False Pretences (15 page)

Summoning a taxi, Bea took Nicole on a shopping expedition which left Nicole bubbling over with excitement . . . and Bea exhausted. The cost of the shopping expedition was not mentioned, but Bea had a horrid feeling that she would in due course have to offer Max a sub. Classy clothes don't come cheap.

When Bea finally crawled back to the office, she found Oliver working like an octopus, manning several telephones and his computer all at once. Also the phone was ringing unattended in reception. No sign of Maggie; well, she wasn't in the office today, was she? No sign of the invaluable Miss Brook, either. Now that was unusual.

Oliver took one phone away from his ear long enough to say, ‘Miss Brook's got an emergency dentist's appointment, and there's a snarl-up over someone missing a plane in the Middle East and . . . Yes, I'm still here.' He went back to the job.

Bea plunged into the fray, answering the phone, pacifying one client and making another appointment for the other. The phones kept ringing.

When she surfaced, she felt hot, tired and thirsty. Also, she realized with a shock that she'd intended to refill the freezer and organize supper and hadn't done it. But whatever else she had to do, she must first ring Piers.

Oliver went to run his head under the cold tap, and he helped himself to a drink from the fridge. ‘Phew! What's for supper?'

Bea sent him a Look and pulled the phone towards her again. This couldn't wait.

‘Piers, glad to have caught up with you. Listen, there's a bit of a crisis.' She explained what a wreck Nicole had looked that day, and although a shopping expedition had restored some life to the girl, Bea feared it wouldn't last.

‘Then, I had an idea which might transform their marriage.' She took a deep breath. ‘Now, don't kill me, I know you're fully booked, but would you consider painting Nicole's portrait? Not Max's, but Nicole's.'

Piers was silent.

Bea bit her lip and flexed her back. Wondered if he'd give her a curt ‘no' or think up some good excuse for not doing it.

Piers sighed. ‘You think you can blackmail me into painting her because I owe you and Max something?'

Now it was Bea's turn to be silent. Piers had once said he'd like to paint
her
but had never fulfilled his promise. He'd probably forgotten all about it, though she hadn't. Not that she was going to remind him about it. Definitely not.

He said, ‘You say she's heavily pregnant. Blonde, ripe and ready for it? I don't do that sort of chocolate box stuff.'

‘No, I know you don't.'

‘Of course, it's highly commercial. Would she strip, do you think?'

‘What? Piers, I didn't hear you suggest that! What would Max say?'

‘Hm. I forgot; he's too strait-laced to be true, nowadays. Except when it comes to other young blondes.'

‘You wouldn't want to paint Lettice though, would you?'

‘As a harpy, perhaps. But Nicole . . . I mean, what does Max see in her?'

‘You've often told me that you don't always know what you're going to reveal in a person when you start to paint them. Just for once, couldn't you flatter her?'

‘I don't flatter. Did you say she's got grey-green shadows under her eyes, and her hair is lifeless? I could paint her as a victim of her pregnancy.'

There was that word ‘victim' again. Ouch. Bea winced. ‘If you could produce a chocolate box picture, it might save their marriage, give Max a different view of her, and supply her with the courage she needs to carry on being his wife.'

‘Until next time.'

Bea was silent. Piers was right. There probably would be a next time. If Piers was anything to go by, Max would still be attracting women in his sixties. Why, she herself had sometimes wondered what would happen if Piers were to suggest a little light dalliance with his ex-wife, but . . . No. NO! Kill that thought. She was not going to go down that road.

Piers said, ‘Tell you what. I'm due to start another portrait tomorrow. Maybe I'll make some preliminary sketches of my next subject – distinguished scientist and all that – or, better still, take some photos and ask her to send them on to her husband, who's in Australia at the moment, if I remember rightly. She can ask his opinion which pose to use. That would give me some time to paint Nicole, on one condition. That you let me paint you sometime, too.'

She didn't know whether to be flattered that he still wanted to paint her or annoyed that he'd forgotten he'd already asked her. Both. ‘At sixty plus? And beginning to look it?'

‘Mm. Every line showing and promise me, no Botox. Now
that
portrait I could submit to the Royal Academy next year. So, it's a deal?'

‘You're mad.'

‘No, I'm a materialistic bum. If I do one chocolate box picture, I'll be inundated with requests from pretty women with nothing between the ears, to paint them, too. I shall double my prices and clean up. And then I'll be able to pay for your guttering to be replaced.'

‘Idiot!' said Bea, laughing. ‘Give me a couple of days to get her prettied up again. Right?'

‘Get her into something soft, lavender or blue-grey or lilac. Plain, but with a low neckline. I'll paint her as a mature beauty wearing her pregnancy with style and grace.'

‘And when you paint me?'

‘I don't care what you wear. You'll be looking straight at me, through me. Eyes following me round the room. A strong woman and a good one. Now say goodnight, Bea. I've got to get busy rearranging my schedule.'

She put down the phone thinking,
Thank you, Lord.

Oliver appeared in the doorway, preoccupied, fiddling with his tie. ‘Something came up and I'm going out, right? I'll grab a bite to eat later. Shouldn't be too late, though.'

‘Uh-huh.' One down and one to go. Perhaps she'd take Maggie out for a meal. Oliver banged the front door as he left. Or perhaps that was Maggie returning? She sighed, rubbed her back. Shopping with Nicole had been a tiring business.

Bea had a takeaway for supper and spent a few quiet hours catching up on work since both her assistants were out for the evening.

At nine she shut down her computer, deciding to put her feet up and watch telly for a bit. Turned the telly on. Turned it off again. Picked up a book, something light. Yawned. Watered the pots in the garden. Went early to bed.

She couldn't sleep properly till both children were safely back under her roof.

Maggie came in at half eleven, letting the front door bang to behind her. She always tried to be quiet, and she never succeeded.

Oliver? Bea woke at three, looked at the clock. Shrugged. Hoped he was in. She went back to sleep, or tried to. Woke at four. Worried about this and that, as one does at four in the morning. The birds were waking up, dawn was breaking; another day, another set of problems.

At seven in the morning she woke from a light sleep when someone knocked on her door.

It was Maggie. ‘May I come in? Are you awake? The thing is, Oliver didn't come home last night, and I'm a bit worried. I'm sure something's happened to him.'

NINE

B
ea fumbled herself awake. ‘What was that?'

Maggie came into the room. Her hair was rumpled; there was a red mark on one cheek where she had slept on a crease in her pillow. She was wearing a pink and red nightshirt, but she hadn't bothered to put her bunny slippers on her feet before coming down to wake Bea. ‘I'm so afraid something awful has happened. He told me he wouldn't be late last night because we're so short-handed in the office, what with Miss Brook having the toothache and me being out all day yesterday and again today.'

Bea threw back the bedclothes and felt for her bedroom slippers. She didn't feel happy about it, either, but . . . ‘He's nearly nineteen. I'm told that teenagers often spend the night out.'

Maggie wrung her hands. ‘He told me he was seeing Zander. They'd got some ploy or other on together. He was all mysterious about it. They usually go to the health club, listen to music, or go to the pub for a drink or two, though neither of them drinks much. Oliver didn't say anything about a party, and who goes to a party on a Tuesday night, anyway? Parties are for Friday nights and weekends when you can sleep in the next morning.'

Maggie's face, without make-up, looked pale and peaky. Her eyes were bright with tears.

‘Ring his mobile,' said Bea.

‘It's switched off.'

‘Ring Zander's.'

‘I tried that, too. Also switched off.'

Bea stumbled into her bathroom and splashed water on her face. Maggie's concern was catching. Bea looked at herself in the mirror; without eye make-up and lipstick, she looked pale, too.

Maggie fidgeted. ‘Shall I ring the police? The hospitals?'

‘Let me think.' Bea would have thought more clearly with a cup of tea inside her, but Maggie was in no state to provide early morning cuppas at that moment.

Bea snapped her fingers. ‘Got it. You say Oliver had got some sort of ploy on that involved Zander? I bet I know what it was. The temptation was too much for them to resist, and they went to see what they could get out of Denzil's computer. As office manager, Zander has keys to let them into the building.'

Maggie clasped her arms round her thin body, holding herself together. ‘But they wouldn't be there all night, would they?' She took a deep breath. ‘I'm not going to go to pieces. I'm not. Anyone would be worried if their best friend went missing, wouldn't they?'

Especially, thought Bea, since something like this had happened before. A year ago Zander had failed to turn up to work, only to be found the next day with severe head injuries.

‘They probably got locked in and couldn't get out again,' said Bea, not believing it for a minute.

Maggie gave her a Look, which Bea felt she deserved. ‘All right. We ring the Trust at half past nine, see if they're still there. But he'll probably waltz in any minute now, with some tale of derring-do.'

‘I'm ringing the police if he doesn't turn up by half past nine.'

‘Yes, do that. Meanwhile, we'd better get ourselves dressed.'

They fidgeted around the house, looking at the clock every few minutes. Neither could eat breakfast. Bea made out a shopping list; Maggie checked that she had everything she needed for work that day. The phone rang and they both jumped, but it was Miss Brook saying that she'd be in a little late as she had to get some antibiotics from the chemist on her way in. She'd had an emergency dental appointment the day before, remember?

Bea began to worry how they'd keep the office going that day if Oliver didn't turn up, Maggie was out on a job, and Miss Brook late. Did they need to take on someone else to help them out at the moment? Could she afford to pay another permanent post?