Dear Lord. Sorry. Stupid of me. I do trust You, really I do. Please give me the right words to say, show me how to deal with my troublesome daughter, the money problem, some way to help Mia.
Oh, sorry again. I ought to have started with praising You, and I gave You a shopping list instead. Well, I do praise You for the wonderful world you have made, for the beauty of the skies and the clouds, the wonder of the myriad flowers, the loving kindness of so many people. I thank You for keeping me alive, and I do hope You mean to keep on looking after me, because it seems as if I’ve got rather a lot of work on hand. Amen.
She mopped herself up, looked at the clock, peeped into the oven to discover that her largest casserole was at work there . . . beef stew, by the scent of it? Mm. Wonderful. With dumplings, perhaps? All right, perhaps not the perfect summer’s evening meal, but the sky had clouded over and it looked like rain, so why not? The vegetables had been prepared and were cooking already: carrots, peas and potatoes.
Ellie had nothing to do but fret.
In came Mia, exclaiming that they’d been looking for Ellie everywhere, but Ursula had had to go eventually, and wasn’t it a shame that they’d missed one another? And here came Rose, fresh from her nap, rosy-faced and relaxed, saying that supper was ready. It was easier to push problems away and eat, than to continue to fret about them.
Thursday morning
After breakfast Ellie called a meeting to brief everyone on what was going to happen next. ‘It’s going to be chaos for a few days, but if we keep our heads we’ll get through it all right.’
Thomas rubbed his beard. ‘I have to stick around today. I’m expecting some phone calls. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘I really don’t know. Mr Balls, the Party Planner, should be able to sort out any tangles, but there may be times when he’ll need to ask about power points and all that. I’m afraid there’s going to be all sorts of people coming into the house, putting up the marquee, and running cables around. Then there’s the cleaning team and the men bringing in the tables and chairs . . .’
‘Bacon butties and tea needed all day,’ said Rose. ‘Can do. Right, Mia?’
‘If I’m going to make canapés for Ursula’s buffet, I’m going to need one or two things from the shops. Mrs Quicke . . .?’
‘Give me a list.’
There was a rumble of lorries turning into the driveway, and everyone jumped to attention. First the Party Planner rang the front doorbell and came in, trailing his two slaves. The marquee arrived, with the men to assemble it. Mr Balls was pleased with himself, for not only had he managed to find a marquee, but also some flooring upon which the partygoers could dance in the evening. More men arrived, propping the front door open to carry poles and tent and then boards through the hall and out into the garden through the conservatory.
By the time the dishwasher had been set going, another two lorries appeared: electric cabling, and lighting, plus the cleaning team to polish floors. Then came a further lorry bringing tables and chairs for the buffet. The cleaners and the furniture people argued about who had the first crack at the dining room.
Ellie was distracted, didn’t know what to say or do. Her usual ability to make decisions seemed to have deserted her. She was aware of it, and despised herself accordingly.
Mr Balls cut the Gordian knot. ‘The cleaners can do the reception rooms first. The furniture can be unloaded into the hall, leaving a passage through to the conservatory for everyone else.’ And so it was done. The tables and chairs for the buffet were terribly in the way, but what else could they do? Thomas slid through them somehow, carrying his beloved stereo to safety in his study. And slammed the door behind himself.
Ellie said, ‘Mind the grandfather clock,’ though no one seemed to be listening. There was something the matter with the clock. Somebody’s cap or hat had landed up there. Ah. It was Midge the cat, surveying everything from a safe distance.
How on earth had he got up there? Was it worth while trying to get him down?
Ellie decided it wasn’t and made her way down to her own study – where she was met with a mountain of furniture which had been removed from the reception rooms. Edging her way round a rolled-up carpet and the leaves of the dining table, she managed to make it to her desk. Pat was already there, huffing and shaking her head. Pat was not amused.
‘Dear Pat, I know, I know. But can you cope, somehow? It’s only for a couple of days. Oh, and could you run off some notes to be delivered to the neighbours? Something to the effect that Mrs Quicke’s daughter is getting married on Saturday and the music at the party afterwards may be rather noisy. We apologize for any inconvenience. You’ll know what to say better than me.’
Pat raised her eyebrows and booted up her computer in silence.
Oh. We’re going to get the silent treatment, are we? Right.
Ellie decided to get out of the house and make herself useful. She’d get the bits and pieces which Mia needed for her cooking first – better take an insulated bag to transport them in – and then visit the new flower shop to discuss the flower arrangements for the two weddings, and at the same time find out what they had to say about delivering scary bouquets to Mia.
Ellie hadn’t been inside ‘Stems’ before. It was an upmarket flower shop which had no truck with mixed-bunches-for-a-couple-of-quid. The proprietor was a young woman with long flowing hair, who was making up a professional-looking posy of pink and white roses as Ellie arrived.
‘Can you spare a minute? I’m Mrs Quicke. I believe you’re supplying flower arrangements for the two wedding receptions at my house on Saturday?’
The proprietor was happy to bring up the details on her computer, and she produced a scrap book showing Ellie photographs of work she’d done in the past for similar occasions.
‘We understand that the first wedding on Saturday – the Belton one – is to be done on a shoestring. I will arrange the flowers in church on Friday; one large floral arrangement by the altar, and one by the font. The bride’s bouquet and buttonholes for her family and the ushers will be delivered to Mrs Belton’s address the same day, but the bridesmaid’s bouquet is to be delivered to you. Then, moving on to the buffet on Saturday morning, I am to prepare some of my glass candelabra wreathed in ivy, plus six small table decorations. The colour scheme throughout to be white and lilac.’
Ursula had been as good as her word and had directed the invoice for her event to be sent to herself. Ellie nodded.
‘Now, as to the second wedding, the colour scheme is to be all gold and white. We’ll use some more glass candelabra for the top table and for three of the smaller tables. They, too, will be wreathed with ivy, but will have white and gold flowers entwined in them as well. The candles will be gold, of course, to match the other decorations. On three of the tables, by contrast, we’ll have low arrangements of white hydrangeas, with gold ribbon puffing up between each one. There is also to be a bridal arch, which is going to be delivered today because it comes straight from the nurseries. The bride’s bouquet and buttonholes for the men to be delivered to you on Saturday morning, together with the invoice.’
‘Agreed,’ said Ellie, feeling rather faint and reaching for a chair. ‘Now, do you think you could include some puffs of gold ribbon in the Belton bouquets? Let me tell you why.’
As Ellie explained that there needed to be some rationalization, the proprietor frowned, obviously thinking that she was going to lose money on the deal.
So Ellie said, ‘I see you have a good selection of unusual flowering plants for sale, and I shall need some more plants to brighten up what we have growing in our conservatory at the moment. I had intended to make a trip to the Garden Centre, but if we can come to some arrangement about hiring or buying some from you for the day . . .?’
Suggestions as to the appropriate plants were made and accepted. When the proprietor was nicely softened up, Ellie said, ‘By the way; I’ve recently received a sheaf of lilies and a wreath of red roses from your shop. Can you r
emember anything about the person who ordered them? I assume it was the same person on both occasions, though of course I might be wrong.’
‘It was a young man, who stuttered a bit. I thought perhaps it was the first time he’d ordered flowers for anyone.’
This was odd. Who on earth could he be? ‘There are three women currently living at my house, and we weren’t sure . . . Did he say who they were for?’
‘He wrote out a card, didn’t he? Didn’t he address it properly? We shall have to look out for that, make sure it doesn’t happen again. My father does my deliveries. He’s retired and likes to have something to do. Did he get the wrong address?’
‘No, I don’t think he did, but it’s a bit of a mystery, all the same. Did the man pay by cheque or card?’
‘Cash. He was . . . I don’t know . . . a little strange. He kept muttering something. A poem, I thought.’
‘How was he dressed?’
A shrug. ‘Like any other young man, casual clothes, a bit scruffy. Unruly hair, dark, a bit too long. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever be asked to—’
‘No, of course not. You’ve been a great help. May I leave you my phone number? If he ever comes in again, may I ask you to let me know?’
Thursday morning
He didn’t think he’d made a bad job of it. The coconut ice looked as if it had never been touched by human hand, hiding its secret well. He’d had to discard the original wrapping paper which had got torn when he’d taken it off. His mother had had some cling film in the kitchen. He experimented with that. It was difficult to handle, tending to stick to itself at just the wrong moment.
Finally he achieved a bar that looked reasonably well wrapped. He would have put a bow on it, but hadn’t the knack of tying ribbons. That sort of thing was for women with nothing more important to do. Somehow the resultant pink block didn’t look impressive enough to please. It lacked presence.
Perhaps if he put it in one of his mother’s glass dishes and wrapped it round with cling film again it would look more like a present? He told himself he was doing the right thing. Vermin needed to be exterminated, didn’t they? And she was nothing but.
TEN
Thursday morning
Ellie bought the things Mia needed for her cookery and walked home, thinking hard.
Who was the young man who’d sent flowers to Mia? One of the students who’d once formed part of the Priors’ social circle? According to Ursula, Mia hadn’t had a boyfriend before she was abused. At that time Ursula herself had been engaged to a lad called Dan Collins but, after he’d sided with the Priors and refused to help her look for Mia, she’d sent back his ring and refused to have anything more to do with him. And now was going to marry someone else.
Could Dan still be carrying a torch for Ursula? Mm, yes. Would Dan know anything about these threats to Mia? Ellie would ask him. Later.
Her house was in chaos. Mr Balls was conducting an orchestra of shakers and movers, of sparks and chippies, all working at the top of their voices. Midge had disappeared from the top of the grandfather clock, for which Praise Be.
Ellie took evasive action as two workmen in dirty overalls carried some piping through the hall and followed them to discover the Party Planner, standing in the conservatory. ‘Mr Balls, how is it going?’
‘Very well, dear lady.’ He put his arm round her and gave her a hug. She stiffened. He wasn’t gay at all! Oh.
Smiling nervously, she disengaged herself and circumvented a stack of chairs to disappear into the kitchen . . . to find that Rose had turned up the radio to deafening level to drown out the noise in the garden. Mia was hooked into her own MP3 player, cutting rounds out of dough and laying them on baking sheets to cook.
‘Now don’t you be looking out of the window,’ said Rose, taking the insulated bag of goodies off Ellie. ‘We’re only serving tea and coffee on the half hour in future, and we’ve run completely out of biscuits, so Mia is making some more as we speak.’
‘Midge?’
‘Hiding under my bed. He thought the visitors would like him hanging around, until he came across one who didn’t. He’s all right, though. It’s only his pride that’s hurt, bless him.’
‘Thomas?’
‘He says if he’s wanted, I’m to knock three times on his door and he’ll let me in. Pat came in just now to say she can’t stand the noise and is going to deliver some notes to the neighbours, whatever that may mean.’
‘Oh, good. In that case, I’ll just make one phone call and get out of here.’ She evaded Mr Balls in the hall, sending him a smile but not allowing him time to talk to her . . . and reached the sanctuary of her office in safety. Her chair had been smothered by a huge pile of fabric – were those the dining room curtains? Don’t ask.
She dialled the police station and asked for DC Milburn. Out. Away. Gone for a walk. Unavailable, anyway.
However, the policewoman had left a message for her. ‘All suspects still in jail, duly accounted for. Mrs Prior has been informed that she must leave this part of Ealing, and has now removed herself.’ End of message.
Fine. As if Ellie didn’t know that already. Oh well.
Someone in the garden outside dropped a clanger. More voices were raised. Ellie put her hands over her ears and hoped the lawn would survive. She told herself she was only in the way at home and might as well make herself useful elsewhere.
So she looked up Dan Collins’ address and went to see what Ursula’s ex-fiancé might have to say about Mia’s current problems.
The house looked much as Ellie remembered it: a large Edwardian structure, running downhill. But this time – surprise! – a middle-aged to elderly man was sweeping the front path. His hair was scanty, but had been ginger at one time. He wore a tatty old shirt and even tattier trousers. The sort of garb a householder might wear when doing odd jobs around the house or when working on an allotment.
Ellie smiled at him as she passed.
He said, ‘Afternoon,’ and smiled back.
‘Mrs Collins at home?’
‘Dottie? Yes, she’s in the back somewhere.’
So he called Mrs Collins by her first name? Interesting. Ellie rang the doorbell, peering into the front window to see if she could spot Dan, whose room that used to be, but the curtains were drawn across.
Mrs Collins – ‘Dottie’ – opened the front door. She was no spring chicken, but wasn’t giving up without a struggle. She’d had a perm recently, and her fair hair had been tinted pink to match a strapless cotton top and tightly-fitting skirt. When she saw who was standing there, Mrs Collins did not look pleased. ‘What do you want? More trouble for Dan?’
‘May I come in for a moment? Something’s come up, and I wondered if Daniel might be able to cast light on it.’
The odd job man appeared at Ellie’s elbow. ‘Is there a problem, Dottie?’
‘It’s all right, Ginge.’ Short for ‘Ginger’? ‘This lady’s an old friend, sort of. Come in, Mrs Quicke. Mind the paint pot. Ginge is helping me out with a spot of this and that.’ And probably with ‘how’s your father’, too. Mrs Collins had the sleek look of someone who’d acquired a new partner late in life.
Ellie followed Mrs Collins down the corridor and into the sun lounge at the back. It was reasonably tidy now, with his and hers La-Z-Boy chairs facing the television, and the big table pushed well back. It seemed that Ginge was making himself very much at home.
‘I had a spot of trouble letting my rooms after what happened in the spring, what with my boys being mixed up in it because they were friends of the Priors. It’s turned out quite well in the end, but I had to alter my rule about only having students.’
‘Ginge is one of your lodgers now?’
‘Cuppa? A bit early for anything else, or is it?’
‘Cuppa would do me fine. Is Dan around?’
‘Got a new girlfriend, down the club. Nobody wanted anything to do with a building that Mr Prior had named after himself, so they changed the name to The Place from Prior
Place, and the flats are selling, slowly, but moving at long last. As for the Health Club, they made Dan manager and call it Collins Health Club. He’s down there from first thing till last. Making it pay, too. That’s what sticking by your friends can do for you.’
‘Even if they’re in prison?’
A shrug. ‘The building was up and empty, so why not get it moving, employ your friends, make some money?’
‘It’s what Dan always wanted, isn’t it? A job in the Health Club?’
‘Being made manager, though, that was tricky at first. He’s not the brightest at the books, but then the Priors brought in this blonde. She’s a sharp blade, I must say, and they work together a treat. He moved into her place, one of those new flats up by the Green, last month. I miss him in a way, of course, but now Ginge’s got his room, so it’s an ill wind, isn’t it?’
‘I’m glad to hear everything’s worked out well for him,’ said Ellie. ‘I know he was upset when Ursula broke off their engagement but we were agreed, weren’t we, that it was a case of their having got together too young for it to last?’
That wasn’t quite what they’d agreed, but it was the right thing to say. Mrs Collins, unasked, brought a plastic box of wine from the kitchen and poured out a couple of glasses. ‘That Ursula, she’s a nice girl. She came round a couple of weeks ago to tell me she was getting married to someone else. Asked if I thought Dan would like an invitation to the wedding. I said he was well over her now, so she agreed to let bygones be bygones. Besides which, his new partner wouldn’t have like it, and she’s a terror when roused, she is.’
It sounded as if Dan had exchanged one strong-minded female for another. Ellie sipped wine and said, ‘Mm,’ which was all that was required of her.
Mrs Collins took several sips and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. ‘I’d have been glad to give Ursula a wedding present, but things being as they are, and after talking it over with Ginge, I decided it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. But I wish her luck, with all my heart.’
Murder by Mistake Page 12
