False Pride

by Veronica Heley

  Contents

  Cover

  Titles by Veronica Heley from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Titles by Veronica Heley from Severn House

  The Bea Abbot Agency Mysteries

  FALSE CHARITY

  FALSE PICTURE

  FALSE STEP

  FALSE PRETENCES

  FALSE MONEY

  FALSE REPORT

  FALSE ALARM

  FALSE DIAMOND

  FALSE IMPRESSION

  FALSE WALL

  FALSE FIRE

  FALSE PRIDE

  The Ellie Quicke Mysteries

  MURDER AT THE ALTAR

  MURDER BY SUICIDE

  MURDER OF INNOCENCE

  MURDER BY ACCIDENT

  MURDER IN THE GARDEN

  MURDER BY COMMITTEE

  MURDER BY BICYCLE

  MURDER OF IDENTITY

  MURDER IN HOUSE

  MURDER BY MISTAKE

  MURDER MY NEIGHBOUR

  MURDER IN MIND

  MURDER WITH MERCY

  MURDER IN TIME

  MURDER BY SUSPICION

  MURDER IN STYLE

  MURDER FOR NOTHING

  FALSE PRIDE

  A Bea Abbot Agency Mystery

  Veronica Heley

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2017 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY

  This eBook edition first published in 2018 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2018 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD

  Copyright © 2017 by Veronica Heley.

  The right of Veronica Heley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8765-8 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-880-4 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-942-8 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  ONE

  Late Saturday morning

  ‘Mrs Abbot …!’

  ‘What is it?’ Bea Abbot was terse. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, the coffee machine had broken down and the prospective clients she’d interviewed that Saturday morning had all been rubbish.

  So Bea Abbot snapped at the girl manning the phone … and then apologized. It wasn’t the agency girl’s fault that so many things had gone wrong. ‘Sorry. There’s a problem?’

  ‘Someone’s turned up without an appointment. I told her you were booked solid this morning, but she said she’d wait till you were free. I put her in the small office at the back that we don’t use much.’

  Bea Abbot’s domestic agency was situated in the basement of her large, mid-terrace Georgian house. Being on a slope, there was a short flight of steps down to the agency’s front door from the street at the front, while Bea’s office – and the small one next to it – opened via French windows onto a garden at the back.

  ‘Shall I tell her to get lost? It’s nearly twelve o’clock.’ The girl wore the harassed air of one who had hoped to leave work dead on noon and could see that hope disappearing.

  Bea Abbot restrained herself with an effort. What she wanted to say was that she was dying for a cup of good coffee and was far too busy to see someone who’d called without an appointment.

  She checked her watch. She was expecting her ward home from school for the weekend. The girl had a key to get in with, but Bea liked to be free to concentrate on her when she arrived.

  ‘What did you say her name was?’

  ‘A Miss Summerleys. She said she was on our books.’

  Bea hesitated. ‘Magda Summerleys? Yes, she is. One of the best.’

  Magda could take over and run a household in an emergency, employees liked and respected her, and she could cook a decent meal on a budget. She even had some computer skills. Bea wished she had a dozen such on her books. Magda had never turned up without an appointment before.

  She was working for one of their oldest and richest clients, wasn’t she? They’d said Miss Summerleys had been tailor-made for the job. What had gone wrong? Somehow, Bea must fit her in.

  Bea said, ‘Tell Miss Summerleys I’ll be with her directly.’ And, in response to the girl’s downcast look, ‘I know you need to leave early today. It’s nearly twelve so if you want to get away, that’s all right with me. I’ll see to locking up.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. Yes, I will go, if you don’t mind.’

  Bea returned to her own office and threw open the French windows onto the pretty, paved garden at the back. She rubbed her forehead. Was she getting a headache? Pressure, pressure.

  High walls enclosed the garden, giving it an illusion of privacy in the busy city. Birds sang in the trees, two large pots filled with hyacinths scented the air, the fountain splashed cheerfully in its little pond, and all was well with the world.

  Well, almost all. Bea could have done with breaking off work at twelve herself.

  The sun was on the back of the house. Bea breathed in, deeply, and closed her eyes for a moment. For two pins, she’d tell Magda to come back on Monday when she’d have more time to devote to her.

  A tap on the door of her office and there was Magda Summerleys. ‘Are you free now, Mrs Abbot?’

  Magda was a study in the unremarkable. She wore dull brown clothes which did her no favours, and her pale pink blouse was finished with an old lady’s pussy-cat bow. Her glasses were made of tortoiseshell-coloured plastic, she wore no makeup and smoothed her fair hair back behind her ears.

  It was springtime, when birds do sing, tra-la, but Miss Summerleys wasn’t singing.

  No. Her tense body language was saying something else. If Bea were any judge of the matter, capable, thirty-something Magda Summerleys was on the point of screaming. Her voice was high with tension. ‘Sorry to intrude. Piers said …’

  Bea repeated the words. ‘“Piers said”? You mean, my ex-husband, Piers?’

  Piers was charming but unreliable, a man whose tom-catting had ended their short-lived marriage many years ago. They were f
riends after a fashion nowadays, and he earned a good living as a portrait painter of the fashionable and newsworthy.

  Bea stifled irritation. ‘What on earth has Piers got to do with anything?’

  ‘I know. It’s crazy. He said I’d be safe with you while he tried to find Lucas. I do realize it was a bad idea. You’re busy. I’d better go.’

  Bea clutched at what she could understand of this. ‘I haven’t heard from Piers for some time. Why did he say you’d be safe here?’

  Magda Summerleys wrung her hands. ‘I don’t know. Lucas went out for a haircut. We were to meet up at Piers’s place. Lucas had an appointment with Piers to discuss arrangements to sit for his portrait. But he didn’t return. Lucas didn’t, I mean. Instead, his two nephews came looking for him. He – that is, Lucas – calls them Tweedledum and Tweedledee, though that’s not their real names of course.’

  She made a despairing gesture. ‘I’m burbling. What does it matter what Lucas calls them? But they,’ she gulped, ‘they …’ She pushed back the sleeves of her jacket to reveal as nasty a set of bruises as you might see in a month of Sundays. Someone had given her a Chinese burn. No, two of them. One on each arm. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and swayed.

  Bea thrust her into a chair. ‘Sit. Put your head down.’

  Magda sat, but kept her eyes tightly closed. ‘I am not going to faint. Definitely not. I despise women who faint.’

  Bea fetched a glass of cold water from the cloakroom and handed it to Magda, who managed to cup her hands around it, and drink. Finally she opened her eyes, and a little colour came back into her face. ‘How ridiculous of me. What you must think!’

  ‘Who gave you those bruises? And why?’ Bea looked at her watch. How soon could she expect her ward to arrive for the weekend? Soon. ‘Look, why don’t we go upstairs and have a sandwich and a cup of coffee? Then you can tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Sounds good. I’m so sorry to … but I didn’t know what else to do.’ She got to her feet, balancing herself by holding on to the back of the chair. ‘If anyone comes, I’m not here and you haven’t seen me. Right?’

  Bea raised her eyebrows. ‘That bad?’

  ‘That bad. And you definitely haven’t seen a brown leather briefcase. Right?’

  ‘No. Well, I haven’t, have I?’

  ‘That’s right. You haven’t. Where shall I put it? A safe might be best, but they might look there.’

  Bea told herself that she was not dreaming. She was standing in her office on a bright spring morning. She’d conducted a series of interviews that morning. She was expecting her ward Bernice to arrive for the weekend from school any minute now. They’d planned a family visit that afternoon, to be followed by a trip to the theatre. That was what she’d planned. That was normal.

  This wasn’t.

  ‘You want a hiding place for a briefcase?’

  Magda nodded. ‘There’s no initials on it or anything. It could belong to anyone. But its contents—’

  ‘Paperwork?’

  Magda shook her head. ‘Jewellery. Diamonds.’

  Bea smothered a desire to laugh hysterically. ‘May I ask, have you stolen it?’

  ‘What! No, of course not!’

  ‘Who does it belong to?’

  ‘Lord Rycroft. Lucas’s elder brother. At least, I suppose so.’

  ‘And who is looking for it?’

  ‘Tweedledum and Tweedledee. But I’m sure they have no right to it.’ Magda ran her fingers back through her hair, disarranging it. She was too far gone to care about how she looked. She took a long, deep breath. ‘Look, I agree there’s no reason why you should take my word for it. I can see how it looks, my turning up like this, but Piers said you’d know what to do. Only, if you don’t want to get involved and I really don’t see why you should—’

  ‘Shut up, and let me think!’ Bea thought she knew enough about Magda to trust her.

  And Piers? She wouldn’t trust him with a woman under the age of sixty, but he did have a code of ethics. If he’d sent Magda here, there would have been good reason for doing so. Bea thought she’d probably regret helping the woman, but … well, how could she hide a briefcase full of family jewels?

  Someone leant on the front doorbell upstairs, and they both jumped.

  Magda shot to her feet. ‘I’d better go. Will you let me out into the garden? Is there a back way out?’

  ‘No, there isn’t. Look, it’s probably only my ward. She’s twelve years of age, home for the weekend. She has her own key and can let herself in.’

  The doorbell rang again.

  Bea bit her lip. ‘I suppose she might have forgotten her key, but just in case it isn’t her ringing the bell—’

  ‘They mustn’t find the jewellery! Lucas would never forgive me. Look, I’ll hide them in the garden somewhere, and then … shall I hide out there, too?’

  The doorbell rang again.

  Bea looked at her watch. ‘No, I’ll deal with it. Wait for me in my office.’

  ‘Got it.’ Magda was quick on the uptake.

  The doorbell rang again. And someone started to use the knocker. Bea started for the stairs that led up to the ground-floor rooms. She opened the front door, saying with a smile, ‘Did you forget your key?’ And then, simulating surprise. ‘Oh. You’re not …? Sorry, I was expecting … Can I help you?’

  Two men stood on the doorstep. Bea could see at once why they’d been called Tweedledum and Tweedledee. They were plump, thirtyish, hard men. They had fair hair brushed straight back, and full, pouting mouths. Like bad-tempered babies. Identical twins? They wore black, both of them. Black tracksuit tops, and black tracksuit bottoms. And expensive trainers.

  Bouncers at a nightclub? Did they work in a gym, perhaps?

  The word ‘enforcers’ crept into Bea’s mind and would not go away. It was not a warm day, but both men looked as if they might perspire a lot under pressure.

  ‘Mrs Abbot, who runs—?’

  ‘The agency?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bea. ‘I’m afraid we’re closed for the weekend.’

  They crowded in on her, forcing her to take a step back.

  One of them said, ‘This won’t take a moment—’

  ‘We just need an address for someone on your books. A Miss Summerleys, who works for our uncle.’

  ‘Or perhaps she’s going under a different name? Miss Harris?’

  ‘Harris?’ Bea was puzzled. ‘Harris is a common name. We have several people on our books with that name, but my address list is confidential.’

  They forced her to move back again. They stood close to her, hemming her in. She was tall for a woman, but they were taller and bigger and had much larger paunches. Their action was intended to intimidate, and it succeeded. She remembered the bruises on Magda’s arms.

  Bea also remembered that Magda had got away from them and brought the briefcase with her. How had she managed that? And how could Bea get rid of them?

  They lifted their upper lips in amusement at having forced her back into the hall. One of them – the one who started each sentence – had a gold tooth, upper right jaw. Possibly he was the elder? Tweedledum? ‘It’s a matter of some urgency—’

  ‘A family matter. Something important has gone astray—’

  ‘We don’t want to bring the police in on it unless—’

  ‘No police. We will recover our property and no more need be said.’

  Bea blinked. ‘I regret I am unable to oblige you. Now, I must ask you to leave.’ She was going to have to call the police to get them out. Only, where had she left her mobile phone? In the kitchen, or downstairs in her office?

  ‘We’ll leave as soon as you tell us where to find her—’

  ‘Or them.’

  Bea played her last card. ‘If you don’t leave now, I shall have to call the police.’

  They both grinned at that. She was not holding a mobile phone, therefore she did not have one on her. Tweedledum lifted a bottle of mineral water to his lips and took a
swallow. He passed it to his twin without either of them taking their eyes off Bea. The second twin took a swallow, too.

  Taking their time. They knew they had her where they wanted her.

  She was pinned against the chest in the hall, unable to move.

  They knew and she knew that it had been an empty threat to call for the police. She tried for anger. ‘This is intolerable. Who are you, anyway? You thrust your way into my house and—’

  ‘Mrs Abbot, you are being unreasonable.’

  ‘A Miss Harris – or maybe it was the Summerleys woman, we aren’t sure – told us she got the job with the painter through your agency, so you must have her details on file, right?’

  ‘What? A job with who?’ Bea managed a light laugh. Had Magda actually told them she worked for Piers? Why? But that could be sorted out later. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want with Miss Summerleys or Miss Harris, but you can’t just turn up out of the blue and demand access to the agency’s books.’

  ‘I told you; we need to retrieve something our uncle has stolen and given to the Summerleys woman—’

  ‘Or maybe it’s a Miss Harris, if that’s her right name, for safekeeping. It’s family property, Mrs Abbot, which we need to recover.’

  ‘Urgently,’ said his twin.

  Bea allowed herself to frown. ‘This is ridiculous. I don’t know which Miss Harris you are referring to, but Miss Summerleys is not a thief.’

  ‘No, no.’ Perspiring. ‘Not her. Our uncle has, well, misappropriated some family property. He is not precisely—’

  ‘He’s a trifle eccentric. That is why we don’t want to bring in the police. We don’t want him arrested. It was obviously a misunderstanding. He will have given it to the Summerleys woman on impulse, without telling her it was stolen goods. That is why—’

  ‘If you can tell us where to find her—’

  ‘We can retrieve the property and that will be the end of the matter.’

  Bea opened her eyes wide. ‘Surely you know where your uncle lives?’

  A wriggle from Tweedledum Gold Tooth. ‘We are confused. When we visited the painter, we found a woman with him. We thought she must be Miss Summerleys, and we know she works for our uncle. But the woman at the studio said she was a Miss Harris, working for the painter on a job arranged by you.’