False Charity (18 page)

Nicole's cousin had one of those penetrating voices you could hear even on the Tube. ‘You want to know about Mrs Somers-Briggs? She's very well-connected, pots of money, has lived abroad for some time, America, diplomatic service, something like that, but returned to England without her husband who seems tragically to have disappeared somewhere en route. Not divorced, something to do with an upset in a South American country – not Peru, dear, at least I don't think it was Peru. Did I hear Brazil? Yes, probably.

‘Anyway, plenty of money in the background. Mrs Somers-Briggs is looking for a base in Kensington at the moment, while staying in some friend's flat somewhere down near the river … the address? I should have it somewhere, but it will be out of date, because she's moving this weekend – or was it last weekend? Into a rented flat. I think she said it was in Dolphin Square. Really it's best to phone her if you want any more tickets … a phone number? Yes, I think so, wait a minute, I'll see if I can lay my hands on it. It's a mobile number, of course.'

‘I have that,' said Bea. ‘Does she organize these functions by herself?'

‘No, no. Far too much for one person to do. She has some kind of helper, not exactly our type but useful, you know? And her son, or maybe it's her nephew, who helps out. That's how we came to meet. He knew my godson from somewhere, the one who's gone into the Foreign Office. Such an asset at parties, my dear. Can always be relied on to spend time with the girls who aren't perhaps quite as pretty as they might be.'

Bea said, ‘Didn't he ask one of the girls in your party out?'

‘The DJ did, but she's seeing one of a friend's boys, merchant banker in the City, so she wasn't interested.'

‘This is the son or nephew?'

‘Now you're confusing me. Wasn't it the DJ? Or maybe not. Nice-looking lad, from her first marriage, of course. That's why the name is different. Charming, totally charming. What's so nice about him is that he throws himself into making his mother's charity evenings work. And always so protective of her, which comes from his losing his father so early, I suppose.'

‘What's his name?'

‘My dear, I haven't the slightest. What I do know is that they all work themselves ragged to make these affairs successful, no expense spared. I got my husband to take a table at their last function, and we would be going to this next one if we hadn't got tickets to Glyndebourne, yes, it is a pity, isn't it! But I told my husband that if we couldn't go, we should still send them the cost of the tickets and he's spread the word through the office and at the golf club so they'll be capacity, I should think. Are you going, then? I'm sure you'll enjoy it.'

Bea handed the phone back to Nicole, who was not a happy bunny. ‘I ought to have warned her, oughtn't I, if her husband's got all those extra people to buy tickets. What is Max going to say? He'll kill me!'

‘No, he won't,' said Bea, thinking how unlikely it was that Max would turn on his wife. The other way round, now? Bea pulled her thoughts back from that one.

‘Nicole, you've done nothing wrong. In fact, you're doing your best to help him. Let's see if we can get a clearer idea of what these people are like and how they operate before we tell anyone. We don't want to start a panic and have people cancel their plans to attend on Saturday. If we don't have their address and they're only using mobile phones, we've no means of tracing them until they turn up at the function. That's when we nab them.'

Nicole frowned and used her fingers to smooth her forehead. ‘Do you know, I think she was introduced to me by another name, but I can't think what it was. Somers? Saunders? It might have been her first husband's name, and she could have added the Briggs later on. As one does.'

‘Briggs might have been her maiden name, or perhaps her first or second husband's name. I wonder what the boy's name is. Can you ask your cousin what name she knows him by?'

Nicole rang her cousin back, but the answerphone was on. Nicole left a message, and switched the phone off. She said, ‘It's Friday afternoon. She'll be at the hairdresser's, getting ready for her trip to Glyndebourne tomorrow. I wonder if they can fit me in, too, since I'm not spending the afternoon on the South Coast. I really must have something done about my nails.' She rose to go.

For the first time Bea kissed her daughter-in-law with warmth. ‘You've been great about this, Nicole. You'll let us know if you hear from your cousin, and we'll let you know how we get on, right?'

‘To tell the truth,' said Nicole, ‘I'm half thinking it would be best to tell Max what we suspect and get him to cancel, even at this late stage.'

‘And disappoint your guests?'

Nicole was perturbed enough to let emotion show on her face. ‘Can you promise me you won't make a scene at the hotel?'

‘What would be the point? The guests pay for their tickets and get good value in return. It's the suppliers and the charities that get stung. We need to trace these people and then, bang! Get them to pay what they owe.'

Nicole wailed, ‘Yes, but how are you going to do that?'

‘I'll think of something.'

Nicole wafted herself away with her little dog yapping away under her arm.

Down in the office there was confusion. Coral was sulking, the ex-squadron leader was pontificating in a loud voice while Oliver was crouched over the phone, trying to listen to what a caller was saying. Maggie had seated herself in a corner with a notepad on her knee. She was still wearing her dark glasses, and every now and then she blew her nose into a tissue.

Bea forced her back to straighten. ‘Now, then; where were we?'

Oliver put the phone down and said, ‘That was Mrs Westin again. I think it's Westin, rather than Weston. She's insistent you call her back.'

‘What else?'

‘I've been trying to find out if the Garden Room got paid for the first charity function, but all they'll say is “no comment”. As for the Country Club, the manager's out but I got some girl on the phone who says they insist on a deposit two months before the event, and that's all she will say. I suspect they got a deposit but the cheque for the balance bounced. I think it's as you said, Mrs Abbot; they spend some money in order to rake in the rest.'

The squadron leader cut through Oliver's report. ‘Dear lady, this is not helping me to get my money back. I can see nothing for it. I shall have to sell my Rover, my faithful friend. It would almost cover my losses.'

‘We haven't exhausted all the possibilities yet, Leo,' said Bea, gently pushing Oliver away from her desk so she could sit down. ‘Coral, any news of your daughter?'

‘They're sending her home this afternoon. They want her to keep quiet for another seven days until the baby's officially due. Jake's fetching her and I'll take some supper over later.'

‘That's good.' She had been going to ask Maggie to take notes, but although the girl was physically present, mentally she seemed lost in misery, staring vacantly into space. ‘Oliver, will you take notes, please? I'll recap what we know and if anyone else can add to it, or thinks they know something different, then they must speak up. I'll start.

‘Some months ago a woman appeared on the London social scene, calling herself Somers, or Briggs or Somers-Briggs, twice married, husbands both mislaid, plenty of money, wanting to do something for charity. Her introduction into society is eased by a son or nephew, who's been mixing with the young moneyed crowd and has lots of useful contacts. Her real name might be just Somers, or Briggs, or something else entirely. Anyone heard her first name?'

Coral said, hesitantly, ‘Helen, or Helena. Ellen?'

‘Lena,' said the squadron leader.

Bea checked to see that Oliver had got all this down. ‘She mixed in the best society, was seen in all the right places, got her name out and about as a charity fund-raiser. No known means of support. Moving from one address to another, possibly now renting a flat down near the river. Oliver, what have you got on her?'

‘The function room for this weekend is booked in the name of a Mrs Amanda Briggs. This time the charity's name is The International Emergency Fund for Aid to the Far East. Mobile phone number only. Nobody seems to have any publicity material left. I asked. The only contact address they have is that of the shop.'

‘It's interesting that they keep on using that address,' said Bea, ‘because they've been so careful about everything else. I wonder if there's a reason for it. Ideas, anyone?'

They all shook their heads, except for Maggie, who didn't appear to be listening. ‘So,' said Bea. ‘Back to Mrs Briggs. Let's try to get a picture of her. Coral?'

‘Nice looking without being a beauty. Late forties, though she tries to look younger. Speaks well, British accent, upper class rather than middle. Good figure, expensive tan. I thought at first that her hair was dyed blonde, but it might have been a wig. She wore long black both times and diamonds, the real thing.'

‘All right, Oliver?' Oliver nodded.

Bea said, ‘Now for the son or nephew, who I suppose must be in his early twenties. He might be called Somers, or Briggs or something quite different. Coral, you mentioned a DJ who circulated among the guests and made a pass at one of the guests. Nicole also mentioned him. Was it the same man both times? How did he react with Mrs Briggs? Did you hear his name?'

Coral put a finger to her cheek. ‘There was a DJ, right enough, a real heart-breaker. Good value for money, worked the crowd well. She must be much older than she looks, if he's her son. And then there's the pianist, of course.'

‘Pianist?' Bea checked herself. ‘No, let's finish with the DJ first. Do we have a name for him?'

Coral hesitated. ‘I think he called himself “The Don” when he was acting DJ. He introduced the records in the third person, “The Don likes this one because …”, “The Don says he's giving this one a twirl …” That sort of thing.'

The squadron leader agreed. ‘The Don, yes. Stage name.'

‘Description?' said Bea.

‘Tall, dark and handsome,' said Coral. ‘Wonderful teeth, expensive casual clothes. Works out. Possibly a gym freak. Very sure of himself and of his appeal to women.'

‘Squadron … sorry, I mean, Leo? What did you think of him?'

He blinked. ‘I don't use that title nowadays, Mrs Abbot. Occurs to me, had a lad like that up before me once. Beaten someone to pulp, argument over a girl. Seemed to me he thought himself above the law. Nasty piece of work.'

Bea's eyes switched to Maggie, who was fingering her mobile phone and staring into space. Was she listening? Did she see the similarity? At least her date hadn't beaten her to a pulp.

Coral was tapping her cheek. ‘That pianist, now. Not what you'd call classy, was he, Leo? Not like her. She was classy, all right. But could he play the old Joanna! He reminded me of my husband's mate who used to play all night long Fridays and Saturdays down at the old Red Lion. Never used sheet music. You set up the drinks for him on top of the piano, and he was off. We don't see his like nowadays.'

‘Was the pianist there both times?'

‘Yes, he was. I don't know how to describe him, exactly. I mean, he was more than just hired help, because he acted as MC and ran the auction, as well as playing the piano in the cabaret. He knew Mrs Briggs but they weren't lovey-dovey. More like,' she lifted her shoulders and let them drop, ‘I can't describe it.'

Leo crossed one leg over the other and gave his trousers a little pinch at the knee. ‘My guess is he used to be a turn at an end-of-the-pier entertainment.'

‘Y-yes,' said Coral. ‘He was a bit more than that, because his eyes were everywhere and when one of my girls dropped something, he was on to it quicker than I was.'

Bea wondered, ‘My information is that Mrs Somers-Briggs has a partner or aide. Was this man part of her team, do you think?'

Coral nodded. ‘Could be.'

Leo patted his own slender figure. ‘He was fifty-ish, older than her. Putting on weight, ought to watch it. Balding but still enough dark hair to go round. Looked good-natured, but nobody's fool. His evening dress was off the peg.'

Coral agreed. ‘He's the type you'd see in the pub and he might try to chat you up, but he'd stop if you told him not to.'

‘Name?'

Coral and Leo exchanged glances. ‘Richard? Rickie?'

‘Don't think I ever heard.'

Bea made eye contact with Oliver, who was scribbling away, biting on his lower lip. ‘I think we can make the following assumption; the team consists of three people, two major players and one minor. Mrs Somers-Briggs appears to be the moving spirit with this older man as her aide, and her son or nephew who acts as DJ. Now, is anyone else involved, do you think? What about the cabaret?'

Coral and Leo shook their heads. ‘A different man on each occasion. They scrounged food and drink off us, chatted a bit, didn't have anything much to say to Mrs Briggs or whatever her name is. The pianist looked after them, saw the mike was switched on and at the right height, that sort of thing. The singers brought their own ghetto blasters with backing tracks.'

‘Do we know their names? Can we contact them, find out if they got paid? Or indeed, if they have an address for the team?'

Leo shook his head. ‘I don't think I exchanged more than a couple of words with the man. I was busy at the bar.'

Coral was trying to remember. ‘Was one of them called The Mad Hopper, or maybe it was Bopper? They both had stage names. I didn't take much notice, too much going on.'

Bea tapped her teeth with her pen. How could they find out?

Leo smoothed his hands over his knees. ‘What I think is, they've been very careful but they've made one mistake which you, Mrs Abbot, have spotted, and that is in keeping the same accommodation address throughout. I vote to stake it out. We know they're still using it, so one of them must visit it every day to pick up the mail. I hang around, I spot one of them, I follow him, see where he goes. Right?'