Free False Pretences by Veronica Heley Page A

you found Denzil’s briefcase yet? It’s not here.’
    â€˜I don’t know anything about that.’
    â€˜The Chocolate Boy must have taken it. I’ll have words with him on Monday.’
    It was a threat.

FIVE
    Sunday afternoon
    B ea got home to find the house as quiet as the grave. So, no Maggie. No Oliver. She relished the peace. She stopped herself wondering what the youngsters were doing. They were old enough to look after themselves. Mostly.
    She pottered around, watering the big pots in the garden. The shushing noise of the hosepipe calmed her even more.
    Finally she told herself that she couldn’t put it off any longer and went indoors to phone her daughter-in-law.
    Nicole answered the phone straight away, but didn’t sound pleased to hear from Bea. Nicole was seven months pregnant and finding the hot weather difficult. According to Nicole, no one in the world had ever suffered more in pregnancy from the heat, swollen ankles and sickness than she did. Almost ten minutes was taken up by Nicole telling Bea how dreadful she felt, and how appallingly selfish Max was being, not helping to amuse her or rub her back or anything. In fact, he was out now, at that very minute, when she’d asked him specially to find her some green tea, which she thought she might fancy.
    Bea listened and made the appropriate noises. She did sympathize with Nicole because being pregnant in hot weather was no joke, but she also had a sneaking sympathy with Max, who might perhaps be finding Nicole’s complaints a trifle tedious – particularly since all suggestions to make her life easier were turned down out of hand.
    A nasty, cold thought slid into the back of Bea’s mind. Max loved Nicole; of course he did. But he was a not unappealing man, being tall, dark and handsome. True, he was running a trifle to seed, but he was still photogenic. He also had a soft heart, which meant he was not good at managing women. His wife would be the first to agree about that.
    Perhaps, thought Bea, that was her fault? No, she didn’t see how it could be. She’d always tried to support him in everything he decided to do. The alternative was to recall that his father was not only a portrait painter at the top of his profession, but also a ladykiller who could charm the pants off women without even thinking about it. Max hadn’t inherited much of Piers’ charm, but perhaps something in his genes made him super-attractive to the opposite sex?
    To his wife’s much younger and not pregnant sister, for instance?
    Bea killed that thought. Surely he had more sense than to tangle with someone else while his wife was pregnant?
    â€˜So where’s Max today?’ Bea asked, interrupting Nicole’s sighing complaints.
    â€˜How should I know? He said he’d be back at three, and it’s a quarter past already.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t it be easier for you if you went back home to the constituency for a while? I’m sure it’s not as warm up there as it is in central London, and your parents would be around to help.’
    â€˜I would, but Max is on some important committee or other which means he has to be here throughout the summer. It’s a great honour to be asked of course, but—’
    Which reminded Bea. ‘You don’t happen to have come across a Lady Honoria, do you?’
    â€˜Lady Honoria what? What’s her husband’s name?’
    â€˜Not sure. She calls herself Lady Honoria, recently widowed, manor house in Bucks. A squareish woman with a hard face.’
    â€˜Daughter of who?’
    â€˜Unknown. She might legitimately be calling herself “Lady Honoria”. I don’t know.’
    Nicole was almost interested. ‘You think she’s trying it on?’
    â€˜Mm. Maybe. She’s not a woman to tangle with unnecessarily. If you remember, could you ask Max when he comes in?’
    That set Nicole off again. Bea arranged to see her later