False fire

by Veronica Heley

  Steve tried to speak, and failed. Frustration brought colour to his cheeks. He pulled out his tablet and began to write on it. Then he held up his tablet for Mel to read what he’d written.

  Mel nodded. ‘Giorgio: Steve says this is not the time and place. He’ll discuss it with you after Daphne’s will is read.’

  Giorgio said, ‘I can wait.’ He drew a chair out from the dining table in the window overlooking the street, and seated himself on it. That way he was still in the room, but keeping at a distance from the others.

  Alaric ignored everyone to stand over Mel. ‘You’re the nanny, aren’t you? Where is my daughter?’

  Bea intervened. ‘Alaric, I told you. Leon’s taken the children with him to collect Sybil Holland – that’s his elder sister – from the airport. Now, do sit down, please.’

  ‘Why should we?’ said Ninette, poised to retreat. ‘And what have you been doing to Faye?’

  ‘Lord Morton attacked me!’ said Faye, hairspray poised in her hand. Sullen and furious. ‘Giddy, tell them!’

  Gideon ignored Faye. Since Bea had removed him from ‘her’ chair, Gideon made as if to sit on the settee beside Mel …

  … or, he would have done, if Steve hadn’t given him such a furious look that he decided to sit near the window instead. He, like Giorgio, took one of the chairs by the dining table. He even managed to produce a light laugh. ‘Well, here we all are. Alaric, Ninette: welcome to the mad house.’

  William looked around. And took the last remaining chair on this side of the dining table. He drew it out into the room, stationed himself behind Faye, and seated himself there.

  Bea turned the gas fire out as the room was getting warm with so many people in it. ‘Now we are all here, perhaps we can work out exactly what’s been going on. Alaric, Ninette – take a seat.’

  Alaric said, ‘Is this going to take long?’ But he took off his coat and settled himself beside Ninette on the settee opposite Bea.

  Bea said, ‘Before we start, please do remember that Steve’s lost his voice. If we need to ask him something then Mel – this is Mel, one of my agency staff – has been helping him and may be able to tell you some of what he’s been doing today, or wait for him to write on his tablet.’

  ‘Who cares!’ said Faye, and started to toss her hair about her head.

  Bea sat down in her favourite chair, from which she could survey the whole room. She said, ‘The fire investigator, Manisa, will soon be in a position to make a report to the police, in which she will say that at least one of the fires on Friday night was caused by arson.’

  Alaric’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ah. The children playing tricks, I suppose.’

  Giorgio’s mouth fell open.

  Ninette said, ‘What?’

  Everyone else nodded.

  Bea went on, ‘Manisa has already found evidence of one timer, and it is suspected there were at least two more: one on the top landing, and the other in the box of indoor fireworks which exploded in the children’s room. It is possible there was also a fourth, in the fuse box which controlled the lights throughout the house. Timers mean arson. Manisa’s report will start the police asking questions.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ Ninette exclaimed. ‘Isn’t it perfectly clear that the children set the fires?’

  ‘You don’t seriously think that even if the children had sourced and set at least three timers, they’d have been so foolish as to put one in their own box of fireworks?’

  ‘Anyone can see that they were totally out of hand, egging one another on. Alicia wets the bed. Alicia is a very disturbed child and needs to see a psychiatrist. And as for Bernice! Well! What can you expect of a criminal’s child?’

  William and Steve stirred, but Bea held up her hand. ‘Ninette, just because you don’t fancy looking after a ten-year-old girl, it doesn’t mean that she set out to murder you. Perhaps you haven’t realized it, but if that box of tricks had been left in the sitting room on Friday evening, then it would have exploded while we were all at dinner and caused a fire which might have threatened all our lives … you included.’

  Ninette went a greenish-white.

  Alaric paused in the act of lighting another of his cheroots.

  Faye’s mouth fell open, as did Giorgio’s.

  Ninette squeaked, ‘Who would want to kill me?’

  Bea said to Alaric, ‘Please, no smoking. Did anyone apart from William comment on the box of fireworks before it was taken upstairs?’

  Giorgio lifted his hand, not very far. ‘Daphne did. She said it was nice of someone to have given it to the children. She thought I’d got it for them, but it never occurred to me.’

  No. He probably hadn’t bothered to get the children a present of any kind.

  Ninette said, ‘Didn’t the kids ask if they could have the fireworks before supper and Josh said “no”?’

  Alaric nodded. ‘He did.’ He still held the cheroot between his fingers, turning it round with strong fingers. But he didn’t light it.

  ‘When the children left the dinner table,’ said Bea, ‘did anyone hear Mrs Frost arguing with the children about taking their presents upstairs?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Ninette. ‘I suppose I did. I was seated nearest to the door to the hall. The door was open because the waitresses were coming in and out. I heard Mrs Frost telling the children to leave some of the big presents downstairs till the following day. She helped them carry the rest upstairs.’

  Bea sighed. It seemed they were no further in finding out who’d supplied the indoor fireworks. ‘Let’s move on to something else the fire investigator wants to know. Who chose the electrician to do the rewiring? It is quite possible they had nothing whatever to do with the fire.’

  ‘You mean that you “need the name to eliminate them from your enquiries”?’ Alaric put his cheroot to his mouth, felt Bea’s eye on him, and took it away again. ‘Don’t look at me; I wasn’t asked.’

  Steve snapped his fingers, and nodded.

  Mel said, ‘We found the name in Josh’s papers. A firm called BEC Electrics, based in Chiswick.’

  Ninette stared. ‘Oh, them. They have an office downstairs in our building. They’re good. I recommend them to people all the time.’

  ‘Did you recommend them to Josh?’

  ‘No. Why would I?’

  Giorgio said, ‘I think I saw a van with those initials painted on its side a couple of times. It was parked in front of the garage and I had to ask them to move, so I could get Daphne’s – I mean my – car out. She gave it to me. Honest!’

  No one believed him.

  Bea said, ‘You spoke to the electricians, Giorgio? What did they look like?’

  A shrug. ‘Like any other workmen. Overalls. One was shorter. One was taller. Neither of them worked out, I can tell you that.’

  ‘Polish, Albanian, what?’

  ‘Er.’ Trying to think. ‘British. Ordinary. South London accent. Bobble caps. Tattoos? Yes, one of them had tattoos on both his arms. I don’t hold with them myself.’

  ‘You saw the same two men on several occasions?’

  Deep thought. Painful. ‘Dunno. Daphne said she never knew who she was going to meet when she walked into the house, but that was Daphne. She might not have meant it.’

  Alaric threw up his eyes. ‘Come off it. Daphne would have noticed any man who entered her orbit.’

  Bea tried once more to extract information from Giorgio. ‘So, one tall man, one shorter and fatter? Bobble caps, overalls.’ She thought about that. So where did the fake policeman come in? Suppose …? She ventured a guess. ‘Was the third man the same, or different?’

  Deep thought. The lad really was trying hard. ‘Different. Irish? Black hair. Blue overalls, not grey. He worked out. Good biceps. Strong neck. You know? But … tattoos?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’ve done so well,’ said Bea. And indeed he had.

  Black hair. No, it couldn’t be … could it? The query ‘off-duty’ policeman who’d called on h
er and … what was his name? Thurrock? Manisa hadn’t officially informed the police about his visit to Bea yet, so they’d assumed he’d been doing Faye a favour. But … where did he fit in?

  What had a plain-clothes policeman to do with an electrical firm? No, it couldn’t possibly be the same man. Could it? A man with black hair who worked out. There must be quite a few of those around.

  Of course, if he hadn’t been a policeman at all, but someone impersonating one … No, that was ridiculous! Everyone knew the penalties for impersonating a policeman were horrendous.

  True black hair wasn’t that common in a man with Caucasian looks. Irish, yes. Indian, yes. Pakistani, yes. West Indian, Somalian, Afghan? Yes, all of those. But Caucasian, no.

  She said, ‘Excuse me a moment … the supper … be back in a sec.’ She had to think. She went out to the kitchen and checked that everything was boiling or roasting or … whatever.

  She turned the oven down. It was possible she might have to ditch the lot. Her brain had gone into overdrive. It lurched from ‘possible’ to ‘impossible’ and back again.

  Someone was calling her name. ‘Bea!’ Sharply.

  She started.

  William. ‘Wakey, wakey. What’s got into you? We were making some progress, I thought, and then you storm out, leaving us …’

  She tuned him out. Possible, if … But then, who was Henry II?

  He snapped his fingers under her nose.

  She blinked. ‘Don’t do that!’

  He was not amused. Probably not used to women telling him off. ‘Look here, Bea …!’

  She said, ‘Which of them is Henry II?’

  ‘What! Look, Bea, I don’t know where you think you’re going with this but I’ve been having second thoughts about allowing Alicia to go off with—’

  ‘Sorry, William. A bit distracted. I want you to watch them when—’

  ‘Watch who? I don’t understand what—’

  ‘Alaric and Ninette. I want to know if either of them—’

  A shout of alarm. A crash.

  Bea said, ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Gideon making a nuisance of himself, I suppose.’

  It sounded like a minor riot. Voices raised, the sound of a blow?

  Bea rushed back in to see an overturned chair and upraised arms. She raged at them. ‘I turn my back for five minutes!’

  Gideon was on his feet, nose to nose with his brother. Mel was half on and half off the settee.

  Gideon’s cheek was red this time.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ said Bea. ‘Children! Sit down and behave!’

  Gideon shouted, ‘He hit me!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Bea. ‘And what did you do to deserve it! Make a pass at his girl? Sit! All of you!’ She waited till they’d shamefacedly groped back into their seats.

  Bea swung round on Faye, who had ignored the fracas and was now working on her lips. ‘Faye, you know this man Giorgio’s been talking about. The third electrician?’

  ‘Mm?’ The perfect brow wrinkled.

  But somewhere in the room a breath of unease stirred the air. Bea wasn’t sure where it had originated. She couldn’t watch everyone all the time. William had followed her in, but he probably hadn’t grasped the importance of what she’d asked him to do.

  ‘Concentrate, Faye. Tall man. Black hair. Works out.’

  Faye said, ‘Huh?’

  ‘Narrow eyes,’ said Bea, crossing fingers and toes that she’d got it right.

  Faye’s expression went from blank to recognition. ‘You mean Neil?’

  Someone had made a sharp movement. Who?

  ‘Neil.’ Bea repeated the name, checking everyone’s faces for a reaction. ‘You sent him to me, pretending to be a policeman, trying to screw money out of me to cover your losses on Friday night.’

  Faye nodded, pleased. ‘It was a good idea, wasn’t it? We thought you’d pay up straight away’ – a cloud crossing her brow – ‘but you didn’t.’

  ‘Is he really a policeman?’

  ‘No, silly! Of course not. He’s a chauffeur. Has his own limo. Top of the range.’

  ‘What’s Neil’s surname?’

  ‘Thorough. No, that’s not quite right. It’s what I call him.’ Giggle. Faye tried to engage her brain. The slightest of frowns depressed her perfect eyebrows. She turned to Gideon. ‘Tell her. You use him all the time.’

  Steve frowned. He’d known the name. He reached for his tablet.

  Gideon flushed. ‘You mean Neil Thurrock?’ Uneasy. Why?

  Faye widened her eyes. ‘Thurrock. That’s it. I told him he should try modelling, but I think maybe he’s too old now?’ She made it a question.

  Bea said, ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘I see him at home, everywhere. Often at Giddy’s evenings. Lots of bubbly, and on to a nightclub. I go along to make sure the clients have a good time.’ She pouted. ‘You needn’t all look at me like that. Giddy used Neil and his limo all the time. Or he used to. Something happened, didn’t it, Giddy? I asked Neil but he wouldn’t say.’

  Gideon was terse. ‘I don’t use him any longer.’

  Steve held his tablet up for Mel to read. She took it from him, frowning. Then looked up. ‘Is this true, Gideon? Steve says you sacked Neil’s father after thirty years with the firm?’

  Gideon’s colour deepened. ‘I did, and yes, he took it badly, threatened to sue …!’ He was incredulous. ‘How dare he! I caught him red-handed with his hand in the till, and he had the nerve to say I’d framed him for the job. Dad always made excuses for him, but he was nothing but a dead weight in the firm, obstructing my ideas, working against me, whispering to people behind my back. I should have got rid of him ages ago. He lost me my biggest sale to date, didn’t he? I can’t tell you the relief it was to see the last of his sour face.’

  Steve shook his head from side to side, fingers flying on his tablet.

  William had been hovering in the doorway, but now he came right into the room, picked up the fallen chair, righted it, and sat down. ‘Relax, Steve. Let me tell them how it was.’

  SEVENTEEN

  Sunday evening

  William said, ‘No, Steve, let me speak. It’s about time we put the record straight. Your father and I have been friends since before you were born, and we’ve shared all our triumphs and disappointments. Our children have intermarried; our businesses have had their ups and downs.’

  Gideon raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Here it comes: tell me the old, old story of how you two dinosaurs refuse to step into the modern world—’

  Steve made a sudden, violent movement. Mel calmed him with a hand on his arm and a smile.

  William said, ‘It’s all right, lad. I know exactly what’s been going on. Gideon: you will agree that you and Steve are as different as chalk from cheese. Your father knew that, and tried to help you both to develop according to your characters. Steve took over the Maintenance Division, while you, Gideon, were handed the Sales branch.’

  Gideon huffed, ‘Steve would have been less than useless in Sales, whereas I … you only have to look at the turnover to see what can be done by someone with a flair for it.’

  ‘Turnover is one thing,’ said William. ‘Profit is another. Your idea was to spend lavishly to attract the wealthiest of buyers with holidays, trips on chartered yachts, suites at the Dorchester, provision of girls, entry to the most exclusive of nightclubs and tickets to sold-out concerts.’

  Gideon chuckled. ‘I know how to do it in style, don’t I?’

  ‘It’s one way of doing it, certainly, though not your father’s way. Nor mine. However, you miscalculated—’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘The wealthy don’t object to being wooed, but are usually canny with their money. If what is on offer amuses them, they take the bait, but don’t necessarily follow through with a purchase. For the last two years you have made a thumping loss, and for the five years before that you only made the slenderest of profits. Your father carried your losses but k
new he couldn’t do so for ever. He foresaw that if you continued to spend money without making the sales, you would bring the company down. He did try to talk to you about it, didn’t he?’

  Gideon puffed out his cheeks. ‘Poor old Dad. Still living in the past. He couldn’t understand that nowadays you have to invest in order to prosper.’

  William sighed. ‘He knew he’d always been weak where you were concerned. He wanted to save you from yourself, so he asked Steve to let the Maintenance Department’s own office manager, Cecil Thurrock, move to Sales. He hoped Cecil would be able to act as a brake on your spending. Cecil had been due to retire and was reluctant to go … wasn’t he, Steve?’

  Steve nodded violently.

  William sighed. ‘Gideon, if only you’d listened to Cecil, who—’

  ‘Listen to that marionette, who only danced to my father’s tune? He hadn’t a clue about how to run a Sales Department. He came to work in a suit, for heaven’s sake, complaining about the hotel bills, or the limousine or … anything and everything. He’d say, “Mr Gideon, you can’t do this,” and “Your father wouldn’t like you to do that!” I tell you, when I saw his yellow face come round the door, it used to give me heartburn!’

  ‘Perhaps it was a mistake to ask him to work for you—’

  ‘He obstructed me in every way!’

  William shook his head. ‘He could read the writing on the wall quicker than most. He told your father how much you proposed to spend on a weekend on a yacht with girls in tow in order to persuade a client to buy a penthouse suite in Knightsbridge—’

  ‘It would have been money well spent if my father hadn’t nixed the deal. I could have strangled the little—’

  ‘But you did, didn’t you? Well, not physically strangled. You trumped up some excuse to give him the sack—’

  ‘He walked off with my iPad—’

  ‘Which found its way somehow into his briefcase while he was out for lunch—’

  ‘He meant to take it home with him, to extract information which he could sell to our competitors—’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ said William, ‘and you know it.’