False Report by Veronica Heley Read Free Book Online Page A

the night, Bea suspected this was simply another example of Ianthe managing to ease out anyone who’d worked for the agency before she arrived. There could be no other explanation for such a complete turnover of staff, could there?
    It was understandable that Ianthe would feel more comfortable working with a team that she’d selected herself. Bea’s people had all been with her for so long that it must have been irritating for the newcomer to be referred back to the way things had been done in the past.
    Bea felt nostalgic for the old days. But when dear Miss Brook, the indefatigable, long-time mainstay of the Abbot Agency, had finally conceded that she was no longer able to keep track of every job that came to the agency, Bea had been forced to interview for someone to help out. And Ianthe – bleached to honey blonde, scented and perhaps slightly too well upholstered – had arrived with the highest of recommendations, to take over the interviewing and allocation of new clients and staff.
    Within twenty-four hours of Ianthe’s tripping lightly into the agency, Bea had thanked heaven for her efficiency, while at the same time becoming aware that the advent of Wonder Woman might not altogether suit Miss Brook. The two women had taken an instant dislike to one another. A well-disguised dislike, of course. Voices were never raised, though eyebrows went up and down like yo-yos. Smiles were pinned to faces throughout the most wounding exchanges. Offers were made of tea-biscuits from cherished tins normally kept in bottom drawers of desks, and declined with barbed remarks about not wanting to put on weight, or of butter creams being bad for the complexion.
    Bea had told herself that things would settle down. Ianthe assured Bea that she had the deepest respect for Miss Brook and would take every opportunity to learn whatever gems of wisdom the older woman might care to impart to her. But soon even this attempt at harmony ceased. Allegations of ineptitude were offered to Bea from both sides in tones of deep apology. ‘I wouldn’t dream of troubling you, Mrs Abbot, but . . .’
    The worst of it was that Miss Brook couldn’t substantiate her contention that Ianthe was not the right person for the agency, whereas Ianthe was able to point to instances of Miss Brook mislaying paperwork and not returning phone calls.
    Miss Brook represented the best of the Old Style of doing business. She had managed the transition from card indexes to computers as if fingers had been invented for tapping keyboards, and she could sense a false reference at fifty paces. But perhaps, Ianthe hinted with sorrow, Miss Brook was beginning to let things slip, which, though understandable at her age, was not doing the agency any good.
    Ianthe had a university degree and a delightfully warm manner, setting clients at ease from the moment they spoke to her on the phone or entered the office rooms.
    Miss Brook had broken down and wept when she tendered her resignation. Bea had wept, too. They’d been through so much together over the years, but it was undeniably true that Miss Brook had been eligible to draw her state pension for a good number of years, and therefore ought perhaps to make room for a younger person.
    Bea sighed. Oh dear. Happy days.
    She wondered if it would be a good idea to telephone Celia about Jeremy, rather than email her. Yes, it would be good to have a chat with her, find out what she was doing nowadays. Bea delved into the right-hand drawer of her desk for her address book. It wasn’t there. That was odd. She always kept it there.
    Well, she could access Celia’s address on her personnel files.
    Except that the computer screen was asking for her password.
    Bother. What was it today?
    It was Ianthe’s idea to change the password every day, and of course that was good business practice. The only problem was that Ianthe always seemed to come into Bea’s office, to tell her what the new