Bea mouthed to Magda, ‘It’s not Lucas!’
Piers continued, ‘Look, where are you? I’ve been round to your place, and there’s no one there. Your car’s still in the mews.’
‘Can you grab a taxi and meet us here?’ Bea gave the address. ‘It’s Lucas’s place. He seems to have vanished.’
Piers grunted, and switched off.
Magda said, ‘I’m going to have hysterics!’
‘No, you’re not. That was Piers on the phone. He’s coming round here. The man taken off in the ambulance is a man in his late thirties, blond, with a small beard but short hair. So it’s not, repeat not, Lucas.’
Magda gulped. ‘But he might have had his hair cut, which he meant to do that morning. No, it can’t be him, can it? Lucas is older than that and going grey. And,’ almost a smile, ‘he hadn’t got a beard.’
‘Do you know of another man answering to that description?’
‘Oh. Well, yes, I suppose … I met a man like that once, when I was interviewed for the job. He’s the Rycroft who runs the trust. Kent Rycroft, the old lord’s eldest son. Pale blue eyes, very clean fingernails, beautiful suit, handmade shirt, silk tie, polished brogues. The sort of man you’d imagine might be a diplomat, or a mandarin in some ministry or other. But it couldn’t be Kent, could it?’
‘Did this Kent of yours have brains?’
‘He didn’t show what he was thinking, but yes; brains. I don’t think he needs to raise his voice to be obeyed.’
‘Wedding ring?’
Magda closed her eyes, trying to remember. ‘No. A signet ring on his left hand, little finger. Beautiful watch, thin. Gold pen on the table in front of him. Smartphone. He had my file open before him but didn’t need to refer to it. He had my details already in his head. Date of birth, and so on. Another man, not quite so smooth, not quite so expensive, sat on his right. He introduced himself by saying he was a solicitor employed by the Rycroft Foundation, and it was he who arranged my contract. Mrs Tarring sat on his left. I speak to Mrs Tarring on the phone quite often but I’ve never seen or spoken to either of the other two since the day I went for the interview.’
Bea arranged some cold meat on the buttered bread, piled on some cheese and a selection of salad stuffs. ‘Why should Kent Rycroft be at Piers’s studio? I can only think of one reason. He must be the person who’d arranged to meet Lucas and to take the jewellery off him.’
Magda shook her head. ‘Why would he do that? He runs the trust. He could take the jewellery out of the bank any time he chose.’
Bea cut the sandwiches in half, and passed one to Magda. ‘The most surprising people can run short of money.’
Magda said, ‘No. Kent Rycroft is not short of a penny, believe me. When various members of the family got hold of my phone number and started ringing me, I asked Mrs Tarring what to do about it. She said to take the messages and pass them on to Lucas if I wished, but not to get involved. She said the only caller to take seriously was Kent, and he’s something in the banking world as well as running the trust. I don’t know much about him, except that he’s divorced and lives by himself with a housekeeper who comes in daily. I think he had a son, once.’
She frowned, trying to remember. ‘The son died last year? Tragic. Anyway, Mrs Tarring did tell me that Kent was one of the few members of the family who actually earns his living and that was one of the reasons why he got landed with the Rycroft Trust. The others are far too greedy to be relied upon when it comes to dealing with large sums of money. Well, she didn’t actually say that because she’s the soul of discretion, but that was what she meant.’
A doorbell rang. ‘That must be Lucas!’ Magda rushed down the corridor to open the door before Bea could warn her to be careful.
A moment’s pause and Magda returned, looking downcast, with a somewhat battered-looking Piers in tow.
Bea held out her hand to him. ‘I’m glad you’re safe. I was worried.’
Piers was not in a good temper. Six foot of darkly charming testosterone, dented nose, shock of dark hair turning grey at the temples. A nasty yellow bruise on his chin which bore its usual five o’clock shadow. Casual clothes, originally good but rumpled.
He said, ‘Will someone kindly tell me what’s going on?’
FIVE
Saturday lunchtime
Bea echoed, ‘What’s going on? I wish I knew!’
Magda touched Piers’s arm. ‘You haven’t seen Lucas, have you?’
‘Maybe I have, and maybe I haven’t,’ said Piers, who looked about to explode at any minute. ‘My life today can only be described as a farce. A dark farce, but one whose meaning is impenetrable to one of my limited intellect.’
Bea said, ‘Have you had anything to eat?’ She pushed the plate of sandwiches towards him. Men always feel better when they’ve eaten. And not only men. She took a large bite of hers and almost groaned. It was so good!
Piers bit into his, too. Round a mouthful, he said, ‘Look, I make arrangements to have a quiet chat with someone who wants his portrait painted. I’m intrigued because I’ve heard his name mentioned here and there. I’m fully booked on Saturday but I decide to make time for him somehow. I tell him that I have an appointment out of town for lunch, so please would he not be late. And what happens? Not only does he turn up late, but he doesn’t turn up at all. Instead—’ he glowered at Magda – ‘he sends his mistress—’
‘I am not his mistress!’ said Magda, turning red.
‘To tell me he’s stopped on the way over, to have his hair cut. His hair cut! Would you believe? Did he have to have his hair cut today of all days? Why didn’t he have it cut yesterday, or last week … or better still, tomorrow?’
‘Oh, I do agree,’ said Bea, pouring out and handing him a mug of tea. ‘Would you like some aspirin as well?’
‘Aspirin!’ Piers barked. ‘Morphine might help. A massage in a quiet, dark room might help! Aspirin won’t even touch the sides!’
‘We understand.’ Bea gave him another sandwich. ‘What we want to know is—’
‘What you want to know is irrelevant. What I want to know is why Fate has to rear up and kick me in the teeth like this. You do realize I have been made homeless?’
Bea frowned. Was that possible?
Magda grimaced. ‘Oh, come. It’s not as bad as that.’
‘Not as bad? Not as bad! Apart from the destruction caused by those two apes who came after you, and you’ll notice how restrained I am in calling them apes, my hallway is spattered with blood! Yes, human gore! I’m only renting that house, and I’m going to be held responsible for returning it in the same condition as when I first walked into the place. Do you know how difficult it is to get blood out of wood? And will my insurance cover the replacement of the floorboards and repainting the hall? Will it? No way!’
Bea said, ‘Calm down. Magda told us you were knocked cold by the twins, and that you very cleverly played dead while they tried to find the bag which Magda was keeping safe for her boss.’
Piers shook his finger at Magda. ‘I must say, you have a good shriek on you! Well done you!’
To Bea’s amusement, mixed with horror, Magda squirmed with pleasure.
Ah, the well-known Piers Effect. If he so much as crooked his little finger at a woman, she was his. Except, of course, for Bea, who knew all his little ways and could see through the charm to the man behind. Well, she had to admit that the man behind the charm – apart from his inability to leave other women alone – was, in many ways, admirable. Honest. Hard-working. Intelligent. Talented. And, she had to admit, sexy.
Piers softened his tone to concentrate on Magda. ‘If I’d only known you were carrying a time bomb, I would have got you out of the house earlier. I know they knocked you about. No lasting damage, I trust?’
Magda shook her head, and smiled at him.
That’s not a smile, that’s a simper if ever I saw one! And I had imagined she was half in love with her boss!
‘Ah well,’ said Piers, magnanimou
s as ever, ‘it wasn’t your fault, Magda, or whatever your name is. But I don’t think my insurance company is going to be that amused when I tell them that some idiots rampaged through my property, destroying my smartphone, overturning my easel, ruining canvases and scattering my paints and brushes all over the floor. They tore the blind from the window but, above all, they vandalized two portraits that were on the verge of completion. And who, may I ask, is going to compensate me for that? Will my two sitters be prepared to give me another appointment or two, so that I can start the portraits all over again? I think not.’
Without turning to Bea, he thrust his mug at her. ‘Is there another in the pot?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Bea, refilling his mug. ‘We do understand that you have been shockingly badly treated. But I know you; you’ll survive and dine out on the story for weeks, which will probably bring you in even more commissions. What we want to know is—’
‘Why! That’s what I want to know. Why me? Why have I been targeted?’
Magda said, ‘I do feel terrible about what’s happened to you. I’m afraid you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those two men were after the jewellery which Lucas had given me to keep safe. That’s why I hid it and pretended to be someone else. I couldn’t stop them wrecking your studio. But when they’d gone, you were kind enough to go and look for Lucas. So what happened? Did you find him?’
Piers sipped his mug of tea. He closed his eyes to savour the brew. He opened his eyes and said in a normal voice, ‘Aargh. Good cuppa. What I think is, that I should never have been sidetracked into going after your Lucas. Why didn’t I phone for the police as soon as the Marauding Twins had gone? That’s what the police want to know, and they have a point, don’t they?’
‘You were confused,’ said Bea, soothing his ruffled feelings. ‘You’d been knocked out.’
‘True. And yes, I do have a headache and if you can find me some aspirin, I’d be grateful.’
Bea got some aspirin from her handbag and pushed them towards him. Then refilled his cup.
‘Yes, yes.’ Magda fidgeted with anxiety. ‘So did you find Lucas?’
‘I couldn’t find any trace of him. He never turned up at the barber’s. They were pretty busy. Were annoyed he’d failed to appear. Can’t blame them.’
Bea said, ‘So after you drew a blank at the barber’s, what did you do?’
‘Stupidly, I went back to the studio to report to Magda who, surprise, surprise, had scarpered, leaving my studio uninhabitable. Oh, and that’s when I found the body in the hallway.’
‘A corpse?’ Magda paled. ‘Really? But it wasn’t Lucas?’
‘Well, not a corpse, exactly. Or not yet. He was still alive when I got back, but whether he’ll make it or not, I don’t know. He’d been bashed over the head. Blood was spattered everywhere. I tell you, I nearly passed out when I saw.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘All I could make out was short, fair hair, small beard.’
‘Ah,’ said Magda, relaxing. ‘I do think it must be Kent.’
Piers took the last but one sandwich. ‘That shook me, I can tell you. But, stiff upper lip and all that. I did what I ought to have done in the first place and dived for the landline phone in the sitting room to report my findings to the police, only to find someone had been there before me. Torn the wiring out of the wall. Dead. And me with no smartphone. So I called up the stairs, thinking that you, Magda, might still be on the premises. No such luck. Out I lurch into the street and flag down the first passer-by, who probably thought I was mad but did phone for the police, clearly thinking I needed restraining for my own sake. The police turned up, and then an ambulance …’
‘We saw the ambulance arrive,’ said Bea. ‘We were trying to connect with you, but the police kept moving us on and we didn’t know what to think.’
‘You may well apologize. Do you realize how it looked? Mad artist says he went out to run an errand for a friend and returns home to find a man lying at death’s door in his hall. Mad artist’s studio has allegedly been wrecked by two men whom he mistakenly refers to as “Tweedledum and Tweedledee”. No, he doesn’t know their names, but that is what his visitor had called them. Which visitor? Ah, there’s the rub. She’s vanished, leaving not a trace behind. Or rather, a smashed mobile, but that’s all. A whiff of brimstone would be more helpful.
‘Rather naturally, the police can’t make head nor tail of this story. They think the Mad Artist is hallucinating, and ready to be carted off to the Funny Farm. Worse, when he’s asked who the man in the hall is, all he can say is that it might be someone called Lucas, whom he’d been expecting to meet that morning. “What’s his surname?” they say. I say, “Can’t think, but the details are on my smartphone.” So we look at what’s left of my smartphone on the floor, and they say, “Who did that?” and I say, “Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” and they think I’m taking the Mickey, and I can’t blame them for that.’
Bea smoothed out a smile. ‘You’d been knocked out. You were concussed. No wonder you gave them confusing answers.’
‘Confusing?’ Piers yelped. ‘What else could I tell them? I didn’t know the man from Adam. Anyway, while they’re waiting for the ambulance, they search the man’s pockets and find no wallet, no cards, no diary. So they tag him as “Mr Lucas” and he’s borne off to the hospital.’
‘If he had a beard, it wasn’t Lucas,’ said Magda. ‘I’m more and more sure that’s Kent Rycroft.’
Piers clicked his fingers. ‘Rycroft. Ah, that’s the name. I knew I knew it.’
‘Being knocked on the head can do that to you,’ said Bea, perturbed that Piers had not been able to remember the name for so long.
‘I’m fortunate the police didn’t arrest me there and then, or get me sectioned and in need of locking up. As it is, they announced they’d take me down to the station to make a statement. They thought I was either cuckoo or being very cunning and hiding relevant information, such as the address of this Lucas what’s-his-name. I told them I usually record information for work on my smartphone, and they were welcome to take the pieces away and see if they could make sense of them, but they shouldn’t expect me to remember such details offhand. I closed my eyes for a nap and they went into a panic, said I’d got concussion and carted me off to hospital for a check-up, at the same time warning me not to leave town and saying they’d need me for more questions later. And me not even able to ring my client and say I couldn’t make our lunch date.’
‘What did the hospital say?’ Bea told herself that Piers was perfectly all right really, but …
‘I sat in A & E till a doctor was found to shine a torch into my eyes and tell me I should take it easy for twenty-four hours, and discharged me. Then I wandered off till I found a public phone and contacted you.’ He managed to take the last sandwich just as Bea was going to swipe it. ‘Aargh,’ he said. ‘That hits the right spot. Oh, and to add insult to injury, do you know what this Kent was knocked out with? My cast-iron doorstop in the shape of a cockerel. It was a birthday present and I am rather fond of it. Or rather, I was.’
Bea said, ‘You mean, the doorstopper I found for you in the antique shop? The one I got for you because you were always complaining about a door which wouldn’t stay open when you wanted it to.’
‘That’s right,’ said Piers, eyeing the sandwich sitting, untouched, on Magda’s plate. Magda might have lost her appetite, but Piers was still hungry. ‘Cock-a-doodle-do. Victorian. Hefty. And now, merely an exhibit in a case of assault.’
Bea said, ‘We must inform the Rycroft family of what has happened.’
‘We can’t,’ said Magda. ‘We have to wait till Mrs Tarring phones me back. I don’t have a number for anyone else.’
‘What about the messages you took from the family? Didn’t they give you a number to take down so that Lucas could ring them back?’
‘Yes, but I gave all those notes to Lucas, and he put them in the bin.’
‘So, let’s look i
n the bin. Also, you might not have the family’s contact details, but I bet Lucas did. The last one to find his address book is a sissy … but let’s search in silence. Yes, Piers. No talking, please. There’s a bug in the library which is going to record or relay everything we say.’
‘Why not remove it?’ said Piers, being practical.
‘And carry it around with us, so that someone can overhear everything we say?’
‘Put it in the fridge or freezer. That should give it a headache. I’ll deal with it for you, shall I?’
Saturday early afternoon
While Piers dealt with the bug, Magda found Lucas’s address book under some papers which had been turfed out of a drawer in the kneehole desk. She seemed reluctant to hand it over, but Bea insisted. Meanwhile, Bea herself had been investigating the contents of the waste-paper basket and had retrieved a couple of screwed-up memos. Each one stated that so and so had called and asked Lucas to ring back. Telephone numbers included.
They retreated to the kitchen to make the necessary phone calls.
‘We’ll try Mrs Tarring again first,’ said Bea. ‘There are two numbers for her in Lucas’s address book: one landline and one mobile. Magda, she hasn’t responded to the one you tried before, which was her landline, wasn’t it? Yes? So let’s try the other. And, Magda, would you put the call on speaker phone so that we can all hear what she says?’
‘She’ll be furious at my ringing her at the weekend,’ said Magda, pressing digits.
Piers said, in a forlorn, die-away voice, ‘Are there any biscuits, do you think?’ He was as thin as a rake. He often went without food for hours when he was painting, but at other times he binged on junk food, while never seeming to put on weight.
Bea said, ‘Mrs Tarring will be even more upset when we tell her she’s got a traitor in the camp.’
‘I do hope she doesn’t give me the sack,’ said Magda, ignoring that and clearly wishing herself elsewhere. And then, to Piers, ‘There’s some biscuits in the tin in the cupboard here.’ She pointed, and Piers investigated. He found the biscuits and promptly removed himself and the tin to another room.
False Pride Page 6