Murder in Style (20 page)

He looked at his watch. ‘Mustn't be late. We're going on a Caribbean cruise in the autumn. I was never romantically involved with the twins.'

So much for Marika's hints. Ellie was slightly annoyed with herself for having taken everything Marika said at face value. Or, was Mr Mornay sliding over the truth, too? ‘But you were keen to help Poppy recently?'

‘Well, yes. All friends, together. Long time. Naturally.'

‘Back to the eighteenth birthday party. Was there lots to drink?'

He slowed down, coming to yet another red light. It was said there were too many red lights in the borough. Perhaps they were right. The alternatives seemed to be lots of roundabouts. Which was worse?

He said, ‘Lavish. They had a mansion in those days, with a garden leading down into a wood, where we did tend to stray …' A self-conscious laugh. He'd been there, and done that, hadn't he? ‘As for booze, yes: there was beer and soft drinks. The Cordovers didn't want spirits on their premises. There was also a fruit cup. Some people brought top-ups.' He twitched a smile as the lights changed and they drove on.

‘Ah-ha,' said Ellie. ‘Someone poured a bottle of vodka into the innocuous fruit punch when Marika's back was turned? Were the parents out for the evening?'

‘Something like that.' A widening smile. ‘Not that Poppy needed any encouragement to cut a caper. She was quite some goer in those days.'

‘Unlike Juno?'

‘Juno was the original Miss Prim. Gordon had to work hard to pull her off her pedestal. He was desperate to get a ring on her finger, but she kept putting him off. What a tease she was!'

Ellie swallowed bile. Yes, she'd known men like this before, who considered all women fair game. And yes, she had to admit that many of her generation of girls had been all too happy to lose their virginity at the first opportunity. Some, like Ellie, had waited. It sounded as if Juno at eighteen hadn't been any too keen to tie herself down to a life with Gordon.

Ellie remembered Clemmie saying that her mother didn't drink. A fruit cup at her birthday party must have seemed safe enough. Ellie said, ‘Who spiked the fruit cup? Gordon?'

An amused laugh. ‘No, no. Some gatecrasher, I believe. We were all on the sauce that night, Gordon, Ray, and I. We each took our girls down into the wood in turn for a bit of how's-your-father. Nothing wrong in that.' He swung into the roundabout and came out ahead of a car which had tried to cut in. ‘I'll have to park in the multi-storey. All right by you?'

‘Sure.'

‘Someone, probably Ray, dared Poppy to dance on a table-top, and she did. We took turns lifting our girls up on to the tables. One overturned. I suppose it got a bit out of hand, but it was all in good fun.'

‘Did Juno dance on the table, too?'

‘Far too straight-laced. She was there later, though, when we were all smooching, dancing on the patio. We'd all paired off by then. Marge and I …' He laughed, shook his head. ‘What a night that was!' They drew up at another red light.

Ellie was intrigued. ‘Gordon and Juno ended up dancing cheek to cheek?'

‘No, no. He'd passed out under one of the tables. At least, I think that was him. No, I lie. Didn't he tumble down the steps and …? No, that wasn't him. It was Ray's friend who threw up in the flower bed. Juno was dancing with some bloke who'd gatecrashed the party. Dunno who he'd come with. Some of us were too far gone to drive home, had to take taxis. Can't remember who gave Ray a lift. It was all a bit of a blur at the end. Marge lost one of her shoes and I had to carry her to my car, where she passed out. Happy days. Marge and I got engaged that night.' He swung into the ramp leading up to the multi-storey car park. ‘We're meeting at a restaurant just off the Green, if that's all right with you.'

And that's when Ellie got it.

How stupid she'd been!

Real estate equals Marge. Real estate equals Ellie's ambitious daughter, Diana. They were both estate agents.

The ten houses owned by The Magpie partnership might now come on to the market, if Juno decided to sell.

Diana had known or had guessed that Poppy's houses might come on to the market. Did she want Ellie to advance the money to buy them? Yes, that would fit with Diana's preoccupation about making money. But, how could Diana have known about it?

Ellie thought back to the first conversation she'd had with Diana at the start of this business, when she, Ellie, had been about to leave the house for her dentist's appointment, and Diana had said something about it was a chance in a lifetime, something she'd only just heard about. Then Lesley had rung to introduce the Cordovers, and Ellie had been drawn into their family's affairs.

Diana had been trying to contact Ellie ever since, saying it was urgent. Actually, it wasn't urgent. Was it? Nothing could happen till probate had been granted, and there was no guarantee that Juno would want to sell up.

Ellie chided herself. She'd got hold of the wrong end of the stick. It wasn't common knowledge that Juno inherited Poppy's estate, so how could Diana have known about it?

Charles led Ellie into the lion's den, which looked like any other pleasant, middling good restaurant. He said, ‘Do you often eat out in the Broadway?' Not expecting an answer.

Ellie thought that she must ring Thomas to say she was going to be late for supper … which would probably be cheese, cheese and more cheese. Possibly with some pâté in there somewhere.

‘Let me introduce my wife, Marjorie. Marge, this is Mrs Quicke, the philanthropist.'

M
r Mornay said, ‘Marge, this is Mrs Quicke.'

‘Delighted to meet you at last, Mrs Quicke.' The woman was already seated at the bar and didn't rise to greet them, but did extend her hand in welcome.

Ellie nodded and produced a social smile. They shook hands, all politeness, while taking stock of one another.

Marge was fair, fat, forty and gorgeous. She had curly ginger hair, pencilled-on eyebrows, bright red lipstick, brilliantly patterned floral clothes over a comfortable body, and a bandeau round her head with an artificial flower stuck into it. Ellie wondered whether Trixie had copied Marge, or vice versa.

Marge indicated a chair beside her. ‘You'll join us for a bite to eat?'

‘Just a coffee, if I may. I'm expected back home for supper.' She glanced at her watch, and decided to allow fifteen minutes' grace before she left.

‘Charles will get you a cab when you're ready.' It was clear who wore the trousers in this household, wasn't it? No, wait a minute; hadn't someone said they were divorced?

Charles – Mr Mornay – said, ‘Ellie was enquiring about our friend Gordon, and how we all got together, all those years ago.' He was enthusiastic in his friend's defence. ‘Gordon's quite something, isn't he, Marge? What he's had to put up with, so much pain, and never complaining! A lesser man would have given up and become a complete invalid before now, but, did I tell you, Ellie, that on the days he feels all right, he works at a local day centre for the disabled, which is held in the church over the road? He's an example to us all, isn't he, Marge?'

Marge sipped her drink and said, ‘Mm'hm.'

Charles went on, ‘Look, Mrs Quicke, I know you're prejudiced against him for some reason. I suspect you've been listening to Clemmie, right? Well, there's two sides to every story. Gordon has tried to love Clemmie even though, well, it's obvious, isn't it, that he's not her natural father? But she's a little witch; she throws all his care and good advice back in his face. I'm sorry to say this, but she is an ungrateful little girl. It's all of a piece, as he says. He was always afraid she'd end up doing something terrible, and look what's happened!'

Ellie absorbed that. She understood that if, like Charles, you had known Gordon for ever, and trusted his word, then you might only see Gordon's point of view. ‘You've never had a serious, in-depth talk with Clemmie yourself?'

‘Me? No. Why should I?'

Marge put her hand on her husband's arm. ‘Darling, we're being remiss. Can you get Mrs Quicke a coffee? And another gin for me.'

‘Of course.' A flustered retreat.

Marge produced a wide, confiding smile. ‘Charles gets the oddest of ideas, sometimes. For a start, he thought he could persuade the family into letting me manage the sale of Poppy's houses …'

Ellie got it! Poppy and Juno already gave whatever business they had to Marge.

‘But that was before he realized that Juno gets the lot …'

Which wouldn't make any difference to Marge.

‘He's a determined little so-and-so when he gets an idea into his head.' Marge smiled, warmly, genuinely, inviting Ellie to join her in a warm appreciation of her husband.

Ellie began to like Marge.

Ellie said, ‘It's nothing to do with me.' She, too, smiled, letting Marge know that they understood one another. ‘Nothing can happen till probate is granted, anyway.'

‘You and I both know that. Juno knows that, too.'

‘You and Juno are good friends?'

Marge scrutinized the nail polish on brightly pink fingernails. And nodded.

Ellie went a step further. ‘May I ask why you weren't at the funeral?'

A sigh. Half-closed eyes looking into the distance. ‘When Juno phoned to tell me about Poppy, I'd just arrived on one of the Greek islands for a very much overdue holiday. I was supposed to have gone away a couple of months ago, but my elderly mother had had a fall and I had to get her settled in sheltered accommodation before I took time off. It was a stressful time for both of us. My mother is a right old battle-axe. I only hope I'm as contrary and as fighting fit when I'm eighty-five. I was over at the knees when I crawled off the plane and heard the news. I told Juno I'd fly back straight away. She said not to, that I couldn't do anything and that I needed the rest. She said Ray was arranging a pauper's funeral and that I'd hate it.' She winced. ‘She said we could talk every day, which we did, sometimes for an hour at a time. I was worried about her. I've noticed that in grief people often go down with some kind of virus or infection and neglect to do anything about it. But she did tell me, the last time I rang her, that she'd been to the doctor and was feeling a bit better.'

Ellie guessed, ‘You know she's gone missing? She rang and told you?'

A nod, but no comment.

Ellie said, ‘I'm beginning to understand what went on in that marriage, and I'm not surprised she's gone missing, either. Do you know where she is? Or, do you think you can find out?'

‘I'm not even going to try.'

Another guess. ‘She asked you not to tell Gordon?'

‘Why would she do that?' Arched eyebrows. Mock astonishment.

Ellie relaxed. ‘You don't like Gordon, either?'

‘Gordon is,' Marge considered her words with care, ‘a slimy, treacherous, hypocritical toad with a wicked tongue. Oh, and he's a bully, too.'

Ellie nodded. ‘My opinion, exactly. Who was driving the car when Gordon was injured?'

‘My darling ex-husband, of course. Guilt, my dear. It's ruled his life ever since. I suppose he's fed you the line that he and I have had our troubles but that our marriage is sound? He's an old goat. I divorced him ten years ago, after the umpteenth betrayal. I live in the Docklands nowadays, but we do get together occasionally, for old times' sake. We might even go on a cruise this autumn if I don't get a better offer. I'm here now for Clemmie's sake. I hear she's in trouble. I don't know what Charles has told you, but to my mind she's a credit to her grandparents and to her mother. She's my goddaughter, incidentally.'

‘Is she also a credit to her father?'

‘Unknown,' said Marge with a bland smile.

Which might mean that he wasn't unknown to Marge. Would Marge lie? Yes, of course she would, if she thought it a good idea to do so.

Marge produced a business card. ‘Call me any time if you think I can help.'

She wasn't missing a trick, was she! Marge must know that Ellie's trust fund had its own arrangement with a local estate agent. But where was the harm in trying? Ellie liked Marge all the better for it. Ellie took the card. ‘I don't have any cards, I'm afraid. And I rather think I'm out of my depth in this case. Did your husband tell you I've been going around asking awkward questions, and that he doesn't know how to get rid of me?'

‘Marika said you could help. I hope you can. I'm rather fond of Clemmie, you see.'

Marika's influence reached into surprising quarters, didn't it?

Charles returned, looking harried. ‘You didn't say what sort of coffee you wanted, Mrs Quicke. Latte, cappuccino, filter, espresso, mocha? They've got the lot.'

‘Don't worry about me,' said Ellie. ‘I really must be getting back or Thomas will be sending out a search party. You stay and enjoy your supper. I'll get a taxi from outside the station.'

Anything to get away from these people and
think!

She stepped into a taxi and gave her home address.

Every time she thought she'd got something straight in her mind, someone else contradicted it. Marika said this, and Charles said that. Marge refuted Charles's story, and Charles – though he'd probably been straight enough on the state of the garage finances – couldn't be relied on for a sound judgement on Gordon, and didn't seem to know all the family's secrets.

Back to basics. Gordon was going to go to the police on Monday morning to accuse Clemmie of murder and fraud, and this was Saturday evening.

What was for supper? Cheese and pâté?

She paid off the taxi, and let herself in to the house. ‘I'm home!'

‘About time, too!'

Diana, in a black and white rage. Black as to clothing, white of face, and livid of temper. ‘Where have you been! Where on earth have you been! I've been ringing and ringing, trying to trace you, asking everyone I knew where you might have gone to ground!'