Free False Charity by Veronica Heley Page B

surrender. ‘I think it’s about time I put my foot down with a firm hand. What exactly is all this about?’
    Bea couldn’t make out if he were serious or not but launched into the tale of Coral’s woes, with Maggie chipping in every now and then.
    â€˜Good grief,’ said Piers, when they’d finished. ‘Can’t the police—?’
    â€˜No,’ said Bea, not bothering to elaborate. There was an awkward silence, and Maggie said, ‘I’d better see about lunch,’ and darted off.
    Piers said, ‘Am I right in thinking Coral would be in trouble with the taxman if she went to the police?’
    â€˜Something like that, yes. She trusted a member of her family to deal with – er – certain aspects of the book-keeping, and he let her down. She’s putting it right.’
    â€˜I’ve been in trouble with the taxman myself till I wised up and got a good accountant. That’s the trouble with freelance work. Feast or famine.’
    â€˜You’re doing all right now?’
    â€˜Bless you, yes. Got a penthouse flat in the Barbican, and a shack in the South of France that I can retreat to when everything gets a bit much here. You don’t need to worry about me.’
    Bea sighed. ‘I do, though. How come a busy man like you just happens to be able to drop everything and come to my rescue at a moment’s notice?’
    Was that a blush? ‘I knew roughly when you’d be back after Hamilton died. I knew who I was due to paint around this time, so I built in a bit of leeway. I’m totally at your disposal for ten days, right?’
    â€˜Because Hamilton asked you to? I don’t think I can accept your offer, Piers. Besides which, tracking down con men isn’t exactly your scene, is it?’
    He sat upright. ‘I’m not going to track down con men. What I thought was, that there might be a family squabble going on that I could help you sort out. That I could come the heavy father act.’ He laughed, shortly. ‘Some father I’ve turned out to be. But now I’m here, well, yes. I’d like to help. It would take my mind off the dreary business of painting the sly, heavy faces of today’s power merchants, which is all I seem to do nowadays.’
    Bea didn’t know whether to believe him or not. In the past he’d been so driven by his art that he’d never had time for anything else but bedding the nearest available woman and ingesting a certain amount of food. And that only when reminded to eat. He hadn’t been selfish so much as absorbed by his art.
    She said, ‘I can’t have you sleeping here.’
    â€˜No, of course not. I’ll book into a hotel locally. Do you know one?’
    â€˜Maggie can do it for you.’
    â€˜Don’t laugh, but I rather think I’d like to paint her, as well. All that gauche bravado. Why is she pretending to be Barbie doll?’
    Bea shrugged. ‘I only met her last night. There’s a capable girl somewhere under all that camouflage, but her manner is unfortunate, to say the least. She talks to me as if I were a toddler, and her laugh drives me insane. I’ll be glad to see the back of her.’
    Maggie popped her head around the door, to say, ‘Five minutes.’
    Bea cringed. Had the girl overheard?
    Maggie was frowning. ‘Have you seen Oliver? I can’t find him anywhere.’
    At once Bea felt alarm. Knowing something of the boy’s history, might the prospect of being thrown out of his home and separated from Maggie have driven him to despair once more? ‘Piers, look downstairs. No, you won’t know the way. Go down the steps outside the French windows. Look in the little shed at the bottom of the garden. Maggie, see if Oliver’s taking anything from his room at the top of the house.’
    Bea ran down the stairs to the basement, while Maggie thundered her way up the stairs. What was the child wearing