False Money (25 page)

‘Indeed. But I was wondering . . . I'm not sure how to put it . . . I don't wish to upset him, but I was thinking I might perhaps be able to show my appreciation of Claire's efforts, or even defray some of the expense, without him being aware of it?'

‘I'm afraid we don't have any facility for splitting the bill. You must make such arrangements direct with your son.'

‘Of course, I will do that. Perhaps I might be able to deliver Claire some flowers or chocolates or something? Just a small token of my regard.'

‘Which I am sure will be much appreciated. She is not working this weekend, but will be back on duty on Monday morning. Oh, I see she's taking some time off on Monday, a personal matter. She'll be back on duty on Tuesday morning and you can catch her then.'

‘Thank you very much. You've been most kind.'

Mm. That didn't get Bea any further, did it?

She looked at the emails in her in-box and was about to tackle them when somebody thundered down the stairs and threw open the door into her office. Chris, of course. With Hermia in tow. Hermia was laughing, Chris was not.

‘Mrs Abbot, I've had the most wonderful idea. Oh, are you working? Am I interrupting something important?'

‘What could be more important than attending to you, Chris?'

Hermia continued to smile. ‘Well, I do think it is a good idea, actually. Can you take a break, Mrs Abbot? Where's Oliver? We need him, too.'

Bea took a deep breath, prepared to blast the pair of them out of her office, and hesitated. With a jolt she realized that whatever else the pair of them had been up to, they'd not wasted any time getting to know one another better. They were radiant. Of course, Chris was often radiant with ideas, but this was different. He was growing up fast. Even his voice seemed to have deepened.

As for Hermia, her hair had a softer line to it, her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she was looking up at Chris; with amusement, yes. But amusement mixed with admiration.

‘You see,' said Chris, turning Bea's computer screen away from her so that she couldn't work at it, ‘I had an idea. This is Saturday, right? And the rain's stopped. You know how you wheedled the truth out of Brian when we brought him in, how you got him to say exactly what happened the last time I saw Tomi, right? I said to Hermia that you'd almost hypnotized him. Now, if what he said was true, and he turned so that the sun wasn't in his eyes when Tomi left us, then it follows that I must have turned, too, to face him. So the sun would have been in my eyes. Or was it? I've thought and thought, and Hermia's tried prodding my memory, but I can't remember exactly what happened next.'

He took a deep breath. ‘So I thought that if we went out there now and Oliver pretended to be Brian, and Hermia pretended to be Tomi, and you were there to ask the right questions, then perhaps it would come back to me. Right?'

Hermia was still smiling. ‘We do realize you must be very busy, Mrs Abbot, but if you could take half an hour off? It's only just down the road.'

‘Why not get Brian back to help you out?'

Chris shook his head. ‘I tried that. He's off to the races, doesn't want to be held up, thinks we're mad—'

‘Which we probably are,' said Hermia. ‘But it's worth a try, isn't it, Mrs Abbot?'

‘Yes, it is. You collect Oliver – who's somewhere around – I'll tell Miss Brook I'm off for an hour, and I'll meet you upstairs.'

FIFTEEN

T
he library was only a hop, skip and a jump away. Even though it was not on a bus route, it was almost as busy as the High Street. The rain had stopped, and the icy wind had dropped. The pavements gleamed wet, but were rapidly drying. Were those buds on the trees really trying to open? Was spring on its way at last?

Chris led them to a spot outside the entrance to the library. ‘I was standing here, with my arms full of books. We'd just come out of the library and were facing one another. Tomi was here, on my right, nearest the library. Hermia; would you stand here? We were talking – arguing, actually – about a Joseph Wright of Derby picture we'd both seen, which has wonderful shadows in it. She thought the shadows were too heavy to be convincing, and I said they conveyed more that way. Brian came up the hill towards us. He called my name. I turned round to see who was calling and so did Tomi. Facing into the sun.'

Chris and Hermia both turned to look down the hill. Oliver stepped up close to them. The sun obliged by shining all around them.

‘Wait a minute,' said Bea. ‘Brian said he'd have liked you to introduce him to Tomi, but you didn't, did you?'

‘He's a bit of a lech. I didn't want to inflict him on her.'

‘All right, so you stood there, talking. Tomi was on the inside; you were on the outside, nearest the traffic. You were looking partly down the street and partly back to the library. Tomi could see past you, down and across the street. Is that right?'

‘Correct.'

‘Then you got caught up in admiration of the sunglasses that Brian was wearing, so I suppose you turned more towards him and away from Tomi?'

Chris said, ‘The sun was in my eyes, and I had to screw them up to see him. He had on these superb, aviator style glasses. I really must find out where he got them.'

‘Meanwhile Tomi tried to put two of your library books into her big green bag. And failed. Will you mime that, Hermia?'

Hermia did so.

‘Now,' said Bea. ‘Chris is concentrating on Brian and his sunglasses. What is Tomi feeling or doing?'

Hermia nodded. ‘She's bored because he's stopped talking to her, and she can see he's not going to introduce her to the newcomer. She's decided that he's not her type, anyway. She's thinking about the party that evening. She'd been going to buy something new for it, hadn't she? She was probably on the fidget, wondering if she'd have time to go shopping then and there. She's starting to look around her, thinking how best to get away.'

‘Chris, of course, is perfectly oblivious,' suggested Bea.

Chris blushed. ‘Yes. Well. I'm talking to Brian, and the sun's in my eyes. I'm not looking at Tomi. Then she says she's seen someone, and the next thing I know, she's gone.'

‘Down the hill?'

‘No.'

‘Up the hill?'

‘No. Brian said he thought she'd gone across the street, and . . .' Chris froze. He shot a quick glance across the road and frowned. ‘She said she was off, had seen someone. She moved behind me and stepped out into the road. I said, “Take care,” or something like that, and I think I caught a glimpse of her weaving through the traffic.'

He pressed both hands to his eyes. Took his hands away from his eyes and turned to look across the street. ‘There was a mini parked on the other side of the road. Tomi was heading for it.'

‘Colour?'

‘White.' He sounded uncertain. ‘Could it be? I don't know anyone who owns a white mini.'

Hermia gasped. The whites of her eyes showed.

Chris put his arm around her. ‘Are you all right? What's the matter?'

Hermia said, ‘Cramp. Silly me. Ow! I'll be all right in a minute.' She hobbled around, grimacing.

Bea and Oliver exchanged looks. Bea said, ‘Hermia; you know someone who owns a white mini, don't you?'

‘I suppose everyone does. There are plenty of them about. Ow!' She rubbed her calf.

There weren't plenty of them about, no. They were pretty rare, in fact. Bea ran through in her mind what cars the group owned. Julian; no. Shirley; no. Both were dead before Tomi was killed.

Duncan wouldn't run a mini. No way.

Claudine didn't have a car, did she? She was going to get a taxi to the station.

Hermia had a stylish sports car.

Harry; Nick? No way. Both would have driven big cars.

Jamie? A 4 x 4 and a BMW.

Gregor; don't make me laugh!

So the mini didn't belong to any of the Famous Five,
but Hermia knew of one, and wasn't telling!

Why? There could be only one reason. She was protecting someone.

Someone who was not one of the Five, but who might be linked with them?

Which meant one of the girlfriends. Duncan's or Jamie's?

Or did the Mini, perhaps, belong to Claudine's partner? No. It wasn't a car which a man would choose to drive nowadays. In the old days, perhaps, but not now. Nowadays it was a car for youth, or for a woman. But perhaps Bea was wrong about that, as she'd been wrong about so many things recently.

Chris had got Hermia around her shoulders, making her walk up and down. He kept saying, ‘Press the ball of your foot down, hard.'

Hermia gradually straightened up, but her colour was still bad. She tried to laugh, to pretend that nothing was wrong.

Oliver wasn't fooled. Neither was Bea.

Always ask the easy question first. ‘Hermia, what's the name of Duncan's girlfriend?'

‘Mandy.'

‘What's Jamie's fiancée called?'

Hermia looked straight into Bea's eyes. ‘I can't think. Something quite ordinary.'

A lie. ‘How about . . . Claire?'

Hermia turned into Chris's shoulder and began to cry.

Bea had half expected and half dreaded that it might be Claire. Hermia's reaction confirmed it. A murderess was in charge of little Pippin! Bea felt herself sag at the knees.

Chris was bewildered. ‘What's going on?'

Oliver took control. ‘Taxi!' He waved a passing cab to their side and piled them all in.

Back home, they took refuge in the kitchen. Oliver – who had always said he hadn't the brains to work the coffee machine, and so left all that sort of domestic work to the women – produced cups of strong black reviver all round.

Hermia began to cry, complaining that her leg was still hurting her. She said she really must go home and take some painkillers, and that she had a thousand things to do. When she got up to leave, Bea told her to sit down, and for a wonder Hermia did as she was told.

‘What
is
going on?' asked Chris. Yet his light, bright eyes were now on Bea, now on Oliver, and then fixed on Hermia. Was he beginning to suspect his goddess had feet of clay?

Bea tried to pull her socks up. Metaphorically. Every now and then she felt a shudder run through her. She put her hand out to the telephone and withdrew it. Nicole wouldn't listen if Bea rang to say she'd employed a murderess, would he? How had Claire got into that household, anyway? Surely Pippin was safe? Who would kill an innocent baby?

Answer: anyone who would go round knocking off their fiancée's friends like that might be capable of anything.

Oliver said, ‘Drink up.' They obeyed. Bea made a face and reached for milk and sugar. The others took it black.

‘Now, Mrs Abbot,' said Oliver, taking the easy question first. ‘How do you know the name of Claire, and why did the mention of her name nearly cause you to pass out on us?'

Bea took a deep breath. ‘A girl called Claire Stourton has got a position as day nanny to my grandson. My first husband, Piers, visited them and was so distressed by what he saw of her that he asked me to check her out. I don't
know
any more than that about her. You can say I'm going way over the top, imagining things, but it frightens me to think that someone unsuitable might be able to hurt Pippin. I'm trying to be sensible about it, but I can't. If there's a link between this girl and the lottery deaths, then . . . I'm not going to have hysterics, but I do think we should know.'

Oliver asked the second, difficult question. ‘Hermia, I think you must tell us what you know about this girl Claire. Is it the same one?'

Hermia looked at her watch and tried to get off her stool. ‘It's getting awfully late and—'

Chris pushed her back down on to her seat. ‘If you want us to help—'

Hermia shook back her hair. ‘Please, Chris. Leave it. I need to go home. You promised to look after me, so I'm asking—' She tried to smile. ‘No, I'm not going to beg. But if you could just trust me over this one thing . . . ?'

Bea watched with interest. This was make or break time for Chris. If he took Hermia at her word, they could never be equal partners in the game of life.

Bea could see him wavering. He wanted to trust Hermia, but he'd grown up just enough to have doubts. Would he sit on those doubts? He might. He could decide to trust her no matter what, and that would set the tone for any future disagreements. She would always say, ‘Trust me!' and he would always do so.

He wasn't giving in that easily, though. He looked at Bea, who returned his gaze with one of deep anxiety. He turned to Oliver, his oldest and best friend, who was also looking anxious.

Finally he faced Hermia. ‘I can see you know something, something important, that you don't want to talk about. We've only just met, and there's stuff about you that I don't know yet, and that's OK. We've time to find out these things. What I do know is that you have lots of good friends, and you've always stuck by them. I love that about you. But if one of your friends committed a murder, would you go along with it?'

Hermia did her best to smile. ‘No, of course not. None of them have, I assure you. Now, if you don't want to come home with me, I'll—'

Oliver interrupted. ‘And if the friend of a friend was about to commit a murder?'

‘I'd . . . I'd want to warn my friend.'

Oliver moved in for the kill. ‘That's what you're going home to do now, isn't it? To ring Jamie and warn him about Claire?'