Murder in the Garden

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Very possible,’ said Maria. ‘I can see us living here. We'd have to have the central heating and boiler checked out, of course. And does the wiring need renewing?’

  ‘Looks all right to me,’ said Stewart, who knew about such things. ‘We could perhaps put in a loft conversion some time in the future. I see most of the houses in this road have got one, so we shouldn't have any difficulty in getting planning permission.’ While the estate agent hovered, Stewart tested window frames, squinted at drainpipes, gutters, and roof tiles. ‘I can't see anything very wrong. A missing tile at the back. That manhole cover needs replacing. We'll have to have a full survey done, of course. The garden's neat enough if dull, but I see she's had someone coming in to mow the lawns and cut the hedges. Once the place has been painted, it'll look quite different. All in all, I think it's worth the money they're asking.’

  Maria said, ‘If we got someone to paint the outside and put in a new bathroom and kitchen - I've been looking at catalogues and they can be very reasonable - then the rest of the house just needs a lick of paint, which we could do ourselves.’

  Ellie agreed. ‘It's in a good area, not far from the shops and in the catchment area for the primary school on the Green. Can you afford it, though?’

  Stewart looked worried. ‘I think so. We've had an offer for Maria's flat already, and accepted it. Then there's the money from my half of the house Diana and I bought up north, and we've both got jobs, so we shouldn't have any difficulty getting a mortgage. Also, Maria's people said they'd help out. They said they'd come round and see the place tonight if we were that keen on it.’

  ‘I'll help, too,’ said Ellie, wondering how Diana was going to take the news, and deciding that she didn't care.

  ‘I'll put in an offer for you, shall I?’ asked the estate agent. Stewart and Maria went into a huddle with the estate agent while Ellie wandered out into the garden. She remembered that this was what she'd done long ago when she and her husband had been looking for something to move into and they'd discovered their present house. It had been dark then, but she'd stepped down the garden while Frank had haggled with the estate agent.

  Stewart and Maria had more money to spend now than Ellie and Frank had had years ago, but property prices had moved up since. This garden was peaceful. A blackbird sang. Good.

  The house would be a good buy.

  Maria came out of the house and lifted her face up to the sky. She looked radiant, a picture of good health and good looks, with her superb carriage. ‘It's good here, isn't it?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Ellie looked sideways at Maria and decided that, yes, the girl was certainly pregnant. A number of questions occurred to her, such as, would Maria still want to look after little Frank when she had a child of her own, and when were she and Stewart planning to marry? And how long did Maria propose to work? Ellie decided she wouldn't ask any of them.

  Maria was smiling to herself, walking around the garden, which was big enough for a reasonable lawn, with a space for children's bikes and perhaps a swing or a slide. There was even a reasonably stout-looking shed at the end. And no water feature. Water features and small children did not mix.

  Maria laughed out loud. ‘Ellie, I've never had a garden of my own before. My mother never had time to attend to our garden while I was growing up, so it was really a playground for my brothers and me. It was a dustbowl in summer, and mud in winter. You'll have to tell me what to plant and how to look after it. Should we have a sandpit for the children, do you think?’ Children. Ah. Frank plus one. Or maybe two?

  Ellie said, ‘My treat. You'll need some kind of cover on it for wet weather. Otherwise the sand gets claggy.’

  ‘I love your way of putting things,’ said Maria, taking Ellie's arm and walking round the garden with her. ‘That's a new word to me. “Claggy”. It sounds just like what it means. Wet and saggy.’ ‘Like children's nappies.’

  ‘Mm. Wet towels at bath time.’ Without missing a step, Maria said, ‘You've guessed we're having a baby ourselves? Next spring.’ ‘But you want to keep Frank?’

  Maria didn't frown exactly. She didn't go in much for frowning. But she stood still, and looked grave. ‘It was a difficult decision to make. Stewart adores his son. It would tear him apart to lose him. You and I, we're level-headed enough to know that Stewart would probably get over losing Frank, if he had one or two more of his own to look after. Only, would that be the best thing for him? ‘We didn't plan for me to get pregnant so quickly. In fact, we thought we were being very responsible and taking precautions. But it happened. My family was horrified. I was, a bit, too. I would never want to bring a child into the world without a proper family to love it. Of course, we'll marry the moment the divorce is through.’

  Ellie folded her mouth over all the questions she'd still like answered.

  Maria was looking up at the blackbird in an old apple tree. ‘You mustn't think we're taking this lightly. We're not. I feel some shame - well, not a lot, but some shame - about helping a man to break his marriage vows. He feels even worse about it than I do.

  ‘Stewart believes in marriage as a sacrament. He married in church, believing that it was for life, that he was making his vows in the presence of God. Then Diana … and well, somehow we got together and before we knew it … no, no excuses. We behaved badly.

  ‘I was brought up to go to church now and then. Stewart, too. We talked it over and decided that we needed help, so we went to see your vicar …’

  Ellie blinked. Tum-Tum hadn't said anything about seeing Stewart and Maria. But then, perhaps he wouldn't.

  ‘… Stewart said that he was an understanding sort of person, and indeed he was. We talked everything through with him. We plan to go to see him again soon, and we're going to go to church on Sundays in future.’

  Ellie tried to keep up with this turn of events. ‘If he doesn't feel able to marry you because of the divorce, he'll probably give you a service of blessing after you've got married in a registry office.’

  ‘Yes, that's what he said. Now, one of the things that may hold up the divorce is if we have to fight Diana for Frank. In many ways it would be easier for us to give in, let her have him. Stewart and I'd miss him terribly, of course we would. But then, we'll soon have our own child to love. Only - and here I'm trying to be absolutely fair to everyone - wouldn't it be better for little Frank to be brought up by me?’

  She blushed. ‘That sounds awful. I know Diana loves him. At least, I think she does. But does she love him wisely? Will she correct and guide him? He's got a wicked temper and Stewart's far too easygoing, indulges Frank all the time. That worries me. How does Diana cope when he throws a tantrum?’

  Ellie sighed. ‘Diana does love him. She was prepared, almost, to give him up to you last week, but then … things happened to make her change her mind. She's got a ground-floor flat with a garden and she's been taking Frank there for some time, because he used to get in Derek's way. She's broken with Derek, she says. Maria, I don't know what to say. You may be right, and little Frank would benefit enormously from calm, consistent loving care. But he does love his mother and she loves him. Can't you agree to share?’

  ‘I'd go along with that if Diana will agree. You understand how it is?’

  ‘Yes, dear. I understand, and I will talk to Diana if she'll let me. At the moment we're a bit … well, not quite as happy families as we might be.’

  ‘Bless you, Ellie.’ To Ellie's surprise, Maria kissed her, and then went into the house, leaving Ellie to wonder what other complications God had in store for her.

  Only one more that evening. DC Honeywell had dropped in a photo of the elderly Asian who'd been caught on CCTV visiting both the Acton and Central libraries in Ealing about the time the damaging emails had been sent.

  ‘Bother,’ said Ellie, holding the photo up to the light and deciding that, no, she still didn't know this man. ‘I'd have liked to show this to Maria. Maybe she knows him.’ She put the photo in her handbag, thinking she'd show it to everyo
ne she knew who'd lived locally. Rose might know him, or Aunt Drusilla. Roy wouldn't, though. He'd been around for less than a year.

  Which reminded her that Roy was expecting her for supper at his place that evening to make up a foursome. Who else had he invited? What on earth should she wear? She pulled one or two things out of her wardrobe and dithered. The blue with the cowl neck? No, it would be too warm for a summer evening.

  Something casual but attractive? A cream top with a spot of self-embroidery on it, and a cream skirt? Not formal enough. Her shoes … ugh! She'd ruined her best cream-coloured shoes that morning. She'd scrubbed them and left them on the draining board. Perhaps, with a good coat of cream polish …?

  She was working on them at the kitchen sink when Kate strolled up the garden path, waving to attract her attention.

  ‘Are you busy, Ellie? Armand's not going to be back till late this evening, and I thought you might like a drive out into the country, supper at a pub somewhere.’

  Was Kate ducking out of staying in the house by herself? Could be.

  ‘What it is to be popular. Come in, my dear. I've already been invited out for supper and can't think what to wear. And just look at my shoes! Do you think they'd be all right? It's a dinner party, I gather.’

  Kate inspected the shoes and shook her head. ‘No way. Show me what you were planning to wear. We'll all go out tomorrow night instead, shall we?’

  How many invitations did that make for Thursday evening? And she had to go to a talk in the church hall, which would probably turn out to be the most boring evening out, and then make coffee and wash up …!

  ‘I wish I could. At the weekend, perhaps? While this beautiful weather lasts?’

  She showed Kate what she'd picked out to wear.

  ‘Definitely not!’ Kate dived into Ellie's wardrobe and picked out a lacy top and silken swirly skirt in old rose, which she'd made Ellie buy for a friend's birthday party and never worn since. ‘Delicious against your silvery hair and pretty complexion. And high heels, Ellie! I'm not letting you walk out of here in flatties.’

  ‘I'll take a cab, then. It's a bit far to walk in those high heels. Are you sure I have to wear these things? Isn't that top too revealing? I've only worn it once. Doesn't the skirt make me look a bit tarty?’

  ‘They make your boobs and your legs look fabulous. So don't argue. I'll drop you wherever it is you're going.’

  ‘Bless you, dear. That would be good. It's only at Roy's. He'll bring me back, I expect.’ She found a small evening bag and emptied her own handbag out on the bed.

  Kate didn't think much of Roy, but confined herself to a grimace while picking over the jewellery from Aunt Drusilla's cigar box, which had finally made it up the stairs into Ellie's bedroom.

  ‘Hello, this looks like a good brooch.’ She held it up to the light. ‘Ah, yes. It breaks up into two clasps. Marcasite. Nineteen thirties, at a guess. Where did you get it?’

  ‘My aunt decided to bestow various bits and pieces on me. They belonged to Frank's mother, who died aeons ago. I objected but Aunt Drusilla said they weren't costly and I could insure them for a few hundreds. Only, I still haven't done anything about it. The thing is, they're not quite my style.’

  Kate threw herself on the bed, trying the effect of various necklaces and rings on her own fingers. Kate was wearing shades of tobacco this evening, extremely plain and shrieking money.

  Ellie glanced at Kate sideways, amused by the way the younger woman had assumed their friendship extended to dressing Ellie up for a night out. ‘Did you use to dress your mother up for a night out like this?’

  ‘She's only interested in the bingo. I've almost been disowned since I married Armand. She says he's a snob and he's taught me to become one, too.’

  ‘You aren't a snob.’ Ellie was indignant.

  ‘I probably am, you know. I find bingo boring.’ Kate picked up a necklet of seed pearls. ‘This is pretty but perhaps not quite “you”. These earrings are for pierced ears and you haven't had yours done. Will you sell them? They might fetch a bit, and then you could buy something you really liked for yourself.’

  ‘As they were Frank's mother's, I couldn't possibly get rid of them.’ Ellie caught sight of Kate's outstretched body in her mirror and thought, Is she pregnant? No, no! I'm imagining things. Just because Maria and Diana were …

  ‘Cameo brooch,’ said Kate. ‘Just the right touch. Expensive, tasteful, unusual.’

  ‘A bit old-fashioned, like me?’ Ellie pushed lipstick, a comb, a handkerchief and some money into her tiny evening bag.

  ‘What's this?’ Kate had found the photograph of the elderly Asian.

  Ellie explained, brushing out her hair, smoothing her eyebrows, putting a dab of powder on her nose, which always got shiny, no matter what she did with it.

  Kate held the photograph away from her and then brought it close to. ‘Are the police sure? It seems such an odd thing for a man like that to do.’

  ‘A man like what? Where would you place him in society?’

  ‘I don't know. Not a manual labourer. Not a small shopkeeper.’ ‘I thought he might be a professional man.’

  ‘Have I met him through work? No, I don't think so. I can't place him on the other side of a table in committee … and yet. No, I don't know. What sort of car does he drive? That usually tells you a lot about a man.’

  ‘I really don't know. I don't think anyone's connected him with a car, yet. But there is one other thing, Kate.’ Careful, thought Ellie. I don't want to give Kate the impression that everyone who lived in their house before had a bad time.

  Ellie continued, ‘Mrs Dawes dragged me over to see Ms Cullen, whose mother used to live in your house, and she was talking about her two daughters. Well, boasting, really. And complaining, too. One of them works in the travel agency in the Avenue. That's Lana. But there was a younger sister who trained as a teacher, and Mrs Cullen said she was at the High School. Her name's Trudy. Could you ask Armand if he knows anything about her?’

  ‘Will do. I think I've met the girl at some do or other. She's not a teacher, though. A classroom assistant, something in the science line, I think. Ellie, you are not going out in those flatties, I won't have it!’

  Ellie, who'd hoped to do just that, gave in and put on the highheeled sandals Kate had picked out for her. They did make her taller. And made her stand up properly. Kate stuffed the photo into Ellie's evening bag and handed it to her. ‘Knock their eyes out, girl!’

  The businessman sat in his car outside the hospital. The cost of the car parking there was astronomical, but there was nowhere else to park for miles. He rang his brother.

  ‘He's a little better but very frail. There's not much they can do for him, he's on a drip, antibiotics, painkillers. My wife's with him, and my elder daughter. The others are coming later.’

  ‘I'll take leave, cancel my appointments …’

  ‘It would be good. He's been asking for you. He wants …’ He broke off with a sob.

  ‘He needs to know we're going to look after him. You told him we would?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But how? We've done everything we could to protect him …’

  ‘And ourselves, remember. If the truth comes out, it won't only be him in the dock. Think what would happen to your family? And mine? Our sons … our daughters' marriages … the grandchildren's education?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I know. He's not really conscious, but he was trying to ask me about it. It's giving him no rest!’

  The surgeon's voice hardened. ‘You know what to do.’

  ‘No, no. I don't.’

  ‘Then I'll tell you …’

  Seventeen

  Roy had only moved into the Gate House last weekend but he'd worked hard to make it into a home. To Ellie's eyes his new quarters looked a little self-conscious, as if posing for House and Gardens, but it was undeniably stunning. Now that he'd hung his contemporary pictures on the walls, the balance of the decor had tipped from ancient to modern. He'd arranged spotligh
ts to focus on this and that piece of art, he'd cleared all the removal men's boxes away, all the media bits and pieces were in working order and he could host a dinner party without a qualm.

  Ellie wondered how many man hours Rose had put into helping Roy get things straight, and hoped he'd given her a good present in return.

  Two other guests arrived at the same time as Ellie. One guest Ellie recognized immediately as the mega-thin woman in marketing who she'd met at the wedding of Rose's daughter a while back. She'd been a cousin of the bride and had made a dead set at Roy. What was her name? Helen something?

  The other guest was Bill. Ellie was delighted to see Bill. And then she wasn't at all delighted, because it looked as if she were being pushed into his arms all the time and at the moment she didn't want to be pushed into any man's arms.

  Helen was wearing a halter-necked black dress which did nothing for a figure that really hadn't had anything to boast about to start with. Except thinness, of course. She advanced on Ellie, smiling a little too widely, showing a little too much teeth.

  ‘Eggy, isn't it? I think we met at my cousin's wedding.’

  ‘Ellie,’ said Ellie. ‘And you're Hedda.’ If Helen could get her name wrong, then so could Ellie.

  Helen's smile vanished. ‘Helen, actually.’

  Ellie continued cheerfully, ‘Of course. Silly of me. Yes, we met then. A beautiful wedding. Are you down for a few days? I thought you lived up north somewhere.’

  ‘Indeed she does,’ said Roy, playing the part of hearty host. ‘She's down for a conference in town and rang me on the off chance, which gives me the opportunity to show off my new pad.’ He handed Ellie a glass of her favourite sherry and asked Bill what he'd like.

  ‘I'm driving,’ said Bill, twinkling at everyone, blandly ignoring any undercurrents in the room. ‘So something soft, if you will. I must say I like the way you've done this place out. It used to be a decrepit old coach house, didn't it? What do you think, Ellie?’