Murder in the Garden

by Veronica Heley

  ‘I like it,’ said Ellie. ‘Though I gather your mother, Roy, expected you to make it an all-glass, minimalist sort of place.’

  ‘Oh, mothers!’ said Helen, with an expressive twist of her shoulders. Ellie reflected it was lucky Helen had worn a halterneck, as it was only the tie at the back of the neck which kept the dress from falling off her.

  ‘My mother's something else,’ said Roy, standing up for her. ‘I'm devoted to her - and her brilliant brain! Here's to her!’ Ellie and Bill raised their glasses accordingly.

  Helen wasn't accustomed to hearing people praise their mothers, and only tipped her glass up a fraction. Unwisely, she decided to make a joke of Roy's devotion. ‘I'd never have put you down as tied to your mother's apron strings!’

  The idea of Miss Drusilla Quicke with apron strings struck her listeners as so bizarre that conversation was suspended until Bill recovered enough to change the subject. ‘The word is that your town houses in Endene Close are attracting a lot of interest. When do they go on the market?’

  ‘Any day now. We've been held up waiting for some light fitments, but they've promised to deliver tomorrow. If I can get the electricians back to fit them the next day, then … but there's always this and that needs tidying up. Cupboard doors without their knobs, floors needing polish. It won't be long now, though.’

  Helen perked up. It was news to her that Roy was responsible for a development of town houses on the Green. Ah, now she could see him as a suitable prospect for her wiles. Ellie wasn't so sure how Roy felt about Helen. At the wedding he'd been all over her, but now …?

  Helen moved over to stand a little too close to Roy. Roy moved away. So he wasn't that keen on her now? Ellie sipped her sherry in demure enjoyment of this little bit of byplay.

  Bill pulled out a chair for Ellie and she sat, remembering to display her pretty, high-heeled shoes. Helen was also wearing high-heeled shoes, but the varnish on her toenails was chipped and her heels red. Ellie began to be sorry for Helen, a little.

  Helen might be twenty years Ellie's junior and many pounds lighter in weight, but she was no fool and her quick, bird-like glances to and fro were telling her that both men were on affectionate terms with the older woman.

  Roy was enjoying himself. He didn't seem to realize Helen wasn't. ‘To tell the truth, Endene Close is selling itself. I've had a man pestering me all this week, wandering in and out, measuring up, wants to make me an offer as soon as he can decide which he wants, the one nearest the road or the one farthest away. The estate agents - not Jolley's, I'm happy to say - were pressing me to put the houses on the market even before the cupboard doors were on. Only one of the houses has been decorated so far, and yet…’ He shrugged. ‘Well, time's money in this business, so maybe I'll let them start showing people round early next week. Now Ellie's worked her magic on the gardens, I must say the whole development looks good.’

  Helen arched impossibly thin eyebrows. ‘Oh, you do gardening, do you, Eggy? Mow lawns, trim hedges, that sort of thing? I've heard there's always jobs for people like you.’

  Ellie heard the note of scorn in Helen's voice. Bill heard it, and looked down into his glass. Roy wasn't sure that he'd heard aright. He treated Helen to a puzzled look.

  ‘General dogsbody, that's me,’ said Ellie, satisfied that she didn't look the part of dogsbody in that rig-out. Bless Kate for making her wear it. ‘And now, Roy, is there anything you'd like me to do for you in the kitchen?’

  ‘My dear girl, no! You've done more than enough, helping me settle in. I made a trip to Waitrose and picked up everything we need. It's all cold, so, if you'd care to come to the table …? You sit on my right, Ellie. Helen, you're on my left. Bill goes between you. And in a trice, I turn myself into a waiter and supper is served!’

  He brought in a tray on which rested four starters of smoked salmon and thinly cut brown bread and butter, with a garnish of radishes cut into flower shapes. Ellie decided that he certainly hadn't arranged the food himself. Perhaps dear Rose had popped across to help him out and take back titbits of gossip to Miss Quicke?

  Helen languished at Roy. ‘Clever old you.’ She picked up her fork and began on a long tale of a recent weekend away with friends, which was meant to impress Roy with her sophistication and knowledge of the high life. Bill listened politely. Roy smiled with the fixed half smile of one whose thoughts are elsewhere.

  ‘… and there he was,’ said Helen with relish, ‘with his trophy wife! And he even had the nerve to call her “Candy”.’ Then, explaining to those who might not be expected to know, she added, ‘They call the young women who hang on the arms of older, powerful men, “arm candy”.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Bill, being courteous.

  ‘Well, there it is,’ said Helen, confident she was putting herself over well. ‘I'm afraid older women don't stand a chance nowadays. Powerful men, men who've made their way in the world, will always go for youth.’

  Ellie was amused. ‘I heard that older men are flocking on expensive cruises looking for only slightly younger women who'll stick with them, nurse them through to their graves. Not that I fancy someone with one foot in the grave.’

  Helen looked sour.

  Bill twinkled at Ellie. ‘What would you look for, Ellie? A toy boy?’

  Ellie giggled. Bill grinned. Roy looked worried. He wasn't enjoying himself much, was he?

  The meal progressed, with Ellie becoming more and more sure that Roy regretted having invited Helen, and that he had not prepared the food by himself. Slices of game pie arrived, with tiny new potatoes and a mixed salad.

  Helen talked at everyone about the conference she'd come down to attend.

  ‘Fashion statements for next year. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, Eggy.’

  Ellie corrected her without rancour. ‘My name's Ellie. I'm afraid I'm no good at shopping. I have a personal shopper nowadays. Is that what you do?’

  Helen lost her temper and slapped her napkin down on the table. The men looked at her in astonishment. Ellie, too. Had her random enquiry struck home? Was the girl really nothing but a personal shopper in a big store? And not a great fashion buyer?

  Roy pushed back his chair. ‘A glass of water, Helen? Has something gone down the wrong way?’

  Helen rushed from the table with Roy showing her the way to the toilet.

  Bill stolidly went on eating. ‘Do you think she's bulimic? Gone to throw up?’

  ‘Heavens, Bill! I never thought of that,’ said Ellie, slightly ashamed of herself, but still wanting to giggle.

  Roy came back in a little while, escorting a pale-looking Helen. Roy said, ‘I'm afraid Helen's got to leave us. She hadn't realized it was so late. Luckily she's got her own car outside.’

  Ellie and Bill made suitable noises of regret and Helen left. Roy resumed his seat and poured out more wine for everybody. Ellie said, ‘I'm afraid I was a little hard on her.’

  Both men smiled.

  Roy said, ‘I'm really sorry about all that. She rang up late last night after I'd gone into a really deep sleep, woke me up. Said I'd promised to take her out on the town and she was taking me up on my promise … which, by the way, I can't remember making. She reminds me so much of my ex-wife. I can still see why I was attracted, but the moment she turned up here this evening, I knew I didn't want to go through all that again. I'm sorry I dragged you two into it.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Bill. ‘I enjoyed Ellie's performance immensely.’ Roy picked up Ellie's hand and kissed it. ‘So did I. You're worth six of her, Ellie Quicke.’

  ‘Yes, I've heard old men like to marry money second time round,’ said Ellie, tartly. ‘Now, shall I help clear the table? Has Rose gone back to her own place yet?’

  ‘I can't keep any secrets from you, can I?’ Roy took out their plates. ‘I thought I might as well cater for six as for four, so that she needn't cook tonight. I could have managed to dish up by myself but she wouldn't have it. She insisted on helping me put everything out on plates, but
she's gone back now. Ice-cream gateau with caramelized pineapple slices for afters. And then Ellie can tell us all about her latest murder case.’

  Ellie protested. ‘You make me sound like a proper detective, but I wouldn't mind you having a look at this.’ She pulled the photograph out of her handbag and passed it to Bill.

  Bill produced a glasses case - half-moon type - and set them on his nose. ‘No, I don't know him. Ought I to do so?’

  Ellie explained about the emails and how the police had spotted this one man at both venues. Bill shook his head, and without thinking, passed the photo to Roy. Roy took something that looked like a fountain pen from his pocket, and opened it to remove the slimmest pair of glasses Ellie had ever seen. He'd be too vain to wear glasses to correct his long sight normally, but these would do to read a theatre programme or a menu, if you wanted to maintain a fashionable image.

  ‘You won't have come across him, Roy,’ said Ellie. ‘This affair goes back twenty years.’

  Roy stabbed at the photo. ‘But I have! This is the man who's been hanging around Endene this last week. The man who says he's going to make an offer when he can decide which end of the terrace he wants to buy! Didn't you come across him today when you were planting the garden? No, come to think of it, I didn't see him today.’

  ‘What's his name?’

  ‘Patel.’

  ‘There are lots of Patels,’ said Bill. ‘It's a very common name. There are a couple of pages of them in the Ealing directory alone.’

  Ellie licked her spoon clean. The dessert had been delicious. ‘Maria is a Patel. I must ask her or her father if they know him. Extended family and all that.’

  ‘More like a tribe,’ said Roy. ‘Thousands of them.’

  ‘What are his initials?’ asked Bill. ‘What does he do? Where does he live?’

  Roy hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘I don't know. He said he hadn't got a card on him because he was in the process of moving down to London from the north. He said he wants a house near his brother, who lives somewhere down by the river. He said he'd been cruising around the neighbourhood looking for something suitable, happened to spot our development and thought it was exactly what he's looking for. He said he's still got to sell his family house up north - Leeds, was it? - but that was only a formality. I said he'd have to talk to the agents, and he said that was all right, if I didn't mind him hanging around a bit. He was waiting for his wife to come down to have a look at the place, wanted to make sure she liked it.’

  ‘What sort of car does he drive?’ asked Ellie, thinking of how Kate judged a man by the car he drove.

  ‘A Mercedes.’

  Silence.

  ‘It doesn't make sense,’ said Ellie. ‘He sounds so genuine. A businessman, driving a Mercedes? He can't be the one who's sending the emails. The police have made a mistake. It must be someone else.’

  ‘Unless,’ said Bill, putting his glasses away, ‘he's got an ulterior motive in hanging around Endene Close. You can get a good view of the back of your house and garden from there, can't you, Ellie?’ Ellie gasped. ‘You mean, he could be hanging around there just to watch me? But I've never met the man in my life. Why is he targeting me? I don't understand why he's doing this. It's … scary.’

  Roy put his glasses away, too. ‘The first thing to do is to tell the police about him hanging around Endene. Then we've got to work out how to protect Ellie from this man.’ Rose knocked on the door. ‘Miss Quicke says, would you like to join her for coffee?’

  ‘Dear Rose,’ said Roy. ‘You are the light of my life. How did you know I haven't been able to get my coffee machine to work since the move?’

  Miss Quicke was waiting for them in her drawing room. You couldn't call that room a ‘lounge'. It was much too grand. Fine coffee had already been made and was sitting in a thermos waiting for them, while the best tiny cups had been laid out with three different kinds of sugar, and some petit fours. Miss Quicke liked to do things in style, and Rose appreciated the chance to use good china.

  Ellie bent to kiss the older lady, who said, ‘You're looking very pretty tonight, Ellie. Careful you don't trip over the rug in those high heels, though.’

  Roy also kissed his mother, while Bill gave her a little bow of appreciation.

  ‘I gather you got rid of the bimbo,’ said Miss Quicke.

  Roy laughed to hear his mother use that term.

  ‘Arm candy,’ said Ellie, enjoying herself.

  Miss Quicke admonished Roy. ‘You can do better than that.’

  ‘So I can,’ said Roy, looking at Ellie. Miss Quicke accepted a cup of milky coffee from Rose. ‘Now, bring me up to date on Ellie's murder case.’

  Ellie protested. ‘It's not my case, and I don't know how I came to get mixed up in it, but this is what's been happening recently …’

  When she'd finished, there was a thoughtful silence.

  Miss Quicke said, ‘Twenty years ago. I was about your age then, Ellie. I remember I'd overreached myself in purchasing … well, never mind that, now. But money was tight. I'd the greatest dread of bankruptcy. I'd mortgaged everything to pull off this one big coup. The problem was that the planning department at the Town Hall were being extremely stupid about what I'd done with another house in the same block. Wanted me to pull down the extension I'd built at the back. Such nonsense. Without it, my tenants wouldn't have had a modern bathroom or kitchen. Yes, that was a worrying time.’

  Ellie smiled. ‘You sound just like Diana, sure you know best and maybe overreaching yourself in the process.’

  ‘Hm, yes. Remind me to have a word with you about Diana later. Now, where was I? Ah yes. My nephew Frank was not as helpful as he might have been at the time. Some problem with your hormones, I gather. I told him, I don't approve of interfering with the bodies the good Lord gave us. But he didn't agree.’ ‘That was when I had to have a hysterectomy?’

  ‘I asked him to help me with my applications to the planning department. He said he'd got too much on to do anything, but he put me in touch with a man named Spendlove who lived next door to him and worked at the Town Hall.’

  ‘You knew him, then?’ Ellie was surprised.

  ‘Yes, of course I did. I went to see him at the Town Hall and explained my position. He wasn't in the planning department but I thought he might know someone who was. Nice man. On crutches. He told me he was looking at the prospect of spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.’

  Silence.

  ‘Yes?’ Roy prompted her.

  His mother raised her eyebrows, and did not reply.

  Bill chuckled. ‘Came to an arrangement, did you?’

  Miss Quicke handed her cup to Ellie to put on the tray. ‘Of course not. Nothing needed to be said, and nothing was said.’

  Roy began to grin. ‘Nothing in writing, either? So, what was the deal? You found him a ground-floor flat with disabled access, and he got your plans passed?’

  Miss Quicke did her best to look shocked. ‘Really, Roy. Nothing of the sort. It's true I did happen to mention that I had a flat which could be adapted to his needs, that it was either for rent or for sale, and that I'd send him particulars. We both deplored the cost of sending his boys to university, although I think one of his sons was perhaps not up to that. He had to cut our meeting short, as he was having lunch with one of his colleagues.’

  She accepted a refill of her cup from Rose. ‘He was an honest man. I half expected him to want the flat rent-free, but no, he paid the market price for a long lease when he sold his own house. And I made sure the necessary alterations were made so that a disabled person could live there.’

  ‘You got your planning permission?’

  ‘Of course. I told you, there really were no good grounds to refuse me. So everyone was happy.’

  Ellie wondered whether everything really had been as straightforward as Miss Quicke had indicated. From the sceptical looks on the faces of Roy and Bill, they were thinking so, too. Miss Quicke looked serene.

  Ell
ie asked, ‘Is Mr Spendlove still alive? He's not in the Ealing phone book.’

  ‘Gracious, of course he is. Why, he can't be more than sixtyfive, if he's a day! Pays his ground rent on the nail.’

  Ellie said, ‘You think I might learn something if I visited them?’ ‘You might. He's in Wembley, so of course he won't be in the Ealing phone book. Grove Avenue. Number eleven, if my memory serves me right. The boys are both off and away, of course. Married or whatever equivalent it is that they go in for nowadays. One of them is in the planning department at the Town Hall. A useful contact.’

  ‘Mother, you never fail to surprise me,’ said Roy. ‘But you're looking tired. Shall we leave you now?’

  Miss Quicke did her impersonation of a nutcracker. ‘I know what you boys are like. You're going outside to fight over who takes Ellie home.’

  Ellie laughed. ‘Aunt Drusilla, you are appalling. And I love you dearly.’ She kissed the old lady's cheek and looked around for her handbag.

  ‘You left your bag at my place,’ said Roy. ‘I'll run you home, shall I?’

  ‘No need,’ said Bill, smooth as silk. ‘I've got my car outside. I'll wait for you in it, shall I, Ellie?’

  ‘Thanks, Bill.’

  As she picked up her handbag and put the photo of Mr Patel in it, Roy took her by surprise. Putting his arms round her from behind, he kissed her cheek and then, turning her round, kissed her on the lips.

  She quite liked it. But drew back. ‘No, Roy. Really. We're such good friends and I want to keep it that way.’

  ‘But you don't mind my trying?’

  She laughed and went out to where Bill was sitting in his car. ‘Lovely evening,’ she said. ‘Isn't Miss Quicke amazing?’

  ‘She gave us a sanitized account of the Spendlove affair, don't you think? I wonder what the truth is.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn't so far from the truth. She told me she'd learned long ago that honesty was the best policy. I'll find out tomorrow.’ He drew up outside her house and before she knew it - she was so slow this evening - he'd put his arm around her, said, ‘My turn, now!’ and given her a kiss. She liked that, too. Really, she was becoming far too partial to all this kissing. And dear Frank not dead twelve months yet.