The girl led them along a panelled corridor and knocked on a door.
‘Come!’
They entered what had once been a billiard room. The floor was laid with parquet and the walls were panelled. What light there was came by way of stained-glass windows at head height, and an enormous clear-glass lantern over the place where a fullsized billiard table had once stood.
Originally there would have been a large, hooded light fitment over the billiard table, to enable the master of the house and his guests to play at night. Now billiard table and light fitment had been banished, along with the scent of cigars and good brandy.
No, perhaps the brandy remained. The end of the room contained a fully stocked bar, with appropriate stools and a couple of wooden armchairs ranged in front of it. The largest television Ellie had ever seen - even in shop windows - took pride of place where the billiard table had once stood, with just one huge red leather armchair in front of it. The television was on, and from the back of the armchair curled the scent of - not a cigar - but a cigarette. The room was fusty with cigarette smoke, and Ellie's nose twitched.
The girl said, ‘Will you tell Arthur they're here?’
The red chair swivelled around; it probably rose and fell at the touch of a button.
Ellie blinked. Did she know this man? He looked familiar in the way that you might recognize someone whose picture you'd seen recently in the papers. Then she realized that she was looking at a man whom any director would cast as an extra in a programme about organized crime. He was shortish and thin, in his late twenties, dark and mean-looking … possibly Italian? Albanian? Polish? His hands were calloused and there was dirt under his fingernails. As he swivelled to face them, one hand went searching inside his jacket … for a gun?
Ellie blinked, and took a half step back, but Kate threw up her eyes in annoyance. She said, ‘He's expecting us.’
‘I don't know that, do I?’ said the man, his hand still rummaging inside his jacket.
The girl looked embarrassed. ‘Give it a rest, Marco.’ And to the visitors, ‘I'm afraid Martinez - his PA - is working elsewhere. Marco has been helping out.’ She went to a phone on the wall, pressed a number and spoke into it. ‘They're here.’
A voice echoed around the room. ‘Be right out.’
Ellie blinked again. The man in the chair was … could he really be … a minder? A bodyguard? He was definitely not a personal assistant or a secretary. Neither of those would sit in their boss's chair, smoking and watching television. Ellie's opinion of the man who would employ such a bodyguard was - tentatively - not high.
The girl gestured to Kate and Ellie to take a seat. ‘He'll be right out. I just have to …’ She faded from the scene, leaving them there with Marco, whom she hadn't bothered to introduce. The television was showing some sort of soap opera, with people screaming at one another. The man in the chair divided his attention between the screen and the newcomers.
Ellie felt his eyes on her, and shifted, checking that her skirt was covering her knees. Was he really interested in her legs? At her age? How dare he! Kate was staring into the distance, probably calculating to the minute how long it was going to be before she could get back to Catriona. Then the man's gaze seemed to get through to Kate too. She looked startled, sat upright, and checked that the buttons on her jacket were all done up. Which they were. Kate bit her lip. Checked her watch. Looked at Ellie.
Was Kate going to suggest that they leave without seeing the man about his dog? At that very moment, an inner door ground open and a large man made an entrance.
‘Faugh!’ He waved large hands before his face. ‘Get that stinking cigarette out of here, Marco. Open a window! Shut that damned TV off. And get out of my chair!’
Marco sprang out of the chair, shut off the TV, and looked around for somewhere to deposit his cigarette. Kate shrugged and looked up at the windows. Ellie tried to reach the nearest one, but the newcomer got there first, towering over her. He wrenched it open, creating a draught. Did the same to the door. He bellowed, ‘Felicity!’
The atmosphere in the room began to clear. Marco curved his hand to hide his cigarette and lurked, flexing his neck muscles, furious at being told off in front of the women.
‘Well!’ said his boss. He did not offer to introduce himself. He took the chair his minder had vacated, and stared at the two women.
Ellie revised her first estimate. The man was only of middling height, in his late forties. Solidly built in a series of curves. His nose, though, was thin and beaky, protruding from between fat cheeks like a parrot's beak. He looked as if he might be a candidate for an early heart attack. He wouldn't take much exercise, if any. Correction: he might play golf for social reasons.
His eyes were the coldest Ellie had ever seen, startlingly pale. He was wearing an expensive midnight-blue silk suit which did its best to disguise his paunch, a striped blue and white shirt and a maroon tie. His shoes were brilliantly polished. He probably wouldn't clean them himself, but get his unfortunate girl Friday to do it.
No, Ellie did not like him.
Perhaps - she allowed the thought to crystallize in her head - she even feared him.
The droopy girl appeared in the doorway, wiping wet hands on her jeans. He didn't even bother to look at her. ‘Get Marco an ashtray.’
‘I was just-’
‘He's going to drop ash all over the floor.’
The girl found a brass ashtray on the bar and took it to Marco, who put his cigarette butt out in it. She disappeared with an inarticulate ‘I was just getting …’
Kate said, ‘Let me introduce myself. I'm Kate-’
He cut her off. ‘I know who you are. You're the girl Gwyn spoke about.’
‘And this is-’
‘I know who she is too. I've heard about her, haven't I? Meddling old busybody, came into some money, thinks she's Lady Muck.’
Ellie flicked a glance at Kate to see if she was as embarrassed by this as she was herself. Kate was frowning. She had thick eyebrows and, though she was a handsome girl, when she frowned she could look forbidding. As she did now. ‘This is Mrs Ellie Quicke, who's good at solving mysteries in the community, particularly where the police are not to be involved. You told Gwyn you didn't want the police involved, didn't you?’
He frowned. ‘That's right. No police. But I don't need her to sort this out. I know who did it.’
Kate said, ‘Ellie, let me introduce Sir Arthur Kingsley OBE. In line for a step up to the House of Lords, if gossip is correct. He's a developer on a large scale. He's on the board of five international companies, has a penthouse flat in Docklands and a Georgian manor house in the Cotswolds. Locally, he's chairman of the Rotary Club, on the committee of the local Community Association, plus every charitable foundation that will get him a mention in the newspapers.’
Kate crossed one knee over the other and sat back in the manner of one prepared to enjoy watching a boxing match. Ellie didn't know what was expected of her. She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. Not a very comfortable chair. Sir Arthur had the only comfortable chair in the room.
He switched his eyes from Ellie to Kate. ‘I told you, I can sort this out by myself. Anyway, she's probably afraid of dogs.’ Ellie blinked. He was right, of course. She didn't like strange dogs.
‘She's good with people,’ said Kate, in an even tone which might or might not be hiding her dislike of the man.
He leaned back in his chair to look at Ellie down his nose. She flushed. She'd heard of him, of course, but never actually come across him before. His reputation was that of a hard man. She remembered a particularly nasty case recently when he'd tried to buy a site occupied by a local firm of builders. After he'd been turned down, fire had gutted their premises. They'd been underinsured and had gone out of business. Arson couldn't be proved, but the site was now occupied by private housing from which he'd made a fortune. The original owners of the site were on the dole.
He presented the picture of a successful, smi
ling man in public. A bully, of course. If he were a gardener, this man would take a chainsaw rather than secateurs to prune a bush.
Since her dear husband had died, Ellie had discovered the truth in the old adage that if you stood up to a bully, they caved in. Her aged Aunt Drusilla had responded well to this treatment and Ellie was now fond of the once-dreaded old dear.
Ellie's daughter Diana was a tougher proposition than Aunt Drusilla, and Ellie couldn't claim that she'd fully mastered the art of dealing with her, but she didn't need to take rudeness from a stranger.
An irreverent thought popped into her head and she smiled.
‘What?’ he barked at her.
She didn't like people shouting at her, but managed to give him a civil reply. ‘You remind me of Pooh-Bah, or Lord High Everything, a character invented by W. S. Gilbert. You probably don't know The Mikado, though I expect your mother taught you manners when you were a child.’ She stood up, signalling to Kate that she'd had enough. ‘I don't think I can help you with … whatever it is you want.’
‘Didn't you hear me say that I don't need you to sort this out?’
She nodded, eyebrows raised, making for the door.
He shouted after her, ‘Tell Gwyn I'm not impressed!’
Ellie paused in the doorway. ‘Neither am I.’ She swept from the room, closely followed by Kate, who was having a choking fit into her handkerchief.
They continued on their way past the droopy girl, who appeared from a door at the back of the hall with flour on her hands, out through the front door into the calm of the afternoon sunshine.
Two
You'll be the death of me,’ crowed Kate, mopping her eyes. ‘I thought you might tell him to mind his manners, but I didn't think you'd actually walk out on him. Now what do we do?’
Ellie reddened, a little ashamed of herself. She inserted herself into Kate's car and pulled the seat belt across. Had she been too hard on Sir Arthur? No, she hadn't. ‘If someone's killed his dog, then I'm sorry, but they hit the wrong target. They should have tried for him. And no, that's not a nice thing to say, and I'll probably be sorry about it tomorrow, but he's a thoroughly nasty piece of work.’
‘Agreed,’ said Kate, inserting her key into the ignition. ‘I told his PA that he'd have to be polite to you. I said you were the only person I knew who could sort out the mess he's got himself into. I wonder how long it'll be before we're reading his obituary notice in the papers.’
She turned the key, letting the engine idle. Waiting for Ellie to calm down.
‘Obituary?’ Ellie repeated the word. ‘You expect him to die?’
‘To be killed, yes. I rather think I do.’
‘I'd cheer his murderer on. What am I saying? I wouldn't do that, but I won't help him. Why should I? And what could I possibly do to help him, even if I wanted to?’
‘You could talk to his wife, perhaps.’
‘Wife?’
‘Felicity.’
‘That's his wife? Poor soul.’
Kate turned off the ignition. ‘Shall we? It won't take ten minutes.’
Ellie was reluctant. ‘How important is it to you, to keep this man as a client?’
‘Oh, he isn't my client. I wouldn't touch him with the proverbial. You can meet the man he thinks is trying to murder him tomorrow. You'll like him.’
Ellie extricated herself from the car, feeling baffled. ‘All this mystery! Who is your client, then? This man Gwyn that he was talking about? Kate, if your garden path is leading me into a bed of nettles …’
Kate laughed, and leaned on the doorbell again. Marco opened the door. ‘He said I wasn't to let you in, even if you came crawling back, so you needn't waste your breath. Anyway, he's going out in ten minutes.’
Ellie was thoroughly riled by now. ‘Oh, go away, do. You might frighten children at Halloween, but you don't frighten me.’
Kate said, ‘Bravo,’ in a soft voice. And aloud, she said, ‘We just want a word with Lady Kingsley. In the kitchen, is she?’
The minder's blood pressure was up. He pointed his forefinger at Ellie as if it were a gun about to go off and then, finding himself out of repartee, stalked off.
Ellie was still feeling ruffled, but tried to calm herself down by summing up Marco's character. ‘Second-generation Italian, a jobbing gardener and probably not particularly good at that either. Thrilled at being asked to stand in for the PA. What was his name, Martin something? Marco couldn't pass for a PA, so he's playing the part of a heavy and overdoing it. Not the real thing.’
‘Agreed.’ Kate led the way across the hall to the door from which Felicity had appeared earlier. ‘I think the kitchen may be this way.’
The kitchen was large and contained the very latest stainlesssteel fitments. Felicity was the one thing out of place in it. She was fumbling with the lid of a food mixer. Yes, she was wearing a plain gold wedding ring and a practical watch. Her complete outfit wouldn't have cost as much as the shirt her husband was wearing.
Her husband had spent money on his surroundings - to show off his wealth? - but his wife was going around looking like a refugee from the Balkans. Quite a contrast.
When Felicity saw them, she dropped the lid, blushed, reached for something on which to wipe her hands. ‘Oh, I'm so sorry. Was he rude to you? I did hope … but I'm trying to get supper ready for …’
‘It's perfectly all right,’ said Ellie, feeling sorry for the girl. ‘Could you spare a minute to talk to us?’
Felicity gestured at an ovenproof dish on the work surface. ‘I can't stop, must get this into the oven, he likes his supper dead on six when he's got a committee meeting, and I'm all fingers and thumbs today.’ She poured some stock from a saucepan on to the mixture in the dish.
‘Not to worry,’ said Ellie, in her comfortable way.
Felicity seemed on the verge of tears. ‘Everything's almost ready. I just have to put the pastry on top. It's a lot easier to mix pastry by hand, I think, but Arthur says he's bought me all these machines and I …’
‘I quite agree with you,’ said Ellie. ‘It saves the washing-up, too, if you do it by hand. What's that you've got there? Chicken with onions and mushrooms? Tasty.’
Kate had faded away to a stool by a breakfast bar, content to let Ellie take over.
‘I'm all right, really,’ said Felicity, trying to fit the lid on to the food mixer the wrong way. ‘It's just … poor Rex dying that way … it was horrible! Then having him cut up to see why he died. Then having to bury him. I'm still shaking.’
‘I don't think I could bury a dog,’ said Ellie, with ready sympathy. ‘How brave of you.’
‘Well, Marco wouldn't do it,’ said Felicity, adding a smear of flour to her cheekbone as she disposed of a tear. ‘So I had to. Rex was so heavy! I wouldn't have thought such a little dog could be so heavy!’
‘I know, I know,’ said Ellie, who didn't know, but had the horrors at the thought of having to bury her beloved cat Midge, who was quite a weight in real life. Ellie didn't like to think about having to bury Midge if he died. ‘Do tell me about it.’
She took the mixer off the girl, slotted the lid in the correct way, switched it on, watched the mix with care, added a drop more water, and switched it off.
Felicity sniffled, pulling a tissue from a box on the counter. ‘Supper should have been on ten minutes ago. It's the only thing I had to do all afternoon, apart from getting the graffiti off the garage doors, and now it's going to be late.’
Ellie saw there were potatoes peeled and in water on the stove already, with a steamer for some broccoli beside it. She threw some flour on the work surface, scooped the ball of pastry out of the mixer, and floured that, too. ‘You put the veg on, and I'll do the pastry, right? Can you cope with cooking vegetables in the microwave? I'm hopeless, get the timing all wrong. Hand me the rolling pin, will you?’
Felicity perked up, handing over the rolling pin. ‘Potatoes, yes. But I haven't tried greens yet. I was all right with the old microwave, which was pr
etty straightforward, but this one's got so many controls I can't cope. I'm not very clever with machines, you see.’
‘That makes two of us,’ said Ellie. ‘But I think you're very clever to keep a big house like this looking immaculate. Do you have any help?’
‘Two mornings a week, but he likes to have the house quiet when he's at home. I can't even run the washing machine then. It is a bit of a problem. He's got a housekeeper at the manor in the country, of course, so he doesn't need me there much, and there's a cleaning firm does for the flat in the Barbican.’
Felicity was definitely calming down, her hands beginning to move competently across the work surface, testing, tasting, adding salt, laying a large tray with a cloth and utensils for one. Only for one?
Ellie used the tines of the fork to press a pattern all round the edge of the pastry and, unasked, Felicity handed Ellie a bottle of milk and a pastry brush to add a glaze.
‘You've done that so prettily,’ said Felicity. ‘I've never seen a pie finished off that way before.’
‘Ah well. I'm old enough to be your mother, my dear.’
What had she said wrong? Felicity went bright red, dropped the oven gloves she was holding and dived after them. Ellie exchanged a glance with Kate, who mimed bewilderment.
The pseudo-minder, Marco, banged through the door to say, ‘He says he can't wait any longer and I'm to drive him tonight. He also says that if anyone rings, you're to take a message, and you're not to leave it for the answerphone.’ Marco smirked, treating Felicity as if she were hired help. ‘Oh, and you two …’ he said to Ellie and Kate, ‘he says he doesn't want you hanging around, so you'd better get going.’
‘Oh, but supper's …’ Felicity indicated the pie. ‘It's just ready to …’
‘Marco!’ His master's voice.
Marco flashed his teeth at them and vanished, letting the door bang to behind him. Felicity found some cling film in a drawer and fitted it over the pie with hands that shook. ‘I'll put it in the fridge and it'll do for another day.’ She was avoiding their eyes. ‘I'll show you out, shall I?’
Murder By Committee Page 2
