It seemed that somewhere along the line, Bea’s subconscious had already made up its mind for her. She was not going to sell the house and move away. She was going to stay where she was and get on with the job in hand.
‘That is very kind of you, my poppets,’ said Bea, ‘and I’d be delighted if you both stayed on for good, though I’ll be paying your wages, of course.’
‘But …’ they exchanged glances. ‘Can you afford it, and what would we do?’
‘We’re reopening the agency, of course. There are all sorts of people out there who can’t or won’t go to the police when they meet with a problem. They need our special skills. So, Maggie; the agency rooms could do with a facelift. Will you get me some quotes for rewiring and redecoration, please? You’ll find the contact details in the agency files somewhere. And Oliver; what other outstanding cases do we have on file?’
As Oliver scurried off to fetch the paperwork, Bea seemed to hear an echo of Hamilton’s voice saying, ‘You can do it, girl.’ She straightened her back and squared her elbows. Yes, indeed. She could do it. And would.
The phone rang, and she picked up the receiver. ‘Abbot Agency. How may I help you?’
False Charity Page 27