‘It’s Sunday. He’ll expect a roast. I’ll have a salad, of course, but he doesn’t eat salads.’
‘There’s not enough time for a roast.’
A green stare. ‘You can use a microwave, can’t you?’
‘As I tried to tell you, I’m not a professional cook. I’m here because my daughter asked me to help you out at this very difficult time. Now I am here, I’ll throw some supper together, if you would like me to.’
She thought: say ‘please’, and I’ll do it.
Another hard stare. ‘Mrs Quicke. I remember. Aren’t you married to some sort of Holy Joe?’
‘Thomas. Yes. He’s a good man. Would you like to talk to him?’
‘What about? Oh. The Precious Infant. Well, I’m not going to pretend. That’s not my style. She was not exactly what . . . I’ve heard of mothers not being able to bond with their daughters before now, and that’s what . . . I suppose it didn’t help that I had that swimsuit commercial so soon afterwards. I’d signed up for it before I realized, and then . . . I had to go on that crash diet to get back in shape, and I swear she liked her food more than she liked me. The way she used to look at me . . .’
She wrenched a can of Diet Coke from the fridge, popped the top and drank without bothering to pour it into a glass. ‘I suppose I wasn’t the best mother in the world.’
Ellie found a large saucepan, half filled it with water, and wondered which dial on which surface of the cube might operate the cooker. She pressed buttons and turned knobs. Ah. Result. Now to find a heavy-bottomed saucepan for the minced meat. She said, ‘You were very young. Was the baby a mistake?’
A glitter of tears, swiftly wiped away. ‘I hadn’t intended, it’s true. I thought he’d said . . . But it turned out he hadn’t taken any precautions and of course I hadn’t because I trusted him, being so much older. I wouldn’t have dreamed of having a baby so soon. Why am I telling you this?’
‘Because I had four miscarriages. Or was it five? Those years tend to blur in my mind. Having a baby changes you in more ways than one.’
‘That’s true. Did you really have so many misses? That’s awful. It’s so difficult to get your figure back afterwards, isn’t it?’
‘It was after we’d had Diana, of course. The last one I carried nearly to . . . Well, it was all a long time ago.’
Ellie went to and from the fridge and the larder shelves, preparing and cooking onions and then mince, chopping mushrooms and tomatoes, popping spaghetti into the boiling, salted water, looking for a cheese-grater.
‘Sorry,’ said Angelika, making wet rings on the cube’s granite top with her can of Diet Coke. ‘The funny thing is that I do miss the brat; though she was a brat, you know? I thought that she’d grow out of it. If she’d been a pretty little elfin thing, which is what I’d always imagined I’d have, I’d have been able to love her more easily. Or to show it more easily. As soon as I knew I was pregnant, I dreamed of us doing commercials together, mother and baby, you know? But she was so like Evan that that was never on the cards.
‘I suppose you think me a selfish cow, but I imagined I was set for life with Evan to look after me and some modelling on the side, because I’m not trained for anything else. All of a sudden she’s not there and everything’s changed. I’ve got to rethink my life and . . .’
Her face screwed up, and she hunched herself over.
Ellie pushed the pans off the heat and put her arms around Angelika, who sniffed and mumbled and cried. And cried.
Ellie said, ‘There, there.’
Angelika cried some more.
Someone opened the door behind them, said, ‘Oops,’ and retreated.
Angelika said something inarticulate and prised herself off Ellie.
Ellie found a box of tissues, handed it over and went back to her cooking.
Angelika got off her stool, sniffing. ‘I must look awful.’ Without another word she went out, shutting the door behind her.
Ellie stirred mushrooms and tomatoes into the mince and tested it for seasoning. She grated the cheese. She thought that Angelika had loved her child after a fashion and would grieve for her more every day. Yes, Angelika was self-centred and had probably been more grateful to Evan for marrying her than in love with him, but she was definitely in shock, and she had not caused her child’s death.
Evan was also in shock, though in his case he was having to worry about the business as well as the effect these deaths were having on his family. He hadn’t been responsible for the child’s death, either.
So who was killing off the clan, one by one?
Or were the three deaths purely accidental?
EIGHT
Sunday evening
‘Well? Did you tell Angelika not to contact the magazines?’ Diana; impatient, laden with dirty plates and mugs, which she dumped on to an already cluttered work surface.
‘Sorry,’ said Ellie, testing the spaghetti. Was it done? Y–yes. ‘We didn’t get round to that.’
‘But I brought you here purely to—’
‘There was nothing pure about your motives, Diana. Angelika is not the total bitch you made her out to be, and she is grieving for her child.’
‘Humph. Could have fooled me.’
‘Probably. But she knows what you’re up to, and she’s deeply unsettled, to say the least of it. Have some consideration for her. She’s young enough to be your daughter, her baby’s died, and you’re about to take her husband off her. She’s looking into a future without a husband or a home. All she knows about is modelling.’
‘She’s not top model material.’
‘I know. Too much bust. Swimsuits and underwear for her—’
‘Until she starts to show her age. But if she gets the press interested she can write her own cheques, employ a ghostwriter and produce a misery memoir, get it serialized in the tabloids, go on celebrity-watch shows. Evan can’t bear the thought of all that publicity. You’ve got to stop her.’
Ellie drained the spaghetti, tested the mushrooms. A touch more salt? ‘Food up. You’re overreacting. Angelika hasn’t thought that far. She doesn’t strike me as being overly intelligent. If she were to go down that road, she’d need help. An agent, perhaps. What do you know about her agent?’
‘Less than nothing. She understands money all right. I suggested Evan made her a good allowance if she agreed to a quickie divorce and doesn’t go down the publicity route.’
Ellie started to ladle the food on to plates. ‘Would it be so wrong of her to cash in on a spot of notoriety? Perhaps she could do it under her maiden name.’
Diana liked the sound of that. ‘Her maiden name? I suppose . . . Yes, that’s a possibility. But we’d still have the tabloids battering down the door, asking for our version of events and hinting that Evan was unkind to his little waif of a wifey, and that I’m the wicked witch of the west.’
Ellie smothered a smile.
Diana said, ‘What?’ catching her mother’s amusement but not understanding the cause of it. ‘Well, see if you can talk her out of it. I’m sure Evan would be prepared to give her a good deal so long as she keeps his name out of the limelight. That food looks good. I’ll take mine and Evan’s through to the snug. Horrible decor, isn’t it? All those mirrors and pictures of Miss Acton Town. That’s the first room I’ll change.’
Exit Diana, carrying a tray laden with food and cutlery.
Enter a nubile teenager, a true honey blonde this time, clad even more skimpily than her stepmother in a cropped top and jeans. No waif, she. A buxom but real bosom, a shapely behind, thick fair hair in a single plait down her back, bright blue eyes and a determined expression. No beauty. The likeness to Evan was startling.
‘Hello; are you the new cook? I hope that’s vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.’
‘You must be Freya. I’m Mrs Quicke, Diana’s mother, and not a professional cook. I’m just helping out this evening.’
‘Yuck. What’s all that? I totally hate mushrooms.’
‘Just spa
ghetti and cheese do you?’
‘I hate spaghetti. It’s so . . . thick.’
‘Ah. Well, in that case I think you’d better find yourself something you can eat from the freezer.’
Freya blinked. ‘Aren’t you going to get it for me?’
‘Why should I?’
‘I’ll tell my dad and he’ll find someone who’ll look after me properly.’
‘Fine. You do that. Although he might have some difficulty getting someone in on a Sunday night.’
Ellie dished up a plateful for herself and began to eat it. Quite tasty, though she said it herself.
Freya tossed back her plait and took a seat. ‘Well, I suppose I could try it. If it makes me sick, I can always blame you.’
‘You’re not allergic to cheese, are you?’
‘Like Abigail was to peanuts, you mean?’ Freya helped herself to spaghetti and cheese and lifted a tiny portion to her mouth. Smelled it. Tasted it. With a face full of doubt, she chewed and swallowed. ‘I suppose it’s not bad. You can always phone for the ambulance if I fall to the floor writhing in pain.’
Ellie grinned. ‘Does food often affect you that way?’
Freya actually laughed. ‘Sorry. I was out of order, wasn’t I? I mean, well . . . sorry. Things have been a bit, you know? I mean, total yuk.’ This was no carefree adolescent but a girl who thought for herself. She hadn’t been crying, but she was as tense as an iron bar.
Ellie said, ‘Understood. Want another helping? I’d better leave some for Angelika.’
‘Why bother?’
‘She’s very upset.’
‘Nothing upsets Angelika for very long. She can’t allow herself to get upset, or she’ll get spots or frown lines. She’s completely synthetic. Like her boobs. You’ve noticed her boobs, have you?’
Ellie had. ‘I suppose she thinks it’s necessary in her line of work.’
Freya checked on her own natural boobs, with satisfaction. ‘When I’ve got my A levels I’m going to uni to get a business degree. Then I’m going into Dad’s business.’
Ellie’s eyes opened wide. What would Diana say to that?
‘Dad doesn’t think women can cut the mustard, but he doesn’t see what’s under his nose, does he?’ She hit the table. ‘Diana, under his nose . . . heehaw!’ Tears were restrained with an effort.
‘Er, quite.’ Ellie got the point. A crude young lady, Miss Freya? Or one driven to uncharacteristic comment by events? Let’s get away from the difficult subject of Diana. ‘So you won’t be upset when Angelika leaves?’
‘Can’t wait. When’s she off, do you know? Although I suppose the new one’s going to be worse. Oh. Your daughter, isn’t she? Sorry. Slap on wrist. I suppose you’re pleased with the way things are going.’
Back to Diana. ‘No, my dear. I’m not. Not at all.’
‘Families, eh? Who’d have thunk? I mean, Angelika moping over that kid who was, like, the most ghastly infant you could imagine. Spitting and spying and spoiling things. Telling tales.’
‘Attention seeking?’
Freya looked sharply at Ellie. ‘I suppose. Like me, you think?’
‘I don’t know you, dear, but I wouldn’t have thought you were like that.’
‘You called me “dear”.’
‘I can see you’re hurting.’
Now that was a chance hit, for it might be rage and not grief that Freya was hiding. The girl bent her head, intent on demolishing the rest of her plateful. No tears. When the last mouthful had been eaten, she pushed the plate aside and faced Ellie with defiance. Rather brave, really.
‘I’m not hurting. Not at all. I’m not sad, either. Of course people who didn’t know any better would expect me to be sad, losing my mother and two sisters, but if they’d known them, they wouldn’t be sad. Do you know what my nickname is in the family? It’s “try again”. When Mummy presented Dad with me, he said, “Try again.” So I never had a chance. Rejected from birth because of my sex. “Try again.”’
‘That’s awful. Was it the same for Fiona?’
‘You’d have thought it would be, wouldn’t you? You’d have been wrong. She could wind Dad round her little finger, and she hadn’t half my brains. She didn’t want anything from him except money. I got used to it. You can get used to almost anything if you try hard enough. I’m always top of the class, and the teachers say I should try for Oxford or Cambridge University. So one day . . . Yes, one day I’m going to show him that I’m as good as any man.’
Ellie nodded. ‘I believe you can do whatever you set your mind to, but—’
‘You don’t think he’ll listen?’
‘Your father is of the old school. He’s been brought up to think that men rule the world and women exist to continue the species. You’ve inherited a lot of his drive and personality—’
Freya’s mouth wobbled. Tears threatened, but she refused to let them fall. ‘Thanks for that.’ In a muffled voice.
‘But – I’m stepping right out of line here, Freya – why limit your horizons? I do believe that you have the brains and the sticking power to be a success in whatever line you decide.’
‘Become a nuclear physicist, you mean?’
Ellie had to laugh. ‘Or an explorer in the Arctic—’
‘Or an Olympic swimmer—’
‘Prime Minister?’
By this time Freya was laughing too. She picked up their dirty plates and added them to the piles on the work surface. ‘I’ve never thought of doing anything else but following Daddy into the business. I don’t know if I . . . You’ve given me something to think about.’
Ellie opened the freezer door. ‘What do you fancy for afters? Ice cream?’
‘All right. It’s made with soya, but it’s not bad. Angelika won’t have any other kind in the house.’
‘Let’s put some maple syrup on it, to buck it up. I think I’ve seen some somewhere. This is definitely the day for carbohydrates.’
Ellie rummaged in cupboards, while Freya scooped ice cream out into bowls.
Ellie said, ‘You didn’t have a good relationship with Fiona, then? Even though she was close to you in age?’
A wry smile. ‘I’m the odd one out in this family. Dad used to say to Fiona, “Does Oo want another prezzy, then?” And she was always Mummy’s favourite. I never counted. Who got the best bedroom? She did. Who got her allowance increased regularly? She did. Who got all the hugs and kisses when we were little? She did. She was Mummy’s Little Precious and it never worried her that Dad treated her as if she were a pet poodle. I mean, he shouted at her if her school reports were bad – she wasn’t all that bright, you know – but it never bothered him. Or her, really. Water off a duck’s back.
‘I was the one who was supposed to look after her and see that she didn’t come to any harm. I was responsible for taking her to and from school, and making sure she did her homework. A laugh a minute, I can tell you. Especially after Mummy left.’
‘That must have been a difficult time for you. Did you want to go with your mother?’
‘She didn’t want us. I could see that, even if Fiona couldn’t. Fiona was in two minds, going or staying, but in the end she plumped for staying here and having someone cook and clean for us. Mummy wasn’t exactly house-proud, you know. And the arguments! The mess! I like order. I like peace and quiet and things in their right place. It may sound horrible, but I was glad when she went and we could get the house really clean.’
‘Didn’t you have a cleaner?’
‘We had cleaners, all right, one after the other. But Mummy smoked. You understand?’
No, Ellie didn’t. And then she did. ‘You mean, smoked something illegal?’
Freya wrinkled her nose. ‘Marijuana. Horrid smell. The cleaners objected and refused to come back, or else she sacked them for what she called their impudence. Daddy hasn’t much sense of smell. Fiona liked to try everything, too. Then, I don’t know when it started, but one day Fiona made a joke about men coming in to see Mummy when Dad was at wo
rk, and Mummy walloped her, which was such a surprise because she’d never laid a hand on Fiona before! Mummy swore us to secrecy but after that I worked out what was going on. It had never occurred to me before that . . . I suppose I was a late developer. Dad found out eventually, of course. He couldn’t take that.’
No, he wouldn’t, would he?
‘So . . .’ A shrug. ‘She left. It was good for a while. Quiet. Daddy got a housekeeper in, a Filipino who lived over the garage with her husband who did the garden. We got on with our lives until one day Dad brought Angelika home and we had the decorators in again, and . . . Well, she isn’t unkind or anything. She leaves us alone. That’s all I ask; to be left alone.’
‘Did Fiona like it when Angelika came to live here?’
A shrug. ‘She was rude to her till Daddy put a stop to it. Fiona thought Angelika had pushed Mummy out, but I don’t think she did. I think he’s a serial monogamist. That’s the right word for him, isn’t it?’
Ellie nodded. ‘Coffee? Tea? Chamomile or something herbal?’
‘Nothing else, thanks.’ A short laugh. ‘You wanted to know what Fiona was like? Well, I’ll tell you. She used to try out all Daddy’s booze and blame it on the help, so the housekeeper left and we had to get another one. I told Fiona if she did that again I’d tell on her, so she started going out with boys who’d take her to clubs. She’d tell Dad she was having a late night with a school friend or a sleepover, and he never checked. Sometimes she’d stay out all night, and at other times she’d come back in the early hours of the morning, wobbling around all over the place.’
‘But she was only, what, fourteen or fifteen?’
Freya pulled a face. ‘She looked older. I told Mummy, but she said Fiona was just having fun. Fun! Do you know what I did first thing when I heard my sister was dead? I went through her room and got rid of all her drugs and the contraceptive pills that poor dear Daddy had no idea his daughter had been taking.’
‘Where did she get them from?’
‘Mummy dearest, of course. Fiona was growing up to be just like her. I could see it happening, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Fiona said she knew exactly what she was doing and that she wasn’t giving up sex just because I was a po-faced virgin. I know she took the morning-after pill a couple of times.’
Murder in Mind Page 10
