False Step (14 page)

‘Well, you've run away from her. What does she think about that?'

‘Run away? Nonsense. My secretary couldn't work in the same office as her, that's all.'

‘And all those files …?'

‘It never occurred to me that Miss Townend would want to bring all her famous files. When she arrived, I couldn't believe …! Honestly, Mother, if I'd known … and you with the builders in. Then I thought maybe the agency could use the kitchen, which would free up the dining table?'

‘No.'

‘That's what Maggie said, too.' He gulped wine, refilled.

Bea pushed her own soup plate away. She'd done quite well, she thought. Only a spoonful or two left. The waiter looked down his nose at her as he removed the plates. ‘Some water, please?' Holding his eye, letting him read her opinion of him. She thought about what Max had said, and had not said. ‘You're fond of Nicole, aren't you?'

‘It's not getting me very far, is it?'

‘But you are fond of her?'

‘Yes, of course. I mean, I married her. She's a little softie, really, under all that super-sophisticate look. Like me. Makes a good impression. Most people wouldn't know, but she's suffered all her life because Lettice is the favourite, always has been. Nicole's the most wonderful wife, you know—'

‘But not a jolly little short-skirted cutie, like Lettice?'

‘No, of course not. She's not like that at all.' His voice took on a worshipful note. ‘She's so beautiful, I can hardly believe sometimes that she's mine. And so terrific in the constituency, you can't imagine. They all love her, and she knows them all; all the wives, who can be helpful, who can't, who knows who … all that sort of thing. I don't know what I'm going to do without her.' He reached for the bottle to refill his glass.

Their main course came. At a glance, Bea saw that her portion of duck was dried up under a complicated-looking sauce. Ah, well. Indigestion, here I come. She tasted the vegetables. Underdone. She tried the duck. Passable, but tough.

‘Which of them do you want, Max? Be honest with me, now. Lettice for fun and youthfulness, with the money from her parents. Or Nicole.'

He didn't have to think about it. ‘Nicole, even if it means her parents drop their support. Only, she doesn't want me any more, and I suppose I don't blame her.'

‘One thing at a time. You've left Lettice in possession of the field at the House. Is there any way you can get rid of her?'

‘I can't think how, except …' He thought about it, absent-mindedly pouring himself another glass of wine. ‘I suppose I could have a word with … suggest that she's a bit of a loose cannon … they don't like that sort of thing. I wondered, you see, if she were left alone at the House, whether she might sort of look around for someone else.'

‘That's a brilliant idea, Max. You are clever.'

For a moment, he glowed. And then sighed. ‘Doesn't help me with Nicole, though. You really think she might soften if I took round some roses or something?'

‘Worth a try. She must be feeling … well, I can't imagine.'

‘Betrayed.' Tears came to his eyes. ‘She must feel really awful. She's had this problem all her life, Lettice stealing her boyfriends, her clothes … even a job she had once.'

‘I don't remember Lettice at your wedding.'

‘She was in New York, over there on some temporary post, not sure exactly what. It didn't work out, so she came back this last summer, and that's when her father suggested she'd be an asset to me as my research assistant in the House. Naturally, I thought it was a good idea and when Nicole wasn't happy about it, I overruled her, because Lettice seemed so demure, so right at first.'

‘Probably modelling herself on Nicole, who is the real thing.'

‘You're right, Mother! Nicole is the real thing. Pure gold. I look at her and everything I've prepared to say just flies out of the window. She must think I'm a moron.' He fiddled with his glass. ‘You wouldn't think of, maybe, having a chat with Nicole for me? Would you?'

Bea thought it was the last thing on earth that she wanted to do. ‘Do you really think it would help?'

‘Oh, I do.'

‘Then I suppose I must.'

‘Good on you. I say, this duck tastes good. Aren't you going to finish yours? Let's have a sweet, shall we? I like their tiramisu. And coffee with a brandy for afters?'

Bea resigned herself to another hour at the table. She thought she'd handled that well enough. Max had managed to bring up all the right ideas, with only the tiniest bit of prompting. He was relaxed now, eating well. He was going to have to start going to a gym or thinking about a diet soon, if he weren't careful. He'd lost his early, keen-edged high-flyer look and was beginning to take on the extra poundage of the successful businessman. She wouldn't mention that tonight. She relaxed. What was an hour's indigestion compared to helping Max get back on track?

Then she went and spoiled it all. ‘Isn't it about time that Miss Townend retired?'

She'd forgotten that Max had inherited another trait from her; that of loyalty. What, sack someone as faithful as Miss Townend? Didn't Bea realize that the poor woman's whole life was bound up with her work at the House? She'd been there all her working life, looking after the member for his constituency – whoever they happened to be – all this time. And Bea thought Max could turn her out into the cold, just like that? Why, she'd refused to go home to look after her ancient mother, who really needed her, just to keep Max going. He'd never forgive himself if …

Bea stifled a sigh. ‘How difficult for you. And for her. I expect she's finding it hard to keep up with the latest technology. I mean, it's such a business having to update one's computer all the time. Perhaps we could get Oliver to show her how to put all her files on to a memory stick?'

‘Not another word, Mother. You simply don't know what you're talking about.'

Oh well. She'd tried.

She feared she was in for another white night. There was too much to think about, too many unsolved problems clattering around in her head, and too much indigestible food in her stomach.

Max, having put her in her place, rambled on about plans for Christmas. Nicole's parents had booked them two weeks in the Bahamas, but now …? The inconvenience of breaking up with Nicole made him pause for a moment. Then he went smoothly on to tell her the latest piece of gossip circulating in the Lobby, and to wonder whether or not he should change to a hybrid car, watching out for the carbon footprint …

She stopped listening. All he needed now was someone appropriately dressed to sit with him, to smile and nod now and then. She could do that. Her thoughts flew back to Goldie's angry face and the menacing looks of the driver of her van. If she herself were going to be tied up visiting Nicole tomorrow, then would it be safe to let Oliver go back up to the house again by himself? Someone must help him complete that inventory … those dresses … would Oliver have the necessary know-how to itemize them? Would he know a sequin from a silver button? Silk from satin? Er, no. Would it be a good idea to send Maggie with him?

Ye–es. And no. Maggie had her hands full already with project-managing the revamp of the flat down the road, and keeping the house going. And chivvying the builders.

Who did they have on their books who might be available to do the job? Miss Brook, the dragon lady? Bea half-smiled. Yes. Miss Brook would grumble at being asked to do it, but she'd make the most of the outing, she'd know how to describe the dresses, and she certainly wouldn't let anyone invade her territory.

If Oliver and Miss Brook were out of the office, then Max could work undisturbed in the sitting room. So long as he realized this was a temporary measure, she supposed there was no great harm in it.

‘… don't you agree?' Max was saying. She hadn't a clue about what, but she smiled and asked if he had to go to the House tonight. Apparently he wasn't needed, so she said that if they got back early enough, she knew he'd want to ring Nicole.

She hoped.

‘Did you arrange everything for tomorrow?'

‘Her phone was engaged for ages, but yes, I got through eventually. I left a message with some half-witted creature who said she'd tell Mrs Abbot when she got back. I wish I could afford to take some more time off. It was one long slog all day, and then I had to cook when I got back home.'

‘Yes, yes. But they do know I'm going to be there early tomorrow?'

A sigh. ‘If she remembers to pick up her messages.'

‘I shall need your keys to get in.'

‘I'd forgotten that. If I put them in the post to you … no, you wouldn't get them in time. Are you going in on the Tube? I could meet you at Ealing Broadway station, if you like? I usually take the Central Line in to Notting Hill Gate and walk down from there. What time?'

‘Half eight on the dot, can you make that?'

‘If I leave them their breakfasts.'

‘Just one thing. We don't want to be observed. Suppose we do the handing over on one of the quieter platforms, not the ones for the Tube because they get so crowded? One of the suburban lines? How about the first westbound platform over the bridge, where the suburban lines go out to Slough, and the through trains go to the West Country? Perhaps directly under the stairs, where it's darkish? Then we can go back over the bridge and take the Central Line train in together.'

‘We're both going in on the Tube. Why not hand over then?'

‘It's so busy, we might easily get into different carriages and miss one another.'

‘That's true. All right. Half eight, under the bridge, westbound trains. See you there.'

Bea couldn't sleep. At one o'clock she was still staring into the darkness, turning first this way and then that, worrying about Max and Oliver, and how soon the workmen would finish. Every now and again, she'd get a flashback to the scarlet slippers and the voluminous red costume … and have to shut her mental eyes and send up an arrow prayer for help.

At half past one she got up, taking care not to make any noise in case it wakened Max next door. Then she thought, Bother Max! I didn't invite him to stay, though of course it was only right and proper that he felt he could come back home when his little world fell apart … but … oh well. If I can't walk around at night in my own home, then who can?

She put on the lights and went downstairs to make herself a cuppa. Sometimes it helped. The kitchen was as neat and tidy as always under Maggie's control. Bea fiddled with the central heating switch, and the boiler puffed into life. If she couldn't have warmth and light in her own home … she sighed. Why was she being so defensive?

What was that? Oh dear, someone was coming down the stairs. Bea didn't feel like talking to anyone, least of all to Max.

It wasn't Max. It was Maggie, tousle-headed, yawning, bright-eyed, wearing great big bunny-rabbit bedroom slippers and a baby doll nightdress which left little to the imagination. ‘Can't you sleep, either, Mrs Abbot?'

Maggie automatically reached for the button on the radio and Bea gritted her teeth. Whether Maggie actually got the message or not, she let her hand drop away without turning the sound on. She reached into the cupboard. ‘Hot chocolate? Cocoa? Herbal?'

Bea wanted to make a declaration of independence and snap that she'd make what she liked in her own kitchen, but didn't. ‘Peppermint tea. Indigestion. So what's keeping you awake, Maggie? Is it having a guest in the house?'

‘N–no. I mean, he has every right, more right than we have, Oliver and I, if you think about it. He is your son and we're just live-in helpers. No, I woke up and remembered that I hadn't left you any messages about the things you asked me to do.'

Bea exercised patience. ‘Mm? A phone call for me? Perhaps Mr Piers?' Why had she thought her ex-husband might want to contact her? He was out of town painting a client, wasn't he? She certainly didn't need his help with anything at the moment. He'd never taken that much interest in Max, and she couldn't imagine that he'd know what to say about his son's present dilemma.

Maggie slapped her forehead. ‘Right. I knew that I knew. Couldn't make out what she was on about at first, but it was the woman up the road with the man that died, the one that Oliver's been on about. He said he was going to have nightmares about it but of course he's sleeping like a baby with the light on and hooked up to his iPod. I said he'll get himself electrocuted one day, but I don't suppose he will.'

‘Probably not. So Mrs Frasier rang and left a message for me?'

‘Said to tell you that a friend of hers, a Ms Cunningham – if I've got the name right – is going to go to the house early tomorrow, before you get there, to check on something, she didn't say what. She's going to stay there while you finish the inventory and then you're to give her your keys. You can ring Mrs Frasier back if there's a query.'

Bea sipped herbal tea. ‘Problem. I have to see my son's wife tomorrow morning, if I can. I thought perhaps Miss Brook could finish off up the road with Oliver. There's not much to do now. The costumes will take the most time, I suppose.'

Maggie was wistful. ‘I'd have liked to have seen the costumes. Oliver says they're something else.' Maggie, all five foot ten of her, would dress in nothing but spangly Lurex from choice.

‘Yes, but …'

‘I know. I've got enough on my plate already.' Maggie yawned widely. ‘Back to beddy-byes.'

Bea thought of asking Maggie about her new boyfriend, the plumber, but desisted. Maggie didn't have a good track record where men were concerned.