False Charity

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Drink some more,’ urged Ms McNeice. Maggie did as she was bid, tears of pain and frustration standing out on her cheeks.

  Close to, Bea smelled wine even more strongly. Was that really blood on the girl, or was it wine?

  ‘Did he … did he do it to you?’ asked Oliver, his own eyes bright with tears.

  Maggie tried to shake her head, but the effort obviously hurt. She mumbled, ‘’M’all right.’

  ‘You’re far from all right,’ said Ms McNeice. ‘All that blood. I’ll get an ambulance.’

  Maggie managed to sit upright by herself. ‘’S’wine. Not blood. Girl. Hit her.’ She pointed a wavering hand towards the door. ‘She OK?’

  ‘What girl?’ said Ms McNeice.

  Bea got it. ‘Your receptionist? She must have come in just as … before he could … Maggie, did he …?’

  ‘Not … time. Said he would, but …’ She tried moving her legs, and with Bea’s help, managed to sit on the side of the bed and cried out, ‘Aaaagh, my hands!’ Bea massaged one wrist while Ms McNeice took over from Oliver on the other.

  ‘Can you tell us what happened?’

  Maggie nodded, grimacing as feeling came back into her hands. ‘The Asian girl, Ana, dancing next me, collapsed. I helped her stand up. She said, go to loo, would I go with. Then she said not the loo, but go up to her room. She said hotel had booked a room for her overnight.’

  ‘Now that was a lie,’ said Ms McNeice. ‘Did she have a key?’

  Maggie nodded. ‘She was stumbling around, all over the place, but I got her up here safely. She wanted a drink, some juice, bottle open already on the table. In the other room.’ Maggie pointed to the outer room. ‘She said would I like one and I said yes, and then … I suppose it was drugged? I woke up on the bed, with my arms tied above me. Ana had gone, and that … that bastard was trying to force more wine down my throat. I threw up and got him, I hope, oh I do hope! And he’d taken off my tights and put on my shoes again, which was really weird, but apparently he has a thing about shoes. So I kicked and kicked, trying to get him, though I don’t think I did! Oh, I do wish I had done! I’m fed up with being used as a toy and I’m going to make him pay for it if it takes me for ever, and ah … my hands!’

  ‘He didn’t rape you again?’ said Bea, wanting to be sure.

  Maggie shook her head. ‘He thrust that thing in my mouth to stop me screaming, and he had a pocket knife and cut my dress down and pushed up my skirt and he was stroking my thighs and telling me what he was going to do to me, and then that other girl came in and saw us and he went for her! He just launched himself at her, and hit her and she fell down against the wall, and I couldn’t see properly because of lying down, and then the light went out and I heard the door close. I wanted to call out to the girl, but of course I couldn’t. I was so afraid she was dead … and then … and then I must have passed out, I suppose, because I don’t remember anything more till I heard Oliver calling my name.’ Maggie wept noisy, difficult tears.

  Bea held her close. ‘The receptionist’s all right. She thought he was up here with Ana and that’s why she burst in on you, but she’s not dead. She came down to tell us what had happened. She thought you were dead, you see.’

  ‘Me? I’m all right. Never better. At least, I will be when I’ve made him pay for what he’s done to me. Just look at my dress, and it’s not even mine! How dare he! I’ll kill him!’

  ‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ said Ms McNeice.

  ‘I have a better idea,’ said Bea. ‘If Maggie’s up for it. Let’s take some photos of her with the wine-cum-blood all over her, and her dress torn. Oliver, here’s my camera. Record everything, including the nylon ropes. Then we take Maggie downstairs just as she is, or with a wrap over her – here, take my jacket – and we show Mrs Somers-Briggs just what her son has been doing behind her back. She seems devoted to Noel, and I think she’ll pay up if it means we don’t bring the police into it. What do you think, Maggie?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes! Ow, my hands!’

  Oliver took the camera and started working the room.

  ‘Is that wise?’ asked Ms McNeice. ‘I mean, he can’t go round attacking young girls and get away with it.’

  ‘I’m weighing up what he’s done here to Maggie and to your receptionist, against the unpaid bills and possible bankruptcies the gang has caused. Maggie will survive, won’t you, dear? Your receptionist will survive. Yes, he ought to go to jail for what he’s done and yes, it’s probably unethical to make a deal with them, but if we get him arrested there’s no reason to suppose he’ll make things easy for Maggie. He’s taken her out on a date before this, remember, and he could say she consented. Oh, I know she didn’t, but that’s what these scumbags claim, when they get into court. They can say Maggie knew what she was doing because she’d been married before, and is no innocent. Then there’d be the long wait for a trial, and no guarantee that a jury would find him guilty because he looks so … so little boyish.’

  ‘I’m game, definitely,’ said Maggie, forcing herself to stand. She wobbled, and Oliver rushed to put his arm around her. Tears were still running down her face, but she made herself take a few steps. ‘Count me in. Let’s hit them where it hurts, in their pockets.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Ms McNeice.

  Maggie accepted Bea’s jacket, and thrust her arms into it. ‘Ouch. Oh, my wrists! Let’s take them to the cleaners – and talking of cleaners, you’d better make him pay for this dress while he’s at it, too.’

  ‘We-ell,’ said Ms McNeice, looking at the ruined bedding, ‘you’ve got a point there. The hotel must add something for compensation.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Bea.

  Ms McNeice unlocked the door of her office, called out that they were coming in, and was everything all right.

  ‘Yes,’ said a couple of voices at once. Ms McNeice led the way in. The atmosphere in the office was tense with worry, and with so many people in it the temperature had risen. The receptionist was holding a pad to her jaw. Coral had taken off her jacket, and the men had all loosened their ties.

  Mrs Somers-Briggs looked haggard, though perhaps that was the effect of the harsh office lighting.

  ‘Give Maggie a chair,’ said Bea, steering the girl in. ‘Take off your wrap, Maggie, and show everyone what young Noel’s been up to this time.’

  Maggie’s face, throat and breast were still parti-coloured from wine stains, and she held the torn front of her dress together with one hand. Bruises had darkened on both wrists, adding to the ones Noel had inflicted before.

  ‘Oh, you’re not dead, then?’ cried the receptionist, her mouth puffy from the blow that had felled her.

  ‘Where’s Noel?’ muttered Mrs Somers-Briggs, looking at the empty doorway.

  ‘He was interrupted and fled,’ said Ms McNeice. ‘He probably went out by the fire exit. Now, Mrs Somers-Briggs, we can call the police and have your son arrested or we can cut a deal.’

  ‘I want to see him in jail.’ The receptionist was feeling vicious. ‘He deserves it after all he’s said and done to me.’

  Mrs Somers-Briggs sent her eyes to left and right, seeking a way out. She shifted on her feet to interrogate her partner without words. He shrugged. ‘Best settle up. He’s forfeited his share, anyway.’

  She chewed on her lip. ‘Very well. You can have what cash I have and I can sign over the cheques to you as well.’ She pulled a wad of them out of her bag, borrowed a pen from the manageress, and began to sign her name on the back.

  ‘That’s not enough,’ said Oliver, producing his laptop from behind the desk. ‘I have a list here of everything you owe and a provisional total. I hope we’ve got everybody’s accounts here but in case we haven’t, I’m going to suggest we add ten per cent for contingencies, which we’ll either use to pay bills as yet undiscovered, or send on to the charities which you’ve falsely represented. All you have to do is instruct your bank to pay this amount to us, and we’ll see that everyone is reimbursed.’

&n
bsp; ‘Take these and be content.’ She continued to sign the back of the cheques, passing them one by one over to Oliver.

  ‘You’ve got Internet banking sussed. We know you’ve been depositing money in different banks, one per function. Then you’ve withdrawn it from those accounts and put it … where?’ He booted up his computer, and settled down at the desk to take her instructions.

  ‘You can’t expect me to give you that information,’ she said, signing away.

  Oliver nodded. ‘Oh, I do. Take a good hard look at what’s been done to Maggie and to the hotel receptionist, and think of how many years Noel will get for that if you don’t clear these debts.’

  Mrs Somers-Briggs’ breathing became harsh. ‘No way.’

  Her partner said, ‘I’m not going down for what Noel’s done.’ And to Oliver, ‘I think it’s NatWest.’

  Oliver typed it in. ‘Now your account number and name, and then the first of your security numbers.’

  Mrs Somers-Briggs’ colour had risen. ‘You’re being ridiculous! If you know anything at all you’ll know we’ve been using several different banks, all of which have passwords. I’m no financial genius. I don’t keep numbers and figures in my head, you know.’

  ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on that,’ said Oliver. ‘If you can’t remember them off-hand, I suppose you have a written record which you keep with you at all times.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ But her eyelids had flickered, and her hand made a movement towards the capacious black velvet bag which she’d laid on the desk.

  Oliver laid his hand on the bag and she turned her head away. He said, ‘You have a diary or something like that in here?’

  Her voice sounded dry. ‘Of course not.’

  Her partner said, ‘Do it, girl. There’s a time to cut your losses, and this is it.’

  She made no movement to comply, so Oliver opened the bag and emptied the contents on to the desk. Out tumbled a thick wad of notes and three bank-issue bags of coins, cosmetics, throat pastilles, aspirin, tissues, house keys and a mobile phone. Oliver isolated a miniature silver-backed notebook and pencil, returning the rest to the bag.

  Flicking through the notebook, he held up one particular page for her to see. ‘This page is headed NW – for NatWest? Are these the passwords we need?’

  She shrugged, hesitated, then nodded.

  Bea said, ‘I’d like you to say it loud, please. Are you giving us permission to take the money from your account?’

  ‘Oh, very well. Take what you want.’

  Oliver clattered away on his laptop, stopped. Looked pleased. ‘So far, so good. Now they’re asking for a password. Is this the right one?’ Again he held up the notebook so that she could see. She pinched in her lips, looked away from him, but said, ‘I suppose so.’

  He nodded to himself and typed in the relevant numbers. ‘Now they want … yes … yes, it’s all here.’ He tapped away. ‘Now I’m going to ask for the current balance,’ said Oliver. He whistled, and looked up at Bea. ‘Care to see how much she’s got in here?’

  Bea looked at the total and felt stunned. Why, this was enough to buy a couple of mansions in the most expensive part of London, and she wasn’t thinking Northolt or Hanwell, but Knightsbridge. She shivered, clutched her upper arms. Without her jacket, she felt cold. ‘Take the lot, Oliver. We’ll pay everyone what they’re owed and pass the rest on to charity, which is where it was supposed to go in the first place.’

  Mrs Somers-Briggs said, ‘You expect me to believe that you’re going to pass it all on? What nonsense. You’re no better than we are, stealing from me, and keeping it all for yourself.’

  ‘Surprising as it may seem to you,’ said Bea, ‘some people play straight.’

  Oliver held up one finger. ‘We’ll take a small percentage, equal to what a normal fund-raiser takes, and not a penny more.’

  ‘Oh, three choruses of Hearts and Flowers!’

  Oliver’s fingers hovered over the keys. ‘I’ve put in our own name, bank, account number and sort code. Fine. Do I press send?’ Everyone nodded. He pressed it. ‘Now what guarantee do we have that this transaction won’t be annulled as soon as Mrs Somers-Briggs gets back to her own computer?’

  Mrs Somers-Briggs smiled, not nicely. ‘You have my word, of course.’

  ‘Your word’s not worth a penny,’ said Bea. ‘On the other hand, we hold the evidence against Noel. We also have photographs of you and your partners, plus photographs of what you did to Maggie. If you try to cancel the order, then our file goes straight to the police.’

  Again Mrs Somers-Briggs’ eyes went to her partner, and again he nodded, saying, ‘Let it go. I told you Noel was more trouble than he was worth.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll let the transaction go through if Noel goes free.’

  Piers lifted a hand. ‘I’m not sure we can trust you, and I certainly don’t trust young Noel. What if he finds some other girl to rape tonight, or tomorrow night? What if he tries to intimidate Maggie into refusing to give evidence against him? We wouldn’t be bound to silence in that case.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that!’ She was sharp.

  ‘I think he’s running out of control. We’re not offering you a blanket Get Out of Jail Free card. If he’s had up for anything else that he’s done or will do in the future, then the deal’s off.’

  Lines deepened on her face. ‘You’re being very hard.’

  ‘Probably not hard enough,’ said Piers. ‘I imagine these are not the first scams you’ve run, and that you’ve left a trail of damaged and bankrupt people around the country.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ But the rebuttal was perfunctory.

  ‘Ms McNeice,’ said Piers, ‘am I right in thinking there is some kind of association of hoteliers? Would you care to put photographs of these two people on their website with a warning about them?’

  ‘What?’ For the first time, the woman looked alarmed. ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Ms McNeice. ‘With pleasure.’

  The receptionist wobbled to her feet. ‘What about what he did to me?’

  ‘And to Maggie,’ said Bea, noting that Maggie was sagging in her chair.

  Piers stroked a chin that was showing a distinct shadow. ‘Yes, Mrs Somers-Briggs, what about these two girls? Those diamonds of yours are the real thing, if I’m any judge of the matter. Suppose you throw them into the kitty and we give them to the girls by way of recompense for all they’ve suffered.’

  The woman clutched her ear lobes, and shivered. Slowly she divested herself of her bracelet and earrings, laying them on the table. ‘Can we go now?’

  Bea collected nods from around the room. Tommy Banks stood away from the door. Ms McNeice said she’d see their guests off the premises. Mrs Somers-Briggs swept the black velvet bag off the desk to take with her, but Coral said, ‘No, you don’t. That’s my cash in there.’

  Mrs Somers-Briggs delved into the bag and withdrew the wad of notes, throwing them into the air and letting them flutter down all over the desk and floor. Perhaps she thought this would distract everyone, for she made a grab at the pile of cheques she’d counter-signed. Piers put his hand over hers, and leaned on it.

  She shrugged. He took his hand away, she shouldered the black bag and walked out, followed by her partner.

  Coral began to laugh, but as her laughter climbed towards hysteria, she managed to stop herself. Oliver shut down his laptop.

  Anticlimax. Bea was too tired to think straight and Coral was blinking to keep herself awake. Ms McNeice seemed as fresh as ever, as did Tommy Banks.

  Piers collected the notes into a neat pile. ‘Have we an elastic band to put round these?’

  Ms McNeice said, ‘I suggest we count the cash now, and total the cheques. If you agree, I’ll then give you a receipt for them and the diamonds, and put everything in the safe until tomorrow when we can have a meeting to work out who gets what. Do you all agree?’

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Tommy Banks.

  Oliver
was staring at something on the desk. He said, ‘Eureka!’ in a hushed voice. He picked the little silver-backed notebook up. ‘She forgot this! Which means—’

  Bea began to laugh. ‘Which means that if she was speaking the truth, this may be the only record she has of her passwords.’

  ‘She’s probably got the original records back home,’ said Oliver. ‘Or she could go into the bank in person on Monday and cancel the transaction. I think it’s fifty-fifty that it goes through, even with what we’ve got on Noel.’

  Suddenly Bea felt too tired to cope. ‘I’m taking Maggie home and putting her to bed. Piers, can you find us a taxi? Coral, have you got your van with you?’

  Coral said she’d stashed it in the square opposite and was looking forward to putting on the electric blanket in her bed when she got home and perhaps having a hot toddy to help her sleep. ‘For you must admit it’s been quite an experience, hasn’t it?’

  Ms McNeice said they’d put up the receptionist for the night – though not in the honeymoon suite – and in twos and threes they dispersed.

  ‘Thank God that’s all over,’ said Piers, as they got into a cab. ‘Though I don’t think we’d have got the money out of her if Noel hadn’t behaved so badly.’ He consulted his watch. ‘I’ll doss down with you tonight, Bea, if you don’t mind. Too late for anything else.’

  Bea nodded. She was past speech. She envied young Oliver his seemingly endless supply of energy. If it hadn’t been for him, they’d never have known how to get the money. Even Maggie, who’d been so appallingly badly treated, was able to summon up a smile when Oliver asked if she were all right now.

  Bea wondered what Hamilton would have done, if he’d been in charge tonight. The thought made her smile. He’d have tried to keep Bea and Coral out of it, probably. He had old-fashioned ideas about men looking after their womenfolk. Mind you, there was a lot to be said for his ideas when you were as tired as Bea was tonight.

  She remembered something that he would also have done if he’d been around tonight, and that was saying thank you. She said it now … Thanks, Lord. Oh, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.