Free Death Trap by Patricia Hall Page A

had gradually been smashed by her boisterous family.
    â€˜Things were not very fair for women in my day,’ Mrs Beauchamp said drily. ‘I was born long before women even got the vote. My father was furious when that happened. I married, of course, and had my son, but it was never the same again. Everyone lost money in the crash. Life was more difficult. My husband and I sold Eton Square and bought this house in 1936, the year of the abdication, you know? Such a lovely man, the Prince of Wales. This was quite a good neighbourhood then, not the same as Eton Square, of course, but respectable. But it became a struggle to keep it going after my husband died. My son looks after the money now. He’s very good. And when I need a little extra I sell one or two of my treasures. She waved vaguely at the silver and ceramics which covered every flat surface, visibly gathering dust. ‘Mrs Chamberlain gives me a very fair price.’
    Mrs Beauchamp might think her son was being good to her, though looking round the sparsely furnished flat and the miserable electric fire Kate rather doubted that, but he was proving to be far from good to his upstairs tenants, she thought. Why, she wondered, had he put his mother in this damp, gloomy basement? And why was he bullying some of his tenants out of the house entirely?
    â€˜Shall I make you a cup of tea before I go?’ Kate asked. There was no way, she thought, she could even begin to sort out the problems of this old woman stranded on the fringe of the modern world apart from offering to help with her practical problems. But she and her friends would be gone from Notting Hill soon and then Mrs Cecily Beauchamp would have to fend for herself again.
    â€˜No thank you, my dear,’ Mrs Beauchamp said. ‘You’re a good gel, in spite of your strange accent. I’ll give you a call if I need you again.’
    Kate found Tess poring over the
Evening Standard
when she let herself into the flat.
    â€˜Nothing much here we can afford,’ she said. ‘One possible one in Shepherd’s Bush, one double bedroom, one single. Would you mind sharing? I’ll give them a call, but it’s probably gone by now. This is yesterday’s paper.’
    â€˜Where’s Shepherd’s Bush?’ Kate asked.
    â€˜A bit further out. They’ve just built a big new television place down there. It might be quite fun. We might bump into Fancy Smith, or some of the bands. And it could be good for Marie. She might get some parts at the BBC. You never know.’
    â€˜See if it’s still free,’ Kate said. ‘Why not. I really don’t think we want to be here much longer. Though I did find out who owns the house. It’s the old dear in the basement, though her son looks after the property. Her name’s Beauchamp. It’s very odd. She looks as if she hasn’t got two pennies to rub together, but she must have.’
    But before Tess could get up to make the long trek downstairs to the phone they were both startled by a knock on their front door.
    â€˜Do you think those scallies have got around to us so soon?’ Kate whispered. ‘Can you hear a dog?’
    Tess shook her head but Kate could see she had gone very pale.
    â€˜I didn’t ask Mrs Beauchamp about them,’ Kate whispered. ‘I should have done. She says her son looks after the house. I wonder if she even knows what’s going on.’
    The banging on the door was repeated more loudly.
    â€˜We’ll have to answer,’ Tess said. ‘If anyone wants to know, pretend you’re Marie. There’s only supposed to be two of us here.’
    They went to the tiny lobby and cautiously opened the main door to the flat to find two well-dressed middle-aged men on the landing, wearing overcoats which Kate knew from her brother Tom’s contacts with the rag trade were very expensive indeed.
    â€˜Good morning,’ the younger of the two, clean-shaven and