Murder in the Garden

by Veronica Heley

  Maria was alternately smiling at Stewart and feeding titbits to little Frank, who was slapping the table with glee, enchanted by the flicker of the candles.

  The fish course disappeared, to be succeeded by chicken Kiev, which caused everyone - except Diana - some merriment as they reminded one another to cut it open with care to avoid being splashed with garlic butter.

  ‘What's this?’ Diana was poking at some slices of cold meat on her plate. Everyone else had beautifully decorated plates, but hers was of the plain white kitchen variety.

  ‘I'm afraid I didn't order enough food for you as well,’ said Miss Quicke. ‘We're rather short of good plates, too. It's not quite what you'd have got up in Town, I suppose, but needs must …’

  Diana was furious, but said no more. She drained her glass of wine while sending furious glances in Maria's direction. While Ellie was talking to Rose about the garden, she thought, If looks could kill! Diana has hardly glanced at Stewart, but I wouldn't put it past her to attack Maria if she came upon her one dark night.

  Poor Stewart became increasingly uneasy as dinner progressed and Diana was so pointedly provided with poor fare on kitchen plates. A nice man, Stewart; he could spare a kind thought for Diana, in spite of the way she'd treated him.

  Maria was conscious of Diana's gaze, but bearing up well. Stewart raised his glass in a toast to her. She smiled back at him, and responded. Little Frank wanted some wine but she refused, kind but firm. Yes, she would make an excellent mother. Everyone was becoming nicely relaxed. Except for Diana. Ellie had been feeling that Diana deserved all she got if she gatecrashed Aunt Drusilla's party, but as the evening wore on, she began to feel sorry for her.

  The meat course vanished. A chocolate gateau was served, with a sweet white wine. Diana got a rather tired-looking piece of fruitcake. Rose said, ‘Oh dear, I was going to throw that away …’

  A selection of cheeses. The men made a pretence of taking some, but all the women declined. Frank grew heavy in Maria's arms, and yawned.

  Miss Quicke tapped her glass. ‘We will have our coffee in the drawing room. I'm sure Diana won't mind having hers in a mug instead of a coffee cup. And then she can take the boy away and put him to bed.’

  Little Frank's eyes were closing. He forced them open, forced himself to sit upright and then relaxed, leaning back against Maria.

  Diana stalked ahead of them into the drawing room and accepted a mug of black coffee where everyone else had theirs in exquisite fine china. Stewart carried his now sleeping son out to the hall and put him back in his pushchair.

  Rose said, ‘I'm not letting the caterers wash these cups up. I'll do it myself.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ said Aunt Drusilla. ‘But not just yet. Now, everyone … I don't like to be up late, particularly as I've lent Roy my portable television set for the weekend. I wanted you all to become acquainted. Gunnar, my long-time friend and solicitor. Roy, my son and partner in developing Endene Close. They're calling it that because it's built on the site of an old house that was called Endene. My dearest niece Ellie and my very dear Rose, who both look after me so well. Bill Weatherspoon, who has been so helpful to Ellie - and to Diana, little though she deserves it. Stewart, who has served me well - and Maria, whom I welcome into the family.’

  Diana set her mug down with a smack. Always volatile, she now went stratospheric. ‘Am I not your family, too?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ rumbled Gunnar, ‘the black sheep?’

  Ellie tried not to laugh. Roy covered a hiccup with his hand. Maria's eyes lit up and Stewart stifled a guffaw.

  Diana went white. ‘You'll all be sorry for this!’ She turned to stalk out of the room, caught one of her excessively high heels on a rug, and stumbled to her knees.

  No one laughed.

  Bill helped her to her feet, enquiring if she had hurt herself. She shook him off and limped out of the room. They heard the front door bang.

  ‘Is she safe to drive?’ Bill wondered.

  Stewart leaped to his feet and charged out to the hall. ‘It's all right. She forgot to take Frank with her. We'll get a cab and take him home with us. On Monday I'm going to a solicitor to make sure she never gets to have him at weekends again.’

  Bill caught Ellie's eye. ‘Yes, I'm his solicitor now, and acting for him in the divorce.’

  Gunnar patted his capacious stomach. ‘Dear Drusilla. A perfect evening, spiced with your own brand of devilment. Of course, you're right. If it comes to a fight for the boy, I'll back Maria and Stewart.’

  ‘Aunt Drusilla,’ said Ellie. ‘Is that what this evening's been all about? Diana expected you to side with her if there was a battle for little Frank, and you wanted to make sure that we were all against her?’

  Miss Quicke smiled and shook her head. Or did it tremble with age and fatigue? ‘Stewart, Maria. Come to see me on Monday. I have a selection of houses and ground-floor flats which might be suitable for you to rent until you're able to buy for yourselves. I'm going up to bed now. Gunnar, will you see everyone gets home safely?’

  Roy held the door open for her. She paused, looking up at him. ‘Roy, you're a good boy and have behaved well this evening. I'm very glad you're going to be living near me. You may kiss me goodnight.’

  Roy put his arm around her shoulder and led her out into the hall.

  Rose jumped up. ‘The caterers! Have they gone? Have they locked the back door? I must just see …’ She vanished, still talking.

  With the familiarity of an old friend, Gunnar asked if anyone had brought a coat or needed a cab home.

  Ellie realized she hadn't thought about murder or police digging up her garden, or poor Armand and Kate, for hours. She hoped they'd be long gone by the time she got back home.

  Bill offered her a lift back home and she accepted.

  He summed the evening up, ‘It looks as though Miss Quicke is setting out her case as matriarch of a dynasty. Roy has failed to give her grandchildren, and you aren't interested in her wealth, so she's going to back Maria and Stewart as parents of the boy, handing the flame on, so to speak.’

  Ellie sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose that's about it. Maria is a very loving person, and she's done Stewart no end of good.’ Also, Diana had behaved very badly.

  There were lights on in her hall and sitting room, and the curtains had been drawn, presumably by Armand.

  ‘Till Monday,’ she said, taking out her key and wondering if perhaps he would have liked her to kiss him goodnight. But no, he wouldn't rush her. The only thing he'd said on the way home was, ‘Diana grows more like her father every day, doesn't she?’

  Ellie watched him drive away, wondering if what he'd said about Diana was true. Had Frank been that bad-tempered? No. Of course he hadn't. Not unless something had really gone wrong at work. He'd hated incompetence, couldn't put up with fools … but then, wasn't that a natural reaction? He'd been so clear-minded himself, always making decisions quickly, that it wasn't surprising that he grew angry when others ‘faffed around', to use his words.

  Diana was different. Quick-tempered wasn't in it.

  Her behaviour this evening hadn't been typical. Gatecrashing the party like that! Such bad manners. Why hadn't she withdrawn when she realized what was happening? Why subject herself to such humiliation? Of course Aunt Drusilla had given permission for Diana to be treated that way by the caterers. So why hadn't Diana taken her son and departed?

  She'd looked ill, too. Far too thin, with shadows under her eyes.

  Ellie shrugged. Diana had made her bed by moving in with Derek Jolley, whom anyone could see would always put himself first. It was Diana who had left Stewart, not the other way round. It was Diana who had insisted that little Frank be with her only at weekends. Diana was now finding that arrangement difficult. Well, that was her affair.

  Ellie let herself into the hall, thinking longingly of a bath and bed, and wondering if she'd been wise to tell Roy that she'd try to help him get straight on the morrow after church. Unfortunately, Kate and Armand were both w
aiting up for her, sitting side by side on her settee, looking sombre.

  Nine

  Armand had done most of his marking, to judge by the pile of papers on the floor beside him. A nearly empty bottle of wine was on the coffee table, with two used glasses.

  ‘I know it's late,’ said Kate, ‘but we wanted to see you before we went back next door.’ Ellie noted that she hadn't said ‘back home'.

  First things first. ‘Have you eaten?’ said Ellie.

  ‘We ordered a pizza, but we weren't very hungry.’

  Neither Kate nor Armand were meeting her eyes. Why ever not? Had they broken something and didn't want to confess?

  Armand spoke to his shoes. ‘Believe it or not, that policewoman came round to apologize to us. They've discovered the body's been in the ground for maybe fifteen, maybe twenty years.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ellie. ‘She came to see me at my aunt's and told me. Wanted me to tell her all about the families who'd lived there long ago. But that's good, isn't it? It means you're completely in the clear.’

  ‘It is, and it isn't,’ said Armand, still gloomy. ‘They know we changed everything in the house, ripped out the old kitchen and bathroom. They've dug up the garden and found nothing, so now they want to bring in heat-seeking machines, see if there's any more bones under the floorboards in the house.’

  Kate threw up her arm to hide her eyes and then laid her arm along Armand's shoulders. It was interesting that Kate, who was such a powerful whizz-kid in the financial world, should lean on Armand, who was just a teacher in High School. And, thought Ellie, very right and proper, too, even if she knew some people thought it old-fashioned for a woman to look up to her husband that way.

  Kate spoke to the ceiling. ‘It was a girl, they think. Not very tall, and slightly built.’

  Ellie ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I know. I've been thinking but I can't remember a young girl living in your house. They were on and on at me to remember, but I can't. Unless perhaps it was a granddaughter of the old couple?’ She shook her head, bemused.

  Armand sighed. ‘Digging up our garden can't have done any harm, but if they dig up the extension …!’

  Ellie nodded. ‘They threatened to dig up my garden, too.’ She heard her voice shake, and tried to steady it. ‘I - I don't think I could cope with that. What I want to know is, why they want to extend the search to your house and my garden?’

  ‘Information received, they said.’

  Kate tried to reassure her husband. ‘We can make them pay to have everything put back, exactly as it was.’

  Ellie knew that her garden couldn't be put back exactly as it was, if they did dig it up. Shrubs took years to settle, and if you moved peonies, they usually died. The thought was horrifying. She couldn't bear it.

  She decided it would never happen. ‘What information? Do they think Frank and I went around killing young girls and burying them in all the gardens around here?’ She heard the hysteria in her voice, and made an effort to laugh. ‘How absurd!’

  ‘Yes, isn't it!’ said Kate, in a flat voice.

  Armand said, ‘I don't think I want to go back into that house, ever. I couldn't bear it.’

  ‘Of course we can bear it,’ said Kate. But she didn't sound very sure. She stood up, placed her hands on Ellie's shoulders and braced herself. ‘There's more. I must warn you. DI Willis was asking questions about your husband, Frank. I couldn't think why at first, but …’

  ‘It was rubbish,’ said Armand, reddening. ‘Told her so, too.’ Ellie blinked. ‘Do you mean …? No, you can't mean that …? She thinks that Frank might have …?’ She sat down with a bump on the nearest chair. She was breathless with shock. How could they!

  Kate sat down beside her and patted her hand. ‘Apparently someone who used to live around here has emailed them, pointing the finger at your husband. I told them it was nonsense, but …’

  Armand said, far too loudly, ‘Absolute nonsense!’

  ‘Yes.’ Ellie felt faint. Her brain had gone into free fall. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Kate continued to pat her hand, concerned for her. Armand got up, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, looking at his watch to see if they both said the same thing. He picked up his papers, pushed them into a plastic bag.

  Armand wanted out of here.

  Kate continued to hold Ellie's hand.

  Ellie gave her head a shake to clear it. ‘What you're trying to say is-’

  ‘Not us,’ said Kate. ‘The police got this email and I suppose they have to follow up any leads they get.’

  ‘They think Frank murdered that young girl? But … why would he do such a thing?’

  Kate didn't say anything. Armand cleared his throat, looked at his watch again.

  Ellie said, ‘We didn't know any young girls.’

  Kate almost smiled at that.

  Ellie said, ‘Oh, I suppose you mean there was Diana, but … you mean they think one of Diana's schoolfriends …?’

  Horror. Her brain turned itself upside down. Frank wouldn't have killed anyone, but Diana had been had up for bullying a child at school. Suppose that Diana had caught the girl on the way home from school one dark winter's evening, and … and … the idea was so appalling that she couldn't take it any further.

  She stood up, trying to smile. ‘What nonsense! I'll have a word with that inspector in the morning and give her a piece of my mind.’

  ‘You do that, girl!’ Kate patted her on the shoulder and looked around for her handbag. ‘Now we must leave you in peace, having taken advantage of your kindness for the umpteenth time. Armand, have you got your keys?’

  They wafted themselves away and Ellie was left staring into space.

  Suppose Diana had gone too far and, not meaning to, had killed someone from school? Diana knew that the garden next door was a sort of No Man's Land, only visited by wild animals and birds. Diana had always been strong, in spite of her slim figure. She could have pushed the girl into a hollow in the sloping garden and … and used their own garden tools to cover her with earth? And then brambles and grass would have grown over the girl.

  Nonsense!

  Someone would have missed a schoolgirl and roused the neighbourhood. They'd have had people round searching the gardens, checking to see if she'd had an accident coming home from school.

  No, it couldn't possibly have been one of Diana's school friends.

  It was true that Diana was capable of much, but not - thank God - of that.

  Of course, if it had been Diana, then it wouldn't have been beyond Frank to help hide the body, to protect his much-loved daughter. But as it wasn't Diana then Ellie needn't worry about that.

  The thought of Frank arranging a meeting with an unknown young girl in next door's garden was so funny she laughed out loud. Frank, chasing after a young girl? Her slightly tubby latefifties husband chasing a young girl? It was ridiculous!

  But this would have been fifteen or twenty years ago, when he'd still been fairly lithe but absorbed by work and worry over his senior partner, who was even then making disastrous mistakes. It wasn't till Frank himself became senior partner that he'd been able to relax, they'd got a better car, paid off the mortgage, and she'd been able to stop going out to work.

  A treacherous thought: wives often were the last to suspect when their husbands strayed. She could think of at least two wives who'd been horrified when their husbands had walked out on them to live with another woman. But Frank just wasn't the type.

  For one thing, he had never been able to hide his emotions. If he was irritable, he expressed his irritation. If he liked the look of a woman - and now and then over the years Ellie had caught him looking with sheeps' eyes at some buxom blonde or other - it had gone no further. There'd been no unexplained absences from home, no late-night work hours, no furtive attempts to leave the house ‘for a drink with the boys', when wearing his best suit. No committee meetings that she hadn't known about. She'd often acted as secretary on committees where Frank had been trea
surer or chairman.

  Yes, their original dream of romantic love had faded over time. They'd become used to one another. Comfortable with one another. He hadn't been one to wear his heart on his sleeve as some did, and he'd occasionally been irritated with her inability to cope with modern technology, but he'd always appreciated her cooking and never missed a meal if he could help it. He'd been proud of her in his own way, though he never praised her to her face. What he did was to praise her by inference, saying that he didn't think much of Mrs So and So neglecting her mother-in-law, or not attending a family funeral, when Ellie had been doing just those things.

  He'd expected her to look after his aunt, and Ellie had done so. At a certain cost to herself. But, she had done it. He'd shown his love for Ellie not with gifts or compliments, but with rough anxiety when she'd been ill. With a scolding if she'd overdone things.

  He'd adored Diana, of course, and spoilt her right up to the point where she'd got married. After that, his common sense had kicked in and he'd refused to give in to Diana's dream of living a life beyond her means.

  She checked her watch against the clock. It was getting late, but how on earth was she to go to sleep with this on her mind? She locked up and went to bed. She lay in bed, trying not to disturb Midge, who'd decided to sleep beside her. The little grandmother clock in the hall chimed the hours softly. One. Two.

  At half past two Ellie slid carefully out of bed so as not to disturb Midge, and went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. She got the old photograph albums out of the cupboard under Frank's great desk and looked back down the years.

  Diana in her first school uniform, looking pleased with herself. Frank standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder. The sleeves of Diana's blazer were too long. Ellie remembered having to turn them in … and then let them down again as Diana grew.

  Sports day. An outing from the church to Black Park. Tea in Aunt Drusilla's garden, Diana scowling. Frank was in all the photographs, laughing, smiling, very much at ease. She herself wasn't in many of the photos, because she'd been the one to take the photographs with her old box Brownie … which she'd lost one summer holiday. Ah me. Modern cameras were far too complicated and didn't give nearly as good a result.