False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Oh. Yes. Kind of you. Do come in. I’m afraid Pippin’s being very naughty at the moment, refusing to go down for his rest, and we’re all at sixes and sevens, only returned last night, I haven’t really unpacked yet and I can never find anything …’

  ‘Can I help?’ Bea picked Pippin up and cuddled him. He was warm and loving, so like his father at that age.

  ‘And I found a long auburn hair on Max’s jacket, so I know he’s been playing away.’

  Oh dear. Bea forced a smile. ‘You know Max. A magnet for the babes, isn’t he! Now you’re back, you can protect him from them.’

  Nicole took Bea’s coat, hung it up, and caught sight of her mother-in-law’s bruises for the first time. ‘Whatever have you done to yourself?’ A look of consciousness came over her face. Bea understood that Nicole had already been told what Benton had done to her.

  ‘I walked into a door,’ said Bea, carrying Pippin into the living room and seating herself with him on her lap. ‘Yes, Pippin; this is for you.’ She handed him a tissue-wrapped ball, which he proceeded to unpack with a crow of pleasure. Bea looked up at Nicole. ‘Not a door, of course. Someone’s fist. A man who thinks women ought to be taught their place. He hasn’t tried it on you yet, has he?’

  ‘What?’ Nicole’s eyes flickered this way and that. She was a bad liar. ‘How dreadful. Who was it?’

  Bea didn’t reply.

  Nicole coloured up. Yes, she’d known all right. ‘Max said something about … But I said it was nonsense, of course. I mean, people don’t go around hitting people unless …’ She tried out a laugh. ‘Did you trip and fall, or something?’

  ‘No trip. No fall. He hit me, twice. He believes women need to understand that men always know best. Unfortunately, I didn’t agree with him.’ She softened her tone to talk to Pippin, who had managed to find his way through the paper to a colourful ball with a tinkling bell inside. ‘There, now. If you roll it along the carpet, you can make music.’

  Pippin squeaked with pleasure, clambered down to the floor and set the ball rolling. He scrambled after it, propelling it across the room. There was a bell of some sort inside. An irritating sound.

  Bea said, ‘Sorry about the noise, Nicole. It’s going to drive you crazy.’

  Nicole took an elasticated band from her wrist and tied her hair back. ‘You must have said something appalling, done something to provoke him. I’m sure he must have been very sorry afterwards. That he’d hit you, I mean. I understand you refused to see sense.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s at all sorry that he hit me. I rather think he’d like to do it again. He certainly hasn’t made me any apology. Did he tell you what it is he wants me to do?’

  ‘Well, yes. In general terms.’ Nicole fidgeted. ‘A merger is obviously in everybody’s best interests. I really don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate.’

  ‘Because I don’t think I could work with him, never mind work for him. That’s the beginning, middle and end of it, Nicole. I said “no” and he thinks he can beat me into submission.’

  Tinkle, tinkle went the bell in the ball.

  Nicole flushed. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

  Pippin retrieved the ball from under a chair and sat with it on his lap, rocking it to and fro and gurgling with pleasure. He loved his present. Bea winced. ‘I really am sorry about that bell, Nicole. Perhaps you can put it out of action in some way?’

  ‘He has lots of musical toys. I let him play with them as much as he likes, in his own room. It’s time for his rest, anyway.’ She scooped her son up. He roared with indignation but she carried him off to his bedroom, dumped him there, and shut the door on him. He beat on the door, once, twice … and then was quiet.

  Nicole said, ‘I don’t see why you can’t take his advice.’

  ‘After being beaten up for the crime of disagreeing with him?’

  ‘But if he knows best … I’m sure that was a momentary loss of control, and it will never happen again.’

  ‘I suppose I should be glad that he hasn’t started on you, yet. He’s a serial abuser, you know. You should see his wife’s bruises, and his little daughter’s, too.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ But her eyes shifted to and fro.

  ‘Did he tell you his wife had to be hospitalized a couple of days ago?’

  ‘Yes, of course. She’s mental, you know.’

  ‘You don’t know where he’s put her now, do you?’

  A blank look. Nicole didn’t know.

  Bea tried one last ploy. ‘His sister appeared on the scene pretty promptly. I wonder how she’s going to cope with his two boys. Have you met them yet?’

  ‘He says they’re both very advanced for their age and will do well in private schools.’

  ‘They could certainly do with being taught some manners. Yes, a private school might well be the answer to that problem, but who’s going to pay for it, I wonder? His wife has to clothe herself from the charity shop and the house could do with some money being spent on it. Granted, it’s a pretty little place, but it’s only got three bedrooms and there’s no loft conversion.’

  Nicole looked thoughtful. Worried, even. Was she imagining herself trying to fit into that household? Bea couldn’t see Nicole settling for a small house with two galumphing boys. Bea got to her feet. ‘You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting the boys yet? I expect that’ll happen soon.’

  Nicole produced an artificial smile. ‘Oh, really? Do you think so?’ Playing for time.

  ‘Lovely to have you back in London. You must let me know when I can have Pippin for the afternoon.’

  They air-kissed. Bea left.

  NINE

  Saturday afternoon

  Bea got back to find Oliver working in her office, at her computer. Her first thought was to tell him to find himself a desk somewhere else, but she managed not to do so. After all, she’d asked him to help her, hadn’t she?

  By now the agency had closed down for the weekend, with all emergency phone calls diverted to a member of the staff. It was a dark January afternoon and Oliver had switched on the lights but not pulled the curtains across the window. He was surrounded by the remains of a takeaway meal and half-drunk cups of coffee. Why was it that some people couldn’t clear up after themselves? Bea shed her coat, closed the curtains, cleared away cups, disposed of the remains of the meal.

  Oliver didn’t look up from the screen. ‘What did you say Benton’s last name was?’

  She lowered herself on to the settee, easing off her shoes. She considered getting herself a hot drink, decided against it. ‘Benton is his last name. His first name is Ben. Short for Benjamin, I assume.’

  ‘Ben Benton. It has a certain ring to it. Right, here he is. I’m into Holland Holdings’ website, sloppy work, they haven’t deleted past newsflashes. The first mention of him is … yes … ten, no, eleven years ago in which he features as Salesman of the Year for the Holland car-hire firm with the slogan, “Contact me for all your needs on that special day.” He’s got handsome teeth, I must say. Next, he’s given a shove up the ladder and appears as second-in-command at Holland and Butcher … they call it a “training college” and not a “school” by the way … followed almost immediately with an update featuring his extravagant wedding to Dilys. Marquee in the grounds, cast of a thousand, three bridesmaids in black, bride looking puffy-faced in white—’

  ‘Is the training college in the same building as Mr Holland’s mansion?’

  He pressed keys. ‘There’s an aerial photograph of the site here.’ He turned the computer round so that she could see the impressive spread. The original house was mid-Victorian, an enormous white elephant of a place with extensive grounds running down in terraces to a lawn on which the first occupants had probably played croquet in the dim and distant. The lawn was sheltered by huge cypresses. Beyond that lay a shrubbery, and to one side was a walled kitchen garden complete with greenhouses.

  ‘Extensive,’ said Bea. ‘How much do you think it costs to keep it going?’ />
  ‘I suspect there’s some kind of tax dodge going on here. Can you see that at the back of the house there’s a courtyard? It presumably started off life as stables and housing for carriages and was later turned into garages for cars. Access to the courtyard from the outside world is through an electronic gate with a guard on duty, and beyond that there’s a car park which contains … let’s do a rough count … about forty places. I imagine the buildings in the courtyard are now offices and we’re looking at the nerve centre of Holland Holdings. He is probably setting off the costs of the estate by claiming his house and grounds are all part of the offices.’

  ‘Including the Holland and Butcher training college?’

  ‘I think … No, that’s in another building, some way off.’ He moved the computerized picture around the site and enlarged it. They were now looking at a not particularly attractive thirty-year-old concrete and glass building, some four storeys high.

  Oliver enlarged the picture again and roamed the site. ‘Ah. Got it. If you come in by the main entrance, the road splits in two. The right-hand lane directs visitors to the Holland and Butcher Training College … see the sign for it? … while the left-hand lane leads visitors around the back of the main house to the courtyard and the offices of Holland Holdings. There’s a serious alarm system on both buildings. The old man is well protected.’

  Bea mused: ‘I’m trying to think what it must have been like for a young girl like Dilys, fresh out of school, living in that isolated house. She may not have had much self-confidence to start with … No, scrap that. That’s just surmise. She told me she used to help in the office at Holland and Butcher in the holidays. She didn’t mention her father’s larger organization. Perhaps the family didn’t think her bright enough to go to university? Leon says they didn’t think it worthwhile in his case. In the old days I suppose Dilys would have been sent off to take a shorthand and typing course, or to train as a nurse. She wouldn’t have had enough brains to teach. But nowadays … what do they do with young girls nowadays? Turn them into receptionists and personal assistants? Anyway, the family found her a sort of non-job at Holland and Butcher. What did she do there? Filing? Taking phone calls? Running errands?’

  Oliver chimed in. ‘And there was the handsome, whitely smiling Benton—’

  ‘Salesman of the Year, promoted to Assistant Manager. Taking notice of little Dilys—’

  ‘Seizing the chance to make up to the boss’s daughter—’

  ‘Her father would not have been best pleased for her to make what in his eyes must have been a poor choice, even though he’d promoted Benton himself. Leon said the wedding was hurriedly arranged. I think Benton set out to get her pregnant. He’s a chancer, and this was too good a chance to miss. The marriage was celebrated publicly, paid for by her father because he’d have hated it to be known that his daughter had been banged up by the first man who came along. The happy couple were bought a pretty little house in a prestigious area in Kensington, she was given shares in Holland and Butcher and a directorship. If she’d been a stronger character, this might have been the making of her as a businesswoman, but Benton kept her pregnant and sapped her confidence until she had no will left of her own.’

  ‘So he got the job of manager because he’d married the boss’s daughter?’

  ‘Well, there was a bit of a hiatus. At one point I heard the firm had collapsed and a new buyer was in talks with Mr Holland, but what I think really happened is that he rescued the firm himself because it’s so convenient for him to have his big house and gardens staffed by people trained in one of his own companies. So it wasn’t only the fact that Dilys had married one of their own which caused him to appoint Benton as his new managing director. It must have seemed an obvious solution to his problems.’

  ‘Benton has proved to be a disappointment?’

  ‘He might have been the best salesman in the world, but he’s no manager. He’s been promoted beyond his capabilities. Not good with the staff. And, the dividends have been cut to the bone. Now, let’s see if we can work out a timescale. Neither Mr Holland nor his sister would have approved any of his ventures running at a loss, so even though Benton was his blue-eyed boy, pressure must have been put on Benton to improve the trading figures … upon which Benton resuscitated the idea of a merger with the Abbot Agency, intending that I’d manage the college under his orders. Unfortunately for him, I took a look at their proposition and decided against it. Benton panicked. He couldn’t afford to take “no” for an answer from me as his balance sheet was looking increasingly unhealthy and the old man was breathing down his neck. So Benton contacted Max and sold him the idea of a long and happy relationship with lots of money on the side. And Max bit.’

  ‘But Bea didn’t and doesn’t.’

  ‘And gets slapped for her pains. The question is: what will Benton do next? I’m surprised he hasn’t been in touch today with another offer I can’t refuse.’

  ‘He sent Max, didn’t he?’

  ‘And I told him no dice. I’m worried about Max; he might do something stupid in an effort to satisfy Benton.’

  Oliver turned back to the computer. ‘How old is Benton?’

  ‘Thirty-five-ish?’

  ‘Mm.’ Oliver worked the keys. ‘I think I’ve got him, Basil Benton—’

  ‘Basil?’ Bea laughed. ‘Really, Basil? No, it can’t be him. His name is Benjamin.’

  ‘There’s no other Benton born in that year …’ He scrolled up and down. ‘Or in any other year around that time. Perhaps it’s not him. According to this, he was born in October l978, father a shipping clerk, mother a machinist. Humble beginnings in a tower block in the East End. Might that be him? The next census would … Yes, Basil appears again, same father and mother, still in the tower block, but … no sister. It can’t be him.’

  ‘I could understand why he might want to change his name from Basil. If it is him.’

  Oliver grunted. ‘Where’s his little sister, then? I’ll try the next census. Yes, there’s Basil. Still no sister. We’re barking up the wrong tree. Back to the beginning. Where are you, Benjamin Benton?’

  Bea reached for the phone. ‘Hang on a minute while I make a phone call. I’m concerned about Dilys, and I’m going to ask Benton what he’s done with her.’

  ‘You don’t really think he’d let you visit her, do you?’

  ‘He might. But I’m thinking he might be getting just a wee bit panicky about the way his plans have failed to work out, first with me and then with Max. Perhaps a little push from me might get him to make a mistake. Hello? Hello? … That’s not Benton. Ah, am I speaking to his sister?’

  ‘Ginevra Benton, yes. Who is this?’ A warm, breathy voice, in a hurry. Noises off. Angry shouts from children in the background. The boys at play?

  ‘Mrs Abbot speaking. Where can I contact him?’

  ‘He’s not here.’ And then, half covering the receiver, she shouted, ‘Shut up, shut up, you little horrors!’ to the boys.

  ‘I’ll try his mobile.’

  The woman’s voice sharpened. She sounded angry. With the boys? Well, Bea wouldn’t have liked to have been left in charge of them, either. Ginevra said, ‘You won’t reach him that way. He’s left his mobile here by mistake.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s visiting his wife in hospital?’

  ‘Just a minute …’ The woman half covered the receiver with her hand. Bea could hear her shouting to the boys at the other end. Something about breaking their limbs if they didn’t shut up? Which didn’t seem to be having the desired effect.

  Bea raised her voice. ‘Hello? Hello?’

  A breathy: ‘Yes. I’m here.’

  ‘You probably don’t know this, but I took some photographs at the house on the night we found Dilys in the bath. The photos show that Dilys did not try to commit suicide. Your brother tried to destroy that evidence and failed.’

  ‘What!’ Alarmed. ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

  ‘I tricked him into thinking he’d destroyed the e
vidence, but he hadn’t. If he doesn’t produce Dilys alive and well by this time tomorrow, I’ll take what I’ve got to the police. Will you please tell him that?’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘Try me.’

  The phone went dead.

  Oliver leaned back in his chair. Bea’s office chair. Amused. ‘There’s nothing like putting your head in the tiger’s mouth, is there?’

  ‘Mm. I can’t see him waylaying me with a knife, can you? But it’s odd. That woman gave her name as “Ginevra Benton”, as if “Benton” were her surname. You say the census doesn’t show Basil as having a sister so, much as it would amuse me to think he was christened Basil, I do think we’re on the wrong track there.’

  Oliver worked the keys. He scrolled down and up, playing with the different sites, while Bea continued to frown at the phone.

  At length Oliver leaned back and slapped the desk. ‘I do not believe this. Benton as a family name crops up all over the place. There’s quite a few of them. But I can’t find a boy with the surname of Benton who has a sister named Ginevra. Are you sure she exists?’

  ‘She’s real enough. Leon met her, and I’ve just spoken to her on the phone. She’s living in his house, using his landline phone in the living room, trying to keep the boys quiet. Where, oh where, has their fond papa gone?’

  ‘He’s at work, I suppose.’ Oliver glared at the screen. ‘Where are you, Ginevra Benton? Why can’t I find your birth certificate? Are you older or younger than your brother? And if Benton’s not the Basil from the tower block, why can’t I find him, either?’