Beware of the Beast

ANNE MATHER

CHAPTER ONE

The
summons to the solicitor's office came exactly thirty
days after her father's accident.

Charlotte was just getting over the initial shock which her
father's death had evoked, just beginning to feel her way back
to some semblance of normality, if anything could be normal
again after such an experience. How had it happened?
she
had asked herself again and again. How could her father, an
experienced yachtsman, have lost all control like that? No
one would ever know, she supposed, shuddering as she
recalled her father's bloated body washed up at Sheerness.

People had been kind, of course. Her father's friends, his
business acquaintances, all had offered her their sympathy
and condolences. After all, she was alone in the world now.
Her mother had died eight years ago, and although she and
her father had never been really close, she being away at
school most of the time, she would miss him terribly.

Gradually, though, she had had to assert some interest in
her own position. They had not been rich, but then again,
they had by no means been poor, and it had come as a great
surprise to her to learn that her father had taken out a huge personal insurance policy only weeks before his death.
Naturally, this had aroused some suspicion at the inquest, but
her father's solicitors had assured the Coroner that he was
not in monetary difficulties. Their house, in a little square
near Regent's Park, was worth a small fortune by today's
standards, and the small company her father had owned
seemed to be doing reasonably well. Mortimer Securities was
not a large concern, but its profits were steady. There was
no obvious reason why Charles Mortimer should have taken
his own life, and so far as Charlotte was aware, that line of
inquiry had been terminated.

Nevertheless, to discover that almost overnight she had
become virtually an heiress troubled Charlotte, particularly
as she had never felt any need for a lot of money. She couldn't
imagine why her father should have felt obliged to take out
such
an insurance
, and she didn't quite know what she was
going to do with it.

At the time of the accident, she had been working on a
part-time basis in a boutique in Knightsbridge. The boutique was owned by the mother of a school friend and as Charlotte
had only just left school and was still undecided what to do
with her education, she had welcomed the chance to earn some pocket money. She enjoyed the opportunity too of
studying clothes at dose range, and was considering taking up
designing herself. There were always art courses available at
college.

But all that seemed distant now, unreal, and she blamed
herself bitterly for not giving her father more attention. Per
haps he had been tired, overworked; on reflection she could
remember a certain look of strain at times. If only she had
not been so wrapped up with thoughts of her proposed
career she might have persuaded him not to make that final
trip.

And then the summons came, a rather chilly little letter which Charlotte read several times before thrusting it away
in her handbag. She imagined her father's solicitors were dismayed at her apparent lack of interest in her inheritance.
Perhaps they could see their fat fees dwindling now that Charles Mortimer was no longer around to require their
services. Whatever, Charlotte was not too concerned. With the finance company being assessed, and doubts already in
her mind that she would go on living in their house in Glebe Square, what did she want with a hundred thousand pounds?

It was with some misgivings that she was shown into Mr.
Faistaff's
office. These surroundings reminded her too vividly
of her early visits there immediately after her father's
death,
and her mouth felt dry and there was a disturbing burning sensation behind her eyes at the remembrance.

Mr. Falstaff was no Shakespearean hero figure. Small, and slight, with wispy grey hair, he looked most like a clerk out of
some Dickensian novel, though his eyes were sharp as they
took in Charlotte's attractive appearance. Tall and slender,
as she was, the events of the past four weeks had fined down
her appearance, and in a simple jeans suit with her dark red
hair loose about her shoulders, she looked years younger than
the eighteen he knew her to be.

They shook hands, and Mr. Falstaff indicated she should be
seated in the leather-seated chair opposite his own. Then,
remaining standing, he said: "I'm so glad you could come,
Miss Mortimer. The matter was -
er
- rather urgent."

The telephone rang at that moment, and with a click of his tongue, Mr. Falstaff excused himself to answer it. It gave Charlotte a few moments to compose herself, and she looked determinedly round the office, noticing the tome-lined walls
describing law practice from the year dot. Why was it, she
wondered, that solicitors' offices always had this air of
decrepitude and solemnity? Was it because the reasons that
most people came here had to do with death and its complica
tions?

Then she thrust such thoughts aside. How morbid could
you get? Her father was dead - she had to accept it. It came
to everybody in time. What was it somebody had once said?
-
the
only certain thing in life was death? She shivered.

Mr. Falstaff put down the receiver and turned to her again.
"I'm sorry about that, Miss Mortimer," he apologized in his
dry crackly voice, as dry and crackly as the tomes on the
shelves behind him, "I hope we shan't be disturbed again."

"That's all right." Charlotte shook her head. "You wanted
to see me?"

She was hurrying things, but she wanted this over. The old
solicitor studied her silently for a few moments, and then
he nodded, and subsided into his chair as though his thoughts
had driven the strength from him.

"Tell me, Miss Mortimer," he said, fidgeting with his pea
"Have you ever heard of Alex Faulkner?"

Charlotte stared at him. "Alex
Faulkner ?
The name doesn't
mean anything to me. Should it?"

"That remains to be seen." The lines on Mr. Falstaff's
face deepened. "Your father didn't mention his name to
you?"

"No. I've told you, I've never heard of him before."
Charlotte spoke impatiently.

"No, no, of course not.
But surely - you must have heard of Faulkner International?"

"Faulkner International?"
Charlotte shook her head. "I
don't think so. Look, what is all this? Why do you want to
know whether I know this man?"

"All in good time, Miss Mortimer.
You will soon appreciate
that I am in a rather -
er
- difficult position, and I am trying
to handle this in the best way I know how."

"Handle what?" Charlotte felt a twinge of unease.

"I'm coming to that, Miss Mortimer." Mr. Falstaff shifted
uncomfortably. "You were saying — you don't recollect
hearing of Faulkner International. I'm surprised. The name
is not unknown. Oil - shipping - casinos
- "

"Please, Mr. Falstaff, get to the point."

"Very well.
Alex Faulkner was an associate of your father's."

"So were lots of people."

"I appreciate that. But this - relationship was rather
different."

"In what way?"

"You must understand, Miss Mortimer, Alex Faulkner
does not normally involve himself in the actual running of his
companies. He employs directors for that purpose. Indeed,
few people know him very well. He is not interested in a jet
set kind of existence. In fact, I believe he lives very quietly."

Charlotte sighed. "So? What has this to do with me?"

Mr. Falstaff's lips tightened. "Give me time, Miss Mortimer.
You young people are so impatient. It is essential that you
should understand the picture." He sighed. "Your grand
father knew his father quite well."

"Did he?" Charlotte was beginning to sound bored.

"Yes. I should tell you at this juncture, Faulkner is not
exactly a contemporary of your father's. He is, I suppose, almost
forty. Your father was some years older, wasn't he?"

"You know he was."

"Yes. Well, they - your father and Faulkner - met again some years ago. Indeed, they shared an interest in sailing.
Your father knew France quite well, didn't he?"

Charlotte nodded. "We used to have a small villa - just a cottage really. Daddy sold it a couple of years ago."

Mr. Falstaff nodded. "And he didn't mention Faulkner to
you?"

"Why should he? I was still at school. I didn't know all his
business acquaintances."
          

Mr. Falstaff sighed heavily. "This wasn't altogether a
business acquaintanceship." He hesitated. "Miss Mortimer, you were aware of your father's interest in gambling, weren't
you?"

Charlotte stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do, Miss Mortimer."

"He played the horses a few times. I knew that."

"That's not what I meant. You didn't know of his interest
in cards, for example?"

Charlotte twisted her hands together. "I knew he enjoyed
cards, yes. He used to play bridge
- "

"Not bridge, Miss Mortimer.
Poker !"

Charlotte gasped. "No."

Mr. Falstaff shook his head. "This is so much harder than I
had anticipated. Miss Mortimer, your father
Was
a compulsive
gambler. He had been so for years."

"No!"
      

"I'm afraid he was."

Charlotte swallowed hard. "
Wh
-what has this to do with
Alex Faulkner?"

"I'm coming to that."

"You said - Faulkner owns casinos. Did he - persuade my
father to play in them?
To lose money?"

"I mean no such thing." Mr. Falstaff was flustered. "On
the contrary, Faulkner seldom enters his casinos. But your
father did get into debt for - well, rather a lot of money."

"I don't believe it. Why, the company - our house
- "

"Everything appears to be intact, doesn't it? But Alex Faulkner owns your father's possessions just as surely as if
he had signed the deeds."

"But why didn't I know? Why wasn't I told?" Charlotte
was shattered.

"For the simple reason that I did not know myself until
yesterday."

"But how can you be sure
- "

"I'm satisfied that what Faulkner's solicitors say is true."

Charlotte got up from her seat, unable to sit still after such
a revelation. "I -
Ican't
believe it!”

"Nor could I.
At first."

Charlotte's brain darted here and there, trying to absorb what this would mean to her. Then she swung round. "The
insurance I Daddy's insurance!" She expelled her breath
unsteadily. "Thank God for
that !

"I'm - afraid not."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Miss Mortimer, can't you see? This throws an
entirely different light on your father's death. Once the police
learn that your father was mortgaged up to the hilt, I doubt very much whether they'll be content with the Coroner's findings."

"You mean - you mean - you think Daddy - Oh,
no !He
- he wouldn't."

"In the circumstances,
Ithink
he might."

"What - circumstances?" Charlotte stared at him.

"Sit down, Miss Mortimer. I haven't finished yet."