Free The Lily-White Boys by Anthea Fraser

spec.’
    He shot a sly glance at the Inspector. ‘I don’t think the plane was theirs, though,’ he added with mock seriousness, ‘or we wouldn’t have found anything in their room.’ And he dodged, grinning, as Crombie flicked a paper dart in his direction.

CHAPTER 5
    When Monica arrived home that evening, Mrs Bedale was in the hall replacing the telephone.
    â€˜Oh, Miss Tovey, there you are. That was a call for you.’ Monica paused, alerted by the woman’s tone of voice.
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜I’m sorry, he wouldn’t give me his name.’
    â€˜Did he leave a message?’
    â€˜Only that he’d ring back.’
    Monica frowned. ‘He asked for me specifically?’
    â€˜No, he said, “the lady”. I asked which one, and he said “The one who works at the shop”.’
    â€˜What did he sound like?’
    Mrs Bedale twisted her apron. ‘Not like a gentleman, madam.’
    â€˜I see. Thank you.’ Monica walked past her and up the stairs, trying to ignore her quickened heartbeats. For there had been an unidentified call at the store, too, for which she’d also been unavailable. Her line had been engaged, the man was asked to hold on, and when the switchboard girl went back to him, he’d rung off. According to Patsy, that called had sounded ‘a rough type’. The van driver? It seemed the most likely explanation.
    In the privacy of her room, Monica tipped the contents of her handbag on to the bed and with fingers that shook a little picked up the card which the policeman had given her the previous day. It listed a number to ring should she need it, and a name other than his own – Detective Chief Inspector Webb. Sitting down on the bed, she pulled the extension phone towards her.
    The Chief Inspector heard her out in silence. Then he asked, ‘Will you be in for the rest of the evening, ma’am, if he does ring back?’
    â€˜No, I’m going out to dinner with friends.’
    â€˜At a restaurant?’
    â€˜No, a private house. Beechcroft Mansions.’
    At the other end of the line Webb swallowed his surprise at hearing his own address. At least he could keep an eye on her.
    â€˜With your permission I’ll have a listening device fitted to your phone. It’ll only take a moment, and with luck we should trace the call. But we also need to know what he wants, and it seems he’ll only speak to you. Is there a number you could leave with your housekeeper this evening?’
    â€˜Yes; Miss James is an old friend – I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’
    So it was Hannah; he’d thought as much. ‘In the meantime, try not to feel nervous. As you know, you’re being accompanied wherever you go, and should you need assistance it’ll be immediately available.’
    If that was intended to reassure her, Monica thought, replacing the phone, it had had the opposite effect. Was he expecting someone to jump out at her? She shuddered and went to run her bath, leaving the connecting door open so she could hear the phone. It didn’t ring.
    The four of them had been at Ashbourne School together, though not as exact contemporaries: Monica and Gwen Rutherford were already prefects when Hannah and Dilys joined the school. Now, Gwen was headmistress and Hannah her deputy, while Dilys had found her niche with a series of highly acclaimed novels. The two separate friendships, formed in schooldays, had, over the years, amalgamated to encompass four successful, unmarried women who enjoyed each other’s company and who tried to meet once a month to visit the theatre or a concert or to dine at each other’s houses.
    Gwen and Dilys were already there when Hannah showed Monica into the sitting-room. The local press had stated where the van was found, and although Monica’s name was not mentioned, her friends didn’t doubt she was the ‘local resident’ who’d