False Pretences Read Online Free Page A

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    Bea said, ‘Zander’s been subjected to a lot of racist abuse. He blew the whistle on his boss, who then died. He’s got to see the widow tomorrow, and he wants me to drive him there and see fair play. He’s afraid he’s going to get the sack.’
    â€˜If you believe that . . .!’ snorted Maggie, winding spaghetti round her fork as to the manner born. Her make-up was imaginative, her short hair was bright orange this week, and she was wearing a sequinned top, the clashing colours of which made Bea blink. Oh, and scarlet shorts. A sight to terrify . . . which was probably her intention. Maggie’s pushy mother and ex-husband had made her feel worthless. Was this extreme get-up her way of fighting back?
    â€˜I believe he could do with a spot of good luck for a change,’ said Bea, forcing small mouthfuls down.
    â€˜So do I,’ said Oliver, clearing his plate and looking for seconds. ‘I like him, I sympathize with what he’s had to go through – all the racial slurs and that – and I’d like to help him.’
    â€˜Oh, you!’ said Maggie, her fury evaporating as fast as it had arisen. Maggie was pretty well colour-blind as far as race was concerned, as was Bea. But they both knew racial prejudice did still crop up in social life and in the workplace.
    Bea put down her fork, her food half-eaten. ‘Sorry, Maggie. I don’t seem hungry.’
    Maggie switched from virago to mother hen. ‘I thought you were looking a bit off colour. Throat sore? Glands up? There’s a lot of it about. Why don’t you go to bed early and I’ll bring you up some of that stuff which is supposed to stave off colds for twenty-four hours, though what happens after that I’ve never been able to work out. Does the cold come back again? Or go away for good?’
    â€˜I promised Max I’d go with him to some reception or other at the House of Commons.’
    Oliver reached for his mobile. ‘He won’t want you there if you’re incubating flu. I’ll give him a ring, make your excuses.’
    â€˜Yes, but . . .’ The prospect of not having to talk to anyone for a couple of hours was enticing. Let Oliver make her excuses. She wasn’t tired, exactly. Just screaming with pain. ‘I suppose I could do with an early night, but then tomorrow I’ve promised to take Zander out to wherever it is, somewhere in the country. Don’t let me oversleep.’
    â€˜I’ll drive you,’ said Oliver. ‘No problem. Now if only I had a cap and uniform jacket, I could pass as your chauffeur. I’d like to see this famous old house that Lady Honoria owns. Zander says it’s been in the family for yonks, should be handed over to the National Trust but Her Ladyship won’t let go of it. What price her husband’s death turns out to be murder? I do like a good murder.’
    â€˜Shut up, you!’ said Maggie, tipping Bea’s half-eaten plateful of food on to his. ‘Can’t you see she needs to be quiet for a bit?’
    Bea shook her head at him. ‘Behave yourself, Oliver. Nobody’s hinted at murder.’
    â€˜That’s what you’ve said before, and each time you were wrong. Murders mean extra work for us; that means a bonus, and I’m saving for a car.’
    Maggie said, ‘Lunkhead!’ and swiped a hand at his head. He ducked, smiling.
    Bea produced a wan smile, too. She knew what they were both thinking. Yes, they were both fond of her in their own way, but they also knew that if she were ill their jobs with the agency would evaporate because she was the agency. If they could do something to help her back to her normal self, they would.
    She climbed the stairs to her bedroom but was too wound-up to go to bed. She was beginning to wear a track in the carpet from the front windows overlooking the tree-lined Kensington street, to the back window overlooking