False Alarm Read Online Free Page A

else in the agency to take on her jobs?’
    Bea took a deep breath. Had Maggie never made it clear to her mother exactly what work she was doing? Or had she tried, and her mother not listened? The latter, most likely. Time to disabuse the little lady of her delusions. ‘A good project manager is worth her weight, and Maggie has a raft of contracts to fulfil.’
    Lady O repeated the word, soundlessly. ‘Project . . .?’
    Bea put the boot in. ‘You could do far worse than employ her professionally if ever you wanted to change the layout here, or put in another bathroom, or whatever.’
    The cup in Lady O’s hand rattled as she replaced it on its saucer. ‘Maggie is working as a . . .? My Maggie?’
    â€˜Your ugly duckling is quite some businesswoman. I must congratulate you. She rents an office from me nowadays and has had to take on a part-time accountant and a secretary to help her keep the books straight. You know how particular the tax man can be if the accounts are not well kept.’
    The wide blue eyes lost their focus. The finely-chiselled nose took on a pinched look. The make-up was too good to allow her to go pale, but the cords stood out on her neck as the lady took in what Bea had said.
    â€˜You mean that she’s refusing to help me in my hour of need?’
    Bea tried to work out what was happening to Lady O. Was she truly in shock? Did she really have cause for alarm? ‘She can’t abandon her contracted jobs without risking some nasty court cases. She did wonder if she could pass the work on to another firm, but—’
    Lady O stood up in one abrupt movement. Ungraceful, even. ‘Excuse me for a moment. I must have a word with my cleaner. You’ll have some coffee, won’t you?’
    Had she forgotten that Bea had declined coffee?
    Lady Ossett left the room by an inner door. The whine of the vacuum cleaner increased, and then stopped.
    So the lady really is afraid. Maggie said she was, but I didn’t believe it. Whatever is going on here?
    Bea looked around her. Next to the lacquered tray on the table, an iPhone sat on top of today’s
Times
,
open and folded to a crossword which had been more than half completed in a fine blue biro. Beneath that was a paper whose colour gave away its title: the
Financial
Times
. Perhaps Lucas had placed an order for these papers, and Lady O hadn’t yet got round to cancelling it? What would her own reading be?
Vogue
?
Hello
magazine? The
Daily
Mail
?
    Restless, Bea stood and went to look out of the nearest window. Stunning view. Nearby an escritoire was open, supporting a netbook with Skype up and running, ready for use. And a letter from a stockbroker. She wasn’t prying, exactly. The letterhead was easy to read from where she stood. She checked who the letter was addressed to. Was it Sir Lucas? No. It was Lady Ossett.
    Did Lady O study the markets? Hm. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as naive about money matters as her daughter had indicated. Also on the escritoire was yesterday’s copy of the
Times
, again folded to reveal the crossword puzzle. Completed in the same blue biro. Bea bent over for a closer look. It wasn’t one of those crosswords which you could polish off while you boiled an egg. It was one of the fiendish ones which Bea had never been able to cope with, although her dear departed husband had managed it most days.
    Surely Lady Ossett hadn’t the brain for crossword puzzles, had she? These must have been completed by Sir Lucas. Uh oh. It was today’s crossword puzzle in the paper on the coffee table, filled in with the same blue biro as yesterday’s, while Sir Lucas had been gone two days. So, if Lady Ossett had filled them in, then . . . rethink, Bea!
    While she was still on her feet Bea walked over to inspect the fine modern portrait which hung over the largest of the settees. A spotlight had been trained upon it to underline its importance. A name came into her