Murder By Committee

by Veronica Heley

  Archie raised his eyebrows and lifted his hand to rebuke Ellie for speaking before he'd finished. ‘Particularly since we're still in debt from the rebuilding of the church hall. We get a new vicarage at no cost to the parish, which will be mightily relieved to hear they aren't expected to shell out another penny.’

  Ellie nodded. Yes, the parish was all for it. What with appeals for earthquake victims, children's charities, retirement homes, missions and youth work, there never seemed to be a Sunday when extra money was not being asked for.

  ‘The proposal should go through on the nod,’ said Archie, eyeing up his empty sherry glass. Ellie put a jug of water on the table. No way was she getting out a bottle of wine for this meal. ‘Allowing the developer to build a block of four flats on part of the vicarage garden will solve-’

  Ellie suspended eating. ‘Four flats? I thought there were to be two!’

  ‘Four flats. Outline planning permission was obtained for two flats, but then the developer pointed out that he wouldn't make any profit from two flats, so the diocese agreed that he should build four. This would allow him a reasonable profit, cover the cost of a new vicarage, and pay off our remaining debt. The project solves all our problems at a stroke, and I am one hundred per cent in favour of it.’ He shot an aggressive look at Roy, and shovelled food into his mouth to make up for his slow start.

  Roy articulated his words with care. ‘You're not quite up to date, Archie. The developer doesn't want to build four flats now. He wants six! The garden as we know it will disappear. There will be a small patio for the new vicarage, and the rest will be turned over to parking for the residents of the new luxury flats, which will be sold off on the open market, netting the developer yet another fortune.’

  ‘What?’ said Ellie, losing her appetite.

  Archie blinked. ‘Six? This is the first I've heard of it. Has the diocese agreed to six? Surely not!’

  Roy shrugged. ‘I've no idea.’

  Archie was uneasy. ‘No, no. The diocese can't have been consulted. If they had been, surely I'd have been informed. Four flats … yes, I can understand that. But six!’

  Ellie was bewildered. ‘Forgive me for being slow. Why should the garden disappear?’

  The best thing about their present vicarage was its large lawn, surrounded by mature trees. Granted, their present vicar was a widower whose children were off his hands, but didn't he need the peace and quiet of a garden just as much as anyone else?

  She said, ‘What if our next vicar were to be a family man? What's more, the vicarage garden's used by the children's nursery in fine weather, because it's next door to the church hall. Then we have our garden fêtes there in the summer, and all sorts of charity events.’

  Archie was thinking hard. ‘I suppose the position the diocese would take is that we have plenty of trees in the streets around here. The nearest park isn't far away. As for the nursery, they'd soon get used to it. The fêtes could be held on the church green when it's fine, or inside the church when it's not.’

  Ellie could follow the reasoning with her head, but she really didn't like to think of that serene green space disappearing. ‘What does the vicar say?’

  Archie shrugged. ‘If the diocese agrees to the plan, what can he say?’

  Roy scraped his plate. ‘He can't say anything, for or against. He has to take the view of what's best for the parish.’

  Archie pushed back his chair. ‘Six flats! I wonder who's been consulted about this. I think I'd better get over to the hall, make sure everyone's been properly briefed.’

  Roy stayed put. Ellie followed Archie out into the hall, automatically slipping into hostess mode. ‘Are you sure you can't stay for a cup of coffee?’

  ‘No, no. Can I take a rain check?’ Somehow he managed to get hold of her hand. ‘My dear, I was hoping to have you all to myself for a few minutes …’

  Ellie tried not to pull her hand away, nor to look at her watch.

  ‘… since I regard you as one of my oldest and dearest friends …’

  Oh dear, thought Ellie. He's not going to propose to me again, is he?

  ‘… who always has time to spare for one whom life has treated harshly …’

  Had his bimbo given him the air?

  Roy loomed in the doorway, with a cynical expression on his face. ‘Come off it, Archie. In a minute you'll be trying to convince Ellie that your latest girlfriend didn't understand you.’

  Archie reddened, and puffed out his chest. ‘As a matter of fact …’

  ‘The truth is,’ said Roy, ‘that she understood you all too well.

  You never had any intention of marrying her, did you?’

  ‘Well! I … really!’

  ‘When she worked that out, she hightailed it. I wonder who she's trying to get her claws into now?’

  Archie was seriously offended. ‘I really don't think you should talk about a nice girl in those terms. Ellie, I'll take my leave, and hope we can get together again soon.’

  ‘Thank you, Archie,’ said Ellie, trying not to laugh.

  She shut the front door behind him, and turned on Roy. ‘That's wasn't very nice of you, was it?’

  ‘I don't feel “nice” tonight. I feel bloody-minded. Now that man's gone, perhaps you can tell me what to do.’

  ‘Coffee?’ She'd just about have time. She put the kettle on, throwing the dishes into the sink and running water over them so that they could soak. It was no use expecting Roy to help her do the dishes. He'd probably break as many plates as he dried.

  Roy mooched about the kitchen. ‘Ellie, I'm in serious trouble. A couple of months ago I was wined and dined by a man I'd met at the golf club. The wine flowed rather too freely, and I accepted a job which, if sober, I'd never have touched.

  ‘I was told the project was very like the one I'd just completed on the Green. An old house was to be pulled down, and modern housing built in its place. I was offered the opportunity to get in on the ground floor, put some of my own money into the project.’

  Ellie spooned instant coffee into mugs. They hadn't time to bother with a cafetière tonight. ‘How much did you promise to put in?’

  Roy lifted his hands and let them fall. ‘Too much.’

  Ellie didn't like the sound of that. ‘But Roy …’

  ‘I know, I know. I was told that another architect had started the project, but had had to drop out in tragic circumstances. In short, Anderson had committed suicide. His widow was owed money for the work he'd done, but there were no funds to pay her till the project had been signed off. Outline planning permission had already been obtained, and it was merely a question of updating this and that. However, it all needed to be done in a hurry before the next council planning meeting.

  ‘When I received Anderson's plans, I realized the site concerned was St Thomas' vicarage, and I began to have second thoughts. The earliest plan was for a four-bedroom vicarage and two flats, one above the other, which were to be tucked away to one side of the site. Subsequently the number of flats had been increased to four, taking over much of the existing garden. My instructions were to redraw the plans to accommodate six much larger flats. These new flats were to be aimed at the luxury market, with state of the art wiring, kitchens, wet rooms, floors, balconies. You name it. Anything to put the price up a bracket or two.

  ‘A few of the trees on the boundary wall were to be retained, but most would go. The vicarage itself was to be drastically reduced in size and would be dwarfed by this new, enlarged block of flats. I was to increase the car-parking area and forget the landscaping. Let me sketch it out for you.’

  Rapidly, he did so, using Ellie's memo board and washable ink pen. ‘The new plans for the flats are going to push the vicarage into a tiny space at the back. It's a totally inappropriate development for the site.’

  She blinked. ‘We didn't expect anything like this.’

  ‘Once I'd worked out what was required of me, I didn't want anything to do with it. I remembered how much money I'd promised to put u
p and felt sick. I rang the developer and said I'd changed my mind. He said he knew I could design flats to make buyers' mouths water, and he knew - because I'd told him, fool that I am - that I hadn't any other work on hand. He said I couldn't back out, because he'd taped our conversation at the dinner table, when I'd agreed to everything he'd suggested.’

  ‘Oh, Roy!’

  ‘I know, I know. So I worked twenty-four seven to get the plans done. Though I say it myself, I've made a good job of it, and they go before the planning committee next week. They'll probably get through, unless the parish can mount enough opposition to stall the proceedings, and from what Archie says, they're unlikely to do that.’

  Ellie ladled sugar and milk into the mugs and handed Roy his. ‘I'm afraid Archie's right. I don't like it, but who's going to fight it? Obviously not Archie. And if the diocese has agreed, I can't see what we can do about it. Anyway, I'm sure you've designed something we can be proud of.’

  ‘You don't understand. He's holding me to my promise to invest in the development, and I don't have that sort of money lying around. My mother invested all the money I made before, because she knows about such things and I don't. I can't - daren't - tell her how stupid I've been. Anyway, I don't trust him. Or like him.

  ‘The man's a bully. You should see the way his staff cringe when he appears. His dog is scared of his own shadow, and I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't beat his wife.’

  Ellie exclaimed. ‘Not Sir Arthur Kingsley?’

  Roy looked surprised. ‘You know him?’

  ‘We've met. Roy, this is all very worrying. And what about Mrs Anderson? Newly widowed, short of money. She must be in a terrible state. Where does she live?’

  ‘One of those small streets off the far end of the Avenue, I think.’

  Ellie nodded. Her husband had left her very well off, and she'd put most of the money into a trust fund to benefit good causes. Perhaps Mrs Anderson was a good cause? She'd try to visit her. But not this evening. Ellie looked at the clock. Had she time to change before the meeting, and where had she left her good shoes?

  ‘Well, Ellie?’ said Roy. ‘What do you think?’

  Ellie drained her coffee cup. She'd an odd sort of brain, and was at that moment wondering why Mr Anderson had committed suicide. Sir Arthur did seem to have an odd effect on everyone around him. She dumped her mug in the sink.

  ‘If you want my advice … no, you don't, really. You know perfectly well what you ought to do.’

  He reddened. ‘Go to my mother on bended knees? I can't do that, Ellie. She'd think I was just like everyone else, trying to cadge money off her, and I couldn't bear her to think that. I thought you might be able to come up with something.’

  Ellie was annoyed. ‘What do I know about high finance, Roy? I can't even complete my tax return without help.’ A sudden thought. ‘You didn't sign anything for Sir Arthur, did you?’

  ‘Of course not!’ His colour rose. Was he telling the whole truth? Had he signed something? No, surely he wouldn't have been so stupid.

  She said, ‘If that's all, then I don't think you've anything to worry about. Tell him to get lost.’

  ‘Ellie, you're so good with people …’

  ‘You want me to intercede for you with Sir Arthur? You must be joking!’

  He shuffled his feet, his eyes dropping from hers. Yes, that was exactly what he'd hoped she would do. She said, ‘Roy, tell your mother. If anyone can sort out Sir Arthur, it's her. Now I've got to change into something warmer, and you need to get across to the hall to make sure the latest plans are on view. We don't want to be late for what promises to be an extremely interesting meeting, do we?’

  She saw him out, glanced at her watch, thought she ought to listen to her phone messages but would have to leave it till later. She didn't really have time to change, either, but she'd better do so. She thought of Kate, who would, even at this moment, be lovingly, smilingly, putting baby Catriona in the bath, and helping her to splash about, and then she thought of that poor creature Felicity, polishing her husband's shoes in that huge, cold house. She wondered if someone really had tried to kill Sir Arthur, and if so … who? He seemed to have upset plenty of people, including Roy. Although Roy was not killer material. Was he? No. Definitely not.

  Briskly, she went upstairs to change.

  The new church hall was almost full for the annual general meeting. Usually on these occasions about twenty people sat around on uncomfortable chairs, trying to make sense of columns of figures and densely worded motions of no particular importance. They would sit in rigid silence until some vote or other was called for, whereupon hands would be half-raised from laps.

  Every now and then someone who liked the sound of his or her own voice would say, ‘On a point of order, Mr Chairman,’ and everyone else would lapse into a coma until - possibly five or ten minutes later - the speaker would grind to a close, and the chairman would have replied in soothing terms to … whatever it was that was upsetting the old dear.

  This time the room was crowded because it was rumoured that the bishop had sent his personal envoy, the archdeacon - reputed to be both youngish and dishy - to the meeting. Many people knew that the vicarage was to be rebuilt in exchange for giving up enough ground for two flats. Two, not four or six. Some had come for the excitement of an evening out or to meet their friends and indulge in a biscuit or two with their coffee afterwards.

  Some had come because they weren't delirious about the plan to replace the vicarage being imposed upon them from above. These were mostly grumpy, elderly men in greyish clothes; retired, often narrow-minded, but articulate.

  The archdeacon was there, early. He asked everyone to call him Paul, and flashed shining teeth. The shrewder members of his audience put this down to his having attended a course on Media Awareness.

  The younger members liked Paul's approach and disengaged their minds, sitting back to let him tell them what to think.

  Ellie slipped into the hall as the chairman's speech was drawling to a close. Their vicar, Thomas - who shared the same name as their church, St Thomas' - was sitting on the VIP row of chairs facing his parishioners. Thomas, bearded and portly, was known affectionately as Tum-Tum because of his girth. He saw Ellie arrive, and nodded her to the only vacant chair on the far side of the room. She struggled through rows of legs to reach the seat, noting that Roy and Archie had seats in the front row.

  As Ellie thankfully sank into the chair, Archie was called upon to review the parish finances. Ellie thought he did it efficiently, showing that though the parish was just about paying its way and meeting the quota set by the diocese, they still had to pay off some thirty thousand pounds for the rebuilding of the hall. And of course, the vicarage was in a dire state of repair, was inconvenient, etc., etc.

  Gloom settled on the company. Paul shook his head every now and again, indicating that he was deeply concerned about their poor financial position, but sympathetic. He did it well.

  One or two more people arrived and had to stand at the back. Ellie had wondered if Aunt Drusilla might have chosen to attend the meeting; she did attend services at St Thomas' now and again. No, she wasn't there. A pity, because Ellie felt she could have relied on Aunt Drusilla to put a relevant question or two to the chair. She'd be sharp enough to expose the scandal of what was really going on here.

  Ellie's view of Paul was almost completely blocked by the massive figure of her old friend Mrs Dawes, leader of the flowerarranging team, an alto in the church choir and veteran gossip. Mrs Dawes' improbably jet-black hair had recently been touched up, and her dangling jet earrings brushed the shoulders of her tartan-lined raincoat. Every now and then, Mrs Dawes' chair creaked in alarming fashion. Ellie hoped it wouldn't collapse. They were still using the rickety chairs from the old hall, because they hadn't got the funds to replace them.

  As Archie drew to a close, there came the usual query from the back row about the firm of auditors, replied to with promptitude by Archie. The accounts were accepted with
a languid show of hands.

  Someone was creating a disturbance on the far side of the hall. Heads turned. A man said, ‘Can't you see the sign? No smoking!’ Heads shifted, craning to see who the culprit might be. With a shock, she recognized Marco, the gardener-turned-minder from Sir Arthur's. Was this the meeting Sir Arthur had been intending to go to? No, or he'd be sitting up front with the speakers.

  The chairman introduced Paul, and everyone sat up straighter, or angled their chairs to get a better look at him. Swarthy, well built, well barbered, and incredibly well tailored. His teeth were amazingly white. Did he have them treated?

  Paul was one of those people who can manage a PowerPoint presentation without fusing the lights or clicking on to the wrong file. He had the screen at exactly the right angle. His voice was mellifluous. He even managed a small joke, while maintaining the sorrowful air of one attending a funeral.

  Which, of course, was what he'd come to do. The poor old vicarage, so much loved, of course! But sadly … ah well … what was the parish thinking of, to condemn their incumbents to live in such misery? The kitchen … the central heating … click, click. Peeling paintwork, leaking roof, only one bathroom.

  The bishop, said Paul, had been very worried about it for years. But the financial position … not improving … the enormous efforts that had been made to rebuild the church hall … and what an effort that had been! The bishop had been amazed that this remarkable parish had managed to achieve such a high-quality building, though of course much still remained to be done … new seating, and so on.

  Facts and figures were highlighted. Click, click.

  Paul became more and more sorrowful and serious with every click. He'd practically got the front row in tears.

  Then the solution! A modern-day miracle!

  Hurray! Everyone brightened up as Paul beamed on them. A guardian angel had come into sight. All their problems would be solved at one stroke. The bishop had sent up prayers of thanks. Paul himself had been much relieved, as he'd spent many a long hour worrying about St Thomas'.