False Money (22 page)

Bea heaved on the doorbell. It was one of those that you pulled rather than pressed. A satisfactory clamour arose inside the house.

A tall man opened the door; no butler in sight. Well, who could afford a butler nowadays? Or a parlour maid, come to think of it.

‘Lord Fairley? I'm Bea Abbot, and this is my son Oliver. Hermia suggested we call.'

‘Come in, come in.' The hall was too dark for them to see him properly, but he led the way to a room at the back of the house, which looked on to a small garden, bounded by ancient brick walls. The light was better here.

Jamie, Lord Fairley was well over six foot. Not athletic; no. String-bean thin, light-brown hair with a tendency to curl, puppy-dog brown eyes and a self-deprecating smile. Excellent clothes of the casual variety. A man who enjoyed life. He had none of Hermia's drive, but was probably a more relaxed companion. Less brains, but more good humour?

Immense charm. Bea thought that Chris had made her immune to a charming manner, but at first sight she liked Lord Fairley because he seemed to like her.

‘Forgive the disarray. Bachelor quarters, you know.' Smiling, he gestured them to comfortable old armchairs, upholstered in leather which had not been treated with the proper care, and so were cracking here and there. The room had probably been furnished by his parents or grandparents, and not much changed since. The walls and ceiling had once been painted cream, but the paint had darkened with age; or possibly with nicotine from cigarette and cigar smoke? Lord Fairley's fingers were not stained with tobacco, so presumably he didn't indulge.

The pictures on the walls were Baxter prints – rather good ones at that – with a couple of framed silhouettes of Victorian ancestors on either side of the fireplace. The silver tray on the mahogany dresser could have done with a polish, and the windows needed cleaning.

Bea gained an impression of someone who liked to be comfortable, but wasn't going to polish silver or windows himself. Perhaps his fiancée would remedy this?

‘You're here about Nick's death.' He shook his head to indicate how upset he was about it. ‘Poor old Nick. I'll miss him. We played golf once a month, regular as clockwork.'

‘It's not just Nick's death that's important. Harry's and Tomi's are too.'

He leaned forward in his chair, eager for them to share his viewpoint. ‘Surely it's obvious Harry killed Tomi, and then killed himself? Nick, now. That was a bit of a jolt.' He stifled a yawn. ‘Sorry. Late night. Celebrating.'

‘Hermia told us you'd got engaged. Congratulations.'

He nodded, smiling, his eyes straying to the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, which would probably fetch a good price at auction, but which had stopped at noon. ‘Mustn't be late. She's working, or I'd introduce you. I'm picking her up and taking her down to see Mother this weekend. You don't really think someone's bumping us off one by one, do you?'

Bea said, ‘All three victims had barbiturates in their stomachs before they were killed. Doesn't that make you think?'

‘Sleeping pills, you mean?' He rubbed his chin, and then the back of his neck. ‘I've never had any truck with them. I hit the pillow and that's it. Out like a light.' He didn't appear to have anything to add to that, but waited to see what they had to say next.

Bea glanced at Oliver, who seemed not to want to help with the questioning.

‘Lord Fairley, I wonder—'

‘Jamie, please. When people say “Lord Fairley” I look round for my father. Dead now, of course.'

‘Jamie, then. May I ask if the lottery money is going to make a big difference to you?'

A broad grin. ‘Apart from nudging me into proposing to the sweetest little girl in the whole world, you mean? Well, now. Let me think. I won't have to work so hard, that's for sure. But more than that? Well, when I was younger I had the odd ambition, but life – as they say – puts paid to one's wilder dreams. I used to think how splendid it would be to rent a grouse moor for the shooting, or perhaps lay out a golf course on the far side of the estate. My father had plans to reinstate the lake in front of the house, which has got silted up over the years. I'm not sure I'd bother, though I'm looking forward to having some days out with the guns in the autumn.

‘I expect my future wife will have her own ideas. I said to her, she can have a free hand at the Manor once my Mother's gone, but we'd better hold back till then. Mother has the whole of the ground floor at present, the first floor's let to a couple who work in the City, and I live in the attics. I don't know how Mother will take it if I ask her to leave. She can be a bit sharp, you know.'

‘Isn't there a Dower House that your mother can retire to?'

‘Yes, but it's let out at present. Bit of a bummer that. But then, with the windfall, I could afford to build Mother something in the village, or buy out one of the tenants.' He had a sunny disposition; smiling came easily to him. ‘I'm not one for confrontation. Don't like the thought of giving Mother the push.'

‘Getting back to Nick—'

He held up both his hands. ‘Now, come on. Leave it to the professionals, that's what I say, and good luck to them. Poor old Nick. Married the wrong woman, you know.'

Bea tried another tack. ‘What do you think of Hermia taking up with young Chris?'

An expression of puzzlement crossed his face. ‘Who is this Chris, eh? Someone else was talking about him. He's trying to make pictures or something? A lad just out of college, wet behind the ears? What does she see in him, eh? Except –' he gave a shout of laughter – ‘does he want someone to mother him? She's good at that. Now don't get me wrong. I like Hermia. Known her since we first competed in pony gymkhanas aged five or six. Made of pure steel, all that family, know what I mean? She'll chew him up and spit him out and expect me to dance attendance on her again. Only next time I won't be available.'

He looked at his watch and gave a great sigh. ‘Must keep an eye on the time. Promised to fetch Her Ladyship from work. So . . . ?' He got to his feet, and they did so, too.

‘Thank you for seeing us,' said Bea.

‘Not at all.' He bared his teeth in a happy smile and showed them out of the door.

Bea struggled to put her thoughts in order as they walked back to where she'd parked the car. ‘He threw us out pretty promptly. Surely it's too early for a nanny to finish for the day? Oliver, what did you make of him?'

‘Can he really be that insensitive? Has he been so protected, so cushioned by his background and wealth that he doesn't feel things as other people do?'

‘Coddled first by his mother, and then by Hermia. I hope his fiancée knows what she's taking on.'

They reached the car. Oliver said, ‘If he asked me to lend him some money, I'm not sure I would. May I drive?'

She tossed him the keys. ‘Is the girl marrying him for his position in the world, or does she love him?'

‘What's to love? A title, an obliging disposition and a lot of money,' said Oliver, cynical for a change.

‘You can see why Hermia kept looking elsewhere. It must have been so unsatisfactory for her, always being the one to make whatever decisions were needed, and then having to carry them out. Or did she enjoy being in charge? Perhaps. Oh, I don't know. Are we going straight to Claudine's? She ought to be back from school by now.'

Oliver didn't reply, and Bea wondered if Lord Fairley's interpretation of Hermia's character was correct. If so, look out, Chris!

Claudine lived in a street north of the Bayswater Road, where the terraced houses all looked the same. Red-brick, four steps up to the front door, eight steps down to the basement flat. These were larger and more expensive buildings than the house in which Tomi had lived, but half the size of the ones in which Duncan resided. The pavements were wide; there were trees in the street and Car Parking Zones everywhere.

‘You stay with the car,' said Bea, getting out. ‘We don't want to risk getting clobbered with a parking ticket. If you see any wardens, drive around the block. I shouldn't be long. I've got my mobile, so ring me if there's a problem.'

There were three bell pushes inside the porch. Bea rang and identified herself to the speakerphone, the catch on the door was lifted and a disembodied voice said Mrs Abbot should come up to the first floor.

A woman in her late twenties awaited Bea at the top of the stairs. She had a fall of long, straight, dark hair swept back from her face, was wearing jeans and a huge fluffy blue wool top over a T-shirt. She was well-groomed, spider thin, with understated make-up and an air of authority. She led Bea into a sitting room overlooking the road. Big sash windows; shiningly polished furniture, mostly modern. Instead of a picture, there was a red and cream carpet hanging on one wall above a low white-leather settee.

Claudine offered tea or coffee, which Bea declined.

Claudine looked at the clock on the mantelpiece – a square, silver-framed nineteen thirties affair, chunky but chic – and compared the time with her watch. ‘I'm meeting my partner at the station to catch the Eurostar train soon. He had a meeting after school, so it's all a bit of a rush. We're going on to Brussels for the weekend.'

How wise of her to arrange to be out of London this weekend. Hermia had mentioned that Claudine had recently got herself a new partner. No commitment yet? There were no rings on her fingers.

‘It's kind of you to see me.'

‘Not at all.' Grimly. ‘Hermia's made it clear we need to take extra precautions this weekend.'

‘It's Gregor who's preventing you all from going to the police, isn't it?'

‘There's a clause in the agreement. We can only break silence if everyone agrees. He did agree to let you do some poking about, but he won't agree to letting the police in. He says he can't take the threat to himself seriously, but if I know him he's employed a minder to watch his back.'

‘How do you feel about all these deaths?'

‘Julian's death was sad, but to be expected. Shirley, too; silly woman. Put her behind the wheel of a car and she lost all sense of danger. I liked Tomi. I said right from the start that I couldn't see her taking drugs, but when I heard that Harry had killed her and then killed himself, I thought that was it. It niggled me, but not enough to do anything about it. I've got a lot on at work – deputy head of a school, you know, doing well – but it's not the sort of job which leaves you time to think about anything much else.'

‘What did you think about Harry killing himself that way?'

‘I might have known he'd make a mess of it. Really, some men can't be trusted to tie their own shoelaces.'

‘And Nick?'

‘I hold no brief for Nick. He only acknowledged two sorts of women: those he could take to bed – whether he paid them or not – and those who scared him to death. I scare him to death. I mean, I did . . .' She winced. ‘Sorry. Can't get used to the fact that he's dead. That they all are. It's –' a deep breath – ‘yes, it's frightening.'

‘You know they all had barbiturates in their system before they died?'

A long stare. ‘You mean, they were drugged first and killed when they were helpless? That's horrible. No, I didn't know that.'

A change of tactic. ‘What do you fancy doing with your windfall?'

‘If I live till Monday, you mean? I plan to buy a small private school in an area where there are plenty of paying pupils, update the facilities, and run it myself.'

‘Have you been making enquiries already?'

She reddened. ‘That's no business of yours.'

‘I was wondering if you'd shared the news with your partner.'

‘That is
definitely
no business of yours.'

Which meant that she had? Bea wondered if any of the others – Jamie, for instance – had shared the news with his nearest and dearest. Under strict injunctions not to spread the news, of course. Hermia hadn't, probably. Harry and Nick? Nick might have done so. Tomi had dropped hints to her mother. Of course, they'd stood to lose the lot if word got out that they'd told anyone, but on the other hand, human nature wasn't easily bound by such promises.

A change of tactic. ‘What do you think of the surviving members of the group? Duncan, for instance.'

A smile. ‘Trustworthy. Good with money. We had a fling some years ago, but remain friends. He's the last person I can think of who'd want to kill us. I mean, for a start, he and Julian were very close. Duncan was devastated when he died.'

‘Julian's death is outside our remit. Have you met the girl he wants to marry?'

‘Yes, she's Julian's younger sister, so we've known her for ever. Nice girl. He'll be all right with her, provided they can keep the gambling brother at bay.'

‘Hermia?'

A laugh, quickly fading away. ‘I like Hermia. There's Jewish ancestry; some way back, I think. Some people say that's why she's supposed to be tight with her money, but all I can say is that whenever I've been strapped for cash to take the kids on outings, or if I hear of someone in need, she's always stumped up, on condition I keep quiet about it. We went on a wild trip rock-climbing in the Andes one summer holidays at a time when neither of us was particularly tied up with a man. She was great fun, though I wouldn't share a bedroom with her again; she snores.'

Bea smiled. ‘I like Hermia too, but I am concerned that she's taken up with my son's young friend. Is she a man-eater, do you think?'