False Pretences (24 page)

‘You've lived here long?' asked Bea, making conversation. The ripe smell of fish and chips mingled with that of cigarette smoke and a cheap wine which had probably come from a cardboard box.

‘It was my husband's aunt's house, which he inherited, and we've been here ever since. Barring holidays abroad, of course. We did enjoy our holidays.' She sighed and looked fondly around at her souvenirs. ‘He passed on some years back, but there's no point in getting down in the dumps about it, is there? Tea or coffee? Something stronger?' She waved them to seats. The leatherette groaned under Chris's weight, and he pulled a comical face.

‘No, thanks. I don't want to put you to any trouble,' said Bea. ‘You were working for the Trust then?'

‘I was, and if I say so myself, I ran that office efficiently, even the major said he couldn't have done it better.'

‘The major. I met him at lunch the other day.'

‘Oh, he's all right,' said Della, lighting up, giving a little cough, and pushing newspapers around to find an ashtray. ‘No harm in him.'

‘Nor in Sir Cecil?'

The woman's complexion darkened, she gave a hoarse laugh, and shook her head. ‘Randy old whatsit. Mind you, when I was missing my old man, I could always, you know, pass the time of day with him. If you see what I mean.'

In other words, Cecil had had her over his desk when they both felt like it.

‘And Mr Trimmingham?'

A shrug. ‘I never really got to know him. He joined us only a short while before I left.'

‘You worked mostly for Denzil?'

Della stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette with a vicious twist. ‘What's this all about? I heard he'd popped his clogs. I slaved for that man all those years and went out on a limb to cover for him when he forgot things, and then he turned round and got me the sack, fitted me up, would you believe? I'd never have thought it of him, but there it was: not “thank you very much” but “thank you, and you're fired”!'

‘Two-faced, was he? After all you'd done for him?'

The woman's lips tightened. Perhaps she thought she'd said too much already? ‘Dunno about that.' She lit another cigarette. ‘So what's all this about, then?'

‘A strange phone call, which was supposed to bring Zander out here to see you on Tuesday night.'

‘I'm always out on Tuesday nights, seeing my aunt that lives over in Greenford. I take her shopping to Tesco's and she pays for the taxi. So I wasn't here. I got back about nine, I suppose, didn't bother with the answerphone then, got the message next morning, thought someone got the wrong number.'

‘I think someone wanted Zander out of the way that evening, wanted to make sure he'd come out here to see you. Someone who knew you were always out on Tuesdays. How long have you been going out on Tuesday nights?'

‘For ever. A couple of years. No, more than that. Ever since my aunt had her hip replacement.'

‘Everyone knew about it at work?'

‘Of course they did because I always went off early on Tuesdays, to make sure I could get her done and dusted by nine, which is when she goes to bed. So what gives with Zander? Nice lad, I thought. Quiet. Well spoken. He didn't have anything to do with the way I was forced out.'

‘Forced out?'

‘In a manner of speaking.' She stared off into space, then made up her mind to Tell All. ‘Denzil's gone now, so what does it matter? Milly pushed him too hard, saying she might be pregnant. I told her, I said to take it gently. His sort takes fright, and we were doing all right as we were, weren't we, with him giving her nice presents, and popping the odd fifty in an envelope for me every now and then. But Milly wanted a ring on her finger, she wanted to be the Honourable Mrs though I told her his sort don't divorce their wives just for a bit on the side.

‘Do you know what he did? I can hardly believe it, even now. He fitted me up with some notes he took out of the petty-cash box, marked them up with his initials, and “found” them in my handbag. I tell you, you could have knocked me down and out, I wasn't able to do anything but stare. He got Cecil and the major in to show them the notes in my handbag, and I couldn't think of anything to say, not a word – though I thought of plenty afterwards, you can be sure of that!

‘He put me and Milly in a cab and sent us home, and he rang me that night to say I'd better not ever talk about anything that had happened, or he'd have me prosecuted. But now he's dead, well . . . It doesn't matter now, does it?'

She lit another cigarette from the stub of the one in her hand. A couple of rings flashed on her fingers. She had a gold chain around her neck which must have cost a bob or two, as well. And a good watch. The fifty-pound tips had come in handy.

She blew out smoke. ‘I've got another job now, not so far away though not the high class the other one was. I don't want my new employers to know I was fired. I told them my boss had been making advances to me and had got me the sack when I said “no”. They believed me, said I should sue, but I said I couldn't be bothered, that I was sorry for the old trout.'

‘And Milly?'

A shrug. ‘Got herself a job at the Three Feathers, barmaid, down the road. She moved in with me a couple of years ago when her mother got herself a new boyfriend and he – that is, the new boyfriend – started touching her up, Milly, that is. Which wasn't at all what she wanted, nor her mother, neither. And I could do with the company.

‘That's her scooter outside. She leaves it here when she's at work because she's had it knocked over in the car park at the pub a couple of times. So I usually go along there for a quick one before they close, help her clear up – the landlord says he'll give me a job in the bar any time, which is a laugh, really, though I don't mind helping out now and then for the odd tenner – and then I walk back with her. It's not far.'

She looked at her watch. ‘Where's that woman with my parcel? I wanted to get to the pub earlier today because they've got a quiz on, and they get a good crowd in on quiz nights.'

She stood up, signalling they should leave. Bea wanted to ask more questions but Della was fidgeting, evidently anxious to see the back of them.

Once out in the evening air, Bea was abstracted, thinking over what they'd learned. Della's niece sounded exactly like young Kylie from the pub near Denzil's home. Chris began to whistle, strolling along with his hands in his pockets. Irritating boy!

They rounded the corner to see a couple of louts peering in through the windows of Bea's car. After the satnav, no doubt. They scattered when they saw Bea and Chris.

Bea said, ‘My fault. I usually take the satnav out and hide it.'

‘What?' said Chris, feeling in his pockets. ‘I did give you the keys, didn't I?'

‘No,' said Bea, suddenly anxious. ‘You were tossing them around in your hand when we walked along to Della's.'

He delved into his pockets, talking the while. ‘I put them in my right-hand jeans pocket, I know I did. That's where I always keep keys.' He produced a bunch of keys, but they were not Bea's. ‘Those are mine for home.' He tried three other pockets, without success. It was a warm night, and he wasn't wearing a jacket.

Bea tried to contain impatience. If he'd lost her keys, how would they get home tonight? If they left the car where it was, wouldn't it be vandalized before dark, the satnav taken through smashed windows? And if she abandoned the car and took a taxi home, did she have enough cash on her to pay the driver, and how was she to get back into her house? She supposed she could phone Oliver to wait up for her – if he hadn't gone out for the evening, which he often did. Or Maggie.

‘I remember now,' said Chris. ‘I put them on the arm of the chair in which I was sitting at Della's. Remember how it squeaked when I sat down? Reminded me of a Whoopee cushion.'

Bea gritted her teeth. ‘Run back and see if she's still at the house and not gone out to the pub yet. I'll stay with the car.' She wasn't running anywhere.

‘Cool,' he said, and to give him his due, he did break into a run, disappeared round the corner.

And then returned. ‘What number house was it?'

Bea contained annoyance with an effort and told him. ‘One forty-two.' He disappeared again. Bea leaned against the car, angry with herself rather than with him. What had she been thinking of to entrust her keys to him? He had all the charm in the world and no common sense. No wonder Oliver wouldn't sit in a car with him.

Two hooded youths passed by on the other side of the road, and she felt herself to be under scrutiny. Ah, a woman of uncertain age, all alone, and stranded in darkest suburbia. If she took out her mobile phone to summon help, they'd want to take it off her, leap on her in a trice. They'd probably want her handbag, too.

If only she had a second key to her car, but it was . . . where? In her mind's eye, she could see it hanging up on a hook in the end cupboard in the kitchen.

She was a walking invitation to muggers. Satnav, plus mobile phone, plus credit cards. This was a quiet road. It was too late for young children to be out, the breadwinners were all home from their offices, television programmes were well into their soaps. Should she go and knock on the nearest front door and ask for sanctuary?

She told herself it was ridiculous; she was panicking for nothing.

She looked at her watch. Chris was taking his time, wasn't he?

He came galloping round the corner and came to a halt beside her, breathing hard. ‘Whew. Out of . . . condition. She's out. I rang and rang. The hall light's on, and I thought I heard someone moving inside, but no. Probably a cat. She's left the light on in the hall as a security measure while she's out. Shall I go down to the pub – if I can find it – and ask for her?'

Bea hadn't noticed any sign of a cat in Della's house, but what did she know about it?

The two young hoodies passed by on the opposite side of the road again.

Chris saw them, too. His fists clenched. ‘I don't think we should stay here, do you? If I hadn't let the battery on my mobile run down, I'd call Dad to help us out. What do you think?'

With an ear-shattering roar, a sleek, powerful motorbike turned the corner and ran up the drive of a house opposite, before cutting off its engine. Two helmeted, leather-clad figures descended into the silence. The hoodies stopped in mid-slouch.

Bea knew a white knight on a charger when she saw one. Crossing the road, she said, ‘Could you help me, please? We're stranded and . . .' She looked at the hoodies and then back at the black-clad figures. Her heart was beating so hard she could almost feel it, but she'd prayed and these people had arrived prompt on cue, so let's have a little trust in God, right?

The black-clad bikers took off their helmets to reveal one middle-aged, coffee-coloured man with a spreading girth and kindly eyes, and a blonde, teenage girl. Fake blonde, but pretty with it.

‘Oy, you! Young Darren! Jojo!' The biker shouted at the hoodies, who hesitated but came forward. ‘Been worrying this lady?'

‘No, never. Not us. You know us.'

‘So I do.' He turned back to Bea. ‘They're harmless, most of the time. But need an eye kept on them. Run out of petrol, have you?'

Bea explained that they'd called on someone in the next road, had left the car keys there by mistake, that the lady had probably gone down to the pub where her niece worked of an evening, but they didn't know exactly where the Three Feathers might be.

‘Is that all?' He resumed his helmet. ‘Here, take my daughter's helmet and hop on the back.' To his daughter, ‘You look after this lady's son, right. Oh, and Darren – and you, Jojo. You keep an eye on the lady's car, right?'

Bea gulped. She was wearing lightweight trousers rather than a tight skirt, true. But her pretty sandals were not the most suitable for riding a bike. Well, what must be, must be. She'd never been on a motorbike in her life before. Should she send Chris, who would relish the opportunity? But no, the nice biker had offered her a ride, and she would do it if it killed her . . . which she sincerely hoped it wouldn't.

Chris was already eyeing up the teenaged blonde. What was it with men and teenaged blondes? First Denzil and now Chris!

The biker was already back on his steed, giving it a kick start. Bea put the helmet on, slung her handbag over her back and managed to get her leg over the pillion of the bike without hurting herself. She seemed to remember that passengers held tight to something behind them. Yes, there it was. And the other hand went on the belt round his body? Yes, that felt right.

Goodness me! Her head nearly snapped off as the bike was turned and roared off. The biker yelled something at her, and hoping she'd interpreted correctly, she yelled back, ‘The Feathers'. He seemed to know where the pub was. It was probably the only one for miles.

It wasn't that far off. They passed Della's house in a whirr and a whizz, turned sharply left, and then right, and finally panted to a stop outside a hostelry which looked as if it had grown out of the earth, it was so low and ancient. The car park was packed, and yes, there was a sign outside advertising a Quiz Nite. ‘Nite' as in ‘nit' with an ‘e'. Oh, well. Why not, if it made people stop and stare?

The biker kept his machine growling away. Bea got off, with some difficulty, and said, ‘That was wonderful.' And meant it.