False Picture Read Free Page A

premiums, but goodness knows whether she actually did. Spending money on that sort of thing was unnecessary, she said. She was living on twopence a week and eating off gold plate. Metaphorically, of course. I don’t
know
that she’s actually got any gold plate, but you get the idea? Tried to get Sandy to pay for a cleaner for her place, and then said she wouldn’t dream of letting anyone into her flat who might steal from her and … oh, I don’t know! So, you’ll help, won’t you? I’ll pay anything, within reason.’
    â€˜Me? What? How?’ Bea thought of the tax demand on her desk; no, in her wastepaper basket. ‘No, of course not, Velma.’
    Velma leaned forward, dropping her voice. ‘You think we should let it pass, let everyone believe that it was a burglary that went wrong?’
    Bea stared at her fingernails. Did she really like this new shade of polish? That tax bill …
    Velma said, ‘You think it would be best to let sleeping dogs lie? Don’t ask any more questions, don’t do anything to draw suspicion on to Philip? Let Sandy get a stomach ulcer, because his indigestion is something chronic ever since it happened? Let Lady Farne’s body be cremated and her estate wound up, and hope she hasn’t left Philip anything in her will? Let Philip profit from murdering an old woman?’
    Bea sighed, shook her head. ‘What does Sandy say?’
    â€˜He dithers, poor darling. One minute he says we should tell the police about the picture being in Philip’s flat, and the next he’s defending Philip, saying it can’t have been him because he doesn’t carry a knife and wouldn’t know how to use it.’
    â€˜But Sandy doesn’t want his son’s name being given to the police?’
    â€˜Would you, my dear? Would you?’
    Bea grimaced. Her only son Max had recently been elected to the House of Commons, and was married to an ambitious young woman. Bea thought Max was squeaky clean, but suppose … some temptation? Some mischance? What would Bea do if Max happened to kill someone in a car accident, say? It was a dilemma. She hoped she’d do the right thing, but maybe she wouldn’t.
    Velma leaned forward so that no one else could hear. ‘What we thought was that you could get someone into the flat to befriend Philip, worm their way into his confidence, get the truth out of him. Find an explanation for his having that picture. He’s a loner, it should be easy. So, can you think of someone you can put in there?’
    Bea had a sneaky, awe-inspiringly awful thought. Living with noisy Maggie was driving Bea insane. Could she possibly suggest that Maggie move into Philip’s flat and befriend him? It would be the most enormous relief to have a quiet house again. Common sense told her Maggie would be useless as agent provocateur. ‘No, I can’t think of anyone. What do you mean, anyway … “put someone in there”?’
    Velma got out a tiny notebook. ‘The flat belongs to me, one of my first husband’s better investments. Buying to rent in Kensington is as good as printing your own money, you know, all done through Marsh and Parsons, the estate agents just down the road. The flat’s always been let to young professionals who can afford something a bit up-market. Four bedrooms – one is enormous and has twin beds in it – two bathrooms, large living room and kitchen. All mod cons.
    â€˜When I married Sandy and he moved in with me Philip came too, but I couldn’t put up with him coming home all hours, mostly drunk and disorderly, breaking things, smoking a bit of this and that, the usual thing, dear, nothing really criminal, but disruptive.
    â€˜So I suggested he move into a vacant room in my flat which is co-ed now, men and women, thinking they’d be some kind of sobering influence on him. I’m not sure that that worked out, but one of the girls has