False Pretences (22 page)

He followed and watched while she put their newly acquired coffee machine to work. It was something Oliver had bought for her, and needed his sort of brain to operate, but she thought she'd more or less mastered it. ‘It seems to me – correct me if I'm wrong – that Honoria is a very angry and vindictive woman. What she's done to Zander is appalling, but I'm wondering how many more grudges she wants to satisfy.'

‘You. Me. Perhaps Tommy?'

‘I was thinking more of Corcoran. A partner in crime for her husband. What is he to her?'

He pinched his nose between his finger and thumb. ‘You think it might be worth asking him about her? I suppose he may be mourning the loss of his contracts with the Trust. Yes, it's worth a try. Perhaps we can get him to talk, once he accepts that no one's going to sue.'

‘Then there's the question of the ex-office manager. Do you remember – I'm not sure if you were there when Zander told us? I can hardly remember which day of the week it is but it might be relevant – anyway, Zander told us she'd phoned him at work the day of Mrs Perrot's murder and asked him to call on her that evening, only of course he couldn't. Perhaps she had something to say . . .? It's a bit of a long shot.'

‘Della something. Yes, I think you did mention it, but what with everything else that's been happening . . . I'll check. Any other ideas?'

‘One more. Oliver spotted a strange icon on Denzil's desktop. He thinks it's something to do with hiding text or an image inside another picture.'

‘Hm, I noticed that too, but there's quite a few pictures on the computer, and so far I haven't spotted anything helpful. Perhaps Denzil downloaded the programme and didn't actually get round to using it. So unless you can come up with a clue . . .?'

Bea snapped. ‘If you think I've got nothing better to do!'

‘Understood.'

Silence. She poured out coffee for them both. He took his black, and so did she. Winston the cat plopped in through the cat flap. Spotting another cat-lover, he twined round CJ's legs and allowed himself to be lifted up to be stroked. Winking at CJ, and raising one paw in a begging position, Winston performed his usual trick of enchanting the beholder.

CJ smiled and scratched behind Winston's ears. ‘I wouldn't have put you down as a cat person, Bea.'

‘Winston moved in on me. People do. Maggie did. And Oliver. And if Zander hadn't been whisked off to jail last night, I suspect I'd be putting him up as well.'

‘Your husband only died last year. I'm sorry.'

‘Nobody moved in on me while he was alive. Not even the cat.'

‘Angels and ministers of grace, defend us.'

Bea blinked. Had CJ really said that? Was he a Christian, too?

CJ put Winston down and sighed. ‘Must go. Suppose we divide up the tasks? I'll tackle Corcoran, if you chase up Della. What's her second name? Zander would know. How can we find out? Ah. I know. Young Oliver copied everything from Denzil's computer on to his own memory stick, didn't he?'

Bea tried not to blush. ‘I'm afraid so. I don't think he's got any morals at all when it comes to computers.'

CJ was amused. ‘I fear he got that from me. Well, he'll have the file on the personnel, then. Let me know how it goes?'

‘I'll show you out.'

With one hand on the front door, he stopped. ‘I'm inclined to back your instincts about the woman. Can you ensure someone's with you all the time from now on? Someone to guard your back, I mean.'

‘To provide an alibi in case I'm accused of arson, theft or murder?'

‘Precisely. And I'll see who I can get to do the same for me. Not that I think we'll need it.'

‘Of course not.'

They were both lying. Bea set her back to the door once he'd gone and wondered if the day had turned colder. Perhaps she should find a jacket to wear?

She went downstairs to see how everyone was getting on and found Miss Brook and Cynthia had progressed to a good working relationship, each recognizing the professionalism of the other.

There were some matters which only Bea could deal with, and she sat down at her desk and did her best to concentrate on finding the right person for the job, no square pegs to go in round holes. And looked at the morning's post . . . and yesterday's post, and tried to provide answers without descending into gibberish.

Maggie rang through just the once, to ask if there was any news. There wasn't. Maggie said she'd probably be late that evening, as the electrician couldn't get back to her till five or maybe six, and did Bea realize there was nothing to eat for supper? Bea realized.

She sent a large food order through online, thinking that at least it would arrive tomorrow, and she'd worry about supper that night when the time came.

Lunchtime. She made a big tureen of soup out of lentils and some scraps of bacon, chicken stock and milk, and took hot mugs of it down to everyone, together with a platter piled high with chunks of bread and some cubes of mature Cheddar cheese. Miss Brook and Cynthia accepted the soup with gracious thanks, but declined the bread and cheese, as they were sharing a pack of sandwiches which Miss Brook had had the forethought to buy on her way in.

When she went into Oliver's office, Bea wasn't particularly surprised to find young Chris Cambridge sitting at his friend's elbow, as they processed one image of a pretty girl after another. She handed them each a mug of soup and put the bread and cheese down between them. ‘Found anything yet?'

‘So far, no. But I've printed off the personnel files for you.' Oliver indicated a slender file of papers on his desk. ‘He's used a password, of course, on each of his folders. I'm hoping he's used the same for everything. But he might have used something else as well. Anything. Any word that attracted his attention. I've tried the steganography program on three folders so far, all soft porn, using his usual password, “Kylie”, and haven't found anything.' He sipped, put the mug down. ‘Too hot.' He stretched, arms above his head, and yawned. ‘I'm bushed.'

Chris reached for bread and cheese, never taking his eyes from the screen. In a high, false voice, he said, ‘They say you soon get tired of looking at pictures of pretty girls. They lie!'

Was he trying to imitate Bea's voice? She was shocked, annoyed and only slightly amused.

Oliver laughed. Chris laughed. Bea rolled her eyes and told herself it wouldn't help matters if she cracked their heads together, which she seriously wanted to do.

Chris munched away, leaned back in his chair. With his mouth full, he said, ‘There must be some way of telling which files he visited with this programme.'

Oliver rubbed his eyes. ‘I'd need the hard drive to work that out. And even then I might not be able to tell you.'

Bea said, ‘I know I'm an ignoramus in these matters, but do you think he'd have found it easy to use the program on a single picture in a folder that maybe contained twenty such images? Wouldn't he be more likely to use it on single jpegs on the desktop?'

Both Oliver and Chris looked at her, sat up straight, and refocused on the screen. Oliver shoved bread and cheese into his mouth with one hand while controlling his mouse with the other. ‘There are five. I hadn't started on them yet. Let's see . . .'

He brought up an image of a naked girl posing on a chaise longue, a mirror on the wall reflecting her curves. ‘She's called “Rhoda the Riotous”.'

Chris peered at the screen. ‘I preferred “Billie the Bountiful”.'

Both picked up their mugs in one hand and sipped.

‘It requires another password,' said Oliver. ‘It's not Kylie. Ideas, anyone?'

Bea warned them, ‘If you spill soup on that keyboard, you're sunk. Why don't you try “Rhoda”?'

Oliver was peeved. ‘That's just what I was going to do.'

Computer geeks hate it when a layman points out the obvious.

‘There!' said Oliver and Chris together.

The doorbell rang upstairs.

Neither Chris nor Oliver were going to be torn from the computer to answer, so up went Bea, sighing to herself.

It was her daughter-in-law, fresh from the hairdressers, her blonde hair in a mass of curls around her face. Curls! They didn't suit her. Nicole was burdened with yet more shopping bags from expensive boutiques, which was going to make Max swear. She was also crying.

‘Oh, my dear!' said Bea, drawing Nicole inside. ‘Whatever is the matter?'

Nicole was sobbing so hard she couldn't speak. Bea stifled the uncharitable thought that her daughter-in-law could only just have started to cry, for her eyes were not at all red.

‘Max said . . . Oh, how could he be so deceitful?'

‘That's not like Max.'

‘Oh, it is. You've no idea!'

Bea had a very good idea, actually. She drew Nicole into the sitting room and sat her down. ‘Would you like a box of tissues? Some coffee?'

‘No, of course not.' Nicole tossed her head, making her ringlets dance. ‘Oh, I'm so unhappy!' She applied a tissue of her own to one eye, and then the other.

‘Are you, my dear? Can you tell me why?'

‘It was all so wonderful when Max said that Piers wanted to paint me, and I told everyone and went off to the beauty salon and had my nails done and their new stylist devised this hairstyle for me, and then . . . and then I rang my sister and told her the news and she said . . . she said . . . Oh, I can't bear it!'

‘Lettice?'

‘Yes, of course, Lettice. She said Max had only said that Piers was going to paint me to keep me sweet, and that of course he wouldn't be bothered with me and . . . Oh, I'm so unhappy. So I went and bought this dress which I don't think I like at all really, and it was just around the corner from you, and I thought . . . I thought at least you'd sympathize with me.'

‘Well, I do. Of course. But Nicole, Piers really is going to paint you.'

‘No, why should he? Lettice's right. He never paints beautiful women, only famous people. I mean, he can charge whatever he likes. Everyone wants to be painted by Piers. He's the uttermost.'

‘So he is. But he came over the other night to ask if I'd persuade you to sit for him. I thought you might be interested, so I told Max to ask you.'

‘Yes, but . . .!' She caressed her bump. ‘He doesn't paint young women, and I'm sure he wouldn't want to paint someone who's as pregnant as I am.'

‘Granted, he hasn't painted beautiful women before, but he's seen something in you, pregnant as you are, that appeals to him. Something to do with showing ripeness and beauty in pregnancy. I think he's also interested in the fact that you aren't a brainless young schoolgirl, but a mature woman. He says he can make quite a statement with that.'

Nicole was hooked. She smiled. ‘Ripeness and beauty in pregnancy. One in the eye for my little sister.'

‘Absolutely.' Bea wondered if Nicole's strongest emotion was dislike of her sister, or love for Max. Possibly it was a tie between the two? ‘So you see, Lettice wasn't speaking the truth. I expect she's green with envy.'

‘I expect she is.' Nicole scrabbled in her handbag for a mirror and inspected her make-up. ‘I don't look too bad, do I? I had been wondering about Botox, but . . .'

‘Please don't. Piers specially mentioned his dislike of Botox. I think he prefers the natural look. But of course, you will have to discuss all that with him. Will you be able to sit for him soon? I think he rather wants to do it straight away. You're not being sick now, are you?'

‘No, no. Or not often, anyway.' She scrabbled in her shopping bags and produced a pale blue, filmy drift of chiffon. ‘Do you think this would be suitable?'

Bea put her head on one side. ‘It might well be. Why don't you ring him? Ask him for an appointment to visit you and make the final arrangements.'

Nicole went to stand in front of the fireplace, looking up into the mirror. ‘I'm having second thoughts about these curls, if he wants the natural look. What do you think?'

‘You'll have to ask him that. Can you straighten the curls, or reproduce them at will? He might want to see you both ways before he decides.'

Nicole heaved a great sigh of relief, then peered into the mirror. ‘Is that a spot coming?'

‘Don't worry,' said Bea. ‘Remember, he doesn't paint what he doesn't want to see.'

‘No, I suppose not. “Ripeness and beauty.” I really like that. So Max was telling the truth, after all.'

‘I think he's trying to rid himself of Lettice for good. But she does tend to cling, doesn't she? A sign of insecurity? But now you feel well enough to accompany Max on his official engagements, she'll really have no excuse to hang around him, will she?'

‘You're right there.' Nicole smiled at herself in the mirror. Then returned to business. ‘I'm glad I caught you in. Max said you've been in a spot of bother. He worries so about you. I hope it wasn't anything serious?'

Bea crossed her fingers. ‘Not really.' Only murder, arson and theft. Only fraud and prison.

‘Well, I suppose I must be going. I haven't got my big diary with me, and I'll need that to block out the times Piers will want me to sit for him, so I'll ring him from home. And I won't even bother to ring Lettice back. Let her stew!'

‘Indeed,' said Bea, helping Nicole to gather her shopping together and seeing her to the front door. ‘Take care, now.'

A passing taxi whisked Nicole away, and Bea turned back into the house, to meet Oliver coming up the stairs with some papers in his hand.