False Charity (16 page)

Bea spurted into laughter, shaking her head, but Oliver fired up, red in the face. ‘How d-dare you! Mrs Abbot is not that sort of—'

Bea said, ‘If you've packed up Oliver's stuff already, we'll take it away with us. My car's just there. But it would be a good idea for you to contact his father and arrange when they can meet, preferably on neutral territory, right? Here's my card. You can contact him at that address. Come, Oliver.'

She touched him on the arm, and he went with her to sit in the car. He was shaking. He put both his hands between his knees and clenched them tight.

‘You did well,' said Bea, putting sincerity into her voice.

He said, ‘I know his PIN numbers. I could empty his account in five minutes.'

Bea tried not to smile. ‘I've no doubt you could, but you won't, will you? You will “rise above it” as Noel Coward used to say.'

‘Who's he?'

Bea felt tired. ‘An actor, writer, entertainer. Before your time. Remember that phrase, though. “Rise above it.” It's useful when things get you down.'

‘I'm all adrift, don't know where to put my feet, what to do next. Poor Mum. She always used to say I take after her younger brother, he was a businessman, very successful by all accounts, only he got killed in a car accident a couple of years back, or I might have gone to work for him. If I'd wanted to be a teacher and work for Dad it would have been all right, but that's not the way I am.'

‘Do you want to go to university? With those results, you could.'

‘I want to work with computers, but above all, I want to get away from home.'

‘Don't make up your mind yet,' said Bea. ‘You could get away from home by going to university.'

‘Couldn't afford the fees and Dad won't pay up for me, will he?'

Not after he'd stumbled across his father's secret. Unless he blackmailed his father into paying the fees. But would that be a proper use for blackmail? It was a puzzle.

The front door of Oliver's home opened and several bulky black plastic bags were thrown out. Oliver went to retrieve them. Clothes and books, judging by the way he either picked them up or dragged them along to the car. Then he staggered over with a large cardboard box contained stereo equipment, and a printer. Lastly his mother came out with a laptop which she laid carefully down on the steps before waving to Oliver and retreating into the house. The front door closed behind her.

Oliver brought the laptop to the car and opened it up. ‘I've been wondering if my father might have tried to put some porn on my laptop, to bolster his case against me.' He booted up, set his fingers to work and sighed with relief. ‘It's OK. Nobody's touched it.'

‘No one else in your family is bright enough to work out what your password might be?'

‘Mixed up numbers and letters, some uppercase, some lower. They wouldn't ever get that. Plus I change it frequently.'

Bea turned on the ignition. ‘Home, then?'

He nodded but didn't speak. She was annoyed with herself. He didn't have a home, nor any chance of getting one for months, maybe years. She'd be glad to see the back of noisy, bossy Maggie, but if Oliver could cut the umbilical cord that bound him to the girl, maybe she'd let him stay on after next week. Provided he paid her rent for his room. Which meant he'd have to get himself a job, and he still hadn't got his certificates. But perhaps she ought to be arranging for him to go to university?

No, no, she couldn't take on all the woes in the world. She needed to get her own home straight, tackle the mail on her desk, reply to phone messages from friends, clear out Hamilton's clothes, perhaps arrange a memorial service for him, wind up the agency. She wished she hadn't said she'd go to this function on Saturday.

Oliver said, ‘I wonder what colour Maggie's hair is this time?'

Maggie had treated herself to the golden look, all long flowing curls. She'd also had a facial and a manicure. She was wearing one of her micro-skirts, plus a skimpy, spangly top which left nothing to the imagination. This was a pity, because she really didn't have enough of a bosom to wear that kind of thing. Being charitable, Bea said she thought Maggie looked stunning. Close to, Bea noticed for the first time that Maggie's eyes were those of an anxious child.

‘Bravo,' said Oliver, carrying his laptop carefully up the stairs as Maggie descended, treading with care in extra high heels. ‘You look amazing.'

‘Well done,' said Bea, following with a bag of Oliver's clothes.

‘Do you think I look like a model?' Maggie tried to pirouette on high heeled sandals, but had to clutch at the banister to save herself from falling.

‘Indeed you do,' said Oliver. But when he and Bea had reached the top floor, he voiced his concern. ‘Is she going to be all right, Mrs Abbot? She says she despises men, but I don't think she knows much about them.'

Bea was beginning to think the same thing. ‘She's been married. Presumably she's had some experience.'

‘Not sure she has,' said the schoolboy-turned-elder-brother. ‘She married someone who was on the rebound from a long-term relationship. After a couple of months he went back to his old love, leaving Maggie stranded.'

Bea sighed. Was Maggie yet another burden to take on? No. She couldn't cope. ‘She's free, white and nearly twenty-one. I'm sure she'll have a perfectly lovely time.'

Thursday, late evening

‘Where have you been?' His mother had stayed up for him, apparently. Watching television, flicking channels.

He kissed her cheek. ‘Clubbing. You'd like the girl. Pots of money in the background, big house in Kensington.'

‘Paid for the evening out, did she?' His mother could be very acute.

He shrugged. ‘She can afford it.'

‘I hope you gave her satisfaction?'

He grinned. He'd taken her every which way but up, in the club, the cloakroom, in his car. And then on the settee in the office of some house that her aunt owned. She'd hardly been able to stumble to the door to let him out afterwards. Yes, she'd been given satisfaction all right. ‘She's coming on Saturday with her aunt and various hangers-on. Mrs Abbot, Kensington.'

‘Don't get too close to her. Remember that after Saturday we'll be off and away.'

He smiled as if he agreed, but it did occur to him that there was no necessity for him to disappear when his mother and Richie did. He could take his cut and say he needed a spot of holiday and would join up with them later.

Suppose he did hang around London for a bit? It would do no harm to keep seeing a biddable young girl from a wealthy family. Unsophisticated, naïve, but anxious to please. A man could do worse than string her along. Her family would probably pay him well to leave her alone in the long run.

He didn't need to tell his mother all that was in his mind.

‘Dearest,' he said, kissing her goodnight. ‘Sweet dreams.'

Friday, morning

B
ea didn't sleep well that night either, though better than before. She forced herself to get up at eight, had a shower, dressed and went downstairs. There was a fresh stack of mail on the hall table. She made coffee and took the lot downstairs to Hamilton's – to her – study, to add to the pile already there. Someone had already sorted the previous day's post into junk mail and correspondence.

For an hour she sorted mail, binning most of it. She tried to boot up the computer and had to call Oliver in to help her as this new one operated in a slightly different way from the ones she'd been used to. He was a nice boy, she thought. He hid his contempt for older women who weren't up to date with computers pretty well. She settled down to her correspondence. She decided to get some cards printed for answering letters of condolence – or could Oliver contrive some for her?

Oliver tapped at her door again. ‘Mrs Abbot, may I …? The thing is, I'm a bit worried about Maggie, and I wondered if you'd like to check on her.'

‘Mm? She came in late, didn't she? I must have dropped off by that time. Let her sleep.'

‘Two o'clock. Yes. But …' He clung to the door handle, then let it go and the door banged back, making them both jump. ‘I can't be absolutely sure but when she dragged herself up the stairs, I think she was crying.'

Bea swung her chair round to face him. He was nervous, but standing his ground. He was wearing a maroon sweatshirt over jeans, trainers. His own clothes, obviously. He was heavy-lidded, as if he hadn't slept well, either. She wondered if he'd lain awake waiting for Maggie to return, and if he'd then stayed awake worrying about her.

‘I'm sure she's perfectly all right,' said Bea, failing to convince either him or herself. She glanced at her watch. Nearly ten. ‘But perhaps I could take her up a cuppa.'

He nodded. ‘And you haven't forgotten that Mrs Max is coming round?'

Bea set the printer going – yes, it worked! Good – and stood up. ‘I haven't time for outings at the moment. See if you can get hold of her, tell her I'm too busy today. Now, let's see if Maggie's all right, shall we?'

She made some more coffee and took it upstairs. Oliver padded after her. Bea tapped on Maggie's door. A mumble from within enquired what time it was. Bea went in. This had once been Max's games room, an untidy cave for an untidy adolescent. It was clean, neat and tidy now, all Maggie's garish clothes hidden in the built-in cupboards and shelving along one wall. The outfit Maggie had worn the night before was on the floor. With her pants and bra. Both torn.

Maggie was sleeping on Max's old settee with one arm let down to make a bed. On hearing the door open, she lifted a heavy head from her pillow, and pulled the duvet over herself. Bea shut the door in Oliver's face, and set the coffee down on the floor beside the bed. Maggie's bright blonde hair trailed over the pillow but that one glimpse of her face told Bea that Oliver had been right to call her.

Bea forgot that the girl had ever irritated her. She pulled Maggie into her arms, saying, ‘There, there.' Maggie hid her face in Bea's arm. Her eyes were puffy, and so were her lips. There were dark marks on her wrists.

‘Let me see,' said Bea, pushing the covers back.

Maggie moaned. ‘I'm all right.' But let Bea look. More bruising. Bite marks.

Bea drew in her breath. ‘You must be very sore. Was it just rough sex, or rape?'

Maggie spoke through gritted teeth. ‘He said I was loving it, and in a way I suppose I did like it at the beginning, but he wouldn't stop.'

Bea rocked the girl in her arms. ‘I must ask. Did he use any contraception?'

Sniff, sniff. ‘Yes. I'll be all right. I had a shower and then a bath, and it was my own fault, anyway. He said I'd asked for it, and of course I did only I didn't mean him to go on and on. I'm sorry if I overslept. There must be lots to do. I'll get up in a minute.'

Bea thought that it had been near enough rape judging by the bruising, but date rape was notoriously difficult to prove. ‘Take it easy today. It was a shock to the system, whichever way you look at it. I'll get you some painkillers, you go back to sleep for a bit.'

Maggie struggled to sit up. Her pale skin was blotched. He'd bitten her lower lip – or she had. ‘I'll be all right. I can't stay in bed, just because … I'm not letting that man upset me. Just don't tell Oliver, will you?'

Bea held the girl tightly. ‘Oliver knows. It was he who told me.'

‘Oh! I can never face him! I've been so stupid. I ought to have seen what he was like. It's all my own fault.'

‘No, it isn't, Maggie. You might have given out the wrong signals, perhaps, but no nice boy would take advantage of you like that.'

‘I ought to have realized that such a handsome man could have his pick of beautiful women and that if he picked on me, it meant he expected more than a kiss at the end of the evening. All he saw in me was a cheap night out!'

‘You're worth more than that, Maggie.'

She sniffed. ‘He didn't think so, did he? It's just as my mother says, and my husband that was. I'm just too ugly and awkward to attract a real man.'

‘No, you're not, and to prove it, you're going to put this down to experience and get on with your life, make something of yourself, show the world what you're made of.'

Maggie sniffed again. ‘Yeah. Sure. Aim for Prime Minister, why don't I?'

Someone tapped on the door. Oliver said, ‘Look, I don't want to come in or anything, but the phone in the sitting room has been ringing almost non-stop but if I rush to answer it, there's no message been left on the answerphone. The agency phone keeps ringing as well, Mrs Max has arrived downstairs, and Coral's here with a strange little man in tow. Shall I tell them to go away?'

Bea said, ‘I'll come down.'

Maggie found a tissue and snuffled into that. ‘I'll get up, too. Maybe I can help, clean the kitchen floor, fetch the dry-cleaning, get some lunch going.'

Bea patted her shoulder. ‘Good for you.' She exchanged a roll of the eyes with Oliver as they went down the stairs together. Even from there they could hear raised voices in the sitting room.

Nicole was standing by the fireplace with her little dog in her arms, telling Coral to get lost. The dog was yapping.

Coral was red-faced. ‘I'm not going till I've spoken to Bea.' She had an odd-looking man in tow, who looked at first sight to be wearing a navy blazer with gold buttons on it. Bea automatically thought ‘ex-squadron leader', because he had swept-back grey hair and a moustache. She looked again, and saw that he wasn't wearing a blazer but a navy blue suit, and his moustache – though it existed – was minimal. A survival from an earlier age. She wondered if he really had been a squadron leader in the dim and distant, or just liked to act the part.