False Step (17 page)

‘It usually means someone's jumped in front of the train. She was all of a dither. I offered to make her a cup of tea, but she refused. I suspect she'd be at the sherry the moment our backs were turned.' Seeing that Bea looked blank, Miss Brook added, ‘In the cupboard next to the piano.'

‘I didn't get that far.'

Miss Brook's nose twitched. ‘She looked straight at it, the moment she came in, and I guessed why. She's that type.'

‘Secretive? Underhanded?'

A pause while Miss Brook considered her answer. ‘Under the circumstances, having experienced a shock, you or I would have gone straight to the cupboard and poured ourselves a drink. She wanted to. She kept looking in that direction, but she made herself wait till our backs were turned. Did she think her friend Mrs Frasier would have refused her a drink in the circumstances?
Sneaky
is not perhaps the word that comes to mind, but she has not an open personality.'

‘Oliver didn't like her, either.'

‘Beggars can't be choosers. We had a job to do, we did it, and we came away. Young Oliver did well, all things considered. Are you going to keep him on at the agency?'

‘If he'd like to stay, yes.'

A nod. Miss Brook got to her feet. ‘I'd better get on. I may need a desk lamp. It looks as if it's going to get dark early.'

Bea started as the room filled with a livid light. Thunder rolled. She waited for the lightning to strike and counted a slow ‘two'. The storm was almost overhead. She drew the curtains closed, shivering. She'd always been afraid of violent storms.

She picked up the bunch of keys and popped them in the top right-hand drawer of her dressing table. She must see that they got returned the following day. She cleared her dressing table, which was big enough to serve as a desk for Miss Brook with a computer and a printer. Dust, dust. It was even up here.

The builders were thudding away downstairs. Bea went into the guest room, and tidied Max's overnight things away. There was a desk already there, next to a power point. The bedside table would do for the printer. Oliver would certainly be able to work there, and if the door were kept closed the room would be comparatively dust free. She could hear Oliver thumping up the stairs with a typing chair for Miss Brook.

Where was Maggie, who might have been able to keep the dust at bay? Bea sat down on her bed, rang Maggie's mobile.

‘Mrs Abbot? Are you OK? I know I said I'd be back by now, but the plumbing suppliers have delivered the wrong shower cabinets for the en suites, and I'm not letting them get away with it. Would you believe, I had to get on to their head office before they agreed to change them? What a waste of time. I can't leave, either, because the plumbers have arrived to install the shower cabinets so while they're here, I'm having them look at the shower trays which have not been fitted properly. Not that they want to do anything about it. Refurbishing this flat is three steps forward and two back.'

‘But you're the very person to see it's done right, Maggie. You'll be back for supper?'

‘There's the chicken pie.'

‘Bless you, yes. I'll see to it as soon as the builders are out for the day.'

‘Did they drop that sheet over the stairs to the basement? They had it hitched up this morning and the dust was coming through something chronic, but they promised me—'

Bea laughed. ‘What did you expect, Maggie? I could carve my name, let alone write it, in the dust. See you soon.'

Miss Brook appeared in the doorway, carrying the big printer without any sign of stress. ‘In my mother's day, we covered the furniture with dust sheets when the builders were in. I don't suppose any of the younger generation know what a dust sheet is.'

Bea stared at her. Of course they didn't, but decorators usually provided their own. She didn't have any, she knew that. Oliver helped Miss Brook to set out her typing chair and computer.

Bea felt that she was in the way. What could she do to be useful? Miss Brook and Oliver were perfectly capable of the day-to-day running of the agency, and Maggie was more than earning her keep at the client's place. As if to underline her decision, the phone rang and Miss Brook answered it.

Bea went downstairs, noting with resignation that the sheet over the stairs had been hitched to one side again. She pulled it down, but guessed it would be lifted up again soon. There was a bunch of flowers in a vase on a chest in the hall which was so powdered with dust that you couldn't tell what colour they were supposed to be.

She got out the hoover and started work. She knew the cleaning would all have to be done over again tomorrow, and the next day, but she had nothing better to do. At least … she had got something better to do, hadn't she? She'd promised herself another chat with Kasia, and she had Kasia's home address now. She thought about it, as she hoovered dust off the upholstery. Should she use one of her linen sheets to cover the settee when she'd got the dust off today? And if she put the upright chairs together, and stacked them to one side? A king-size sheet might cover them nicely. She went upstairs to see what sheets she could spare to cover furniture, and found several.

There really was no need for her to speak to Kasia again, was there? The inventory had been taken, and would be delivered tomorrow or the next day. The circumstances surrounding Matthew Kent's death were odd but not inexplicable. It had been an unusual case, certainly. But it was all over.

Sometime or other, when Piers returned, she might chat to him about it, tell him when the funeral was to be. Laugh with him about the oddities of life.

She worked her way through the room, cleaning and covering up pieces of furniture as she went. She took down the clock on the mantelpiece and the pictures, wiped them clean and stacked them neatly to one side. There was no point in trying to spend time in this room till the dust had settled. She unplugged the television, wiped it down, and covered it over.

She came to her husband's portrait on the wall, and took that down, too. She decided to hang it in her bedroom for the time being. He seemed to be looking at her almost sorrowfully.

Why was that? What had she done wrong?

The wrong feet … something's wrong … the bedroom door was open …

‘Nonsense!' Bea set the portrait down on the floor, where it continued to look at her, so she turned it to face the wall.

The dress was too big for the man on the bed.

‘It was a theatrical costume! He'd taken it home to make it fit better.'

There was blood on the fender.

‘There was a perfectly good explanation for that,' snapped Bea, vigorously setting the hoover going again. The floor looked beige instead of cream. The hoover cut swathes through the dust. She hadn't enough spare sheets to cover the carpet.

Taking the hoover out to empty the bag, she noted that the builders had hoicked the dust sheet up again over the stairs. She didn't even bother to remonstrate with them, but set her teeth and went on into the kitchen. If Maggie's kitchen were not in pristine condition when she returned, there'd be all hell to pay, and no supper to eat.

The phone rang and this time Miss Brook leaned over the banisters to call for Bea. ‘It's for you. A foreign name which I didn't quite catch.'

Bea hadn't realized there was anything Miss Brook couldn't deal with. ‘Is it Kasia?'

‘Yes, Casher.'

Bea took the call in the kitchen. ‘Yes, Kasia?'

The Polish woman sounded hesitant. ‘You said … if I have problem …?'

‘I did, and I meant it.'

‘I am at work, finish soon. I come to see you, please?'

Bea cast a frantic eye around. ‘We're in a mess, builders in, but—'

‘Is a problem, not to worry. Another day, maybe.'

‘No, no. Do come. As soon as you like.'

The woman hesitated, then shut off the call.

A cheerful voice boomed through the hall. ‘We're finished for the day now, missus. Short of …' something unintelligible. ‘Back tomorrow, after we been to the tiling warehouse, right?'

‘Right,' she said, and went out to replace the sheet over the stairs. Closing the barn door after the horses have fled. From upstairs came the merry ring of the phone being answered, and the printer going swoosh, swoosh. At least some parts of the agency were still functioning properly. At least Max had kept out of the way, and Miss Townend, too. Bea felt sorry for little Miss Townend. Well, a little bit sorry. Bea told herself that she ought to have handled her son's secretary better.

She went back into the kitchen to continue wiping surfaces down but had only just decided that she'd better put everything that had been left out on exposed shelves into the dishwasher, when the front doorbell rang.

Kasia, looking wary. ‘Oh!' When she saw the mess in the hall.

‘Come on into the kitchen,' said Bea. ‘I think the stools are clean enough to sit on, but I won't offer you a cup of tea till I've washed out a mug or two.'

Kasia seemed to grow two inches. She reached capable hands for the mugs the builders had been using, and put them in the sink. ‘This my job. You sit, right?'

‘You wash, and I wipe.' Bea seized a tea towel. ‘And now, you tell me what the problem is.'

‘This afternoon I get phone call from lady who say I am to work for her at Mr Kent's. And I feel … huff … huff … cannot breathe!'

‘What?'

Kasia nodded. ‘Lady say I must work there again, but is not Mrs Frasier, who is Mr Kent's daughter. Is another name. I think I go crazy!'

‘But …!'

‘She say, house is dirty, is my fault, all my fault, because I ran away last week instead of cleaning. She say, “You work and you get paid. You not work, you not get paid.”'

Bea gaped.

Kasia nodded, swiftly emptying the sink of dirty water, and tackling the work surfaces. ‘She say, “Come on Thursday, one hour only, nine o'clock, and I let you in.” She say, “You not to be trusted with keys now.” She say, “I check on you, see you not steal any more …!”'

‘What!'

Kasia scrubbed down the central work table, nodding. ‘She say, “You bring back the things you steal from me, or I call the cops!” She mad, I think.'

Bea put a hand to her head. ‘I don't understand any of this … Ah. Hang about. Miss Brook and Oliver – two of my agency staff – they were working at the house this morning and a woman came in who had Mrs Frasier's keys. Her name was …' She clicked her fingers. ‘Cunningham. Would that be the same person?'

Kasia shuddered, her whole body trembling. ‘I have bad dream every night about that house. I no thief! And I not go again. No!'

‘Don't blame you. I wouldn't particularly wish to go back there again myself.'

‘But she say, she call the cops. I try call Mrs Green. No answer.'

‘She's gone away for a bit.'

‘Then I call my mother in Poland, and tell her. She say, “Come back home”! But, I go home, no work. I need job. I earn good money here. I send back money for my mother and my little house that is not finished. What for I should go back now? I not steal. No! But … what to do? So I think what you said, and I call you.' She sprinkled water on the floor to stop the dust floating up again and attacked it with a soft broom. The dust rolled into clumps, which Kasia dealt with before using a mop.

Bea got some potatoes out of the vegetable drawer and sat on a stool to peel them for supper, lifting her feet from the floor so that Kasia could clean around her. ‘Ms Cunningham sounds a nasty piece of work.' Bea remembered that neither Oliver nor Miss Brook had liked the woman. ‘I signed a piece of paper for Mrs Frasier, taking responsibility for what was in the house. What is it that's missing?'

‘A silver jug, a china lady. A photograph.'

‘I know who took those. Mrs Frasier was there when the jug and the shepherdess went, and she didn't object to their going. The photograph was taken by Mrs Frasier's mother. None of those things were stolen.'

As Kasia moved through the kitchen, order and cleanliness was restored. There was still a fine mist of dust in the air, and tomorrow it would all need doing again, but for now, the kitchen was usable.

Kasia said, ‘You tell this woman “No cops”?'

‘I can tell her that, certainly. I don't think we have her phone number, but I think I know how to get it. I don't understand why she should be taking over from Mrs Frasier, but I'm sure I can sort that out for you.'

‘You say to her, I not go back to that house. She find other cleaner.'

‘Who won't be half as good as you, Kasia,' said Bea. ‘Do you want to work for me instead of Mr Kent in future? My assistant usually cleans the house, but she's getting more and more other work to do, and I need someone like you to keep us straight.'

‘I have to sign papers, pay registration fee, national stamp? All outgoings, no incomings.'

Bea gestured widely. ‘We're a domestic agency. We work according to the laws of the land.'

‘I like better to work cash in hand. You understand?'

‘Yes, but … look, we'll discuss this properly some other time. You've cleaned the kitchen up for me beautifully, and I owe you for that.'

Kasia put up her hand. ‘No cops, no pay. I have more work already, always people say, “Who is your cleaner? Give me her number”. I no need Mrs Green or her jobs any more. I am full up. And no cops.'

Bea heard Miss Brook calling out from the hall that she was leaving for the day, but would be back tomorrow if needed.

Bea sang out, ‘Thank you, yes, Miss Brook. Definitely, we need you.' Turning back to Kasia, she switched on the kettle, offering her a cup of tea. ‘I understand what you're saying. Tell me a bit about yourself.'

Kasia seized another cloth and started wiping down the glass fronts of the kitchen cupboards. ‘I came here with my husband five years now. He is very good builder, has much work. We rent nice house with a friend and his wife, and we send money back to look after his mother and my mother. Then we start to build a house back at home, for ourselves later on, you understand? Then he becomes sick. They say it is cancer, and we go back home to Poland.' Kasia stared into the distance.