Holidays. Renting a cottage by the sea. She'd wanted to share a large cottage with another family but Frank wouldn't hear of it. ‘I need a bit of peace and quiet,’ he said. Not much peace and quiet for Ellie, trying to keep Diana amused while shopping and cooking and cleaning for the household just as if she were still back at home.
Ellie shut up the book with a bang. There was something else that had happened all those long years ago, but she didn't want to think about that now. It hadn't been Frank's fault. Nor hers, really. Down the years she heard Diana's sharp tones, ‘Oh, silly Mummy's crying again!’
Ellie sank her head in her hands and prayed for help. And for comfort. Then she went back to bed and, although she'd never thought she'd be able to sleep, the next thing she knew was the alarm ringing in her ear.
Sunday morning, and for once the sun wasn't shining. In fact, it looked as if it might rain. The garden could do with it, of course … if the police didn't dig it up.
Well, she wasn't going to let the police touch her garden. So there! She'd tell Bill about it, and he'd get the police to keep away.
Before that, she had to get ready to sing in the choir for the church service, check if she had something for lunch and be ready to go on to the Gate House to finish helping Roy settle in this afternoon.
One thing: if she were out of the house, the police couldn't start wrecking the place, could they? And they wouldn't do it on a Sunday, anyway. Would they?
Not for a crime committed so long ago.
She allowed herself twenty minutes to go round the back garden, dead-heading roses and perennials. She unlocked the garden shed and took out some canes and twine to stake some delphiniums on their second flowering, because otherwise they'd surely be dashed to the ground if it did rain. She also staked some cosmeas which had grown nearly as tall as she was, and pulled up some pansies which were looking the worse for wear after a long period of drought. And yes, she ought to have watered them, she knew that. But they'd been in since the previous autumn, so were entitled to die off now if they felt like it.
Mrs Coppola's boy Tod came to lean over the gate at the bottom of the garden, though he didn't come in as he used to do. ‘Want me to mow your lawn, Mrs Quicke? I could do with a bob or two.’
He had mowed her lawn occasionally in the past but not made too good a job of it. His head looked as if it were attached to his body, but not when he had computers or cricket on his mind. She shook her head, smiling … and then with a stab of pain remembered that if the police were going to dig up her garden, there wouldn't be any lawn to mow.
‘Not this week, Tod. Thanks. Are you off to play cricket somewhere?’
‘Nah. It's Sunday, remember. I'm just going up to my friend's. They've got a really cool outing from their church today, and he said I could go, too. But we've got to take a packed lunch, and Mum's not up yet, so I thought I'd get one of those ginormous sausage rolls from the deli first. They're open on Sunday mornings.’
She felt in her pocket and found a two-pound coin. ‘Buy yourself some fruit juice as well.’
He hesitated. ‘I've got enough. I took some money out of Mum's purse. It's all right, she said to. But if you've got any odd jobs this next week …?’
‘I'll remember.’
He went on his way and she got ready for church, remembering at the last minute that she'd promised to do the coffee for Jean, who'd be furious if she weren't there early enough to put all the cups and saucers out and fill up the urn.
Dressed in choir robes, Ellie processed behind the ample proportions of Mrs Dawes into the choir pew, and checked that she had all the relevant pieces of music. She never felt she could quite relax and enjoy services when she was singing in the choir, but she'd got pushed into doing it after her husband died, and really it was a pleasure to sing praise to God in harmony. Also, she'd made some good friends in the choir. As they belted out the first verse of the first hymn, Ellie began to wonder if she'd remembered to lock up the garden shed. Years ago, a tramp had got in and set the place alight. And hadn't Frank had something to say about that!
She pushed it out of her mind. She couldn't do anything about it now, anyway. Except trust that she'd done it without thinking.
Tum-Tum was on good form today. He told marvellous stories of real life, which he then linked to the Bible reading for the day. She wondered what he'd bring up today. She wondered who had been so stupid as to leave their mobile phone switched on, disturbing the congregation in the middle of the service. The noise stopped. Thank goodness.
In the next hymn, the ringing started again. People started looking at one another, amused or annoyed as the mood took them. Two of the men in the choir surreptitiously dived under their choir robes to check that their mobiles were switched off. And then looked relieved when they found it wasn't their problem.
The ringing was coming from the vestry, where the women had left their handbags. Some stupid person had forgotten to switch their mobile off before coming in to church. What bad manners. No one could concentrate on the service. Even Tum-Tum had lost the thread of what he was saying.
She hoped someone would get out to check. She couldn't, wedged as she was between the altos and the sopranos in the choir pews.
A tenor at the end of the pew slid out, whipped into the vestry and, while everyone pretended to concentrate on the hymnsinging, most eyes switched to the vestry door.
The ringing ceased. The tenor slid back in, red-faced … and looked directly across at Ellie.
Oh, horrors! It couldn't really have been her phone ringing, could it? She never left it on. Everyone was looking at her. She'd never live it down. Already Mrs Dawes was drawing her bulk slightly away from her.
She almost ran into the vestry at the end of the service, gasping out apologies. She couldn't think how it had happened.
The tenor was magnanimous. ‘It's easily done. If you leave it in your handbag, something pressing against this key could easily turn it on. Look, there's this key here. If you press that when the phone's turned off, then it locks in position so you can store messages, but it won't ring.’
‘Thank you. Oh, I'm so sorry, everyone.’
On the whole, they were forgiving. ‘Perhaps it was something important …’
Ellie accessed the voice messages. It was Diana. Ah, who else would think of disturbing her at church? But the message was disturbing.
‘Mum, are you there?’ How many years was it since Diana last called her ‘Mum'? It was always ‘Mother' nowadays. ‘Mum, ring me, please. I've been bleeding ever since last night. I'm having a miscarriage, I think.’ Something that sounded like a sob. ‘Can you come? I'm at the new house, not at Derek's. I need you.’ Ellie played the message back twice.
‘Bad news?’ Mrs Dawes, with others crowding around.
‘Yes. Diana's ill. Needs me. But -’ she looked wildly around - ‘I'm supposed to be doing coffees.’
They were soothing. ‘I'll see to it,’ said Mrs Dawes.
‘But Jean only rang yesterday to check that I-’
‘I'll help you out, Mrs Dawes,’ said a youngish woman, fairly new to the choir. ‘Don't you fret none, Mrs Quicke.’
The tenor offered her a lift in his car.
‘You're all so kind,’ said Ellie, trying to remember if she'd brought a jacket to the church or not. ‘Do apologize to Jean for me, won't you?’
Rose fluttered into the vestry, with her unpleasant daughter Joyce on her heels. ‘Oh, my dear, I've just heard. Somebody's sick or dying, they said?’
Joyce sniffed. ‘I expect it was the police, wanting to ask Ellie about her husband! Him with the roving hands.’
Shock, horror. Everyone drew back from Joyce, while Rose went crimson. ‘Joyce, how dare you!’
Joyce shrugged. ‘Everyone knows …’
‘No, they don't!’ said Mrs Dawes. ‘Now, you listen to me, my girl …’
Other members of the choir joined in. ‘Mr Quicke never, ever-’ ‘Who did you ever hear complain about-?’
‘Well, I never heard anyone say anything against Mr Quicke, so helpful as he was about the finances and everything …’
‘And as to taking liberties, well! There's some I could point at who would, not mentioning any names, but you all know who …’
‘There now, Mrs Quicke. Don't you take no notice of what some stupid girl-’
‘No, I don't,’ said Ellie, struggling to her feet. ‘Frank might have looked, now and then …’
Several women nodded. They didn't miss anything, did those middle-aged and elderly women. ‘He was one who looked, but never touched.’
‘That's about it,’ said Ellie, grateful for their backing. ‘Now I must ring my daughter and find out-’
Rose said, ‘I'll tell Miss Quicke and Roy that you won't be making it.’
‘I'll ring you later, if I can,’ promised Ellie.
‘Your carriage awaits, madam,’ said the tenor, holding the door open for her.
Once in the open air, Ellie rang Diana, who sounded tearful and weak. The tenor dropped Ellie at the huge old house which Diana had bought on a mortgage, using the money from the sale of the house she'd shared with Stewart in the north.
The front garden had been paved over for car parking, as had most of the rear. The old wooden windows had been replaced with plastic ones. Diana's theory was that upwardly mobile young couples would want a modern environment, and she'd done the house up that way. Everything was sparkling white, stripped floorboards, masses of power points for Internet and other media connections. There were three floors, each divided into two selfcontained flats.
Diana staggered to the front door as Ellie rang the bell and beckoned her mother into a room at the back of the house. This had clearly started out as a show room and office, but a clutter of luggage lay around and someone had been making coffee in the streamlined kitchenette at the back of the living room. The furniture was minimalist and there were a couple of striking modern prints on the wall.
‘Yes, I'm still bleeding,’ Diana said, collapsing into a large chair and clutching her stomach. ‘And yes, it was a miscarriage. It started on my way back home last night. Tripping over my heels did it.’ Her face contorted and she bit her lip.
‘I'll make you some tea. A hot-water bottle might help.’
‘I'm all right,’ said Diana, through clenched teeth. ‘What I want is for you to show these people round at one o'clock. They're coming to see the flats upstairs, and at the moment I just can't …’ She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut.
Ellie counted to ten and took a chair opposite Diana. It was the only other chair in that big room. It was a pleasant room, looking out on to what remained of the back garden. What wasn't so pleasant was that Diana wanted Ellie to help her out … again. Ellie had refused to help Diana buy this monstrosity of a house and do it up. Ellie had agreed with Miss Quicke that Diana was asking for trouble ripping all the traditional features out of an old house and creating minimalist settings for young professionals. There wasn't a cornice, or a rose for a ceiling light, or a fireplace left. The room was stark, bare, functional.
Ellie was furious. She felt she'd been tricked into going to Diana's rescue. She'd always made it clear she wouldn't have anything to do with this place, and now … look at her! Even in her agony, white-faced and shivering, Diana had got Ellie exactly where she wanted her.
Diana said, ‘You will help me out, won't you? Just let them in, show them around. The keys are on that chest over there, and a list of who's coming to see the flats. I sold the other one on the ground floor yesterday, but there's four more to go. Only one of them's got any furniture in it, but people can get an idea what they're like. You'd better have a look around, see where everything is before they come.’
‘Diana, if you weren't ill, I'd walk straight out of that door.’
‘I know.’ Diana flickered a smile. ‘I'm desperate. I've left Derek. Will you help me?’
If you want to hide, go where you won't be noticed. And the murderer had never been noticed in Ealing.
He and his family piled into their cars and drove to Southall to visit a cousin. Only Grandpa stayed behind, with one of his daughter-inlaws to look after him. The house was very quiet, with only the two of them there. The old man sat propped up in his chair, hooked up to the oxygen cylinder, his eyes half closed, thinking … dreaming … of the past? Or of the next meal?
Ten
It was after eight on that exhausting day. The last of the viewers had left the house and no more were expected that evening. Ellie was worn out, not only from tramping up and down the stairs so many times, but also from the major shift she'd had to make in her ideas.
Little though Ellie wanted to live in what - to her mind - were soulless apartments, it appeared that others did. Almost everyone had praised the spacious layouts, the futuristic bathrooms and clever kitchens. They'd exclaimed over the modern lighting, the multiple power points, the fact that, as they were all twobedroomed flats, one room could always be let out to help with the costs.
The only people who hadn't been impressed were those with children, and they'd wanted access to a garden. There was plenty of parking space; enough to accommodate two cars for every flat, but the only flat which had access to the garden was the one in which Diana was asleep and which could therefore not be shown.
Ellie told herself that not everyone who said they'd make an offer for a flat would actually carry their interest through to completion, but when she added up the pluses, she realized that if even half of the prospective buyers were serious, the apartments - except for the garden flat - could all be considered sold. Ellie had to acknowledge that Diana had been right in wanting to cater for young professionals, even though her hectoring tactics had alienated both Aunt Drusilla and Ellie herself.
Ellie phoned Roy and got his answerphone. It was Sunday evening, and no doubt he'd be out at the golf club. She phoned Rose and made her excuses, explaining what had happened and saying she'd not be able to get round there that evening.
Diana had slept uneasily throughout most of the afternoon, but was now struggling to get back to normal. She stripped off, showered and dressed in clean clothes. Then she picked up the list, with Ellie's comments in the margin, of people who'd been round to view the flats.
Ellie said, ‘They all wanted to look at this garden flat. I didn't know what to say. I told them someone had made an offer for it but it might fall through, so they should ask again later.’
Diana dropped the list, and yawned. ‘Now I've left Derek, I think I'd better keep it, don't you?’
‘For yourself?’ Ellie knew the asking price for these flats now. If Diana kept this flat, she'd lose out on a big sale. Ellie felt she ought to offer Diana a home, but no; she really did not want to do so. Diana living back with her? Ellie wouldn't have a minute's peace.
She was shocked at herself. How could she consider her own comfort when Diana had nowhere to live? Granted, Diana had made herself homeless, but still … Ellie steeled herself to offer, sending up an arrow for help. Please, Lord, make me strong enough to cope.
‘Why don't you move back in with me?’
Diana grimaced. ‘I give you full marks for offering, mother, but you don't really mean it and I've grown out of all that. No, this will do me nicely. Besides, I've stained the mattress on the bed here, so will have to buy it. The furniture's all rented at the moment. Some of the punters will want to buy-’
‘Yes, some of them did enquire about that.’
‘Thanks for showing them round. I'm sure you added the right touch of respectability.’
Ellie had already realized that. Had Diana been using her again? Was her present weakness faked? On the whole, Ellie thought it was genuine.
Diana sank back into her chair and closed her eyes. Her colour was better than it had been, but still not good.
‘Food?’ asked Ellie.
Diana didn't bother to open her eyes. ‘Dad always said that you could magic a meal out of nothing, but I'm afraid these
cupboards are bare.’
‘I'll send out for something. Chinese?’ Chinese food would be lighter than pizza and easier for Diana to digest. ‘I'm skint. Every penny I've got or could raise has gone into finishing these flats. My overdraft is horrendous.’
‘I'll pay for the meal.’
They ate in what for them was almost a state of harmony. Ellie was determined not to ask Diana whether the lost baby had been Derek's, but Diana eventually told her.
‘I know people couldn't understand what I saw in Derek. Sometimes I couldn't understand it myself. I know you didn't like him, but I don't suppose you ever felt about a man the way that I did about him …’
Ellie let that pass. Perhaps - a sigh - perhaps she hadn't. Sex with Frank had been fine; at the very beginning it had been awkward, then good, and after that more than just fine. She'd heard that men thought about nothing but sex all day long, and yes, she'd had times when it had obsessed her … but that had faded with the routine of years.
‘… because Derek could make me want to do things I'd never even thought of, certainly not with poor Stewart, though perhaps with …’ She touched her lips with the tip of her tongue and smiled. ‘Yes, once or twice, I've had an inkling of what it could be like with the right partner. But then …’
She threw her head against the high back of her chair. ‘Derek didn't like having little Frank around. He made excuses not to pick him up. Argued with me. What did we want with children coming between us? He said that Stewart and Maria wanted the boy, so I should let them have him. Then we could go away together whenever we wanted, the West Indies, a cruise, anything. He said we could have a child of our own later on, that he'd feel different about his own child. I know you think I'm a bad mother, that I always put Derek first …’
Murder in the Garden Page 12
