False Picture by Veronica Heley Page A

he might be in later, but he wasn’t.’
    Bea was beginning to feel anxious about the absent Philip. ‘When did they see him last?’
    â€˜Dunno. I couldn’t ask outright or it would have looked suspicious. I mean, I’m not supposed to know anything about him, and especially not that he’s a murderer.’
    â€˜He may not be,’ said Bea. ‘We don’t know that. We don’t really know anything much about him.’
    Maggie downed her mug of tea and said, ‘Aah. I needed that, though I must admit I prefer coffee to kickstart me in the mornings. I didn’t like to drink out of any of their mugs at the flat, because they’re all stained and the dirt round the handles has to be seen to be believed. The place is a tip. I asked Charlotte why they didn’t have a cleaner and she said that they had had one but there’d been arguments about paying her, and then they’d tried to get a roster going, everyone doing their share, but of course the men didn’t lift a finger, and Charlotte’s got enough to do at work without taking on a cleaning job as well, and why should she? I mean, it’s not right, is it? So she asked me if I could find someone for them at the agency, because of course I was quite open about what I do as you said I was to be, and of course I said yes – and ta-da! Aren’t I Miss Clever Clogs?’
    Bea said, ‘But we don’t have any cleaners on our books who are capable of ferreting out the truth about Philip.’
    â€˜No, but
you
could,’ said Maggie, dancing around the room. ‘I said, I know just the person, someone a bit older but experienced and tactful. I said she’s a widow, fallen on hard times, and she could start straight away. So here are your keys, Mrs Abbot, and if you like I’ll take you over there and you can get started right away.’
    Oliver choked on his tea. Maggie hit him on his back, and Bea … Bea didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘But I haven’t been out cleaning for years.’
    â€˜Keys,’ said Maggie, dangling them in front of Bea, ‘to the outer door, to the flat. There’s a porter, has a cubby hole off the foyer, acts as janitor. Charlotte introduced me to him last night. She went down and told him I was going to bring in a cleaner, so it’s all been cleared with Higher Authority. I’ll help you get started and then I can get back here and get on with the usual, because it doesn’t look like they’ve a reasonable hoover, or duster or a smidgeon of bleach anywhere. So, shall we get started, then?’
    Bea couldn’t go out to clean wearing one of her boutique outfits, so borrowed a gaudy T-shirt from Maggie, found some old black jogging trousers and a pair of reasonably decent trainers to wear. When she’d gone out on jobs for the agency in the old days she’d worn an outfit of black T-shirt and slacks, with a many-pocketed apron to carry her tools around with her. By great good fortune, she found it neatly folded in her closet, and slung it into a large plastic bag to take with her.
    She took off her make-up and looked at herself in the mirror, feeling frowsty and boring, especially when she brushed her fringe straight down over her eyes, instead of at an angle.
    Meanwhile, Maggie scurried around, putting together a basket of cleaning materials. ‘If we can’t get their hoover to work we might have to take ours, in which case we’ll need a taxi to get everything there and back.’
    Down Church Street they went, carrying the basket between them. Bea had a job to keep up with Maggie, who would have been hopping and skipping along if she hadn’t had to wait for the older woman.
    â€˜I’m getting too old for this,’ said Bea, as she sorted keys under Maggie’s eye and let them into the hallway of the flats.
    â€˜You’re doing all right for your age,’ said Maggie, unconsciously