False Alarm Read Online Free Page B

head. Lucian Freud.
    The subject was a businessman. Lucas? If that picture were by Freud, it must be worth a fortune. She peered at it. Yes, definitely. Freud.
    There was no other evidence of a man’s presence in the room.
    Books? None in sight . . . except for a couple of library books which were, unexpectedly, from P.D. James and the latest winner of the Man Booker prize. There wasn’t a Mills & Boon romance or a copy of
Hello
! magazine in sight.
    A superb leather handbag squatted on the floor by Lady O’s chair. It lay open, disclosing the usual contents . . . and a pair of men’s sunglasses. Not a woman’s. Too large, too heavy, and totally unlike anything Lady O would wear.
    Bea seated herself again as Lady O returned, bearing a second coffee cup and saucer. All traces of distress had been erased. She was even smiling. She reseated herself, poured out a cup of coffee for Bea and handed it to her. ‘No cream, I imagine. We older women have to watch our figures, don’t we?’
    Bea produced a polite smile. It was interesting that Lady O should put herself in the same age group as Bea, who was in her early sixties. Flattering, even, for the vision herself could hardly be more than mid-forties. She’d been born with an excellent bone structure and a mop of fair hair which only needed a little help from her hairdresser to retain its champagne colour. There was no sign of a facelift, though incipient lines had been erased with Botox. Her eyelashes had been dyed, her teeth whitened and her nails extended by experts. Her figure was delightful. A pocket Venus, no less.
    Money played a part here, of course. Bea could make a guess at where Lady O had bought the fine wool dress and four-inch heels she was wearing because she’d seen – and considered buying – both in Harvey Nicholls in Knightsbridge.
    The coffee was excellent.
    â€˜You hinted,’ said Lady O, with a sweet smile, ‘that my daughter might be able to turn her work over to someone else . . .?’
    Bea set her empty cup down. ‘It would be difficult and perhaps have unpleasant consequences. Do you not have a friend who could keep you company for a while?’
    Lady O lowered her eyelids and tried to look confused. ‘You must think me very selfish, but my daughter’s letting me down like this . . . you can’t possibly understand . . . and Lucas deserting me . . . though I really find it hard to have to beg, I must ask you to help Maggie reorganize her work schedule so that she may return home. I really do need looking after now that—’
    â€˜Perhaps I could find you an assistant, a social secretary to keep you company? I believe you give bridge parties. How about employing someone to arrange a charity bridge event for you? I could find someone to live in, if you wish.’
    A hesitation. ‘That might . . . But how much would it cost, and when could they start?’
    A telephone shrilled. A landline.
    â€˜Yes?’ Lady O picked up the receiver and listened with an almost frown on her face. Then she smiled. ‘Lovely to hear from you. No, I can’t make it this afternoon, I’m afraid. I’m having one of my little bridge parties here. Perhaps you might care to join us? A few friends, some of whom you will know and . . . yes, yes. That’s good. I look forward to seeing you.’ She put the phone down with a pleased air. ‘An old friend, visiting London for a few days.’
    â€˜Which means you won’t need Maggie this afternoon?’
    â€˜Well, perhaps not.’
    â€˜You already have another man in your life?’
    â€˜What? You mean . . .?’ This time her neck flushed. ‘How dare you?’
    â€˜That wasn’t your toy boy on the phone? Yet you have a pair of men’s sunglasses in your handbag.’
    â€˜How dare you! Those are my husband’s, left behind by mistake.’ Her face set like stone, Lady O marched to the