Murder in Mind

by Veronica Heley

  Diana turned her head away. ‘I have to look out for myself. No one else will.’

  ‘You think that making a bargain with Evan will ensure you a life of Happy Ever After? You know better than that.’

  ‘It will give me what I want in life. A man I can respect, a son to keep him happy. A nice house and business.’

  ‘I notice you think of the baby as Evan’s son, not as your own.’

  A shrug. ‘He can share his youngest daughter’s au pair. I understand the present girl’s not much cop: more interested in chatting to her friends than looking after the little one.’

  ‘Doesn’t the mother – what’s her name? Angelika—?’

  ‘She’s off here, there and everywhere on fashion shoots. Her brat needs watching twenty-four seven because she’s got some sort of allergy. Peanuts. If necessary we’ll employ a trained nanny to look after both children.’

  ‘Your poor child. Born out of ambition, on the wreckage created by divorced parents. What damage will this loveless liaison do to Evan’s other children? One has died, you say. That still leaves . . . how many?’

  Another shrug. ‘Three, but I told you, they’re out of it. No use to him.’

  ‘And you want to add to this unhappy family? Oh, Diana.’

  A touch of steel. ‘Wish me luck, Mother dear. Think about what I’ve said. Pay Angelika off for me and I’m out of your hair for good.’

  Ellie’s husband Thomas used his key to let himself into the house and called out, ‘I’m back!’

  Ellie pushed Midge the cat off the kitchen table – again – and hurried out to give Thomas a welcome-home kiss. His beard and hair were beaded with rain, and his car jacket felt damp as she hung it up for him. She couldn’t remember exactly what it was he’d been doing so, she said, ‘Was it good?’

  ‘For a funeral, yes.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Forgot.’

  Thomas had retired from parish work, but occasionally still took a service to oblige a colleague. His appearance was misleading, as he looked like an old-fashioned sea captain – complete with beard and moustache – but was in real life the editor of a small but influential Christian magazine, and one of the kindest and most thoughtful of men. Also, solid in every way.

  He gave her a hug. ‘I diagnose a need for food . . . or perhaps Diana has paid you a visit?’ He picked Midge up, and that perspicacious animal purred. Loudly. Midge knew who would give him titbits from his plate at supper time, and it wasn’t Ellie.

  Ellie said, ‘Dear Thomas. Both.’

  He tensed. It was only a slight movement, but she caught it and sighed. Well, best to tell him straight away. ‘She’s pregnant. I’ve always thought of abortion with horror, but I’m beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better for some children if they’d never been born.’ She peered up at him, to see if he was shocked by what she’d said, because it shocked her to hear such words come out of her own mouth.

  He absorbed the news with a nod and, with Midge superglued to his shoulder, propelled her towards the kitchen and tea. ‘Light of my life, you’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat.’

  As always, he rebalanced her world. ‘You’re right, as always. And I didn’t really mean it about abortion. Or not for very long. It’s minted lamb chops with lots of different vegetables but only a few potatoes, because we really must try to cut down on carbohydrates.’

  He protested, ‘I need carbohydrates when I’ve just conducted a funeral.’

  She managed to smile. ‘All right, but not too many, right?’

  On which note Ellie and Thomas put their worries behind them and did justice to their big meal of the day.

  TWO

  Thursday morning

  Once upon a time Ellie had been content to look after her husband and daughter in an unremarkable, three bedroom semi-detached house. She’d filled her spare time by looking after her husband’s aged aunt, working in the local charity shop, singing in the choir at church and helping out wherever required in the community.

  With what sometimes seemed like dizzying speed Ellie had been widowed, inherited money and property, and then remarried. Sometimes she felt like the old woman in the song who’d woken out of a nap to find her skirts had been cut off short, and said, ‘Lawks, but this is none of I!’

  On the whole Ellie had adapted well to the demands of her new position, though she sometimes found it a struggle to turn her mind to business when she’d far rather be working in the garden.

  Rose, their elderly housekeeper, had once loved pottering about among the flowers but had recently found it too much for her to prune and dig, and had concentrated on the care of plants in the conservatory at the back of the house . . . which meant that Ellie could have a go instead.

  There was, of course, a gardener; but he couldn’t be trusted to deadhead the roses and select fragrant plants for the herbaceous border, or to do much of anything if he could get away with it.

  Once a week Ellie had to make sure her fingernails were clean, push a brush through her short, silvery hair, find a lipstick if possible, and put on a decent skirt to attend a business meeting, even if it was only to be held in her dining room.

  Ellie had a couple of cleaners who kept the house looking good, but she automatically checked for dust on the big table as she prepared for the day’s session.

  The dining room would have to be returned to its original purpose when their guests arrived, which meant that a rent in one of the curtains – made by a visiting kitten and not by their own marauding ginger tom – must be mended, soonest. Perhaps the carpet should be professionally cleaned?

  She tried to view her house as her visitors would see it and couldn’t help feeling it would appear somewhat dark and drab with its old-fashioned, mostly antique, furniture. What could she do about that, in the short time at her disposal?

  If only she’d started earlier to transform the unused top floor of the house into separate living accommodation, but even if the new plans were passed this month it would be ages before builders could start work and they wouldn’t finish till next summer. If Rose were to fall ill again this winter . . . No, don’t think about it. Or rather, think about it later.

  At ten o’clock, Ellie’s part-time secretary Pat traipsed herself, her laptop and a pile of papers from her office along the corridor into the dining room and set up at one end of the big polished table.

  Ellie’s ex-son-in-law Stewart – Diana’s first husband – was next to arrive with his own laptop, iPad, Blackberry, and goodness knows what else. Stewart now managed Ellie’s empire of properties to let. Once he’d recovered from the divorce, Stewart had remarried and was now living locally and happily with his new wife and their three delightful little girls, plus his – and Diana’s – son, in a semi-detached house with a garden.

  As Ellie’s business affairs had expanded, Stewart had taken on more and more responsibility, which meant longer hours and a worry line appearing between his eyebrows. He hadn’t complained – he wasn’t the complaining type – but Ellie was beginning to think she ought to ease his workload. Only, she couldn’t think how.

  Today Stewart was accompanied by Nirav, a tricky youngster who had once worked for Evan Hooper but was now making himself useful in Stewart’s office.

  Ellie wondered why Stewart had brought Nirav. He’d never done so before. The boy had proved himself responsible and meticulous, but she still wasn’t sure he was trustworthy. Well, if Stewart had brought him to this meeting, the reason would no doubt emerge in due course.

  Ellie’s old friend Kate arrived last; in a hurry as usual. Once a month she would drop her children off at the nursery and rush in to update them on the financial matters she handled for Ellie and her charitable trust. Kate was a tall woman, whose heavy eyebrows gave the impression that she was frowning, but she – like Ellie’s husband Thomas – was solid gold as a friend and counsellor.

  Today Kate had brought news of the trust’s latest project to turn nearby Pryce House into a modern hotel. A
consortium which operated a chain of distinctive hotels had seen the potential of the turreted monstrosity and, with what seemed like incredible speed to Ellie, probate had been granted, contracts signed, and architects commissioned.

  Ellie had no wish to be concerned with the actual running of the hotel when it was completed, but as Kate had arranged for Ellie’s trust to be allocated some shares in the company which was to run the development, she found herself more involved with the details of the conversion than she had hoped.

  Stewart said, by way of starters, ‘I understand we’ve recently lost another member of the Pryce family.’

  Ellie knew what he was getting at but refused to defend herself. Instead, she said with a bland smile, ‘Edgar’s cancer was so advanced that it was amazing he lasted as long as he did. I’m seeing his widow early next week. Is it Monday morning or Tuesday, Pat?’

  ‘Ten, Monday morning.’

  Ellie maintained her smile through the following silence. She knew that neither Kate nor Stewart had approved of the dying man’s marrying a single parent and adopting her child, since a condition of Ellie’s inheriting the mansion meant she had to provide for the remaining members of the Pryce family . . . which now included the man’s widow and her child. She wondered what they’d think of her plan to move Vera and Mikey in to her home, partly, if not wholly, so that Vera could help look after Rose.

  Ellie stuck out her lower lip. ‘They made him very happy in his last few months. He wanted to provide for them and I agreed that we should do so.’

  Stewart raised one eyebrow but forbore to comment in any other way. It was, after all, Ellie’s decision how she spent the inheritance Mrs Pryce had left her.

  Kate hadn’t approved, either. Well, tough.

  Kate pinched in her lips, glanced at the heavy watch on her wrist and got down to business. ‘May we take the hotel first, Ellie? I’ve got another meeting later this morning.’

  Ellie nodded, not surprised; Kate’s time was at a premium.

  ‘The plans for the conversion of Pryce House have been passed by the council, which is good news all round. It was an inspired idea of yours, Ellie, to build a lift shaft on at the back of the house. I don’t think we’d have had a chance of getting the plans through if we hadn’t sorted that out.

  ‘The consortium that have bought the house have chosen a nationally known contractor, and they in turn have appointed a project manager, whose mobile telephone number . . . Here, Ellie. You’d better keep this by you. He’s going to be more or less permanently on site. He’ll be responsible for coordinating the teams of workmen who’ll be descending on the place from now on.

  ‘The idea is to clear the site of everything they don’t want to keep, in particular the old greenhouses and tool sheds. At the same time, they’ll dig the foundations for the new lift shaft at the back and set up scaffolding all round to check on the roof and guttering. They’re planning to take all the heavy equipment through the yard at the side of the house, which means the covered roof over it goes for the time being.

  ‘Inside, they’ll have to tear down some walls in the old kitchen quarters to create a new kitchen, cold store and rest room for the staff. The basement will house a laundry, workshops for the maintenance people, and storage. Teams of plumbers and electricians will move into the parts that don’t need reconstruction almost straight away, to rewire and install en suites; and when that’s finished, specialists will fit out the kitchen area. A design team is working on decoration, furniture and furnishings as we speak.

  ‘There’s a provisional date for signing off on the project of, let me see, they’ve suggested twelve months from the time they’re allowed on the site, but are hoping it will be only nine. Now, there’s something you haven’t settled yet, and that’s what’s to be done with the garden.’

  Ellie said, ‘I’d like to keep the garden much as it is. Oh, of course the greenhouses must go; they’re pretty decrepit, anyway. But the basic design of patio, lawn, rose garden and pond seems to me to fit the house and would be an attraction for visitors.’

  Kate sighed. ‘Ellie, my love; you’re dealing with professional hoteliers here, and they won’t be impressed by anything but a professional’s plan for the garden. I’ve sorted out the names of two garden designers . . . This one and this.’ She handed over some paperwork. ‘I’ve looked at their websites and both come highly recommended. I’ve sent each of them a brief giving the size of the plot, type of hotel, etcetera, and asked them to come up with a provisional design. They need to be contacted soonest, or they’ll be so tied up doing gardens for the Chelsea Flower Show that we won’t be able to get hold of them.

  ‘Just remember that though you know a lot about gardens in the suburbs, providing a garden for an important hotel is a rather different matter. You’ve also got to bear in mind that a lot of the garden is going to have to be torn up anyway while the builders are in. If you meet with the designers now and choose the one you like best, you can have your own input and keep everyone happy.’

  Ellie tried not to make a sour face. Another job for her to do. She wanted to say, ‘Must I?’ but realized this was a childish response and that she was all grown up now. Well, most of the time, anyway.

  Kate glanced at her watch again and said, ‘Oops, I’m running late. Look, Ellie; tell you what I’ll do. I’ll see if one of them, if not both, can meet you at the site early next week. If they can make it, I’ll leave a message for you with Pat. Now, Stewart; just a quickie. I know it’s not your scene, but have you any ideas about how many parking slots we can get into the front garden? Their plan includes forty cars, but I don’t think that’s realistic.’

  Stewart and Kate went into a huddle over the plans for the parking, which would have to be outside as the original coach house-cum-garage would be converted for office space on the ground floor, with a flat above for live-in staff.

  Ellie felt useless. Of course she thought like an amateur because that was what she was. Kate was right in saying she must make use of professionals, but Ellie had hoped she’d be able to save at least some of the roses with which the garden had been filled by its last owner.

  She opened the dining-room door and rang a tiny handbell to signal to Rose that they’d like their coffee, please. Rose was of the opinion that no one should try to get through a morning without sustenance, which was one reason why neither Ellie nor Thomas ever lost weight.

  Ellie sighed. Well, if she couldn’t calculate how many square metres each car must have, at least she could minister to the inner man and woman. She poured coffee, handed cake and wondered again why Stewart had brought Nirav to this meeting.

  At last Kate said, ‘I think you’ll have to go up to town to meet them, Ellie. They’ve suggested – where’s your diary? If we can fix a date, then I’ll be off and leave you all to deal with more mundane matters.’ She kissed Ellie, waved to Stewart, smiled at Nirav and Pat, and disappeared at a run.

  ‘Splendid woman,’ said Stewart. ‘Makes me feel my age.’

  Ellie said, ‘She makes me feel weak at the knees sometimes, too. Now, Stewart; how are things your end?’

  Stewart was meticulous with his figures. A big, reliable man, his waistline was beginning to thicken and his thatch of fair hair was beginning to recede from his temples. He hadn’t much sense of humour, but he did know what the word ‘principle’ meant.

  Ellie wasn’t sure that young Nirav did. An eager beaver, anxious to please. A bright boy, yes. But.

  At last Stewart shut down his laptop and leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, that’s it for today.’ He didn’t move.

  ‘Except,’ said Ellie, ‘that you have something to tell me. Or Nirav has?’

  Stewart looked at Pat, who hastily said she needed to get on, didn’t she, and departed.

  Ellie sighed. ‘It’s about Diana, isn’t it? Or about Mr Hooper? Or, perhaps, both?’

  Stewart nodded to Nirav. ‘Tell Mrs Quicke what you’ve heard, Nirav. I know it’s only gossip and we shouldn’t
pay any attention to it, but when it interferes, or when it might interfere with our work . . . You’d better tell her what you know.’

  To do him justice, Nirav looked as if he’d prefer not to speak. ‘It’s just that . . . it is only gossip. Are you sure . . .?’

  Stewart nodded.

  Ellie concentrated.

  Nirav wriggled in his chair. ‘Well, it’s like this. You know I’m working on the maintenance side of the properties to let? When there’s a complaint about a leak or a broken window or, well, anything, and when a property becomes vacant, I go in to take a note of what needs to be done, pass the order on to the builders and then keep track of progress. The other day I found our maintenance team had been so short-handed that they’d had to call in a freelance for an urgent job. It turned out that I knew the man because he’d done some work in the past for Hoopers.’

  Hoopers. Ah.

  Nirav said, ‘He works for himself, doing all right, word of mouth, you know? His cousin still works for Hoopers, though she says it’s not the same now and is looking around for another job. She passes all the gossip on to him, he knew I’d worked there at one time, and so we got talking.’

  His eyes shifted to Stewart. Stewart nodded at him to continue.

  With reluctance, Nirav obliged. ‘The thing is, I know she’s your daughter, Mrs Quicke, and I’m sure she’s a great business woman and an asset to Hoopers, and maybe they were overstaffed, but the atmosphere there now is, well, uncomfortable. At least, that’s what I was told. It seems that your daughter has been put in charge of assessing the capabilities of everyone who works for them and she’s clearing out those who don’t think the way she does. Some of them, well, she’s probably right, but then she got round to Mr Abel. I liked him. He was always very fair and straightforward with me.’

  Ellie bit the end of her pen. She’d encountered Mr Abel when he showed her over the Pryce mansion months ago, and had formed the opinion that he was conscientious, humourless, and efficient. The word that came to mind was ‘worthy’.