‘Or crossing their palms with silver?’
Miss Quicke hesitated. ‘No, I don't sense corruption. Or not more than the usual “you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours”. He keeps a low profile, but seems to be an able man with a grasp of how the markets move and a sensible habit of withdrawing just before prices peak. I don't say his hands have always been clean - there's some dealings in a steel company in the Far East which look a trifle murky - but on the whole, if I were asked to put money into one of his companies, I'd consider it reasonably safe to do so.’
‘What about Sir Arthur?’
Miss Quicke frowned. ‘On the surface, a triumphant progress from small developments to large. Many of them. He likes to see his face in the papers, makes a great show of giving to charities, but I don't get the impression that he spends any time working for them. Just puts in the cheques and marks up another photo call. There's more than a whiff of corruption. Perhaps it's the company he keeps? The bimbos who hang on his arm, the Asian businessmen with whom he has many dealings, which to me look like money-laundering?’
‘I've heard he's on the board of a company that's going down the tubes, but might be rescued by the parent corporation …’
‘Common knowledge. To put it in terms you'd understand, he wants a big pay-off for resigning from the board, and it's a key condition of the restructuring of the corporation that he goes. He's managed to cling on, somehow. I'm not sure how. Perhaps he's got something on someone, somewhere? Personally, I wouldn't touch shares in anything he's involved in. Better safe than sorry.’
That made sense, thought Ellie. But … bimbos? Felicity wasn't a bimbo. Did she know about them? And if so, did she care?
‘There is also,’ said Aunt Drusilla, ‘the question of Mrs Meadows-Fitch. Rose reminded me of her when I said you'd crossed swords with Sir Arthur.’
Rose had come in and was clearing the table. She nodded at Ellie. ‘It's time for Miss Quicke to have her little nap.’ Rose shook out a soft rug and laid it over the older woman's knees. Aunt Drusilla closed her eyes, and Ellie followed Rose from the room. Into the modernized kitchen they went, where Rose already had the kettle on to make coffee. Ellie automatically picked up a tea towel to dry the dishes, expecting Rose to wash up in the sink. Rose took the tea towel off her, pointing to the brand new dishwasher.
‘Miss Quicke has taught me how to use this. Isn't it splendid? I didn't think I'd ever be able to master all the twiddles and knobby things, but she sat down and read out the instructions over and over, till I'd got the hang of them. You ought to get one too.’
The combination of what Aunt Drusilla and Rose could do never failed to astonish Ellie. She relinquished the tea towel and sat at the table, watching Rose dispose of the plates and cutlery into the maw of the machine.
In the old days, dear Rose had been the sort of person who couldn't go out in the rain without getting her umbrella turned inside out, and whose buttons were never done up correctly. Her taste in clothes had been governed by what was cheap and brightly coloured in the charity shop. Now Rose was always neatly turned out and could cope with the intricacies of a dishwasher which would have intimidated Catherine the Great.
Ellie imagined Aunt Drusilla making Rose report for kit inspection every morning, saying, ‘No, dear! The hem of that skirt is coming down. Why don't you wear the blue we bought last week at John Lewis?’
Rose said, ‘Miss Quicke was telling me about that nasty man Kingsley and his pizza. Poison is a woman's weapon, isn't it?’ Ellie was bleak. ‘There seem to be quite a few candidates. What about this Mrs Meadows-Fitch?’
‘Surely you remember her? She used to come into the charity shop looking for designer wear every Monday morning. Not a very nice woman, dear, though I shouldn't say that really. Tea or coffee? She'd try to haggle the price down, even though she knew very well that we weren't allowed to accept less than what was on the label. Fluffy hair, dyed bright, if you know what I mean. A different colour every couple of months. Usually wore a hat.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘Rings a faint bell, but …’
‘You'd know her if you saw her again. Her husband was Councillor Meadows-Fitch, the little man who used always to be talking about how well the council was doing, even when everyone knew they weren't. Leader of the Council for a long time, remember? Then he was mayor, and after that, chairman of the planning committee. He died, all of a sudden, at a council meeting, if I remember rightly. I expect someone had objected to one of his nasty little plans to take over the world, and he got so upset he had a heart attack, though I shouldn't say that really, dear, should I? But he did have his fingers in a great many pies, or so I'm told.’
‘Who told you about him?’
‘I think it was that elderly lady who used to come into the charity shop on Mondays, the one who had such trouble with the till, so that in the end they wouldn't let her anywhere near it. Mrs Meadows-Fitch was a friend of “Madam's”, who used to run the shop; and I suppose that explains everything.’
‘Dreadful woman,’ agreed Ellie, who'd suffered from ‘Madam's' version of ‘leadership' too. ‘Madam' had been jealous of Ellie's ability to get on with everyone, and had given her the sack when she was still reeling from the trauma of her husband's death.
Rose nodded. ‘Had you heard Madam's been replaced? About time too. I've never met someone who could upset so many people so quickly.’
With an effort - because she really was interested in what had happened to Madam - Ellie stopped Rose taking a diversion. ‘Yes, Rose. But what about Mrs Meadows-Fitch?’
‘Well, it's only gossip …’
‘It's not really gossip,’ said Ellie. ‘It's information we need to understand what's going on with people. Though some of it may not be entirely true, of course.’
‘You'll think my tongue's hinged at both ends.’
‘I think you understand what makes people tick better than most. You didn't like Mrs Meadows-Fitch because she was meanminded. What was her link with Sir Arthur Kingsley?’
‘Oh, not her, dear. Her husband. The mayor. Easing Sir Arthur's way through the planning committees. At least, that's what they used to say. Wining and dining and dancing in expensive places. Holidays abroad as guests of Sir Arthur. That sort of thing. Of course, they might just have enjoyed one another's company.’
Ellie said, ‘I've met Sir Arthur and he's not my idea of a cuddly, reliable friend. At least, not unless he was getting something out of it.’
‘No, dear. And that's what upset Mrs Meadows-Fitch. She was talking about it in the queue for the checkout in the supermarket the other day. In a very loud voice. I was always taught not to discuss my private life in public, but she didn't seem to care who heard her. She said promises were made, and now her husband's no longer with us, promises are not being fulfilled. If you see what I mean.’
Ellie finished her coffee. ‘Sir Arthur seems to break a lot of promises.’
Rose hovered, fingering a cookery book. ‘Shall I bake a Victoria sandwich for tea? Roy usually pops in around tea time to see his mother, and he enjoys a bit of home baking. You wouldn't happen to know what's been wrong with him lately, would you? Bear with a sore head, as my mother used to say.’
Ellie stared into space. ‘He got across Sir Arthur. I've advised him to tell his mother, but he's afraid she'll think less of him if he does.’
‘Then you'd better do something about it, hadn't you? Can't have him being upset, because that upsets Miss Quicke. I'm worried about Miss Quicke. Why won't she go to the doctor about her hip?’
‘I'm not sure. A lot of excuses, none of which hold water by themselves. Perhaps she's just afraid of an operation. She's never had anything serious wrong with her before. I'll ask Roy to talk to her about it. She might listen to him.’
Rose sat down, suddenly tired. ‘I think I'll bake the cake a little later on. Miss Quicke says I ought to take a rest when she does, and perhaps she's right. We're none of us getting any younger, are we?’
> Rose was quite a bit older than Ellie, though not as old as Miss Quicke. Ellie wondered how soon she'd feel it would be a good idea to have an afternoon nap. When she reached her sixties, perhaps? Well, that was a good way off.
Rose took off her apron. ‘Why don't you go round to see Mrs Meadows-Fitch? She lives in one of those big flats on Haven Green, but is having to move to a tiny place on the South Coast. Such a comedown for someone who enjoyed being lady mayoress, don't you think?’
Yes, it was. ‘One other thing, Rose. Do you know of someone whose garden's been trashed by vandals around here?’
‘Opposite the park, on the other side, you mean?’ said Rose, without any hesitation. ‘I don't know her name, but someone's made a terrible mess of her herbaceous border. Now, who was it who was telling me about it? It might have been Mrs Dawes …’ She shook her head. She was tired and needed her afternoon nap. Ellie kissed her and left her to it.
* * *
Sir Arthur's bad temper didn't lift till he took another phone call from Martinez that afternoon.
‘Yes? I'm in a meeting.’
A harsh laugh came down the phone. A few more words, and Sir Arthur smiled.
‘Good. Excellent. There's no way anyone could trace …? Good. I'll see you this evening.’
Sir Arthur turned his attention back to the man standing before him. Was there anything to be gained by keeping him? No one tried to cheat Sir Arthur and got away with it.
Sir Arthur said, ‘It's a good thing you confessed straight away. I will not have any of my staff fiddling expenses. I won't call the police, this time. Provided you sign me an IOU for what you've stolen, plus twenty per cent interest. I'm not a hard man. I'll give you three weeks to raise the money. Now I'm calling security. They'll escort you from the building. No need for you to clear your desk or speak to any of your colleagues.’
He watched the man leave, shoulders sagging. Then smiled, remembering the message from Martinez. ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, Mr Talbot. A pity I can't see your face when you hear what's just happened.’
As Ellie left her aunt's house, she reflected that there seemed to have been quite a few people who had cause to dislike Sir Arthur, but usually the ones who talk about how much they dislike someone aren't the ones who do anything about it. Also, Aunt Drusilla had been dealing in property in this area for years. Had she ever had any dealings with Mr Meadows-Fitch? It might be worth asking her when she woke up from her nap.
At the corner of the street, Ellie hesitated. She did remember Mrs Meadows-Fitch now. An unpleasant woman. She had never been on visiting terms with the lady, and the idea of going in ‘cold' did not appeal.
Ellie thought of society as a series of interlocking circles. She knew X number of people, some of whom would know another X number. Circles intersected. There was someone in her circle who might know about the tangled affairs of the ex-lord mayor and Sir Arthur - if he were willing to talk about them, that is - and that was Councillor Patel.
After Diana had divorced her husband Stewart, he'd married Maria, Councillor Patel's only child. Ellie was on excellent terms with Stewart. He and his new wife lived not far away in a threebedroom semi-detached house which they were renovating. They had managed - with some help from her parents and from Ellie - to put in a loft conversion, renew the central heating and wiring, and were now redecorating.
Stewart worked for Aunt Drusilla, carefully and faithfully managing much of her empire of properties to let. Maria ran an efficient cleaning agency in addition to looking after Stewart and Diana's little boy - with help from an excellent babysitter. Maria had recently produced a pretty poppet of a daughter, with whom her parents were besotted. As - it must be admitted - was Stewart. So far little Frank hadn't exhibited any sibling jealousy.
Councillor Patel would have known the ex-lord mayor and perhaps also have come across Sir Arthur.
This was Friday, and on Friday afternoons Councillor and Mrs Patel were often to be found at Maria and Stewart's house, playing with little Frank, and taking turns to hold the baby. Ellie mentally reviewed what she ought to be doing that afternoon and evening - shopping for the weekend, calling on an elderly neighbour, doing some gardening - and decided that checking on Maria and Stewart would be much more interesting. Besides, baby Yasmin was a charmer, and Ellie hadn't seen her for a fortnight, which was far too long.
The fine weather had held. Stewart was at work, of course. Little Frank was pleased to see his ‘ganny', as he called Ellie, and Mrs Patel was hovering over Yazzy's cradle, hoping she'd wake up soon. Maria was always quietly pleased to see Ellie, however unexpectedly she might call, and Councillor Patel was delighted to have an excuse to get up off the floor, where he'd been helping little Frank to run a train. Ellie smiled to herself, remembering much the same layout at Mrs Anderson's.
As usual, Ellie admired the rose-pink shalwar kameez - tunic and trousers - which Mrs Patel was wearing, and as usual laughingly declined to accept the offer to go shopping with Mrs Patel for something similar for herself to wear.
‘Not till I've lost another stone in weight.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Patel, who was of statuesque proportions and comfortable with it.
Ellie caught Councillor Patel's eye. ‘Might I pick your brains? A small problem but I'd value your opinion.’
Frank launched himself at Mr Patel. ‘Make it go! Make it go fast!’
Councillor Patel laughed, and obligingly pushed the train along the track, under the bridge and past the toy station.
Maria smiled, but said, ‘Five minutes, now. It's all got to be cleared away by the time Daddy gets home.’
Frank went red and screamed with fury. His tantrums were famous, and dreaded by everyone. ‘Now then, little man!’ said Councillor Patel.
‘I hate you!’ screamed Frank, attacking him.
‘That's enough!’ Maria picked him up, and bore him into the hall and sat him on the bottom step, still screaming. They heard her say, ‘You stay on the naughty step till you behave.’
Frank went on screaming as Maria returned to the room. The other adults held their breath, expecting Frank to follow her. He didn't. The screams subsided.
Maria pushed the dark hair back from her forehead and sighed. She too was wearing the shalwar kameez today, although she normally favoured Western clothing. ‘The poor little man got overtired this morning at nursery school, but I can't let him get away with it.’
The adults shook their heads in agreement. They all knew that when Diana had Frank at weekends, she indulged him all the time, and never checked his tantrums.
Baby Yazz opened her eyes and smiled at everyone. Everyone smiled back. What a contrast to the awkward little boy who was even now inching his way around the door. Maria extended her hand to him. ‘You want to say sorry now?’
Little Frank nodded. He buried his head in Maria's lap, and huffed and puffed a bit. But finally got it out. ‘Sorry.’ Maria wiped his nose and eyes, and said he could help Grandpa put the train set back in its plastic box. Which - amazingly - he did. The adults let out the breaths which they hadn't realized they'd been holding.
Everyone - apart from Diana - thought that Maria was doing a magnificent job in bringing up little Frank.
Councillor Patel praised Frank for helping him put away his train set. Everyone praised Frank. Maria gave him a kiss and a cuddle and a fruit juice in his child-sized wooden chair. Mrs Patel picked Yazz up, and cooed at her. Peace descended.
Councillor Patel raised an eyebrow at Ellie, and wondered if she'd like to inspect the dahlias in the garden with him.
Ellie agreed. Once outside, she told him how she'd been dragged into Sir Arthur's orbit. She did not tell him that Sir Arthur had married his old enemy's daughter, but she did say she was worried how Sir Arthur might react to her interference in his plans for developing the vicarage site. ‘Tell me I'm foolish to worry if I've offended him.’
‘Not foolish, no. I'd be wary of offending him myself.’
‘What do you know about his relations with Councillor Meadows-Fitch?’
‘Very little. I'm not on the planning committee. Never have been. Leisure is my concern. The committees are ranked in order of importance, according to how large their budgets may be. Education and housing, they're the top. Planning? A tricky one. A political hot potato. There are undoubtedly opportunities to make money there, if you have that type of mind.’
‘Tainted money, for pushing through dicey plans?’
Councillor Patel was silent. Then he shrugged. ‘I am not of the ex-mayor's political persuasion, and have no insight into how he uses his influence. Yes, there has been some gossip, but such things are difficult to prove. It's true that some of us were perturbed when a big superstore was given permission to double its size at the expense of its car park. Also when a certain school's playing fields were sold off for development purposes. And … yes, when a certain factory complex was given permission for a change of use which wiped out nearly a hundred jobs but built a lot of housing for the private market.’
‘Did you vote against these things?’
He grimaced. ‘I am not a member of the cabinet.’
Ellie nodded her understanding. The volume of work which passed through the council every day was far beyond what could reasonably be dealt with by the councillors, who attended meetings in their free time. Therefore they had changed to a cabinet system, which meant that an inner select group approved any matters which had previously been decided upon by the various committees. It sounded all right. Most people thought it was … or didn't think about it at all, which was more likely.
‘Councillor Meadows-Fitch was a member of the cabinet? Right. But you will have heard people commenting on his behaviour from time to time. Have you heard it said that he had his holidays paid for, or was given other favours by developers from time to time?’
He nodded. ‘I have heard that said, yes. I speak as I find. I have had no first-hand information about these matters. Now the man is dead.’
Murder By Committee Page 8
