Read Online False Alarm by Veronica Heley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Veronica Heley
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
Lessbury, is that right?â said Bea, making notes.
âNo, indeed.â A definite coolness. âMs Lessbury is at number seven, but I doubt if youâd find her disengaged from teatime onwards, if you understand my French.â
Bea grinned. So Ms Lessbury was known to be a lady of afternoon appointments, was she? âWell, if the apartments are in reasonably good condition, and we can discount the unfortunate happenings which Lady Ossett told me about, then my client might well be interested in having a look.â
âHm. I wouldnât take much notice of what Lady Ossett says!â Scorn in the voice? Lady O was no fan of Mrs Emersonâs? Or vice versa? âWell, shall we say ten thirty tomorrow morning? I donât sleep well nowadays and it takes me a while to face the day, so Mrs Kempton usually joins me for a coffee mid-morning.â
âThank you, Mrs Emerson. Ten thirty would be splendid.â
Bea put the phone down and started to make a chart of who lived where in the flats and what sort of person they might be. She told herself that it was too soon to generalize, but a picture was emerging of a number of single men and women each occupying a two or three bedroom flat. Bea told herself there was nothing unusual about that, but for some reason she had a sense of disquiet about the situation.
After a lot of thought, she rang CJ to take him up on his offer of supper. Well, why not? At least she could talk through her reservations about Holland and Butcher with him â and avoid the subject of Sir Lucas and his near encounter with death.
FIVE
Friday morning
M rs Emerson and her friend Mrs Kempton were a double act.
Two elderly ladies with comfortable figures in woolly sweaters, unfashionably long grey skirts and support hose. Trainers with Velcro fastenings. They had no-nonsense short-cut grey hair; no make-up except for a colourless lipsalve; no nail varnish. One had a heavy gold locket on a chain round her neck, the other had a marcasite brooch pinned to her sweater. Their wedding rings could no longer be eased over thickened knuckles.
They took Beaâs long black coat and hung it up in an old-fashioned wardrobe in the hallway; no fitted cupboards here. Everything in the flat was from an earlier age. You could call it Out of Date, or you could call it Date-less. There was even a hallstand with a mirror above and a lead-lined receptacle for a variety of sticks and umbrellas below.
In the sitting room, the furniture was slightly shabby but solid, most of it pre-war. With some reupholstering it would be good for another decade. The temperature in the room was warm, the windows hermetically sealed against draughts. Airless.
Mrs Emerson was called Lucy, and Mrs Kempton was Carrie-short-for-Caroline. Bea couldnât distinguish between the two, but perhaps that didnât matter since they spoke and thought as one. Perhaps theyâd been friends from childhood?
Bea said, âYou mentioned a flat on the ground floor thatâs up for saleââ
âProbate hasnât been granted yet, but the word is that Sir Lucas will buy up the remainder of the lease. But the one opposite meââ
âWe must warn you itâs not in good decorative condition because the removal people seemed to be there every other month. Tenants on short-term contracts, you know. Management level, moved around the world at a momentâs notice. Carrie even said she wondered if a curse had been put upon it, though of course we donât believe in that sort of thing, do we? The people before last, such a pleasant couple, were posted to Manchester at short notice and had to sublet in a hurryââ
âItâs not that we pry, of courseââ
âBut we couldnât help noticing, when we called on the new tenant, as of course we always doââ
âTo warn him about the end dryer in the basement which has never been satisfactory, and tell him about
âNo, indeed.â A definite coolness. âMs Lessbury is at number seven, but I doubt if youâd find her disengaged from teatime onwards, if you understand my French.â
Bea grinned. So Ms Lessbury was known to be a lady of afternoon appointments, was she? âWell, if the apartments are in reasonably good condition, and we can discount the unfortunate happenings which Lady Ossett told me about, then my client might well be interested in having a look.â
âHm. I wouldnât take much notice of what Lady Ossett says!â Scorn in the voice? Lady O was no fan of Mrs Emersonâs? Or vice versa? âWell, shall we say ten thirty tomorrow morning? I donât sleep well nowadays and it takes me a while to face the day, so Mrs Kempton usually joins me for a coffee mid-morning.â
âThank you, Mrs Emerson. Ten thirty would be splendid.â
Bea put the phone down and started to make a chart of who lived where in the flats and what sort of person they might be. She told herself that it was too soon to generalize, but a picture was emerging of a number of single men and women each occupying a two or three bedroom flat. Bea told herself there was nothing unusual about that, but for some reason she had a sense of disquiet about the situation.
After a lot of thought, she rang CJ to take him up on his offer of supper. Well, why not? At least she could talk through her reservations about Holland and Butcher with him â and avoid the subject of Sir Lucas and his near encounter with death.
FIVE
Friday morning
M rs Emerson and her friend Mrs Kempton were a double act.
Two elderly ladies with comfortable figures in woolly sweaters, unfashionably long grey skirts and support hose. Trainers with Velcro fastenings. They had no-nonsense short-cut grey hair; no make-up except for a colourless lipsalve; no nail varnish. One had a heavy gold locket on a chain round her neck, the other had a marcasite brooch pinned to her sweater. Their wedding rings could no longer be eased over thickened knuckles.
They took Beaâs long black coat and hung it up in an old-fashioned wardrobe in the hallway; no fitted cupboards here. Everything in the flat was from an earlier age. You could call it Out of Date, or you could call it Date-less. There was even a hallstand with a mirror above and a lead-lined receptacle for a variety of sticks and umbrellas below.
In the sitting room, the furniture was slightly shabby but solid, most of it pre-war. With some reupholstering it would be good for another decade. The temperature in the room was warm, the windows hermetically sealed against draughts. Airless.
Mrs Emerson was called Lucy, and Mrs Kempton was Carrie-short-for-Caroline. Bea couldnât distinguish between the two, but perhaps that didnât matter since they spoke and thought as one. Perhaps theyâd been friends from childhood?
Bea said, âYou mentioned a flat on the ground floor thatâs up for saleââ
âProbate hasnât been granted yet, but the word is that Sir Lucas will buy up the remainder of the lease. But the one opposite meââ
âWe must warn you itâs not in good decorative condition because the removal people seemed to be there every other month. Tenants on short-term contracts, you know. Management level, moved around the world at a momentâs notice. Carrie even said she wondered if a curse had been put upon it, though of course we donât believe in that sort of thing, do we? The people before last, such a pleasant couple, were posted to Manchester at short notice and had to sublet in a hurryââ
âItâs not that we pry, of courseââ
âBut we couldnât help noticing, when we called on the new tenant, as of course we always doââ
âTo warn him about the end dryer in the basement which has never been satisfactory, and tell him about
Similar Books
