‘At the very top of the house there’s evidence of a number of young people staying. I saw two young men, probably in their twenties, at the party. They were not in a group of their own kind, but they were in charge of the Muzak, and I think it’s a fair assumption that they are part of the family and that they also took part in the honey-trap. And then there’s the granddaughter, Venetia, who was definitely involved. It was she who helped set the trap for Leon, and it was she who borrowed my watch. In turn, I borrowed her kimono and flip-flops to help me get away. And lastly, there’s the young lad, Rollo, who retrieved my property for me.’
Should she try a ham sandwich next? ‘I think, though I can’t be sure, that it may have been Rollo who attacked the ivy and brought down the wall. Right size and shape. Much younger than the others. Nervous. A bit of a stammer.’
Anna said, ‘No, Winston!’ And lifted him off the table.
The men had both built themselves ham sandwiches. Piers said, ‘So how many of the family do you think are involved in the plot to destroy you and Leon?’
‘I really don’t know,’ said Bea. ‘I suspect that the original idea to discredit Leon was thought up by the Admiral and his lady, and the only reason I can think of for them to do this is that in some way they believed they might gain financially by ruining the deal Leon had set up. Then they brought in the granddaughter, Venetia, to bait the honey-trap and the two young men to set the stage and take some photographs. So far so good.
‘But, after drink had been taken and Leon and I were put out of action, I think the youngsters took the bit between their teeth and ran with it. Why else bother to torch my house? Did they do it out of sheer devilment? And why steal my purse and watch, and use my makeup? Just because they could? Do they think they bear charmed lives, that they can be as destructive as they like and get away with it?’
Anna said, ‘I’ve met the attitude before in public-school kids. They think they are the elite, and therefore untouchable.’
Hari drained the second bottle of milk, which reminded Bea that she must stop the milk and the newspapers being delivered to an empty house … and Carrie! She must get hold of Carrie and tell her the agency must be closed down for a while. Only, how could she ring Carrie when Sophy’s phone was dead, and Hari would need hers to trace fingerprints? She straightened her spine. There must be a way …
Hari said, ‘So, I’m to send all this stuff to the lab to get the fingerprints?’
‘Right,’ said Bea. ‘But, even if we’re lucky enough to get their fingerprints off my bits and pieces, we keep the infor-mation to ourselves. We don’t tell the police, but we do tell the Paynes to prevent them repeating that story about Leon and an under-age girl.’
Piers said, ‘The police may visit you, in a follow-up to your appearance in Casualty.’
Bea nodded. ‘They may. I think Leon will be safer if we avoid making a complaint about stolen goods for the time being. As for our landing up at the hospital, unless we file a complaint, surely they’ll write that off as a prank that went wrong at a party? True, they breathalysed me and took blood samples from Leon, but they’ll take ages to get the results and in the meantime we can work out how to checkmate the Paynes.’
‘And the arson? The fire brigade are going to pass a note about this on to the police. They have to.’
Bea thought about that. ‘You have the can. Any prints on it?’
‘The lab could find out. We have the photo I took of it nestling in the wheelie-bin at the Paynes’ with Saturday’s papers, but I suppose the Paynes could say that anyone might have dumped it there. So, do we give the police the can?’
‘If asked, we do. And let them follow it up. If not, we hold on to it for the time being.’
Anna said, ‘It’s Sunday morning. Surely we have at least twenty-four hours’ grace to think how to handle this? What about your credit cards? Do you want me to find out if they were used when you were hospitalized?’
Bea said, ‘Without knowing my PIN numbers, they wouldn’t have been able to use them. Not like my phone. I’d better see what damage has been done there. Can I borrow yours to check?’
She walked away from them into her living room. It stank of fire and there was a fine dust over everything, but a good clean would soon put it right again. ‘Hello, is that … yes. I lost my phone last night and only recovered it some hours later. I’d like to check if it was used while it was out of my possession …’ While she waited for the information, she drew back the curtain over the back window. The grille was still in place. The glass was cracked.
She could hear the others talking in the kitchen. How good of them to come to her assistance! A voice croaked in her ear. She listened. Oh well. It was no more than she’d expected.
She shut off the phone and went back to the kitchen. ‘A couple of hundred pounds’ worth was charged to my phone overnight; calls to Australia. Which means I can’t use my phone because it must go to be fingerprinted.’
Hari said, ‘We’ve got Leon’s cards and phone, too. What do we do about them?’
‘Let Zoe cope with those.’ Bea rubbed her forehead. ‘I despair. They’re such amateurs. Oh, not all of them. The Admiral and his wife are … nasty. The trap they set for Leon was cleverly worked out, and if it hadn’t been for that extra light fusing, I dread to think what might have happened. But one of them informed the media that Leon had been arrested for under-aged rape before it could possibly have happened. I wonder which of them made that mistake. The Admiral or his wife?
‘Then the youngsters decided to take a hand in the game without thinking things through. Firing my house … that was probably done in the heat of the moment when they were high on drink, and thought it hilarious to throw a can of paraffin around and light it. Then someone, presumably Venetia, coolly makes use of my makeup. According to Rollo, it was Venetia who went off with my watch on her wrist, too. And then, save the mark, they all go off clubbing! Do they think they won’t be called to account for it?’
She answered her own question. ‘They think they’ve got enough on Leon to neutralize him. If he lives, they’ll be holding the DNA from his scratched cheek over him. If he dies, he’s out of the picture. And what with this and that, they think they’ve knocked me out as well.’
Piers was stroking Winston, who was twisting his head round to see if by any chance someone had left a tasty morsel on his or her plate. Piers said, ‘If you’re moving out, what happens to Winston?’
‘I leave him here for the moment, with some more food. The insurance people won’t be round till tomorrow. By that time I should have found somewhere else to live.’
Anna said, ‘Bring him. Move in with me.’
Bea shook her head. ‘Let me see if I can work something out first. Winston’s best left in his own territory. Everyone around here knows him, and he knows where to go for extra food. My big problem is that I have to contact Carrie to tell her what’s happened, but I’ve no landline and my brain has seized up and I can’t remember her phone number or even where she lives! Shock, I suppose.’
She slapped her forehead. ‘Ah, I’ve just remembered. I keep an old-fashioned address book in the top right-hand drawer of my desk. If it’s not been burned to a crisp, we ought to be able to use that. Also, my old smartphone. And, a sliver of light on the horizon, I’ve just remembered that Carrie backs up to the Cloud last thing at night, so even if our computers are out of action, we can retrieve the data for the agency in due course.’
EIGHT
There was one more thing Bea had to do before abandoning the house. She steeled herself. This was not going to be pleasant. She took the stairs to the basement, treading with care, not touching the walls on either side. The stink was worse here, of course.
The main office was always dimly lit because the windows on the roadside looked on to a well, from where steps led up to the pavement. That part of the main office nearest the road seemed almost untouched. Carrie’s jacket hung on the row of hooks by the stationery cupboard.
There was a gritty feeling to the air and a layer of dirt and foam had settled on everything in sight. The floor …! She should have put some boots on. Her shoes were going to be ruined.
She set her teeth and stepped into the carpet, which went ‘splodge, splodge’. The carpet was ruined. The flames hadn’t reached far into this main office but a film of watery foam covered everything in sight. The desks were all there, the chairs, and the computers … also the telephones, and the metal filing cabinets which they still used for important documents. The cabinets would be fireproof, probably. Her staff left various keepsakes – mementoes of holidays, group photographs of leaving parties, the occasional stuffed toy – on a long shelf down one wall. All ruined by water. Someone had placed a pot of trailing ivy on her desk; the leaves were shrivelled, blackened. The pot plant was the property of a woman who had worked for Bea for five – or was it six – years? Married with a sick husband and a no-good daughter who sponged off her.
On the next desk over were some family photos. The girl who sat there was saving for her wedding. Next to her was a single mother whose child had learning difficulties. Her cardigan, dripping wet, hung over the back of her chair. Opposite was a woman in her fifties who had never married and who never would, but who saved every penny to go on a cruise once a year.
Bea took it all in; the schedules, the calendars on the walls, the private possessions, the odd pair of slippers: evidence of a dozen lives. Lives which were going to be changed for the worst when Bea abandoned the agency.
Desolation.
Bea walked through the disaster area, noting that the door to the small office which they used for interviews was firmly shut. She didn’t bother to look inside, but went on to the doorway into her own office. Light came through here in plenty because the door between the two offices had disintegrated and what was left of it was hanging off its hinges. Everything inside her office had been reduced to a charred caricature of itself: desk and swivel chair; settee and upright chairs, visitors for the use of.
Remnants of the curtains drooped on either side of the vanished French windows, stirring now and then in the breeze. It was going to be another hot day. The grille – though charred – was still firmly locked in place. Hurrah for the grille.
Bea forced herself to approach her desk. Black as coal. Her computer had imploded. How extraordinary!
She had heard somewhere that stacks of paper don’t burn easily because, where there’s no air, there’s nothing for the flames to feed on. The front of her right-hand drawer was charred but still complete. Her desk was not new: it had been Hamilton’s, and before that had belonged to the senior of his two aunts, who had founded the agency way back in the old days. The desk had been built of oak, and had withstood the ravages of the fire better than the lightweight modern ones in the main office.
Bea prised the drawer open with a charred letter opener – she was going to have to wash again in a minute, wasn’t she? – and rescued her office diary and address book. Also her old mobile phone and charger, hurray! And the office cash box.
All stank of the fire, but were still usable.
A swish of water. Hari and Anna, standing in the doorway, watching her. Hari was taking photographs of everything.
‘Well?’ Anna looked pale. ‘Not a pretty sight. Are you ready to abandon ship?’
‘I have to tell Carrie what’s happened, and visit the hospital.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Hari. ‘But, after that?’
She shook her head. ‘I just don’t know.’
Sunday 10 a.m.
Hospitals are usually quiet places on a Sunday morning. Bea enquired where Leon might be and was told that the Sleeping Beauty had been moved into the day room. She found him there, dressed in a hospital gown and reading a newspaper.
He was unshaven, but washed and clean and looked completely in control of himself. Beside him was a black plastic bag, presumably containing his ruined clothes, some paperwork and, with a bit of luck, Sophie’s black jacket, the borrowed kimono and flip-flops.
Bea felt herself grow weak at the knees in relief. She let herself down on to a chair next to him.
He didn’t take his eyes off his paper.
‘Morning,’ she said, wanting to kiss him but feeling that for some reason he would not welcome an embrace. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m waiting for one of my fiancées to arrive with some clothes. And then I can leave.’
‘Oh.’ She relaxed, smiling. The hospital must have been receiving enquiries about Leon from three different fiancées – possibly four, if the reporters had been trying to find him – of whom she was only one. She said, ‘Fiancée number one would be Anna, saying she was engaged to you so that she could get news of how you were doing. Fiancée number two must be Zoe, who I believe is bringing you some clothes. Fiancée number three must be me. If there’s any more, they’ll be reporters trying to find you.’
He made no reply, but turned over a page in the paper.
What was up with him?
He said, ‘Fiancée number three left me to go off with an old friend. Or so I’m told.’
‘Oh, you mean Piers? Yes, well, he came to collect me from the ward and—?’
‘At the party. You abandoned me. You went off with an old friend, arms around one another.’
‘What! No, but …’ Talk about jumping to conclusions! The idiot! She suddenly realized that he was not at all calm. He was in control of himself, just. But he was a volcano, waiting to erupt. If he blew his top now, the hospital would explode into a million pieces. He was so angry, if you lit the touch paper you wouldn’t just have to retire, you’d have to run for your life.
He said, ‘Please don’t bother to wait.’ Ice cold.
Hot words rose in her head. She tamped them down. What good would it do to explode with hurt rage? Clearly, he didn’t know what had happened.
The Sleeping Beauty had been woken by the kiss of a prince into a world different from the one she had known when she’d been growing up. Leon had slept through everything that had happened since he was drugged on Friday evening.
That in itself must be a source of embarrassment. No, of humiliation. He was a proud man, accustomed to being in charge of his life.
He turned over a page. To the adverts, which he was not reading. He was using the paper as a prop to hide behind. He shot her a disapproving glance. ‘You don’t look your usual self. Had an active night, did you?’
She wanted to laugh. Was he, could he really be jealous? She’d very much like to slap him from here to eternity, storm out and let him sink or swim … but, she wouldn’t. No. ‘I don’t look my best, do I? Would you like the good news first, or the bad?’
‘Not interested. I’m missing my shoes, my phone, my keys and my wallet. The nurse said I didn’t bring any in with me, so I assume you took them last night for safekeeping. If you’ll let me have them, there’ll be no need for you to keep me company.’
She handed over the phone, keys and wallet. ‘I should warn you: I’ve had to put a stop on my phone as it has been used for calls to Australia without my permission. You’d better ask Zoe to check on yours.’
He actually turned his head to look at her. ‘Someone’s been using your phone? Who?’
She shook her head. ‘Without proof, I’m not saying anything. But I do suggest you get Zoe to check yours as well.’
‘They can’t tamper with my phone. It’s extra secure. And my cards? I don’t leave my PIN number carelessly hanging around, even if you do.’ He looked her over, from head to toe. ‘You aren’t wearing your engagement ring.’
‘I swapped it for …’ She wanted to say she’d swapped it for his life, but that sounded too pretentious. Even if it were true. ‘I swapped it for an ambulance.’
The muscles around his mouth indicated that he wanted to laugh. She’d swapped it for an ambulance? The stiffness began to leach out of his face. ‘And thereby hangs a tale …?’
‘Yes.’ She started to cry. How stupid!
Why now? After all that had happened, after all the dreadful hours of anxiety, and the loss of her home … why now? Hadn’t she cried enough these last few days? She sought for a hankie and found a tissue.
Heels tap-tapped down the corridor. Zoe, bearing shopping bags and a briefcase. Of course, many shops were open on a Sunday and Zoe no doubt had access to a platinum credit card for business purposes. Zoe did not look pleased to see Bea, but what was new? It was her normal expression. Bea hadn’t seen the woman smile yet.
Zoe said, ‘Good morning,’ just as if she were accustomed to retrieving her boss from hospital every day.
Leon said, ‘I suppose you’re fiancée number two. Shall we adjourn to a less draughty venue?’
There was a pleasant coffee shop at the main entrance to the hospital, and once Leon had changed into the clothes Zoe had brought him, the three of them gathered there. Leon wore a fine blue shirt, jeans and trainers. Zoe had also brought him a new smartphone. Good for Zoe. She said his cards didn’t seem to have been used, nor his phone tampered with, but she’d brought him a new phone just in case.
In spite of the fact that this was a Sunday and therefore theoretically her day off, Zoe was in black-and-white business gear.
Bea felt she looked dowdy beside the two of them, and she knew she stank of fire.
‘Now,’ said Leon, taking charge. ‘Will someone kindly tell me how I have ended up in hospital?’
Bea said, ‘What do you remember?’
He frowned. ‘We walked round to the Admiral’s place. The Admiral handed me over to his granddaughter, who wanted to show me the indoor gym they’d set up in their basement, because she thought I might like something similar next door. Her cousins joined us. Two lively lads. They wanted to show off their equipment. They were quite amusing but after a while I said I mustn’t neglect you. They said, didn’t I know that you’d gone off with an old friend for some nookie? Then things became hazy. Nightmarish.
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