False Step

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Is the Duchess usually played by a man?’

  ‘No, but if you had someone like Matthew around, wouldn’t you want to make use of him? How sad that he won’t be making the performance.’ She brushed one hand off against the other. Well, that settled it. Everything had been neatly accounted for, more or less. Her uneasiness was not justified and they’d better get on with the job they’d been paid to do.

  ‘The inventory, Oliver. Let’s start at the top of the house. It won’t take long.’

  Working together, they were soon down to the first floor. Bea opened a cupboard on the landing. ‘Nothing but linen in here. I suppose we ought to count the number of sheets and towels.’

  ‘Nothing like being thorough.’

  ‘Will you do this, and then help me in the bathroom?’ Bea was of the opinion that you could tell a lot about a man from the contents of his bathroom cabinet. He’d left a rim round the bath, but it wasn’t too bad. A nice big medicine cabinet, stocked with everything a man might need if he relied on his voice for a living. A full box of painkillers. An almost empty box of high blood pressure tablets. Good soap. A pack of antibiotics, almost empty. No toothbrush or toothpaste. Damaris must have removed those when she took away some of his clothes.

  Her mobile phone rang. She’d left it downstairs. Who …? Oh, bother. ‘Oliver, I’d better answer it.’ Down she went to take the call.

  It was her son, Max. ‘Mother, we seem to keep missing one another, and it’s rather urgent that we talk.’

  ‘We’re on different time scales. You’re at the House of Commons when I finish work for the day.’ He was right, of course. She had been avoiding him, sort of. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what he wanted to say. ‘Actually, I’m working now.’ She turned back to the stairs, taking the phone with her.

  ‘So am I. The business of the House doesn’t stop just because my marriage has broken down.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She began to pull out bottles from the medicine cabinet, to see what lay behind them. ‘Have you been able to talk to Nicole yet?’

  ‘No, I …’ He half-covered the phone to speak to someone nearby, ‘You can leave that for the moment …’ Then back to speak to Bea. ‘The fact is that I can’t work in my office at the House for the moment. You do understand why, don’t you?’

  ‘I assume you have someone with you and can’t talk freely?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. I knew you wouldn’t mind. It is the best solution, after all. Though I must say that the workmen are making a hell of a racket. It’s extremely inconvenient, having them in at this juncture. Can’t you get them to work more quietly?’

  ‘What?’ Bea sat down on the bathroom stool in a hurry. ‘Max, tell me it’s not true! You aren’t working from my house, are you?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ A soft puff of a laugh. ‘My dear old secretary isn’t used to quite such straightened quarters, but as she says, “We must soldier on, mustn’t we?”’

  ‘But Max—’

  ‘There’s just one little thing I’d like you to do for me, but we can talk about that when you get back. We’ll go out somewhere for supper, shall we?’

  ‘No – I mean, Maggie’s cooking supper—’

  ‘Till tonight, then. Half six, say?’ He cut off the phone.

  Bea stared at her own phone, before calling up Maggie on it. ‘Maggie dear, I’ve just had a phone call from my son.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Abbot, is it all right? I didn’t know what to say when he started lugging in all those files and setting up his computer and telling me to look after his secretary. I mean, you might have warned me.’

  Bea bit back the words ‘I didn’t know’. ‘Sorry, dear. I hope it isn’t too inconvenient.’

  ‘Well, it is rather, because the dragon has co-opted the dining table and the landline and glares at Mr Max’s little lady, who’s totally sweet but not up to her weight, if you know what I mean.’

  For ‘dragon’, read Miss Brook, their old bookkeeper. Bea pictured the scene and grimaced. ‘Listen, Maggie. This is an emergency, just for a couple of days. Can you keep the peace?’

  ‘Peace? You must be joking. You can probably hear the workmen from here! Mr Max went down and asked if they could work more quietly. That worked a treat, as you can imagine. They turned up their radio as soon as his back was turned!’

  ‘I’ll try to sort something out with my son when I get back. He said something about taking me out for supper.’

  ‘Oh, bother. Oh, never mind. It’ll do for tomorrow, instead. When will you be back?’

  ‘When we’re finished here,’ said Bea, glad to be out of the arena for the time being.

  Oliver put his head around the door. ‘That’s done. What shall we do next? The bathroom, was it?’

  Bea looked around her, distractedly. ‘Oliver, I’m missing something, but I can’t think what. Yes, let’s do the bathroom and then take a break.’

  Back to everyday life. Making inventories, checking facts, slotting people into the right jobs at the right price. There was no murder. There never had been a murder. If Damaris hadn’t been such an unpleasant person, Bea would never have started to wonder about this and that.

  Oliver was looking puzzled. ‘Why didn’t Damaris bring in a professional valuer, because some of the furniture and one or two watercolours look as if they might fetch a bob or two? … No deodorants, no shaver. Do you think Damaris has taken them for her husband?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Bea, thirsty and depressed. ‘Is she so short of money that she’d want second-hand toiletries? I agree some of the furniture ought to go to a good auction house. Perhaps she didn’t want to spend the money on an expert? Or perhaps she thinks her mother will try to remove something before the valuer can get here?’

  They took a break. Oliver went out to buy tea bags and milk, while Bea phoned home to see if there were any problems which their old bookkeeper couldn’t solve. There weren’t, of course. Miss Brook might be well over sixty – best not ask how many years over – but she had more than her rightful share of marbles, and liked the odd day’s work even under present-day conditions.

  ‘Though mind you, Mrs A, things are not quite comfortable here at the moment, if you get my meaning. Mr Max has been giving your phone number out to all and sundry, though I protested in the strongest terms against his doing so.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Miss Brook. I’m having supper with him this evening and will try to sort something out.’ Bea put the phone down, and pressed her hands to her temples. She could feel a headache coming on.

  They went upstairs after tea to start on the master bedroom. Oliver was fascinated by the king-size bed. ‘I’ve seen beds like this before, in museums. French, isn’t it? All that carving on the headboard – must have cost a fortune. You found the body here?’

  Bea shuddered. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

  Matthew had had a huge wardrobe-cum-cupboard full of good men’s clothes in his bedroom, with a rack of handmade shoes at the side. He had used a lot of hair preparations supposed to prevent baldness, and had taken good care of his skin. ‘You can see where some of his clothes used to be. Damaris said she’d taken some away already, but there’s still loads here which we’re supposed to bag up and dispose of. I think we’ll leave that little job till we’ve done the inventory and seen the colour of her money.’

  ‘You think she won’t pay for work done?’

  ‘I may have to eat my words but … yes, that’s exactly what I do think. There’s no red dress here. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes … Kasia saw it, too. And Florrie. We can’t all have been seeing things.’

  ‘Damaris took the dress away, because … well, she didn’t like his cross-dressing and wanted to protect his memory.’ He ran his hands over the mahogany. ‘If you lived in such a house with all this unusual furniture, it would influence the way you thought about the rest of the world, don’t you think? Make you think yourself something separate, different. I wouldn’t mind something lik
e this when I get older.’

  Bea sneezed. ‘Kasia couldn’t have cleaned so well up here. Dust!’

  ‘Not dust.’ Oliver sniffed the air. ‘Aftershave?’ He bent to sniff the counterpane. ‘It’s on this.’ He sniffed again. His foot kicked against something under the bed. He disappeared from sight, to retrieve a large cardboard box with the name of a theatrical costumier on it. ‘All together now … bingo!’

  He took off the lid, to reveal the voluminous scarlet and gold dress Bea had seen lying over the body. Presumably Damaris had put it away to be returned to the hire company.

  Bea stared at it, and then at Oliver.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ said Oliver, backing away. ‘I am not going to lie down on that bed, not for a hundred pounds.’

  Bea grinned. ‘Bite the bullet. Turn the pillow over, remove the counterpane, and do it. Oh, and take your shoes off first.’

  Grumbling, Oliver did as he was told. Bea shook out the dress, trying not to show how much it repelled her to touch its slippery surface, and floated it down over Oliver’s body.

  When the dress was up to his neck, his toes just about peeped out of the bottom of the skirt.

  Oliver yelped, and sat upright, breathing fast. ‘Look, I can’t …’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I know you can’t.’ She caught the dress up, folded it as it had been before, and took the lid off the box. Under a piece of tissue paper, she caught a glimpse of something else red. She twitched the paper aside to reveal a pair of red, sequinned shoes. Somewhere at the back of her head a little voice said, ‘It was a mistake, leaving them out for everyone to see.’

  Nonsense! She laid the dress carefully into the box, and replaced the lid.

  Oliver put his own shoes on again. ‘So what did that prove?’

  Bea rubbed her forehead. ‘Nothing, I suppose, except that I’m a sadist, and you’re a star. I thought I had an idea, and I suppose … no, I must have been mistaken. Let’s get on with the inventory, shall we?’

  Another half-hour, and they had finished upstairs and were about to pack up for the day when they heard the front doorbell peal. Oliver looked out of the window, and started to laugh.

  ‘You remember I was wondering why Damaris wanted the inventory done, rather than call in a valuer? Well, there’s a drive-it-yourself van down below, and I imagine that must be the famous Gladys-cum-Goldie leaning on the doorbell. Come to collect some more trophies from her marriage?’

  Bea joined him at the window. The rain had stopped but the road still gleamed wet. ‘We don’t need to answer the bell.’

  ‘She’ll see there’s someone in. We’ve left all the lights on downstairs. She wouldn’t still have a key, would she?’

  ‘I hope not. I’d better alert Damaris.’

  ‘Where’s your phone? You left it downstairs after tea, didn’t you? She’ll see you as you cross the hall. Uh-oh, she’s got her mobile out. Who’s she phoning? Hang about, there’s a big bloke down there with her. The sort of no-neck bruiser who you see on the door at nightclubs.’

  ‘What do you know about nightclubs?’

  ‘One of my friends took me once. Don’t look like that! I am nearly nineteen, you know.’

  ‘I know.’ They watched, fascinated, as Goldie gesticulated her way through a phone call. She put the phone away, looking up at the façade of the house. Oliver and Bea ducked.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Bea. ‘We’ve every right to be here, and she hasn’t. I’m going down to talk to her.’

  ‘Put the chain on the door first. I’m not up to the weight of her companion.’

  ‘I’ll phone Damaris before I speak to her.’ Bea sailed down the stairs and across the hall, ignoring the thumps and bell peals. She found her mobile and rang Damaris’s number.

  A young voice answered the phone; a teenage boy? He said his mum was at work. Bea said it was important, and might she have his mum’s number at work, please. Young voice said he wasn’t allowed to do that. His tone indicated that he couldn’t care less.

  ‘Listen to me, young man,’ said Bea, ‘your mother asked me to make an inventory at her stepfather’s house, and one of his ex-wives has appeared with a drive-it-yourself van and wants to come in. Shall I call the police, or will you give me your mother’s mobile phone number?’

  ‘Wow! Really?’ He was faintly amused. ‘All right, then. Got a pencil?’

  She hadn’t. She set her teeth. Why hadn’t she got a pencil? She saw that Oliver was poised with a pen to take down the number. She repeated it aloud, as it was given to her. Said, ‘Thanks!’ and rang off. By which time Oliver was punching numbers into the landline phone. He got through and handed the phone to Bea.

  A face appeared at the window. Goldie, furious!

  ‘Mrs Frasier?’ Bea turned away from the window. ‘Bea Abbot here. A crisis.’ She explained what was happening, and was relieved when Damaris said she’d get permission to leave and come straight around.

  ‘That’s it, then,’ said Bea, setting the phone down. ‘She’s on her way. Cavalry to the rescue. But if that man doesn’t stop pounding on the door, he’ll break it down. I think I’ll go and threaten him with instant death if he doesn’t stop, or we’ll have the neighbours round, complaining.’

  ‘Don’t forget to put the chain on.’

  She didn’t need to be told. She put the chain on, and opened the door a crack.

  ‘Yes?’

  Goldie tried to push the door open, and failed. ‘You … you let me in, now!’

  ‘Mrs Frasier asked me to hold the fort till she gets here, which won’t be long.’

  Goldie’s blood pressure was climbing. ‘You know who I am! Now, take the chain off, this minute!’

  ‘Sorry. My instructions—’

  ‘I don’t give a—’

  ‘Let me give the door a shove!’

  Bea stiffened her back. Muttering to Oliver that he should close the door behind her, she said, ‘Hold on a minute,’ took the chain off, stepped outside, and pulled the door to behind her. ‘If you don’t stop this right now, my assistant will call the police!’

  ‘What?’

  Ten seconds, while nothing was heard but a lot of heavy breathing.

  An elderly man with a stick had been walking an equally ancient dog on the other side of the road. Spotting trouble, he came to a halt. ‘Want some help, missus?’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ said Bea, trying to smile at him and almost succeeding. One push from the heavyweight and the elderly man would end up in hospital. ‘These people are just leaving. Apologies for the noise. It won’t happen again.’

  The elderly man had a face like a bloodhound, all droops and sags. But he didn’t lack for courage. ‘Is Matthew all right? Haven’t seen him around for a couple of days.’

  ‘I’m afraid he passed away,’ said Bea, wondering if this were the right thing to say or not. ‘This lady is one of his ex-wives. I’m doing an inventory for his stepdaughter, who’s inherited everything, and my instructions are not to let anyone else in.’

  Elderly man shuffled across the road towards them. ‘What was it? A stroke? I never thought he’d go before me. The name’s Douglas, at number five. Used to make up a four at bridge, now and then. Just wait till I tell the wife.’ He eyed Goldie’s short, tight skirt, and the heavyweight’s look of bafflement. Neither seemed to appeal, for instead of making off, he looped his stick and the pug’s lead around his wrist, leaned against the wall of the house, and took out a tin of tobacco. His hands shook – Parkinson’s? – but his intentions were clear. He was not moving.

  The heavyweight swung back to Goldie, looking for instructions.

  Goldie flapped eyelashes, turning herself from Amazon into Goldilocks. Well, that was the intention, anyway. Breathily, innocence shining out of blue, blue orbs, Goldie said, ‘I only came to fetch what’s mine. A few little trinkets …’

  ‘In that big van?’ Bea was not impressed.

  ‘A dear little table with fluted edges, a couple of matching chai
rs with tapestry seats and backs. Sentimental value, only. Oh, and a watercolour that I bought my dear husband when we were on honeymoon in Scotland. That’s all. And of course the silver salver that matches my sweet little silver jug. I know I ought to have mentioned it before, but I was in shock. You understand, don’t you?’

  A piecrust table, a couple of Jacobean chairs, a Victorian watercolour by a named artist and a solid silver salver. Humph, thought Bea. Does she think I’m a moron? That lot must be worth ten thousand if a penny. Bea put on a sunny smile. ‘I’m sure Mrs Frasier will be delighted to hear from you, and if you can prove what you say, I’m sure she’ll be willing to let you have the things you asked for. But I’m afraid I have no authority to let you take anything away from the house.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ said the elderly but courageous Mr Douglas from number five.

  The heavyweight rolled his shoulders. ‘You want I bust the door in?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Goldie, maintaining her smile with an effort. ‘I’m sure this, um, woman, is right, and my stepdaughter will let me have my little bits and pieces. Another day.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Mr Douglas had at last succeeded in rolling himself a cigarette. He stuck it between his lips and sought in his pockets for a match. Or a lighter. His pug was resigned to the wait, apparently, for he was now sitting on his master’s foot.

  ‘What we do now?’ asked the heavyweight.

  ‘You go home,’ said Bea, still smiling sweetly. ‘And wait to hear from Mrs Frasier. I shall certainly give her your message, as soon as she arrives.’

  Goldie’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I shan’t forget how horrid you’ve been to me. As if I wasn’t suffering enough from the death of my dear Matthew! Now this! It would have been such a consolation to have something of his to remember him by.’

  ‘Bravo!’ Mr Douglas clapped his hands together, slowly. ‘Been on the boards, have we?’