‘Isn’t there a Dower House that your mother can retire to?’
‘Yes, but it’s let out at present. Bit of a bummer that. But then, with the windfall, I could afford to build Mother something in the village, or buy out one of the tenants.’ He had a sunny disposition; smiling came easily to him. ‘I’m not one for confrontation. Don’t like the thought of giving Mother the push.’
‘Getting back to Nick—’
He held up both his hands. ‘Now, come on. Leave it to the professionals, that’s what I say, and good luck to them. Poor old Nick. Married the wrong woman, you know.’
Bea tried another tack. ‘What do you think of Hermia taking up with young Chris?’
An expression of puzzlement crossed his face. ‘Who is this Chris, eh? Someone else was talking about him. He’s trying to make pictures or something? A lad just out of college, wet behind the ears? What does she see in him, eh? Except –’ he gave a shout of laughter – ‘does he want someone to mother him? She’s good at that. Now don’t get me wrong. I like Hermia. Known her since we first competed in pony gymkhanas aged five or six. Made of pure steel, all that family, know what I mean? She’ll chew him up and spit him out and expect me to dance attendance on her again. Only next time I won’t be available.’
He looked at his watch and gave a great sigh. ‘Must keep an eye on the time. Promised to fetch Her Ladyship from work. So . . . ?’ He got to his feet, and they did so, too.
‘Thank you for seeing us,’ said Bea.
‘Not at all.’ He bared his teeth in a happy smile and showed them out of the door.
Bea struggled to put her thoughts in order as they walked back to where she’d parked the car. ‘He threw us out pretty promptly. Surely it’s too early for a nanny to finish for the day? Oliver, what did you make of him?’
‘Can he really be that insensitive? Has he been so protected, so cushioned by his background and wealth that he doesn’t feel things as other people do?’
‘Coddled first by his mother, and then by Hermia. I hope his fiancée knows what she’s taking on.’
They reached the car. Oliver said, ‘If he asked me to lend him some money, I’m not sure I would. May I drive?’
She tossed him the keys. ‘Is the girl marrying him for his position in the world, or does she love him?’
‘What’s to love? A title, an obliging disposition and a lot of money,’ said Oliver, cynical for a change.
‘You can see why Hermia kept looking elsewhere. It must have been so unsatisfactory for her, always being the one to make whatever decisions were needed, and then having to carry them out. Or did she enjoy being in charge? Perhaps. Oh, I don’t know. Are we going straight to Claudine’s? She ought to be back from school by now.’
Oliver didn’t reply, and Bea wondered if Lord Fairley’s interpretation of Hermia’s character was correct. If so, look out, Chris!
Friday late afternoon
Claudine lived in a street north of the Bayswater Road, where the terraced houses all looked the same. Red-brick, four steps up to the front door, eight steps down to the basement flat. These were larger and more expensive buildings than the house in which Tomi had lived, but half the size of the ones in which Duncan resided. The pavements were wide; there were trees in the street and Car Parking Zones everywhere.
‘You stay with the car,’ said Bea, getting out. ‘We don’t want to risk getting clobbered with a parking ticket. If you see any wardens, drive around the block. I shouldn’t be long. I’ve got my mobile, so ring me if there’s a problem.’
There were three bell pushes inside the porch. Bea rang and identified herself to the speakerphone, the catch on the door was lifted and a disembodied voice said Mrs Abbot should come up to the first floor.
A woman in her late twenties awaited Bea at the top of the stairs. She had a fall of long, straight, dark hair swept back from her face, was wearing jeans and a huge fluffy blue wool top over a T-shirt. She was well-groomed, spider thin, with understated make-up and an air of authority. She led Bea into a sitting room overlooking the road. Big sash windows; shiningly polished furniture, mostly modern. Instead of a picture, there was a red and cream carpet hanging on one wall above a low white-leather settee.
Claudine offered tea or coffee, which Bea declined.
Claudine looked at the clock on the mantelpiece – a square, silver-framed nineteen thirties affair, chunky but chic – and compared the time with her watch. ‘I’m meeting my partner at the station to catch the Eurostar train soon. He had a meeting after school, so it’s all a bit of a rush. We’re going on to Brussels for the weekend.’
How wise of her to arrange to be out of London this weekend. Hermia had mentioned that Claudine had recently got herself a new partner. No commitment yet? There were no rings on her fingers.
‘It’s kind of you to see me.’
‘Not at all.’ Grimly. ‘Hermia’s made it clear we need to take extra precautions this weekend.’
‘It’s Gregor who’s preventing you all from going to the police, isn’t it?’
‘There’s a clause in the agreement. We can only break silence if everyone agrees. He did agree to let you do some poking about, but he won’t agree to letting the police in. He says he can’t take the threat to himself seriously, but if I know him he’s employed a minder to watch his back.’
‘How do you feel about all these deaths?’
‘Julian’s death was sad, but to be expected. Shirley, too; silly woman. Put her behind the wheel of a car and she lost all sense of danger. I liked Tomi. I said right from the start that I couldn’t see her taking drugs, but when I heard that Harry had killed her and then killed himself, I thought that was it. It niggled me, but not enough to do anything about it. I’ve got a lot on at work – deputy head of a school, you know, doing well – but it’s not the sort of job which leaves you time to think about anything much else.’
‘What did you think about Harry killing himself that way?’
‘I might have known he’d make a mess of it. Really, some men can’t be trusted to tie their own shoelaces.’
‘And Nick?’
‘I hold no brief for Nick. He only acknowledged two sorts of women: those he could take to bed – whether he paid them or not – and those who scared him to death. I scare him to death. I mean, I did . . .’ She winced. ‘Sorry. Can’t get used to the fact that he’s dead. That they all are. It’s –’ a deep breath – ‘yes, it’s frightening.’
‘You know they all had barbiturates in their system before they died?’
A long stare. ‘You mean, they were drugged first and killed when they were helpless? That’s horrible. No, I didn’t know that.’
A change of tactic. ‘What do you fancy doing with your windfall?’
‘If I live till Monday, you mean? I plan to buy a small private school in an area where there are plenty of paying pupils, update the facilities, and run it myself.’
‘Have you been making enquiries already?’
She reddened. ‘That’s no business of yours.’
‘I was wondering if you’d shared the news with your partner.’
‘That is definitely no business of yours.’
Which meant that she had? Bea wondered if any of the others – Jamie, for instance – had shared the news with his nearest and dearest. Under strict injunctions not to spread the news, of course. Hermia hadn’t, probably. Harry and Nick? Nick might have done so. Tomi had dropped hints to her mother. Of course, they’d stood to lose the lot if word got out that they’d told anyone, but on the other hand, human nature wasn’t easily bound by such promises.
A change of tactic. ‘What do you think of the surviving members of the group? Duncan, for instance.’
A smile. ‘Trustworthy. Good with money. We had a fling some years ago, but remain friends. He’s the last person I can think of who’d want to kill us. I mean, for a start, he and Julian were very close. Duncan was devastated when he died.’
‘Julian’s death is out
side our remit. Have you met the girl he wants to marry?’
‘Yes, she’s Julian’s younger sister, so we’ve known her for ever. Nice girl. He’ll be all right with her, provided they can keep the gambling brother at bay.’
‘Hermia?’
A laugh, quickly fading away. ‘I like Hermia. There’s Jewish ancestry; some way back, I think. Some people say that’s why she’s supposed to be tight with her money, but all I can say is that whenever I’ve been strapped for cash to take the kids on outings, or if I hear of someone in need, she’s always stumped up, on condition I keep quiet about it. We went on a wild trip rock-climbing in the Andes one summer holidays at a time when neither of us was particularly tied up with a man. She was great fun, though I wouldn’t share a bedroom with her again; she snores.’
Bea smiled. ‘I like Hermia too, but I am concerned that she’s taken up with my son’s young friend. Is she a man-eater, do you think?’
A more genuine laugh. ‘I’ve heard something about that. Dick or Chris, or something? A brilliant young film director, is that right? Tomi used to go on about him. She liked him, said he was kindness itself, but eccentric. He sounds quite mad to me. He’s not like any of Hermia’s usual boyfriends. But, well, why not?’
‘Why not, indeed? How about Jamie Fairley?’
An indulgent, slightly contemptuous smile. ‘He’s perfectly all right, but he’d have been more at home in the Middle Ages, if you see what I mean. Charging around in a full suit of armour, killing anyone who disagreed with him, and then apologizing for having knocked them off their horse. Not that I think . . . Sorry, I didn’t mean that he’d have killed Tomi or Harry, and certainly not Nick. They played golf together a lot, you know. What I mean is—’
‘I think I understand what you meant. He wouldn’t have bothered to use sleeping pills to render his victims unconscious, but would have bashed them over the head with a blunt instrument straight away?’
‘And then apologized.’
Bea laughed. ‘All right. I get the picture. On the other hand, I’m not sure he’s as clueless as he tries to make out, because he does seem to have his finances well under control.’
‘He’s hit on a job that he’s perfectly fitted for. He’s charming and exactly what businessmen think that a member of the aristocracy should be. I can quite see why Hermia couldn’t bring herself to marry him, though. I hear he’s got a new girl in tow.’
‘What do you think of her?’
A frown. ‘I may be prejudiced, but I wouldn’t trust my partner alone in a room with her.’
‘A predator?’
A shrug. ‘She’s pretty enough and seems very capable. Secondary modern education, then vocational training. Not university, though I’m not sure that matters nowadays. I expect we’ll all get along fine, once we get used to one another.’
‘And the last on the list; Gregor?’
A sigh. ‘I like Gregor. He’s fun. He wouldn’t do any of us down, but I wouldn’t trust him with a country cousin who had money to invest. If you see what I mean.’
‘Gregor is the only one who has refused to see me. Do you think you could persuade him otherwise?’
‘What would you hope to achieve by talking to him?’ Claudine looked at the clock again and checked her watch. ‘I’ll have to throw you out, I’m afraid. I haven’t finished packing yet.’
‘I’ll give you a lift to the station, if it will help.’
‘Yes, it would. I was going to get a taxi. Can you hold on five minutes?’ She disappeared into the back of the flat.
Bea went to the window and looked out. Yes, there was her car, with Oliver leaning against it, looking up to where she was standing. She waved to him, gestured five, and five again, with outspread fingers. He nodded. Fortunately there was no sign of a traffic warden.
Left alone, Bea prowled round the room. There was a drop-front bureau beside the fireplace. She eased the front open. Everything was neat and tidy. The bookcases showed a wide range of subject matter: evidence of an enquiring, intelligent mind. No romances.
On the mantelpiece there were silver frames displaying photographs of older people; professorial types? Upper middle-class? No photos of anyone Claudine’s age. There was a scuffed leather briefcase on the floor by one of the easy chairs, together with a tottering pile of paperwork. Bea peeked; exam papers or children’s homework. For him or her? Ah, something was marked ‘Mr Snaith’ or perhaps the word was ‘Smith?’ So the partner was probably another teacher. And if he was another teacher, might not Claudine have discussed her plan to buy an independent school with him?
Claudine reappeared, wearing a navy car coat and towing a small suitcase on wheels. Bea led the way to the car, and Oliver drove them to St Pancras station, where Claudine waved them goodbye, saying she’d try to contact Gregor by phone en route to see if he’d change his mind about meeting Bea. Then she was gone, and Oliver drove them home.
Bea said, ‘I’ve got sensory overload.’
‘TMI? Too much information?’
‘I think we must get together with CJ and exchange notes. Try to work out what’s important and what’s not. Air our suspicions. See if they have any basis in fact. We don’t need Chris or Hermia. They wouldn’t be able to help at this stage.’
He nodded, but didn’t comment. The rain had started again. Persistently, drenching everything.
Bea said, ‘Do you think spring will ever come?’
Friday early evening
Claire fed the baby and walked around the flat, bringing up his wind. Nice baby. He was already looking more lively. How could you not love babies, even when – as with this one – they didn’t love you?
Mrs was up and about, coughing, taking linctus, ought to be in bed with antibiotics. She said that her doctor had been so horrible to her about Baby, she couldn’t bear to ask him for anything. In fact, she said she was going to change doctors just as soon as she was on her feet again.
Baby didn’t show any sign of getting his mother’s cold yet. Claire hoped he wouldn’t, because he was rather fragile, definitely underweight.
As she nursed him, she listened to Mrs talking in her hoarse voice about herself, her important husband, and how much she disliked her mother-in-law, who’d been married twice and got rid of her first husband, who was now a world-famous portrait painter, and that served her right, because she now had to work for a living finding jobs for cleaners and cooks. She was the worst mother-in-law in the whole world. And so on. Mrs needed someone to talk to, and Claire was elected her confidante.
Which suited Claire. With the odd interjected query here and there, Claire was getting all the information she needed about the interfering Mrs Abbot, who ran an agency – not for nurses, as it happened – and had adopted two totally unsuitable people, who were probably hoping to cut Mr out of her will. The boy was very clever, no doubt, but of mixed race. ‘Not that I’m racist, dear . . .’
As for the girl, she was a proper scarecrow, hair all stiff and gelled and usually some colour other than nature intended, and her skirts were up to here, my dear . . .
Claire put Baby down to sleep and covered him over. He fussed a bit, but not much. She looked at her watch. Her fiancée was collecting her soon and taking her down to meet his mother for the weekend, which meant Claire couldn’t knock anyone else off their perch for a couple of days. A pity. She would have liked a try at Hermia, stuck-up creature! But time was against her. Or was it? If she could get back to London early enough on Sunday, then she might well chance one more throw of the dice.
Only three days to go. On Monday night they would all be celebrating. She told herself that what Jamie would get would be enough, even though . . . Well, if she still felt strongly about Hermia, there would be time enough in future to deal with her.
And if Mrs Abbot senior started making trouble, then . . . No, she wouldn’t, couldn’t harm Baby. Could she?
On her way out of the door, she checked that her little brown bottle of All Ease was in her handbag.
She never knew when it might come in handy.
FOURTEEN
Friday evening
CJ was free and arrived at the house just as Maggie was leaving for the evening. A date with a girlfriend, or with Zander? Maggie wasn’t saying.
CJ was not in the habit of conducting affairs at kitchen tables. He handed Bea a bottle of something which looked expensive and turned into the sitting room.
Bea shut the door on the night. Another filthy night. It matched her mood.
CJ directed Oliver to draw the big dining table – so little used nowadays – further into the room, and seated himself in the carver’s chair at the head. Oliver laid out his laptop and a batch of papers at one side, leaving Bea to uncork and serve the wine CJ had brought, before taking her place at the foot of the table.
Bea laid out the pads on which she’d been making notes; it seemed she’d used two, which was wasteful of resources, but she’d obviously picked up the wrong one at some point. She lifted her glass in a toast and called the meeting to order. ‘We’ve all been working in different directions, and it’s about time we tried to make sense of what we’ve got. CJ; can you tell us what’s been happening with the police?’
‘Nothing much. They’ve accepted the idea that Tomi was killed by Harry, who then killed himself, and that Nick got drunk and fell over the banisters. The Crown Prosecution Service is saying there’s no evidence that anyone else is involved, so the police have dropped their investigation. Of course, they don’t know about the money angle yet.’
Bea said, ‘I don’t understand what makes Gregor tick. Isn’t he concerned about his old friends dropping dead?’
‘I don’t understand him, either. He says it won’t hurt to wait till Tuesday before letting the police in on the secret. Duncan has been trying to get him to change his mind, without success. He has interests in half a dozen countries, and I suspect he’s arguing with accountants somewhere – perhaps in Greece – about the amount he owes in tax and wants that affair concluded before his assets are considerably increased on Monday.’
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