False Impression

by Veronica Heley

  Bea ground her teeth and then told herself not to do that, as her dentist had said it removed the enamel. ‘They won’t lose their jobs, Dilys. We may be inconvenienced for a while, but I wouldn’t sack anyone just because we’ve got a virus.’

  Dilys blew her nose. ‘You mean, you won’t sack me, either?’

  Bea managed a smile. ‘Of course not. Now, if you can’t face the girls, I suggest you go upstairs and see what you can rustle up for lunch for us.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, I suppose I could do that, only …’

  Bea braced herself.

  ‘… I really can’t manage your microwave. It’s so different from the one I used to have.’

  Just in time, Bea stopped herself from rolling her eyes. ‘There’s a manual for it in the cupboard above. Why don’t you have a look at that?’

  When Dilys had dragged herself away, Bea clapped both hands to her head and gave a silent scream. Then she took a deep breath and went out into the main office to see how Carrie was coping. She was relieved to see that most of the girls were currently on their smartphones to clients.

  Good. That would help a lot.

  Down the stairs from the street came Keith; overweight, bushy hair and beard all over the place, carrying a laptop and a case full of unidentifiable bits and pieces, ready with a laugh and a shake of the head to rescue this office full of silly girls who didn’t know enough to come in out of the rain when it poured … or to guard their smartphones with safety devices.

  ‘Blessings on you, Keith.’ Bea gave him a thumbs up and hurried into her office, where the phone was ringing. Her outside line.

  ‘Is that Mrs Abbot? Holland House here. Mrs Evans speaking.’ A sharp tone of voice, not young. This would be old man Holland’s housekeeper? A formidable woman, according to Leon. Not someone Bea had ever been introduced to. Bea prepared for action stations. ‘Mrs Abbot speaking.’

  ‘Mr Holland is concerned that Mr Leon is failing to answer his phone. Have you seen him?’

  So, the game was afoot. Leon had dropped out of sight, and they wanted to know where he was. Take care. ‘Mm, well, yes. He did call in yesterday for a while but—’

  ‘Really? What time was that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Lateish. I was rather busy, so …’

  ‘How long did he stay?’

  ‘I really didn’t notice. I had a cup of tea with him, and then he went. I suppose he overslept, wherever he is. May I ask why you—?’

  ‘He didn’t come back here last night. Mr Holland sent him a voicemail message and wishes to be sure he has received it.’

  Bea was vague. ‘Doesn’t he have a flat in the Barbican?’

  ‘We sent someone over there to see. No, he’s not there, either.’

  Bea tried to sound amused. ‘You mean, he’s temporarily mislaid? I suppose you’d have heard if he’d had an accident? Have you tried the hospitals?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Well, what about his mobile?’

  ‘He’s not picking up. Nor answering his emails.’

  ‘How odd. Do you think he’s been mugged?’

  Silence. Heavy breathing. The woman didn’t know how to deal with this, did she?

  Bea said, ‘Are you there? Look, I’m awfully busy. I expect he’ll turn up. Bad pennies always do, don’t they?’

  ‘You think he’s a bad penny?’

  ‘Oh. No. Not really. No, of course not. Forgive me if I’m not being terribly helpful, but he was rather, well, you know, yesterday. Men don’t always know when to stop, do they?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I don’t think I need to go into details, do I? Suffice it that I asked him to leave.’

  More heavy breathing. ‘So he left you about … what time?’

  ‘Really, I can’t … I suppose … It was getting dark. He called a taxi and left. Then I went back to work. Look, I don’t understand why—’

  ‘Did you happen to hear where he was going?’

  ‘Of course not. I wasn’t interested.’

  ‘I thought you two had a special relationship.’

  ‘I don’t know that I’d call it that, exactly. I thought we could just be good friends.’

  ‘Until he overstepped the mark?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  A pause. ‘I think he’s been under something of a strain recently. Things have not been going too well for him. He must have told you about that?’

  Bea managed a light laugh. ‘Goodness, we don’t talk business. We are not on those terms. I believe he’s worried about his brother’s health. Isn’t he going to retire or something?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say.’ Permafrost.

  ‘Ah well. Now, if you don’t mind, I really must get on.’

  ‘Would you let me know if he happens to contact you? It really is most urgent.’

  ‘I don’t think it likely,’ said Bea, crossing fingers and toes. ‘Not after, you know, he went far too far. I should have seen it coming, but … well, water under the bridge.’

  She put the phone down and realized someone was watching her. Dilys, looking as if she were about to cry. Again. ‘Uncle Leon’s missing? Oh, no!’ She collapsed into a chair, tears spurting.

  Bea gritted her teeth. ‘Come on, Dilys. No need for histrionics. I don’t suppose for a minute that he’s really missing. He probably decided to stay in town last night instead of driving back home to the country. He’ll bob up again, just you wait and see.’

  ‘But he never doesn’t answer his mobile, not ever! Something awful has happened to him, I can just feel it!’

  Bea exhaled. ‘Look, I had to speak pretty sharply to him last night, and he probably went looking for a woman to—’

  Dilys shrieked, rocking to and fro. ‘He wouldn’t!’

  ‘Of course he would. He’s a man, isn’t he? Pull yourself together, Dilys. Goodness me, what a carry on about nothing.’

  It was never any good telling anyone to pull themselves together. Bea knew that, so why had she thought she should say it to Dilys? Bother the girl. Bea didn’t want to dislike her, but was beginning to find her extremely irritating. Also, Bea was needed in the big office next door. She could hear Keith and Carrie’s voices raised in argument.

  Bea attempted a kind voice. ‘Dilys, if you’re so worried about your uncle, why don’t you ring round the hospitals, see if he’s there?’

  ‘You’re so heartless! How can you be so calm when he’s gone missing? For all you know he might be lying dead in a field somewhere.’

  ‘That’s enough!’ With an effort, Bea brought her voice down from a shout. ‘I have to see what’s happening next door. I agree, it would be better if you kept out of the way of the girls for the time being. So if it will put your mind at rest, why don’t you do something useful and start ringing round the hospitals?’

  Sniff, sniff. The girl nodded, blew her nose on a used hanky that squeaked, and got out her mobile. ‘Where’s a list of the hospitals? Have you got their numbers?’

  ‘Phone book.’ Bea fished it out from a drawer and placed it on her desk. ‘Now, if you don’t mind …’

  Bea left the room, carefully shutting the door behind her. And leaned against it.

  Dilys had taken her mobile out of her pocket to use. It wasn’t a smartphone.

  But, she said she’d plugged a smartphone into her computer first thing that morning, which had infected the system with a virus.

  Dilys was not exactly the techie type.

  Dilys’s little daughter Bernice had a smartphone and used it as to the manner born. So did her Great Aunt Sybil. So did her Uncle Leon. So did Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.

  Everyone had a mobile of some sort nowadays, but they varied in size and capability. Bea had seen Dilys use her mobile before. It was an antique, a cellphone of dubious parentage. It might have a camera, but Bea would have been surprised to hear that Dilys knew how to use it.

  So whose smartphone had Dilys plugged into the system early that morning?

 
And, returning to a niggle which had been at the back of her mind, whose aftershave had she smelled in the hall that morning?

  It hadn’t been Leon’s, definitely. What other man had been in the house recently? Ah, she had it. It was Oliver’s aftershave that she’d smelled. Of course!

  Oliver was a clever lad of mixed parentage whom she’d taken off the streets and encouraged to fulfil his potential. He was now doing well at university, but she kept his room at the top of the house vacant, for use in holiday time. He was not expected back for a while, as he’d been invited to go on some survey or scientific exploration or other. He might be tinkering with the mathematics of space and gravity, or computing the results of another moon mission for all she knew. He did try to explain what he was doing now and then, but she didn’t expect to understand it. If Oliver had returned unexpectedly, though, he’d have barged in with a hug and a demand to be fed.

  She’d had a text from Oliver the previous day in which he’d rhapsodized about the local food in some far off place that she’d never heard of.

  It hadn’t been Oliver in the hall.

  So who had been walking around the house either late last night, or early this morning? Dilys must have seen him, but she hadn’t screamed blue murder as she would have done if he’d been a stranger. Which meant that Dilys knew him.

  Problem. Had Dilys taken the man in because she liked him and wanted to see more of him? No. Because there was no reason why, in that case, she shouldn’t have told Bea about it.

  She might have been too shy to tell Bea?

  Um. Well. At a stretch.

  Dilys was a doormat, pushed around first by her family and then by her abusive bigamist ‘husband’. Even now, if she made a mistake her reaction was to burst into tears.

  So … let’s suppose someone she knew came to the door after Bea had gone out last night and spun her a sob story about needing a bed …? And come on rather strong about it, ordering the girl not to tell Bea?

  At some point this man had told Dilys to take his smartphone downstairs and plug it into a computer because it needed a charge. And the silly thing had done just that.

  Next question: did whoever it was know that his smartphone had been infected with a virus? Had he deliberately put the agency out of action for the day? And if so, why?

  A name leaped into Bea’s head.

  She dismissed it. Why would he …? Surely …! No. Ridiculous.

  Carrie’s face swam in front of her. ‘Mrs Abbot, it’s going to take all day. But Keith says …’

  Bea listened and nodded. Keith was doing all he could.

  Bea tore her mind away from Dilys to say, ‘Let the girls work on their mobile phones and keep written notes of what they arrange. We’ll reimburse everyone for what it costs them.’

  Carrie smiled and nodded.

  ‘And then,’ said Bea, ‘as they can’t use the Internet or print anything off, they might make some routine calls, checking on our clients’ satisfaction rate. Pick up any problems. That’s always time well spent. And Carrie, why don’t we ask Keith if he’ll come in once a month to check for viruses and deal with any minor problems?’

  ‘Put him on a retainer?’

  ‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Bea. ‘He’d better have a look at my computer while he’s at it. I’ll leave Dilys in my office for the time being, and I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me.’

  There was no point going off at half-cock. If there was a man in the house, then there was only one place he could be, and that was in the flat on the top floor, currently occupied by dismal Dilys.

  First things first. Bea stood still in the hall and sniffed. No, the trace of aftershave was no longer there. She’d heard there were people whose olfactory nerves could distinguish between different scents even days afterwards. Her sense of smell was nowhere as good as that, but this particular scent had definitely been the one Oliver used. Mind you, lots of other men might use the same aftershave.

  Perhaps the man had been in the kitchen? Dilys had got up and had an early breakfast before Bea had dragged herself out of bed. By the time Bea had tottered downstairs, Dilys had infected the office computers.

  Kitchen. Bea looked around. Winston, their large, furry cat, was lying on the work surface, pretending to be asleep. Everything looked clean and neat and tidy, except for the cup of coffee which Bea had been about to drink when Carrie had called for help. There was her piece of toast – a bit chewed around the edges – and the empty dish into which she’d poured out a helping of muesli, laced with milk. Winston had clearly finished off the breakfast Bea had never had. Despite which, he now ‘woke’ up and demanded sustenance. Thinking hard, Bea dished him out a sachet of his favourite cat food.

  She pulled open the dishwasher. She made a habit of running it last thing at night and had done so when she’d returned from the evening out with her ex-but-still-friendly husband. It had been a good evening. The gallery had done him proud. A fair number of art critics had turned up, and there’d been a good sprinkle of red dots marking pictures which had been sold during the course of the evening. Her ex had taken Bea round the corner for an Italian meal afterwards. Very pleasant. And she’d managed not to think about Leon. Much.

  She’d been really tired afterwards and had refrained from asking her ex in for a nightcap, though he’d hinted he’d like one. She’d come in, checked that the alarm was on, staggered to the kitchen for a glass of water, been met by the cat. Fed him, put the dishwasher on, thought there was a funny smell around the trash bin, decided to investigate on the morrow, and went up to bed with Winston for comfort.

  Fast forward to this morning.

  It had become one of Dilys’s jobs to empty the dishwasher first thing in the morning before she had her breakfast. She usually put things away in the wrong places, but it wasn’t too difficult to find them again. So, the dishwasher should now be empty, except for the plates and cup Dilys had used for her own breakfast.

  The dishwasher was empty, full stop. Which meant that Dilys must have eaten breakfast upstairs.

  Trash bin. Yes, it was a bit whiffy. Pizza packaging for two.

  Dilys was a picky eater, had hardly put on any weight since she’d been ‘widowed’. Dilys didn’t care for strong flavours. No anchovies, for instance. Yet the pizza packaging announced that someone had devoured an extra large pizza with ham and anchovies, together with a small sized ham and tomato. Oh, and under those two packets was another, empty, for garlic bread. Dilys didn’t eat garlic because she was afraid it made her breath smell.

  Bea marched up the stairs. On the first floor there was the master bedroom and en suite. Hers. Next door to that was the guest bedroom and en suite. Both empty, exactly as they should be.

  On the top floor was the flat which she’d created for Maggie and Oliver, now both absent. It was a light and airy space containing two small bedrooms, a shower room and toilet, a kitchen, and a decent-sized living room.

  Bea didn’t think to mount the stairs quietly. Why should she? This was her house, and if she had an uninvited guest, she had every right to deal with him … or even her, come to think of it. This was a well-built house though the plumbing might sometimes be cranky. She could hear water running on the top floor. In the shower? Or in the kitchen? Was that the rumble of a washing machine?

  The living room. Clean, neat and tidy. Except that the television was warm. Someone had been watching it within the last minute or so. Not Dilys, who was down in Bea’s office in the basement.

  Maggie’s bedroom. Dilys had been sleeping there. The bed was neatly made, her clothes all put away.

  Oliver’s bedroom. The bed had been slept in, and the room stank of aftershave. A good quality leather handbag, of the type used by some men instead of a briefcase, lay on the floor. A laptop, open, on the side table. Some toiletries on the chest of drawers: Oliver’s, presumably, which their ‘guest’ had been using. A pair of shoes under the bed, a leather jacket thrown over a chair. No sign of any guest.

 
; The kitchen. Breakfast dishes for two, used. Coffee mugs, percolator. Also used. The washing machine was churning.

  The bathroom. Draped in white, a screaming banshee confronted her, carving knife in hand.

  There was only one thing to say, and Bea said it.

  THREE

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Orlando!’

  The apparition gaped.

  Bea reached over, took the knife out of his hand and inspected it. ‘If you’ve blunted one of my good carving knives, I’ll have your guts for garters.’

  Curly fair hair with a reddish tinge. A pixie’s face with pointed chin and, yes, pointed ears. He had one bath towel around his torso and another draped, toga fashion, over one shoulder. ‘But …!’

  ‘Get some clothes on and explain yourself.’

  ‘Oliver’s clothes don’t fit me.’

  Thank goodness for small mercies. ‘But his aftershave does? Where are your clothes, then?’

  ‘In the wash. You can’t expect me to wear things two days running, can you? Dilys said they wouldn’t take long.’ A light tenor voice, without much weight.

  As he spoke, the washing machine sighed to a halt and beeped. Bea indicated that he lead the way into the kitchen. ‘Feel free to use the drier. I’m surprised you didn’t get Dilys to go out and buy some clothes for you.’

  A shudder. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that. She has very poor taste.’

  Bea returned the knife to the block, saying, ‘Don’t expect me to iron your shirt for you.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  Yes, she bet he could. He was as gay as all get out, and how old man Holland could ever have thought he’d be a possible husband for Dilys was a complete mystery. Mind you, Dilys probably hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t exactly macho man.

  He set the drier working, resettled the towel over his shoulder and looked Bea up and down. ‘You’re not quite what I expected.’

  ‘Ditto,’ said Bea.

  ‘Dilys said you weren’t bad looking for your age. Who does your hair?’

  ‘What! Never you mind.’

  Head on one side. ‘I could give you the name of—’