk one glass. Bea had hardly touched hers. The painkillers she'd taken seemed not to have had much effect on her headache, but they had distanced her from what was going on around her.

Looking around, she spotted several people she knew and waved to them. They seemed restrained in their return greetings, which puzzled her. She couldn't see Velma and her new husband; they must be on the other side of the room.

Piers went to ‘stretch his legs', which entailed paying a short visit to Coral at the bar and a circuit of the function room, chatting to people he knew. Piers knew a lot of people from all walks of life. Oliver had drunk a bare half of his first glass of wine, which was just as well. If anybody needed a clear head tonight, it was him.

Maggie was given a note by one of the young waitresses. She read it, went crimson, and tore it into pieces. A little later she went to the ladies', and on her return was stopped between tables by her ex-husband, who put his hand on her arm and indicated she join his party.

Bea had a good look at the people on that table and identified the Other Woman without any difficulty; a brittle blonde, anorexic, with a greedy look in her eyes. The problem for Maggie's husband was that his lover's eyes were currently turned not on him, but on a minor television celebrity who was sitting next to her. Was Maggie's ex-husband trying to make his lover jealous by paying attention to Maggie, or did he really feel he'd made a mistake and want to get her back?

Maggie listened to what her ex had to say, took in what his lover was doing, turned on her high heels and stalked back to her seat beside Oliver. Her cheeks flamed red, but otherwise she seemed in command of herself.

‘Well done, Maggie,' said Bea, though she didn't think Maggie was listening.

The cabaret turn was a rap singer; Jamaican in origin? Dreadlocks and all. He had the volume turned up high, so the room and everyone in it reacted to the recorded beat of his drum. Oh dear. Then the pianist took his place, thumping and trilling away. Apparently people enjoyed his performance, but it didn't go down well with someone who had a headache.

The auction began. The pianist and Mrs Somers-Briggs worked this together; they were so polished a double act that Bea had to applaud. She asked Oliver to make notes during the auction, so that they could estimate how much money was being raised. Oliver, given something to do, stopped gazing into space in bored fashion, and started jotting down figures in his notebook. What had he done with his laptop? Was it on the floor beside him?

The photographer was working the room with the Asian girl. Everyone wanted to be photographed with her, and he was doing a good trade. Another note was delivered to Maggie. She read it, stood up, looked over to her ex-husband on the next table, tore the note into shreds and let them drop before resuming her seat. This time she didn't blush, but turned pale. She reached for the wine bottle in front of her, only to find it was empty. Piers had not returned, and Bea wasn't going to get any more wine for the young people. Unfortunately a middle-aged man on Maggie's left – one of Max's party – noticed that her glass was empty and poured her some wine from his own bottle.

‘Is that man over there bothering you, little lady?' he asked, all geniality.

‘My ex,' said Maggie, gracelessly. ‘Are you married?'

That was too abrupt, thought Bea. But the man apparently didn't think so, because he launched into a spiel which turned into, My Wife Doesn't Understand Me.

Piers put a warm hand on Bea's shoulder, and resumed his seat at her side. ‘The auction's going well. I've spoken to a few people I know, and they all say this is a really worthwhile charity to support. You're looking a little peaky. Are you all right?'

‘As right as I'll ever be, I suppose. I've just realized why I've been getting some odd looks from people. In their eyes I'm a scarlet woman, shuffling off one husband only to take up again immediately with you. They think it's a bit naff, and come to think of it, so do I. Whatever am I doing here, Piers? I'd far rather be tucked up in bed with a glass of hot milk.'

‘You're here to stop an unscrupulous gang tricking generous hearts out of a fortune. I'm here because Hamilton asked me to look after you, which is not to say that I wouldn't have come, anyway. I disapprove of Robin Hoods who steal from the rich but don't pass the money on to the deserving poor.'

On the platform, it was time for the DJ to start up. He turned up the volume. Bea winced, feeling pale. A well-known MP came over to talk to Piers, and had to bend close to his ear to be heard. Piers stood up and they went off to the bar together. Possibly the noise level was a trifle lower there. The dance floor was small but was soon crowded with people dancing on the spot, gesticulating wildly, enjoying themselves. Bea bent over to Oliver and suggested he ask Maggie to dance.

Oliver recoiled. ‘I don't dance.'

‘There's always a first time,' said Bea. ‘I don't want Maggie's husband to think she hasn't anyone to dance with.'

Oliver gulped, but leaned over to Maggie to issue an invitation. Maggie's eyebrows went up and she hesitated, but finally nodded. Of course she dwarfed Oliver when she stood up in her high heels, but that didn't matter. The great thing was that she wasn't seen to be a wallflower.

Mrs Somers-Briggs circulated, sweeping up all the fivers that had been donated for the favours earlier that evening and stowing them in a capacious black velvet bag. She was gracious to everyone. Bea wondered which of the Royal Family the woman had based her act on. When she arrived at their table, Bea excused herself to visit the ladies'. No way did she want to have a confrontation before the proceedings were over.

On her return, Bea found the noise from the disco even more overpowering. The DJ couldn't possibly have upped the volume again, could he?

Oliver leant over and said something into her left ear. She said, ‘What?' He repeated it. Something about going to the gents'. Was he leaving Maggie to sit all by herself? No, Maggie wasn't in her chair. Maggie was on the dance floor with the middle-aged man from Max's party who'd been chatting her up earlier. Well, that was all right. A trendy young man cut in on Maggie, and her middle-aged partner returned to their table, perspiring. Good.

This left Bea isolated in her chair at the table, with just one of Max's party opposite her, smiling gently into the middle distance. Everyone else seemed to be on the dance floor.

The DJ announced that they'd worn him out and he was taking five, but the pianist tinkled the ivories and quite a few people stayed to dance to the golden oldies he was playing. Including Maggie and her new partner.

The photographer was working his way around the tables on the outside of the room. Bea wriggled round in her chair to see if she could get a good look at him, but he was mostly standing with his back to her, jollying people along into having their photographs taken with the little Pakistani girl who, to give her her due, was doing her best to sing for her supper, smiling at all the women, demure with all the men.

Would the evening never end? Their table filled up again. Oliver returned, looking pale. Had the food not agreed with him? Or was it excitement? He hadn't had more than one glass of wine, had he? Maggie was still dancing with her new admirer. They were well matched, he being over average in height.

Piers drifted back, eyes snapping, mouth curving at some story he'd just been told. The photographer finally reached their table, armed with his Polaroid camera for instant results. Piers said he'd love to be photographed with Ana, so Bea and Oliver pushed their chairs closer together and Bea collected another snap to put into her bag.

The DJ returned with a rousing number or two, and then began to wind down. Finally he announced he was going home to his mother, who fretted if he was out after midnight … which got quite a laugh as he didn't look the sort to be still living at home. Besides which it was after one in the morning. The boss woman thanked everyone for coming and for helping to give so many people a better future, and wished them all a safe journey home.

People began to leave, looking pleased with themselves and the way the evening had gone. Piers was engaged in close conversation by one of Max's guests.

Some people were still standing on the dance floor, and the photographer was taking his last few shots there.

Max and Nicole were being thanked for making up the party. Max put his arm round Bea. ‘Are you all right, Mother? I can put Nicole into a taxi and stay on to help you, if you like?'

‘No, dear. Thank you. I've got lots of back-up and it's best you don't get involved, don't you think?'

Piers said, ‘I'll take good care of her, Max. You look after your wife and guests.'

Bea thought Max might argue, but he didn't. The room was clearing fast. Bea looked round for Maggie, but she was nowhere to be seen. Before Bea could become anxious, one of the waitresses hurried up to her. ‘Are you Mrs Abbot? I have a message from the girl in your party. She's gone on to a club with someone, said not to wait for her.'

Bea was a little annoyed, thinking that Maggie might have had the courtesy to make her apologies in person. But there; youngsters nowadays never thought to say ‘thank you' when given a present, didn't bother to reply to written invitations, or even think it was important to do so. It was a sign of the times. Bea reminded herself that Maggie had been going through a bad patch and deserved to find a boyfriend who'd treat her well. If she hadn't thought fit to advise Bea of her plans, well, Bea wasn't her mother, was she? And it didn't matter very much if Maggie opted out of the forthcoming showdown, because she'd no particular role to play in it. Unlike Oliver, who was drinking a glass of water, and shaking his head to clear it. Nerves, definitely. Hopefully Oliver would be all right.

Bea could see the manageress of the hotel hovering near the bar, which had now been cleared of drinks. Bea collected Oliver and Piers and, making the usual farewell noises to all and sundry, she led them off to where Ms McNeice was waiting for them.

‘My office,' said Ms McNeice. ‘You know the way? I'll bring them there as soon as I can.'

Bea nodded and led the two men down the corridor. The manageress' office was just as she'd seen it the previous day, except that all the paperwork had been cleared away, apart from one file on the desk. The room was shadowy, lit only by a desk lamp.

Coral was there already, huddled into a padded jacket. Also there was Tommy Banks, the bulky manager from the Garden Room. Even as she greeted them, Bea thought that the moment the gang saw them and made the connection, they'd realize they'd been found out, and try to run for it. How was she going to stop them? By brute force? By bringing in the hotel staff to form a human barrier?