False Diamond--An Abbot Agency Mystery (16 page)

Bea mused: ‘I'm trying to think what it must have been like for a young girl like Dilys, fresh out of school, living in that isolated house. She may not have had much self-confidence to start with … No, scrap that. That's just surmise. She told me she used to help in the office at Holland and Butcher in the holidays. She didn't mention her father's larger organization. Perhaps the family didn't think her bright enough to go to university? Leon says they didn't think it worthwhile in his case. In the old days I suppose Dilys would have been sent off to take a shorthand and typing course, or to train as a nurse. She wouldn't have had enough brains to teach. But nowadays … what do they do with young girls nowadays? Turn them into receptionists and personal assistants? Anyway, the family found her a sort of non-job at Holland and Butcher. What did she do there? Filing? Taking phone calls? Running errands?'

Oliver chimed in. ‘And there was the handsome, whitely smiling Benton—'

‘Salesman of the Year, promoted to Assistant Manager. Taking notice of little Dilys—'

‘Seizing the chance to make up to the boss's daughter—'

‘Her father would not have been best pleased for her to make what in his eyes must have been a poor choice, even though he'd promoted Benton himself. Leon said the wedding was hurriedly arranged. I think Benton set out to get her pregnant. He's a chancer, and this was too good a chance to miss. The marriage was celebrated publicly, paid for by her father because he'd have hated it to be known that his daughter had been banged up by the first man who came along. The happy couple were bought a pretty little house in a prestigious area in Kensington, she was given shares in Holland and Butcher and a directorship. If she'd been a stronger character, this might have been the making of her as a businesswoman, but Benton kept her pregnant and sapped her confidence until she had no will left of her own.'

‘So he got the job of manager because he'd married the boss's daughter?'

‘Well, there was a bit of a hiatus. At one point I heard the firm had collapsed and a new buyer was in talks with Mr Holland, but what I think really happened is that he rescued the firm himself because it's so convenient for him to have his big house and gardens staffed by people trained in one of his own companies. So it wasn't only the fact that Dilys had married one of their own which caused him to appoint Benton as his new managing director. It must have seemed an obvious solution to his problems.'

‘Benton has proved to be a disappointment?'

‘He might have been the best salesman in the world, but he's no manager. He's been promoted beyond his capabilities. Not good with the staff. And, the dividends have been cut to the bone. Now, let's see if we can work out a timescale. Neither Mr Holland nor his sister would have approved any of his ventures running at a loss, so even though Benton was his blue-eyed boy, pressure must have been put on Benton to improve the trading figures … upon which Benton resuscitated the idea of a merger with the Abbot Agency, intending that I'd manage the college under his orders. Unfortunately for him, I took a look at their proposition and decided against it. Benton panicked. He couldn't afford to take “no” for an answer from me as his balance sheet was looking increasingly unhealthy and the old man was breathing down his neck. So Benton contacted Max and sold him the idea of a long and happy relationship with lots of money on the side. And Max bit.'

‘But Bea didn't and doesn't.'

‘And gets slapped for her pains. The question is: what will Benton do next? I'm surprised he hasn't been in touch today with another offer I can't refuse.'

‘He sent Max, didn't he?'

‘And I told him no dice. I'm worried about Max; he might do something stupid in an effort to satisfy Benton.'

Oliver turned back to the computer. ‘How old is Benton?'

‘Thirty-five-ish?'

‘Mm.' Oliver worked the keys. ‘I think I've got him, Basil Benton—'

‘Basil?' Bea laughed. ‘Really, Basil? No, it can't be him. His name is Benjamin.'

‘There's no other Benton born in that year …' He scrolled up and down. ‘Or in any other year around that time. Perhaps it's not him. According to this, he was born in October l978, father a shipping clerk, mother a machinist. Humble beginnings in a tower block in the East End. Might that be him? The next census would … Yes, Basil appears again, same father and mother, still in the tower block, but … no sister. It can't be him.'

‘I could understand why he might want to change his name from Basil. If it
is
him.'

Oliver grunted. ‘Where's his little sister, then? I'll try the next census. Yes, there's Basil. Still no sister. We're barking up the wrong tree. Back to the beginning. Where are you, Benjamin Benton?'

Bea reached for the phone. ‘Hang on a minute while I make a phone call. I'm concerned about Dilys, and I'm going to ask Benton what he's done with her.'

‘You don't really think he'd let you visit her, do you?'

‘He might. But I'm thinking he might be getting just a wee bit panicky about the way his plans have failed to work out, first with me and then with Max. Perhaps a little push from me might get him to make a mistake. Hello? Hello? … That's not Benton. Ah, am I speaking to his sister?'

‘Ginevra Benton, yes. Who is this?' A warm, breathy voice, in a hurry. Noises off. Angry shouts from children in the background. The boys at play?

‘Mrs Abbot speaking. Where can I contact him?'

‘He's not here.' And then, half covering the receiver, she shouted, ‘Shut up, shut up, you little horrors!' to the boys.

‘I'll try his mobile.'

The woman's voice sharpened. She sounded angry. With the boys? Well, Bea wouldn't have liked to have been left in charge of them, either. Ginevra said, ‘You won't reach him that way. He's left his mobile here by mistake.'

‘Perhaps he's visiting his wife in hospital?'

‘Just a minute …' The woman half covered the receiver with her hand. Bea could hear her shouting to the boys at the other end. Something about breaking their limbs if they didn't shut up? Which didn't seem to be having the desired effect.

Bea raised her voice. ‘Hello? Hello?'

A breathy: ‘Yes. I'm here.'

‘You probably don't know this, but I took some photographs at the house on the night we found Dilys in the bath. The photos show that Dilys did not try to commit suicide. Your brother tried to destroy that evidence and failed.'

‘What!' Alarmed. ‘I don't know what you mean!'

‘I tricked him into thinking he'd destroyed the evidence, but he hadn't. If he doesn't produce Dilys alive and well by this time tomorrow, I'll take what I've got to the police. Will you please tell him that?'

‘You wouldn't dare!'

‘Try me.'

The phone went dead.

Oliver leaned back in his chair. Bea's office chair. Amused. ‘There's nothing like putting your head in the tiger's mouth, is there?'

‘Mm. I can't see him waylaying me with a knife, can you? But it's odd. That woman gave her name as “Ginevra Benton”, as if “Benton” were her surname. You say the census doesn't show Basil as having a sister so, much as it would amuse me to think he was christened Basil, I do think we're on the wrong track there.'

Oliver worked the keys. He scrolled down and up, playing with the different sites, while Bea continued to frown at the phone.

At length Oliver leaned back and slapped the desk. ‘I do not believe this. Benton as a family name crops up all over the place. There's quite a few of them. But I can't find a boy with the surname of Benton who has a sister named Ginevra. Are you sure she exists?'

‘She's real enough. Leon met her, and I've just spoken to her on the phone. She's living in his house, using his landline phone in the living room, trying to keep the boys quiet. Where, oh where, has their fond papa gone?'

‘He's at work, I suppose.' Oliver glared at the screen. ‘Where are you, Ginevra Benton? Why can't I find your birth certificate? Are you older or younger than your brother? And if Benton's not the Basil from the tower block, why can't I find him, either?'

Bea got to her feet, moving stiffly. Yesterday's bruises were making a nuisance of themselves, and she needed to put her feet up and have a rest before she did anything else.

Besides which, she could hear Maggie coming down the stairs. A subdued Maggie, but one who was doing her best to sound bright and cheerful. ‘Hello, oldies! How goes it?'

Oliver said, ‘Enough, already. I'm switching off for the day. You don't object, do you, Mother Hen? Maggie and I are going out on the town, hitting all the high spots between here and Piccadilly—'

‘Stupid!' Maggie aimed a blow at him and missed. ‘A meal and a pint in a pub, that's all.'

Bea wondered if Oliver might have more luck pleading the case of Maggie's patient boyfriend than she had done herself.

Oliver vacated his chair. ‘What about you, Mother Hen? Why don't you come with us?'

‘Tell the truth, I could do with a spot of peace and quiet. A snack and early to bed for me.'

‘You'll take care not to open the door to strangers?' Oliver was only half-joking.

‘Teach your grandmother!'

‘If you're not coming, may we borrow the car? Then we could go out to a quiet pub I know in the Denham area.'

‘With my blessing, children.'

They tramped off up the stairs. Bea switched off the lights in her office and followed them, remembering to lock the door from the basement level as she did so. She heard the front door close behind the youngsters as she went into the kitchen to feed Winston and prepare a snack for herself. She was oh so tired.

The phone rang. Max, in a state. ‘Mother, you are in? Good. I must see you. I'll be round in five minutes.'

‘No, you don't. I'm going to bed early, not receiving tonight.'

‘How can you joke when the sky's about to fall in on me?'

‘Calm down. Tell me, in words of one syllable, what's so urgent—'

‘Benton's threatening to … He's given me till tomorrow morning. You wouldn't understand, but—'

Panic crawled up and down her spine. ‘You haven't been dallying with yet another blonde, have you? No, this time it's a redhead, isn't it? Take it from me, Nicole already knows.'

‘What do you mean?' Blustering. Unconvincing. ‘There was nothing in it, I swear, a couple of drinks … But Benton said that if Nicole had the evidence … She's been so difficult recently, you've no idea. I really don't understand why you can't do the right thing and help me out with—'

She crashed the phone down. She hadn't intended to. Her hand had acted without direction from her brain.

She was breathing hard. She wouldn't ring him back and apologize. Anyway, there was nothing to apologize for, was there? There was no way she was going to mortgage her future and the future of all those who depended upon her, by getting into debt for a man who was so stupid that he couldn't keep his trousers zipped up in the wrong company.

She. Would. Not. Do. It.

With shaking hands, she put some soup to heat up in the microwave and laid out the ingredients for a ham sandwich. And then the phone rang again. If it was Max …

It wasn't.

It was a high, breathy girlish voice that came and went. Bea had some difficulty in making out what she was saying. ‘Oh, Mrs Abbot, it is you, isn't it? I've managed to get away, but I'm so afraid, and I don't know who to—'

‘Dilys?'

‘I thought, if I could only get to a phone box, and I did, but—'

‘Where are you?'

‘I'm not sure, because I ran and ran, and I got lost, but—'

‘If you're in a phone box, there should be a place name on it somewhere.'

‘Oh. Oh, yes; there is, but … I can't stay here, in the light, he might find me, but if I hide nearby, at the back of the pub, that would be all right, wouldn't it?'

‘What's the name of the pub?'

‘The Red something. I can't quite … It's on the corner but I can't … A bus passed me a moment ago, a double-decker. I would have got on it but I haven't any money.'

‘What number bus?'

‘It's gone round the corner.'

‘Did you see where it was heading?'

‘Bayswater Road, I think. Oh, I know I'm being stupid, but it's so bright in here, I feel as if I'm in a spotlight. You will come, won't you?'

The phone went dead. If only Bea hadn't let Oliver have the car! Well, it couldn't be helped. She ordered a taxi. No time to waste. She made sure the grilles over the downstairs windows were locked, the curtains drawn and the alarm set. She snatched up her coat and bag and ran down the steps into the street. As she went she entered the clues she'd been given on to her smartphone … A pub called Red something. A bus going down the Bayswater Road.

‘Where to, missus?' A drizzly rain. A black cab with a black driver.

‘Bayswater Road for a start. A friend of mine's in trouble, has run away from her abusive husband, wants me to fetch her, but hasn't given me much to go on.'

‘Bayswater Road? Traffic's heavy tonight. Might take a while.'

‘My friend said she's in a phone box opposite a pub called the Red something, not far from a double-decker bus route which goes down the Bayswater Road. Any ideas?'

‘The Red Rum pub, named after a famous racehorse. You never go to the races? Hold on tight.' He made a U-turn in the road.

‘Not really my scene.' She held on tightly, willing him to make good time. Unfortunately there was, as he'd warned her, a lot of traffic about. They moved a foot at time. Then two cars' worth. And then idled.

‘Not a nice area, that,' he said. ‘You sure about going there?'