False Picture (17 page)

Enough of that. Next problem: Liam had spent the morning clearing out Zander's belongings, which meant he wasn't going to catch a Eurostar train till two or maybe half past. Allow two hours to get to Brussels. The trains from Brussels to Bruges ran at half-hour intervals, taking fifty minutes for the journey. Mr Van was expecting to pick up the goods in the Markt at 6 p.m. on the dot, not one minute later, but whichever train he caught, Liam was not going to make it in time.

Meanwhile, the girls were on the loose without a minder. Would they hang around, waiting for Liam? Charlotte … yes, probably. The Maggie bird was another matter. She was a singleton on the prowl, who could be picked up by anyone who took a fancy to her and then … Rafael started to sweat. Suppose she told a complete stranger that she was carrying a present for a man she didn't know? It didn't bear thinking about.

Rafael told himself that he was good at solving problems. So what should he do about this one? Answer: get Van to pick the goods up himself, or use his driver to do so. He could make contact with the girls, chat them up and relieve them of the goods. Liam must phone the girls, find out where they'd be at six and tell them to expect Mr Van. Problem solved.

Monday afternoon

B
ea took a taxi from the station to the hotel, where she was greeted with pleasure by Erik the Red and his wife. They were a formidable pair, charming, intelligent and speaking four or more European languages. Bea saw them look past her as she came through the front door, expecting Hamilton to follow her in. She braced herself to tell them that Hamilton had died, and they commiserated without going on about it. Bea had been afraid she might burst into tears when she spoke his name, but managed not to do so.

Erik the Red – so called because of the colour of his hair – said her young friends had checked in but gone out again. And no, they hadn't left a message for her.

Bea confided in him. ‘They were supposed to have been accompanied by their boyfriends for a short holiday, but one has been delayed and the other couldn't make it. They are, perhaps, a little naïve in thinking that the remaining one will meet them as arranged.'

The hotel manager was worldly wise. ‘You think he might not be entirely reliable? If it had not been for your recommendation, we would not have given them a room tonight, because the dark one insisted her boyfriend had booked them into a hotel somewhere else, but given them the wrong name by mistake. We don't want to keep a room for people who might decide not to stay at the last minute.'

His wife was one step ahead of him. ‘You think the boyfriend might have a bad reason for bringing the girls here, but not coming himself?'

Bea tried not to gasp. Did they think the girls were being targeted by white slave traffickers? Gracious! Knowing the reason the girls had been encouraged to come to Bruges, Bea was inclined to dismiss the suggestion out of hand. Of course she knew it sometimes applied to girls from poor countries, tricked into thinking they had jobs in a city only to find their passports confiscated and they themselves forced to become prostitutes.

This didn't apply to Maggie and Charlotte, but Bea decided to use this suspicion to her own advantage. ‘Yes, perhaps the girls are somewhat naïve. I will pay the bill for their room, whether they occupy it or not. If the boyfriend turns up and whisks them off to another hotel and they want to go with him, I can hardly stop them. But like you, I feel something is not quite right about their arrangements. I will try to find them and check on the boyfriend, just in case.'

‘The tall girl said she would take the one-hour tour in the citybus and then go on to the Chocolate Experience. The other said she'd go back to the Markt, because her boyfriend had promised to meet her there.'

‘Good,' said Bea. She picked up her key. ‘As a matter of interest, would you contact the police if girls disappeared from your hotel?'

‘Of a certainty.'

This was reassuring, even if it was highly unlikely that her two girls were being targeted as sex slaves. Bea dumped her bag in her room, noting in passing that the flowers in the window boxes this year were vibrant, purple petunias. The last time she had been here with Hamilton … no, best not think about that. Yet she lingered at the window, renewing her acquaintance with the panorama of canal and ancient buildings, the skyline topped with towers, spires and twisted turrets. She leaned out, as she always did when she arrived, to check that she could still glimpse the restored windmills to the west. The sky was a pellucid blue. Egg-shell blue. The light-blue sky of Flanders.

She went downstairs and out into the sunshine, heading for the Markt in the centre of town. Somehow or other she was going to have to get Charlotte to open her luggage and check on what she'd been carrying for Liam. Drugs or a stolen picture. Which? And then what?

The Markt square was filled with tourists of all nationalities, posing for pictures, waiting in a queue to take a ride in a horse-drawn carriage, or gathering in groups around a tour leader to hear something of the history of the ancient buildings with their stepped gables and the towering belfry.

Nowhere was there a dark-haired, bespectacled girl with a fringe to be seen.

Bea tried to think how Charlotte would act, alone in a public place. She would have a coffee, of course. And then, perhaps, a tea and a cake? There were no cafés on the side of the square which contained the town hall and post office, so she would choose a café which would give her a sight of their steps. Bea walked past each one, searching the faces of tourists sitting at tables which were divided from the hoi polloi by ironwork stands of flowering plants. No, Charlotte wasn't in any of those.

Perhaps Charlotte would need to visit the toilets in the courtyard behind the belfry. As usual in Belgium, the toilets were immaculate, overseen by a dragon lady who made a living by charging tourists for their visits. Charlotte wasn't in the loos.

Would she have visited one of the art galleries housed in the same building as the belfry? No, she wasn't in either of those.

Bea thought that by now Charlotte might be as annoyed with Liam as she was besotted by him. She might well be lured into one of the main shopping streets which led off from the Markt. And why not? She could pop back to the square now and then. She could even see the steps of the town hall from the first shops. And there, not far down, was the entrance to Inno, a department store which would surely attract any woman with money in her pocket.

Bea reminded herself that Charlotte had probably started to prowl around the shops some time ago. She'd have done Inno and moved on by now. Did Charlotte like shoes? If so, she might well have indulged in some retail therapy. Bea wandered down the street, familiarizing herself with the latest fashions, tempted to enter one of the coffee shops, pausing to admire the colourful window displays. Would Charlotte have been lured into buying lace or chocolate? Belgian chocolate was the tops. But no, Charlotte wasn't in any of those places.

For some years now Bea had been buying clothes in Rubica, a shop which stocked well-made fashions with a flair. Hamilton had always accompanied her on visits to this shop, because his sense of colour and of what clothes would flatter Bea was spot on. So, when she came to the corner of the square where the shop was to be found, Bea hardly hesitated before walking in.

Annemie and Jeannine greeted her with warmth and, as the hotel people had done, looked for her husband to follow her in. Bea had to explain again, and was touched by their genuine if restrained reaction. How long ago was it? Ah, what a pity. Did she need to buy anything today? Would it help? Sometimes it did.

Well, yes; she'd seen a swirly tobacco-coloured skirt in the window which would be just the thing for autumn, and what about a smart jacket to go over it? Rubica's styles were just that bit different from those to be found in the high streets of Britain.

Jeannine knew her size, of course. She could tell exactly what size anyone was, the second they walked through the door. Garments were produced with a swish and a flourish. Bea went into a changing cubicle, slid into the skirt and a creamy silk top, pulled on the matching jacket and stepped out into the shop to check on her back view … only to come face to face with Charlotte.

The girl looked exactly like a hedgehog, peering from under a too long fringe through heavy, dark-rimmed glasses. ‘What are you doing …? I don't understand. You're Mrs Thing, aren't you? But you can't be … are you really Maggie's boss as well?'

‘Well, yes, I am,' said Bea, wondering whether this was a stroke of luck or of dire misfortune. How could she turn this encounter to her advantage? ‘I'm also newly widowed. My dear Maggie very kindly thought it would be a distraction for me if I went out into the field again, so …'

Charlotte was not convinced. She looked at her watch, gnawing her lip. She was holding a sad-coloured blouse which was all wrong for her colouring, and wearing jeans which bunched around her bottom and heels.

Bea said, ‘Look, may I treat you to a coffee somewhere? I'm hoping to catch up with Maggie later on, but …'

‘I mustn't be too long. I'm meeting Liam – my boyfriend – at six.'

‘So we have time for a quick one, right?'

Charlotte was not gracious. She shrugged, gave the blouse to the hovering Jeannine and said, ‘I wish I were tall enough to wear the clothes you've got on. They don't seem to have anything to suit me in here.'

They did, of course, but Charlotte was clearly unable to distinguish between what would and what would not look right on her.

‘Coffee?' said Bea, being bright. And to Jeannine, ‘Would you put these aside for me? I'll come back tomorrow for them, right?'

Once out of the shop Charlotte would have dived into the nearest café catering for tourists, but Bea led her across the road into a quiet lane where there was a coffee shop patronized by residents and regular visitors who knew a good thing when they saw one. It was quiet, immaculate, and with its dark panelling encouraged a feeling of warmth and security. Ideal for putting Charlotte at ease.

Charlotte grumbled, ‘I've drunk too much coffee already.'

‘I'm only just off the train,' said Bea. ‘I really need something. My treat.'

‘I've got to be changed and back in the market by six.'

Bea tried not to notice how ungracious the girl was. ‘Plenty of time.'

‘Are you really Maggie's boss? I don't understand. This is all just so … Liam missing the train, and Maggie being difficult and going off by herself, and now you turning up. It's all just so … stupid.'

‘Let me explain. I run a small domestic employment agency and Maggie is my PA, currently organizing a make-over on the offices in my house. My husband died a while back and I've been a bit depressed. You know how it is?'

Charlotte nodded. ‘My mum gets depressed. Takes pills for it.'

‘Yes, well, I didn't want to start taking pills—'

The waiter took their order.

Bea continued, ‘So I tried to work harder than ever. Maggie said I ought to take a holiday, and I told her I always used to come here with my dear husband and buy some clothes and … well, she said I ought to come again, though I didn't think, really, that I ought to do so. I thought it might make me feel worse, if you see what I mean?'

‘My mum's the same. Wouldn't come down to visit me in London this year because she always used to come with Dad. I had to go up there, instead.'

Bea was pleased to see they'd established some kind of rapport. ‘Then dear Maggie wanted to spread her wings, find herself a place in a flat where she could meet lots of new people. She's been through a nasty divorce, you know. I didn't want her to move out really, but I could see it was for the best.'

Charlotte nodded. ‘Stand on her own two feet. Meet people.'

The waiter brought coffee and strawberry tart for Bea, and hot chocolate for Charlotte. Bea paid the bill and decided to take a risk. ‘Maggie moved out, and of course I was happy for her, but just a little worried that she'd fallen for a young man about whom she knew nothing.'

‘Zander. He's OK. If you like that sort of thing.'

Bea said, ‘I just hope Maggie's not going to get hurt again.'

Charlotte shrugged. ‘I told her he wasn't taking her seriously, when she was griping about his letting us down. She didn't like that, but it was for her own good. It's funny, though. I was surprised when he said he'd come with us to Bruges – he's a workaholic, you know – but I was even more surprised when he cried off. I didn't think he was the sort to break promises.'

She dived into her handbag to produce a mobile phone. ‘Just checking. Liam's phone is out of juice, so he's contacting me through Zander.' She sighed. ‘No more news. I keep hoping … but I know it's ridiculous. He can't possibly be here before six, and maybe not till just after.'

‘You must be looking forward to it. Where is he taking you tonight, and will he want Maggie in tow? Do you think I should take her off somewhere else?'

‘I suppose so. I certainly don't want her around when I'm with Liam. She doesn't think of anyone but herself. It's all “me, me, me!” She never gave a thought to how I'd feel, being left all by myself in a strange place.'

Bea sought for something else to say. ‘What do you plan to wear tonight?'

‘I brought something dressy with me, though it doesn't really matter what I wear, because Liam's not like that. He loves me for myself, and despises those girls who spend all their time and money in beauty treatments, and starving to make themselves thin.'

Bea smiled, but didn't comment. Was the girl really that naïve? ‘You'll be wanting to get back to the hotel to change.'

Somehow she got the girl to her feet and out on to the pavement. Charlotte stared around her. ‘The waiter in the square said this is the main shopping street. It's not very grand, is it? More like a country town.'