Under Suspicion (10 page)

The violent see-sawing
did
seem to have diminished to a skittish bobbing. Experimentally I sat up. I was definitely back in the land of the living. Through the
side window I could see the palm-lined promenade and the regimented lines of sunbeds on Fañabe beach. In another five minutes I’d be able to say farewell to
The Saucy Nancy
.

Five minutes. And my mission very much
un
accomplished.
Shit
.

Might there still be a chance? Sinclair was at the console speaking quietly into the radiotelephone, one hand lightly on the wheel. Out on deck, Steve was laughing and joking with Jason who was sprawled in the swivel chair, drink in hand. Jaime was sitting cross-legged at the cabin entrance chalking
30th December – Jason Weston
and
Day’s catch – Shark
on a small blackboard.

I propped one elbow on the back of the seat and let my eyes roam round. Here looked no more promising for bug planting than the cabin down below. One side was open to the deck, the rest a horseshoe of windows and banquette interrupted by the control fascia and access to the lower cabin. No ventilators, projections or handy crevices broke the smooth white expanse of roof above my head. The instrument console was the only possibility, but Sinclair was standing there. All in all, pretty hopeless. I was going to have to confess to Gerry that I’d failed.

‘
Fantastic
bit of action there, Debsy.’ Jason, hair tousled, shirt sweat-and-salt-stained, threw himself down beside me. ‘I hear you missed some of it. Pity. Never mind, Steve filmed it. Can’t wait to play it over
tonight.’ He pulled my head down onto his shoulder. ‘And after that we’ll…’ He nuzzled softly into my ear, ‘Great acting back there, Debs. Especially that sicking-up. Stroke of genius.’

I giggled coyly. ‘One of my little accomplishments,’ I murmured.

‘
Mmmmm
.’ The nuzzling lips inched downwards to the hollow at the base of my throat, lingered a moment, then made to continue downward.

Damn him
. He knew I couldn’t make a scene. Over the top of his head I could see the grey concrete blocks of the harbour mole sliding past.

‘
Mmmmm
.’ More nuzzling from Jason.

Over his shoulder I could see Jaime and Steve opening a refrigerated cabinet and lifting out the fishy corpse, its toothy gaping mouth and glassy eye defiant even in death. With a light thump
The Saucy Nancy
nosed into her berth at the pontoon. I sat up abruptly.

‘Ouch!’ Lover Boy levered himself off me, fingering his lip.

‘What’s happening now, Jase?’ I enquired in a bright girly voice. ‘
Get them away from the cabin
,’ I hissed in his ear. ‘
I need a couple of minutes
.’

Give him his due, you could always count on him in an emergency. He didn’t ask any questions, just shot me a quick glance and leapt to his feet.

‘Get my camera out of your bag, Debs. I want
photos of me holding up my shark. All-male action pictures, so keep well back.’

‘Huh, holding a board and a dead fish, there’s not much action in that!’ I flounced petulantly towards the control console.

‘Don’t be like that, Debsy. I’ll make it up to you later.’

I swung round. ‘Let
me
take the photo, Jase.’

‘No way, Debs! Last time you cut off my head, and the time before that the pic was so fuzzy it could have been taken underwater.’ He flung an arm round Sinclair’s shoulders and turned him so that his back was to the cabin. ‘C’mon, John, I want you beside me, and Jaime and Steve on either side of the board. We’ll find someone to take the picture.’

Scowl pinned to my face, I leant against the fascia just vacated by Sinclair. I felt a pang of remorse for J’s sore lip. He’d just engineered as good an opportunity as I was going to get.

He thrust the camera at a group of gawpers on the pontoon. ‘Anyone do me a favour? Take a few shots of me and my catch?’

‘Hey, fella, give it here.’ A floral-shirted arm reached out.

Jason was taking a chance. This was Tenerife, not some crime-free Utopia. Floral Shirt could well make off with the camera. Now
that
would cause a handy diversion.

‘Thanks, pal. Now we’ll line up here, and if you
can get the upper part of the boat in…’

Jason would be able to string things along for perhaps a couple of minutes. That’s all the time I had.

As soon as the line of backs screened me from view, I turned my attention to the instrument console. Dials set into smooth plastic…a couple of levers with red knobs…a small wooden-spoke wheel…panelling down to the floor. No gaps.

A shout from the pontoon: ‘This camera working? Nothing’s happening when I press the button.’

‘Shit,’ from Jason, ‘forgot to switch it on. It’s that button on the top beside the viewfinder.’

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the row of backs. Jason’s arm was still round Sinclair’s broad shoulders, the group’s attention focused on the black staring eye of the camera. Once again I ran my fingers over the smooth plastic and metal of the console. Nothing loose. Nothing I could prise off.
Hopeless
. I turned and leant one arm nonchalantly on the wooden wheel.

‘One more shot. If the guy with the board could turn a little this way…’ Floral Shirt indicated with the wave of a brown hand. ‘Now the three of you grab onto that fish.’

The shark was now horizontal, the end of its tail in the crook of Steve’s arm, the gunmetal grey head in the firm grasp of Jason, with Sinclair supporting the middle. Jaime was still holding the board with its
chalked details, weight of catch now added.

Surely there must be
somewhere
…

‘OK, fellas. Don’t move. Hold it ju-st there.’

Seconds left…

Something soft brushed against the top of my head as
The Saucy Nancy
lifted to the swell of a passing motor yacht. Hanging from the roof was a small dark object, a rubber mascot in the shape of Tenerife’s famous dragon tree.

‘OK. That’s it.’ Floral Shirt lowered the camera and held it out.

Time up.

As Sinclair released the shark and pushed back the brim of his red baseball cap, my fingers prised apart the mascot’s tangle of pliable green branches and pressed the thin disk of the bug deep inside. It would have to do.

The debriefing session behind the white door of Extreme Travel offices lasted two hours. After Jason had waxed lyrical about my acting skills (why disabuse him?), Gerry had been fairly philosophical about the less than perfect hiding place for the bug. Bringing him up to date, my version took ten minutes; Jason’s account of the morning’s action, one hour. As I’d predicted, the swivel chair was commandeered for a blow-by-blow re-enactment of the epic struggle. The surreptitious doze I managed to snatch during the video replay was interrupted all too frequently by the intrepid fisherman’s excited yells, ‘There!’ ‘You see!’ ‘Wait for it!’…

On my way home I checked my mobile’s voice mail to find Victoria Knight had left a message.
I’ ll be in the Café Bar Oasis at the Alhambra till four p.m. Come and join me for afternoon tea
. I was tempted to pass on it – after that nightmare boat trip this morning, a long siesta beckoned. But I’d jettisoned breakfast
on
The Saucy Nancy
and lunch was long overdue, so the lure of cream scones and sticky cakes in the Café Bar Oasis was stronger than the call of siesta. Restoring one’s energy levels, I reminded myself, is important after a time of stress. If I turned left and back-tracked a bit, I’d arrive at the Alhambra in about five minutes, only a little later than Victoria’s four p.m. deadline…

After the heat outside, the Café Bar Oasis was shady and refreshing. I pushed aside a palm frond and spotted Victoria at a table positioned to one side of the gilded cage. She was in the process of demolishing a fluffy-textured scone liberally spread with cream and strawberry jam. A waiter in uniform of white kaftan and fez was pouring tea from a large silver teapot.

She looked up and waved. ‘Oh there you are, dear. I do trust you don’t mind me starting.’ The spoon plunged into the bowl of cream and adroitly transferred a dollop to the waiting scone, evidently a well-practised technique. ‘You see, I didn’t know if you
would
be able to come. But I’m
so
glad you have. Let me order more tea and another round of cream scones.’ She studied me solicitously. ‘You’re looking a trifle peaky, dear. I
do
feel guilty about intruding on your free time, but I
really
need your advice.’ With deft movements, she processed the remaining piece of scone.

Matching pots of cream and jam, and a plate of golden brown scones arrived. As I tucked in, she
chased the last few crumbs round her plate.

‘Yes, Deborah, I need your help.’ For a long moment she was silent.

What could be bothering her? I paused, scone halfway to mouth. ‘Why, of course, Mrs Knight. That’s—’

‘Call me Victoria, dear.’ She folded and unfolded her napkin nervously. ‘Your advice, and another pair of eyes, that’s what I want. You see, on Friday Miss Devereux took me to the most beautiful houses. Of course, I was tempted at once. Who wouldn’t be? All so beautiful.’

This didn’t sound too urgent. It was nothing that wouldn’t keep. The unworthy thought occurred to me that I could have been snoozing with Gorgonzola on my patio, as I’d intended. Still, the cream tea was more than adequate compensation. I munched away steadily while Victoria launched into a glowing description of the properties inspected.

She broke off, eyeing my plate, empty now except for a smear of jam and cream. ‘Time for cakes, dear?’ She signalled to a waiter. A silver tray of cakes and pastries materialised as if by magic. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Deborah.’ She extracted from the pile a giant profiterole oozing cream and smothered in dark chocolate.

Thou shalt not covet
… My eyes searched the pile of assorted cakes.

Reading my thoughts, she twirled the plate round.
‘There’s another one. Quite irresistible, aren’t they?’

Further conversation went on hold.

At last, Victoria pushed away her plate with a satisfied sigh. ‘Now I must tell you exactly what my problem is.’

I sipped my tea and waited.

‘One of the villas Miss Devereux took me to today was absolutely
wonderful
. Perfect in every way.
Just
what I’ve been looking for. It’s the one featured on the cover of Exclusive’s portfolio. “Exclusive even for Exclusive”, I think it said.’

‘But, Victoria, that little bit of real estate is priced at £1 million.’

‘Yes, I know, dear. You’re wondering what an old woman like me will do with a place like that, and how I can afford it.’ She leant across the pillaged cake plate, her voice sinking to a whisper. ‘It’s for the children and grandchildren. And I
can
afford it. We won the lottery, Jack and I. We had great plans – a new house for us, and one each for the children. Three months later he was dead. A heart attack.’ Her voice trembled.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I patted her hand.

‘Thank you, dear.’ She blew her nose on an embroidered handkerchief, and smiled at me with watery eyes. ‘Of course, I made sure young Jack and Anne got their new houses, but I stayed on in the bungalow. No point in moving. My memories are there, and the neighbours are very good. But it’s
lonely, and I said to myself, “Victoria, though money doesn’t buy happiness, it can help, if you use it in the right way.” Do you agree with me, dear?’

I nodded.

‘So if I purchase a big place like the one I’ve just seen, I can stay in Tenerife and avoid the bad weather in England. And there will be plenty of room for the children and grandchildren to join me. No, money’s not the problem.’ Her face clouded.

‘But something else is?’ I prompted.

Victoria leant forward. ‘There’s a deadline, you see. And it’s the day after tomorrow.’

‘Deadline?’ I was puzzled.

She ploughed on. ‘I was
so
excited. I told that nice Monique Devereux, “Yes, this is the one for me. I must have it.” Well, I thought she’d be delighted, but you know how you can sense that something’s wrong?’

I nodded again, unwilling to say anything that might interrupt the flow.

‘It was the way she hesitated. She seemed a bit flustered. I believe in getting things out in the open, you know, so I asked her outright, “Is something the matter?” She was very apologetic. Said she’d no idea that I’d like the place so much that I’d consider buying. She’d only shown it to me because, after I’d seen the last of the villas, I said I’d a fancy to see the star property featured in the prospectus. And then she told me—’

‘Madam is finished?’ The enquiry hung over the table and encompassed us both.

Silence fell between us. From the gilded cage the twitter of birdsong and the flutter of wings suddenly seemed very loud. While the waiter cleared away the plates, I thought about what she had said. Monique had seemed ‘flustered’. I had a hunch it would be well worth finding out why.

Victoria broke into my thoughts: ‘I’ve ordered another pot of tea, dear, if that’s all right.’

‘About the villa,’ I hoped I sounded suitably casual, ‘what were you about to say?’

‘Miss Devereux told me…’ she paused, as if she was finding it difficult to put into words, ‘that I wouldn’t be able to buy the property.’

‘Why ever not?’ I was genuinely astonished. What could Vanheusen be up to? I had no doubt at all that Monique had been acting under his instructions. To turn down a sale of £1 million must mean that even more was at stake.

‘It seems that there’s an Offer to Buy contract on it. Someone’s offered to buy the property for £1 million and Mr Vanheusen is going to accept and sign the papers tomorrow.’ Victoria sighed. ‘I’m
so
disappointed. It’s silly, I know, but I’ve set my heart on having it.’

‘I’d really like to help,’ I said slowly, ‘but if it’s in the hands of the lawyers, I don’t see—’

‘But that’s just it.’ She leant forward eagerly.
‘Nothing’s been signed yet. I’ve been thinking it over every minute since I got back. I asked myself what Jack would have done. He always said, “If you
really
want something, you’ve got to fight for it. Never take no for an answer.”’ She fingered the plain golden band of her wedding ring as if summoning Jack’s support. ‘I’m going to offer £1.5 million…’

‘£1.5 million
?’
I squeaked. ‘But Victoria—’

‘Yes,’ she said firmly, ‘that’s how I’m going to get in first. You will help, won’t you? I’d be
ever
so grateful.’ Her pleading brown eyes reminded me of a plump spaniel begging to be allowed back into favour after some misdemeanour. ‘I’m going to pay another visit. This evening. Just to make sure. And I’m so hoping you’ll come with me as someone who’s unbiased, to point out any drawbacks, any snags I might have overlooked.’

The shadows were lengthening, the sun low in the sky, as I used my Exclusive security pass to gain us entry to the grounds of the villa that had so taken Victoria’s fancy. I hadn’t gone to Monique to request the keys. Better not to advertise my part in this attempt to thwart whatever scheme Vanheusen had in mind.

The house, a spectacular blend of neo-classical and Spanish architecture, came into view as we rounded the curve of the drive. Even the magnificent picture in the glossy prospectus had failed to do it justice. A vision of white marble pillars, filigree iron balconies,
and apricot-washed walls, it seemed to stretch out for ever.
El Sueño,
proclaimed the brass plaque beside the beautifully carved entrance door.

‘El Soo-enno.’ Victoria traced the engraved letters with a plump forefinger. ‘What does it mean, Deborah?’

‘It’s Spanish for The Dream. Quite appropriate, isn’t it?’

‘Just wait till you see the back of the house.’ Beckoning me to follow, she darted through an archway in the left-hand colonnade.

Victoria’s fingers had left smears on the pristine surface of the brass plaque. As I rubbed at the marks with the cuff of my shirt, a raised screw missing its domed cover snagged my sleeve. I picked off the tiny thread of cotton caught in the screw head. It might attract attention in these millionaire-immaculate surroundings. Something that wouldn’t do at all.

‘Thi-is wa-ay, Deborah.’

I gave the plaque a final polish and went to join her.

From the rear, the house was spectacular. On either side of the centre block the colonnades curved to enclose an expanse of sparkling jade-green water, more lake than swimming pool. Floor-to-ceiling french windows accessed garden or balcony on each of the two-storeys. Whatever Vanheusen was up to, he certainly wasn’t selling a cheap and shoddy build.

‘Well, what do you think of
this
?’

‘Victoria, it’s wonderful,’ I said truthfully.

‘Now I want you to be absolutely honest, dear. Do you think it’s too big for me?’

I studied the prospectus she had whipped from her handbag.
El Sueño, magnificent residence in idyllic location…six luxurious bedrooms, all with en suite and balcony. Master bedroom and guest bedrooms open out onto terraced balcony with views of mountain or sea.

‘Six bedrooms aren’t excessive, if you’re having grandchildren and their parents, and perhaps a couple of friends. Those colonnades make it
look
enormous, but the main building itself is reasonably compact.’

Her anxious frown changed to a beaming smile. ‘You’re so right, dear. And when the grandchildren aren’t here, I’ll invite a friend or two. I’ve been so lonely without Jack, you see…’

I consulted the prospectus again. ‘…
a house designed for enjoying the Tenerife climate with air-conditioning, fireplaces…spacious lounge and dining room…fully fitted kitchen…home-entertainment suite…’

With Victoria trailing behind, I skirted round the end of the pool and advanced on the nearest set of french windows. Like naughty children, we pressed our noses against the glass.

‘That chrome and glass dining table is stunning. This would make a great breakfast and supper room. You could throw open the doors to the garden, or—’ I beetled across to the colonnaded terrace with its tasteful white furniture, ‘– eat alfresco out here.’ I
sank into one of the loungers and lay back against the cushions. ‘Oh dear, I’m sounding just like an estate agent. But I wish
I
had enough money to buy the place. I do think you’ll be very happy here, Victoria.’

She gazed dreamily across the landscaped garden. ‘Yes, I think so too.’

We sat in companionable silence as the slanting rays of the setting sun fringed palms and citrus trees with gold. Vanheusen had cut no corners in developing this piece of real estate, had spared no expense. And yet it seemed that he didn’t want to recoup this expenditure by selling. So what part did El Sueño play in his money-laundering scheme? Just what would happen tomorrow when Mrs Knight arrived at Exclusive’s offices with her cheque for £1.5 million?

Whirrrr
. Startled, I turned to see a flock of tiny birds diving into their quarters for the night, the inverted bowl of a neatly topiarised ornamental tree. As the sun dipped behind the distant foothills of snow-capped Teide, a leaf of the tree trembled and all was still.