False Step (33 page)

Bea collected Gail and they drove through the traffic to Chartwell Avenue. A pleasant, tree-lined street, a mix of three-storey Edwardian and two-storey-with-a-loft-conversion houses. The holly hedge was still there.

What was new was a ‘Sold' sign nailed to the gatepost.

‘This begins to make sense,' said Bea. ‘You know what to do? Look for anything that could tell us what Lily's been up to, and in particular where we can find Bert.'

They got out of the car and eyed the red-brick façade. It was a large house, but not a welcoming one. The holly hedge was a darkening influence on the tiny front garden, but the faded paintwork was also dark. A bad choice. The tiled pathway was not in good condition, but the gutters were functioning and the down pipes vertical.

Gail pointed to a dingy brass plaque on the gatepost. ‘Cunningham, piano lessons. Was that him or her?'

Bea rang the bell inside the porch. More tiling. Stained-glass panels in the heavy old door. A worn doormat. A pile of circulars in the green recycling box. A faint but persistent smell of … dry rot?

Lily opened the door halfway and blinked. ‘What do you two want? Can't you see I'm busy? Oh, I suppose you've brought back the things you stole.'

Bea raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean the little silver jug and the china shepherdess? Mrs Frasier allowed Goldie to take them. Now, what we wanted—'

‘Oh, did she, indeed! I'll have to have a word with Goldie. So, what did you want, then? Ah, you've brought me the keys? Or have you given them to the estate agent already?' She opened the door wider.

‘No, I've still got them,' said Bea, brushing past Lily into the cavernous hall. More tiling, cleared spaces where large pieces of furniture had once stood, dust in the air. An old coat-stand with female articles of clothing on it. Prominent among them was a long black coat, and a black scarf. Suitable for a Muslim woman.

There were no men's clothes hanging up, but a number of black plastic bags gaped open on the floor, containing what looked like men's shirts and jackets. So Lily was having a clear-out of her father's things already? And some of the furniture had already gone to the sale room, or wherever Lily intended to live?

Bea said, ‘There's a couple of things I wanted to check with Bert before I hand the keys over.'

Gail almost stepped on Bea's heels in haste to get in before the door was closed on them. ‘May I visit your loo?'

‘Oh, I suppose so. What do you want with Bert? It's me who inherits.' Lily closed the door on the outside world. There was only a dim light bulb in the hall and the air was chilly. Bea stepped through a door on the right, closely followed by Gail. They were in a large front room with a high ceiling and squared-off bay window. More dust. Drooping maroon curtains. Lighter patches on the wallpaper showing where more furniture had been removed. A grand piano was still there and a couple of glass-fronted bookcases, their doors hanging open, their shelves half empty. Stacks of sheet music. Cardboard boxes, half full of books.

Communicating double doors led from this room into another equally large one at the back of the house. Bea pushed one of the doors wide open to reveal a combined sitting room, recording studio and office. There was a small armchair sitting in front of a television set, and spaces where a settee and other furniture had once stood.

‘Through here?' Gail slipped into the second room.

Lily made as if to stop Gail, but Bea took her by the arm and turned her away towards the piano. ‘Leave her be. She'll find the loo. Is this where you give music lessons, Lily?'

‘What if I do? All that's finished.'

‘You're moving, I see. Where are you going?'

‘None of your business.'

‘And Bert? I really need a word with him.'

‘What for? Forget him. His mind's gone, He's totally lost the plot, not making any sense since Uncle Matthew died. The shock sent him all funny.'

‘So what will you do? You can't get into Matthew Kent's house, can you? Your solicitor seems honest enough, if not the brightest knife in the drawer. He's confused, what with two wills and two families wanting to move into that valuable property. He's made it clear that nobody moves anywhere until probate is granted, right?'

‘No need to worry about me, I have a bed-sitter all lined up, but I won't be there long. Half the furniture's gone already, the rest goes Monday morning, except for the stuff the new people are going to buy. They move in Monday afternoon. So what do you want?'

‘I worry about you, I really do. You've lived here all your life. You've struggled to earn a few pennies by giving piano lessons. You've never married. It must have seemed that the world had fallen apart when your father said he was selling the house to move into a home. If he was your father.' She knew that was a cruel thing to say, but she believed that what Lily had done was more than cruel, and it might provoke her into saying something unwise.

Lily's lower lip came out. ‘He was my father as long as it suited him, so long as I slaved for him, cooked and cleaned and ran all his errands, took him to the doctor's and dentist's and dished out his medication and got up in the night to help him to the toilet and back. Oh, he called me his lovely daughter then,' said Lily, tucking her hair back behind her ears. ‘But do you know how he repaid me? He went behind my back to find a company which would give him an annuity in exchange for this house, arranging to hand it over to them for sale when he felt ready to go into a home. And he didn't tell me until six months ago. Now I'm homeless and he's in clover for the rest of his life. Is it surprising that I'm bitter?'

‘No, it isn't. Tell me, when did you meet up with Damaris again? I know you used to play together when you were children, but …'

‘Damaris?' Scorn in her voice. ‘What a waste of space. Never could see beyond the end of her nose. Bert told me about it as soon as she started making regular visits to Uncle Matthew, and she only visited him because he'd got cancer. Bert could see what she was working for, and so could I. He thought it was amusing that she was going to get Matthew's house and money, and that I was going to be left with nothing. That's the kind of person Bert was.'

‘So you decided to look Damaris up?'

‘I went into the shop where she worked and asked her to have lunch with me for old times' sake.' She lifted her upper lip in a gesture of contempt. ‘She talked of nothing but how life was coming right for her at long last.'

‘She arranged for Matthew to make his will, and asked you to be executor. Why was that?'

Lily reared back her head. ‘Why not? We went back a long way. She trusted me. She wouldn't have asked that useless husband of hers, would she?'

‘Point taken. So she was looking at a bright future, and you were looking into the abyss. How did you get her to play your game?'

‘What game? There was no game.'

‘If there was no game, if you didn't have any hold on her, then why did she leave Matthew's house to you?'

‘She felt sorry for me, that's why. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a lot to do.' She looked at the door into the other room. ‘Has Gail got lost?'

Bea was soothing. ‘She's had a gippy tummy for days. So, where am I to send the keys on to – after probate has been granted, I mean?'

‘I'll let you know.' Lily was getting suspicious. She kept looking at the door to the inner room. ‘The loo is upstairs.'

‘And which home is Bert in?'

‘No business of yours. Anyway, it wouldn't do you any good to see him now. I told you, he can't remember how many fingers he has on each hand. Now, if you don't mind, I'm asking you to leave, both of you.'

‘Oh, very well.' Bea called out, ‘Gail, are you all right?'

Gail appeared in the doorway, looking flushed. ‘Sorry about that. Can't seem to keep anything down nowadays.'

Lily practically shoved them out of the door.

Lily slammed the door behind them. Interfering old women! Had they come to gloat? One thing; they'd never learn the truth about what happened to Matthew from her. And they couldn't prove anything.

She seethed with frustration. All that scheming and she still hadn't a penny to bless herself with.

Back to work. Some of the furniture had already gone to the saleroom. Some the new owners were going to buy. It would be enough to keep her going until probate was through and she could lay her hands on Matthew's house.

Bea and Gail walked in silence to the car and got in. Gail produced a wad of paper from her handbag.

‘These were in the shredder. It had jammed because she'd put in too much at once. I used the reverse switch to get them out. They're some flyers showing Matthew in costume, with Bert at the piano beside him. They're way out of date. So why is she shredding such old stuff?'

‘It's a puzzle, to be sure,' said Bea, who had a pretty good idea why. She looked at the flyers. They showed Matthew caressing a microphone and smiling into the camera. A slightly built man with a heart-shaped face sat hunched over a keyboard at his side. He didn't look anything like Lily. Bea said, ‘It's definitely Bert at the piano?'

‘Sure. Poor Bert.' Her sympathy was perfunctory.

Bea nodded. This was the last piece in the jigsaw puzzle. She had a pretty good idea now as to what had happened. She stowed the flyers in her bag. ‘Did you find an address for the retirement home?'

‘I looked through her address book by the telephone. Nothing. Just as you called to me, I spotted her handbag on the floor and there was a brochure sticking out of it. I could only see the first few words. Green something, and a picture of a big house. Do we really need to question Bert? If he's really lost it …'

‘Bert sold the house and bought an annuity to cover his bills at the home, which meant Lily will never get anything, even if he dies tomorrow. I feel sorry for her, almost, because she's lived there all her life and she's not only going to lose her home but also her place of work.'

Gail looked at her watch. ‘I see what you mean. Even if he wasn't her real father, she deserved something, didn't she? Time's getting on and I'm chairing a committee meeting this afternoon.'

‘There's a post office across the road. I'll pop in there and ask if they know of a retirement home around here called Green something.'

Without waiting for Gail's reply, Bea got out of the car and darted across the road. She was out in under five minutes but went into an adjoining shop before returning to the car with a bunch of flowers. ‘It's not far away. Green Gates Retirement Home.'

‘I'm not sure I can cope with Bert today, especially if he's lost it. Too sad.'

Bea rounded the corner and parked the car outside a large house. ‘I need a witness. Please, Gail. It won't take long.' The front door was locked. Bea rang the bell. It was a large, imposing Edwardian villa in its own grounds, but it didn't seem that the inmates were allowed to roam at will outside the house. There was a three-storey modern extension at the side, well maintained.

Bea looked through a window into a large sitting room. An arrangement of dried flowers in a vase. High-backed chairs ranged around the room. Various elderly people sitting in the chairs staring at a huge television. No Bert.

Gail followed Bea to the door. ‘Not exactly lively, is it?'

A pleasant-looking woman opened the door. ‘Sorry, short-handed today. I didn't hear the bell.'

‘We're old friends of Mr Cunningham's, just been told by his daughter Lily that he's moved here but is not very well. We'd like to see him for a few minutes if we may. We promise not to tire him.' Bea held up the flowers she'd just bought.

‘Well, that's nice of you. His daughter hasn't been to see him since he was brought in. Such a shame. Er, you do realize that he's pretty confused at the moment? We've had to sedate him a couple of times, for his own safety. Follow me. I think he's in the sun lounge at the back.'

They followed the woman across a brightly polished hallway and down a corridor. Sounds of tables being laid came from a dining room and savoury smells made Bea think longingly about food. She hadn't had any breakfast.

The sun lounge had been built on to the back of the house and was bright with pot plants and bamboo furniture. Four people were playing dominoes at a table. Two more were reading newspapers. A woman was knitting in one corner, hooked up to an iPod.

A tall, slim man dressed all in grey, was sitting in a chair looking out over the garden. He was leaning forward, both hands resting on a stick. There was a half-healed cut on his left temple, with a yellowing bruise around it.

His hairline was receding, but he was a good-looking man for all that. He had a strong face which wore an expression of patience. Even, of suffering.

He didn't move or even see his visitors until Gail exclaimed, ‘Oh!'

He turned his head. His eyes focused on Bea. He had cornflower-blue eyes. He didn't recognize her and his remote expression didn't change. His eyes moved past Bea to Gail. He recognized her.

His face came alive. He stumbled to his feet, dropping his stick. His silver-knobbed stick.

Gail bent to pick it up.

‘Oh, Matthew,' she said.

A clock chimed twelve somewhere in the depths of the house and a slow surge of residents headed from various places towards the dining room. In the sun lounge everyone watched with varying degrees of curiosity and interest as Gail flung her arms open and Matthew stepped into them. They held one another fast, eyes closed, tears on their cheeks.

Matthew said, ‘I prayed you'd come.'

Gail could only repeat his name, over and over. ‘Matthew, Matthew, Matthew!'

‘What's going on?' Ice in her voice, authority reasserted itself.

Bea grinned. ‘Nice to see lovers reunited, isn't it?' She understood now why these two people from such disparate backgrounds had ever got married. Sex, that's what. Matthew and Gail had taken one look at one another when they first met, and that was that. As it was now.