Murder With Mercy

by Veronica Heley

  No. She handed him his coffee and the newspapers. ‘You don’t have to stay indoors. You could get a cab to take you in to work. You must miss it.’

  Silence. A reddening of puffy cheeks? ‘At my age …’

  She crossed her fingers. ‘You’re not old. You’ve a lot to look forward to.’

  ‘You’re as old as you feel.’

  ‘Soon you’ll have your son to look after.’

  A grunt by way of reply. He opened the newspaper and hid behind it. ‘I’m feeling the cold nowadays. Would you fetch my cashmere sweater from my bedroom? On the chair in the window, first right at the top of the stairs. You can look into the boy’s room too, if you like. I’ve had everything sent in from Harrods. Only the best for my boy.’

  But not, alas, for his only remaining daughter, who’d inherited his looks and had an even better brain, but whose sex had always ruled her out in her father’s eyes.

  Ellie went up the stairs and into the first bedroom; a huge double-bedded room, masculine in tone. En suite. No female fripperies in sight. Not that Diana went in for fripperies, but … yes, the adjoining bedroom was obviously hers. A walk-in dressing-room and en suite lay beyond.

  Across the landing at the back of the house Ellie found what was obviously destined to be a guest room, followed by one for his daughter. It wasn’t so much of a schoolgirl’s room as that of a student who took life seriously. Books, computer, television, jeans, and sweaters. Also a somewhat worn teddy bear tucked between duvet and pillow.

  Back to the landing, and Ellie found the room dedicated to the boy who would shortly, God willing, ease the hunger in Evan’s heart. Poor little mite. Diana had never been good mother material, and Evan would probably spoil the new baby rotten. The room had been decorated in blue for a boy. Everything had been delivered for a young prince but was still in its wrappings. Perhaps Diana was superstitious enough not to want to unpack anything until the baby had arrived safely? Or perhaps she didn’t care enough to do so?

  Ellie shook her head at her thoughts, and then cheered up. It was possible that Evan’s neglected daughter, who had always been the best of the bunch, might supply the loving care the baby would need.

  Ellie took the sweater downstairs and helped Evan into it.

  He said, ‘I hate being like this. It’s no sort of life.’

  ‘The baby will give you a reason for living. You’ll be back on your feet in no time when he comes.’

  ‘Diana’s doing well, isn’t she?’ He was pathetically anxious.

  ‘She is, indeed.’ Crossing fingers.

  ‘I mean, if anything were to happen to her just now, the business would fall apart. But if I ask her to be careful, she snaps my head off.’

  Ellie nodded. No comment was safest.

  He huffed and puffed, and finally came out with it. ‘I had an old acquaintance come to see me about you and what she calls your underhand dealings.’ He looked to see how Ellie took this. ‘She said you’d cheated her out of her inheritance. She knew I’d been involved in the early stages of selling Pryce House and wanted me to help her upset her stepmother’s will, or to get you to hand over your shares in the hotel to her.’

  ‘You told her to get lost?’

  ‘Of course. After all, Diana will get them in due course, won’t she?’

  Ellie almost laughed. The poor deluded man. ‘I’m afraid not. I put all my assets into a trust fund for charitable purposes. Diana gets diddly-squat. I thought you knew that.’

  He glowered at her. ‘Of course I knew.’ Judging from his expression, he hadn’t. ‘I told the harpy I couldn’t help her.’

  ‘Let me guess. Edwina Pryce? She’s a millstone round my neck. Under the terms of the will, I’m supposed to keep her out of the clutches of the bailiffs.’

  ‘She was saying, hinting, that you’re getting someone to sabotage the rebuild of the house so that the hotel won’t open on time.’

  ‘What! Why on earth would I do that?’

  ‘To get a better price for the house from another company, perhaps? That was her thought, anyway.’

  ‘That’s rubbish, Evan, and you know it.’ Edwina was dropping poison everywhere, wasn’t she? Had she been hanging around Pryce House? How, otherwise, would she know about the recent problems there? What if Mikey really …? No, not possible. Ellie decided to talk to the boy again about it.

  Evan cleared his throat, looking shamefaced. ‘Diana hates me being like this, doesn’t she? I worry that … if I never walk again …?’

  ‘She’s worried that you’ve stopped trying to get back on your feet. She’s carrying a heavy burden what with the office, the baby and a husband who’s in a wheelchair.’

  Tears stood out in his eyes, and Ellie averted her head. He wouldn’t want her to witness his weakness. He snuffled, searching for a handkerchief in his pockets. She looked around for a box of tissues, but didn’t find one.

  He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. ‘Sometimes I get so down, particularly when it’s cold. I feel the cold nowadays. And old friends die …’

  Ellie nodded. Yes, they did.

  ‘Anita. You knew her, too, didn’t you? From the old days. Always so active. You never really got involved in the golf club crowd, but you do remember her, don’t you?’

  Ellie nodded. Anita. Ellie remembered a lively lass with a mass of fair hair and a gravelly, gin-and-tonic voice. The sort of person who gravitated to being chair of whatever charitable committee was flavour of the month. ‘Of course I remember her. Cancer, wasn’t it?’

  ‘In remission for years and then it came back not once but twice. Freddie, her husband – you may not have come across him so much, he’s still working – he used to turn out as Father Christmas at the golf club parties, always good for a laugh. Anyway, he did ask me to visit, to cheer her up, but I’d only just come out of hospital and couldn’t face it. I ought to have gone to see her, though what I could have done … You feel so helpless. Then it’s too late, it’s all over and you feel guilty, though that’s stupid, too. I couldn’t have done anything to help.’

  Ellie shook her head. He was feeling guilty enough without her saying so.

  ‘Tragic.’ His hands clutched the arms of his chair and released them. Over and over.

  ‘Freddie asked if I’d a photo of Anita from the last golf club trophy dinner, before she took sick again. Presenting the trophy, you know? We always use the same photographer, so I rang her and asked her to search her archives, see if she could come up with something for him, and she did. I meant her to drop it round to him, but she put it through my letter-box instead and now …’ He gestured at his legs. ‘I can’t get round there. I asked Diana to take it round to him, but she’s so busy … Do you think you could …?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Mentally rearranging her day to fit in this errand.

  He gave a heavy sigh. ‘She took a massive overdose. Waited till her husband was away for the weekend, so he wouldn’t find her and try to bring her back. I’ll give her this, she was efficient in whatever she did. She must have been hoarding the tablets for weeks. The doctor wouldn’t give her many at a time, you know. It makes it worse to think of her carefully setting one tablet a day aside, enduring sleepless nights, so that in the end she would go into an endless night.’ He tried to laugh. ‘Ha! I’m getting quite poetic. An endless night. Does that come from a poem, do you think?’

  Ellie wasn’t much into poetry. ‘It’s a good way of putting it. I’ll take the photo round to him at lunchtime.’

  ‘It’s like the Hamlet thing. Or is it Macbeth? What if it’s not all over when you die? Suppose you wake up in a nightmare?’ He checked her face to see if she were following him. She didn’t know what to say, and her face must have shown her bewilderment and doubt.

  He said, ‘I’m getting maudlin. Diana tells me I’m dwelling on it far too much. But sometimes, I think … well, if Anita’s life was unendurable, if the pain had got too much, and there was nothing more that could be done to help her …
?’

  Ellie made an effort to cheer him up. ‘The doctors say there’s no need for anyone to suffer like that nowadays.’

  ‘Morphine, you mean? Ah, but would you have enough when you wanted it? No, I think she took the right decision. I salute her for it. I hope I shall have the guts to do the same if … Not that I’m anywhere near that.’

  Ellie was bracing. ‘Particularly as your son will need his father soon. Very soon.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ His eyes brightened, and then went dull again. ‘It’s the waiting. I’ve never been any good at waiting.’

  FOUR

  Wednesday noon

  The doctor had said he’d make an appointment for her at the memory clinic, but she hadn’t heard anything from them yet.

  She remembered some things so clearly, they might have happened that morning … except, what had she done that morning? She couldn’t find her diary. Had she written anything down on the calendar?

  Oh. Yes, Surgery at ten o’clock, to see the practice nurse. Not a nice woman; not nice at all. Called herself Desiree, if you please. In the old days they’d never have employed someone as overweight and unhealthy-looking, but nowadays doctors didn’t have much choice, did they? It was all committees and partnerships and she didn’t know what. Unfortunately, since her dear doctor Ben died, she’d had to put up with seeing Desiree at regular intervals in the surgery.

  Desiree was big and black and beautiful. Well, big and black; a beauty she was not. When Desiree took your blood pressure, you had to turn your head away. How could a practice nurse hold down a job with bad breath? Desiree called you ‘dearie’ and ‘pet’, and she didn’t listen when asked to use your proper name. Desiree had no respect for senior citizens. In the old days Desiree would have called an older woman ‘Madam’ … There was a musical with that title, wasn’t there, long ago? ‘Call me Madam’?

  Desiree said that they were all in a flapdoodle about Florrie killing her auntie. Something to do with the number of pills Ruby took, and the niece … the fat one, what was her name? Silly name, something to do with a place older than time? Got it! Petra. A city half as old as time. Apparently, Petra was going to sue everyone in sight, saying the doctors had been careless, giving Ruby too many pills. Petra had always been trouble, right from the word go. She remembered Ruby saying …

  Now what was it Ruby used to say?

  It had gone. Maybe it would come back later.

  Everyone at the surgery was upset about Petra. If she found a solicitor who’d take the case on a ‘No Win, No Fee’ basis, then the doctors would be in real trouble. That couldn’t be allowed. After all, she knew who’d helped poor Ruby to have a good night’s sleep for once.

  She’d better call round and have a word with Petra next day.

  Had she anything in her diary? Where was her diary, anyway?

  Wednesday afternoon

  Ellie hesitated. Was this the right place? It didn’t look like a house in which someone had died recently. Far from it.

  It was a substantial detached house, probably built about 1920, on a main road. A dropped kerb allowed cars to enter a paved forecourt through electronically-controlled wrought-iron gates tipped with gold. Ellie counted four cars on the forecourt: one luxury model with tinted windows, two smaller runabouts and a builders’ van. One of the smaller cars was bright red. You couldn’t change the colour of your car just because someone in the house had died, but it did strike an incongruous note.

  It wasn’t only the cars which gave her pause, for even as she approached, an effigy of Father Christmas on a sleigh, complete with reindeer, was being hoisted into position on the front of the house. Three men were currently working to secure the installation, easing it into place with many a merry quip and yell of, ‘Watch it!’ and, ‘Left hand down a bit!’

  The decoration – if you could call it that – was dotted with hundreds of light bulbs which would dispense signs of seasonal cheer to the neighbourhood. In mid November.

  Ellie consulted the piece of paper on which Evan had written the number of Freddie and Anita’s house. Surprising as it might seem, this was definitely it. Ellie dived for shelter from the drizzle into a deep porch and located the doorbell.

  The front door opened to a blast of warm air, some heavy rock music, and the whine of a vacuum cleaner. A woman in her forties, pretty enough in an insipid way, held the door open. She was talking into a mobile phone, complaining that someone had let her down. Was this really the right house?

  Ellie hesitated.

  ‘Yes?’ The woman shut off her phone. ‘We don’t buy at the door.’

  Ellie reddened. Did she look like someone selling dusters? ‘I’d like to speak to—’

  ‘He’s not seeing any visitors at the moment.’

  ‘Oh. Well, Evan Hooper asked me to drop in this photograph of—’

  ‘I’ll take it, shall I?’ The woman reached for the packet.

  ‘Who is it, May?’ Freddie, the man of the house, appeared from the back of the hall; tubby, dark of hair, florid of countenance, genial in manner. Casually but expensively dressed. She recognized him from the old days and noted that he wasn’t exhibiting any particular signs of grief. No wringing of hands or dishevelled appearance.

  ‘Evan Hooper asked me to bring—’

  ‘I know you, don’t I? Of course. You’re Mrs Quicke?’ Shaking hands, drawing her inside. ‘Long time no see, what with this and that. Hard times, your husband and now my wife … Come on in. Horrible day, isn’t it?’

  The insipid blonde looked annoyed. ‘Yes, but Freddie! You agreed, no visitors.’ She even went so far as to lay a hand on his arm. ‘You need time to—’

  ‘It’s all right, May. Don’t fuss so.’ He stepped away from her, letting her hand slip off his arm. ‘Do come on in, Mrs Quicke. You find us all at sixes and sevens, always the same when we have to put the lights up, wasn’t sure whether or not to do so this year, was it lacking in respect, you know? I decided to go ahead when May said the neighbours would be so disappointed if we didn’t. Everyone looks forward to it. Only now I’m wondering whether it was the right thing to do. Oh, this is May, my right-hand woman from the office, keeps me on the straight and narrow, ha ha.’

  May held out her hand to be shaken, unwilling to be dismissed. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m sure you understand, Mrs Quicke, that it’s early days yet and he must take care not to overdo things.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Freddie, sweeping Ellie into a sitting room occupying the depth of the house. A hothouse atmosphere, lilies wilting in a cut-glass vase, a Siamese cat giving Ellie a look of annoyance, a plump girl with a broad face – possibly Polish – wielding a vacuum cleaner.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ said Ellie, trying to give him the photograph again. ‘I just brought—’

  ‘No, no. I insist. May; can we rustle up some coffee? And …’ He struck his forehead, addressing the cleaner. ‘Sorry, forgotten your name for the moment. Could you, do you think … somewhere else?’

  The cleaner pinched in her lips, but removed herself and the hoover. May, however, was not so easy to dislodge. She said, ‘Freddie, you promised me you would have a quiet time today and not rush about, but deal with some of the paperwork that—’

  ‘Yes, yes. It’s not really that important, is it? Mrs Quicke, do have a seat. The coffee will be up in a minute, won’t it, May? Now, Mrs Quicke; I’ve been meaning to call on Evan, but, well, you know how it is, one’s own life gets suspended somewhat when … Where does the time go, I ask myself? It was only yesterday that …’ He heaved a great sigh, then turned on May, who had stubbornly refused to do as he’d asked. ‘May, dear. Coffee, please?’

  May’s colour rose, but she admitted defeat and left the room.

  ‘Now,’ said Freddie, ‘we can be comfortable. May is a treasure, an absolute blessing, I don’t know what I’d have done without her, especially at the beginning when I couldn’t seem to lace up my shoes properly, or tell you which day of the week it was. But now I’m sort of comi
ng out of it, trying to pick up the pieces, ha ha. May’s quite right, I’m not coping all that well, but it has been on my mind to get in touch with Evan. I must not lose touch with my old friends. So tell me; how is he?’

  He seemed genuinely to care, and Ellie – who had written him off at first as a man who was recovering rather too fast from his wife’s death – began to warm to him. She said, ‘You two go back a long way.’

  ‘I was best man at his first marriage. What a woman! Anita always said it wouldn’t last, that she was too much of a man for him. His other wives came and went, so to speak. Serial monogamy, Anita said. She, my wife, was godmother to one of theirs, can’t remember which one for the moment. Anita and I, we never had any offspring, more’s the pity. I used to envy old Evan with all his … Not that we weren’t happy, Anita and I, you get used to these things, and as I always say, what’s meant to be, you’ve just got to cut your cloth and get on with it, right? So, how is he bearing up?’

  ‘He’s a bit down; it’s a slow progress getting back on his feet and he’s inclined to give up. He needs a lot of encouragement. If you could find time to visit, cheer him up, it might help. But I do understand that when someone dies, your own life is put on hold.’

  He put out his hand to pat hers. ‘Yes, you know all about that, don’t you, with your first kicking the bucket as he did. Who’d have thought it, eh? I mean, he always seemed so fit but there it is, and we can never be sure what lies in store for us and all that. You remarried, I hear. A man of the cloth? Working out all right?’

  She wasn’t offended because he seemed sincere in his enquiries. ‘Very much so.’

  ‘Second time round,’ he said, nodding. ‘Not that I want another crack at it. Anita and I, we didn’t always see eye to eye, how could it be otherwise, but we were good friends. Always.’

  Ellie spared a thought for May, who might or might not have aspirations in Freddie’s direction, but if she did have any such hopes she was doomed to fail. This man was still in the depths of grief, though on the surface he was coping well enough.