Murder With Mercy (13 page)

The dilapidated greenhouses had long ago disappeared, but an enchanting Japanese-style gazebo had been placed where guests might admire the rambler roses which had been Mrs Pryce's favourite, and which once again adorned the ochre-coloured London brick of the century-old walls. The bedding was mostly easy-to-maintain shrubs, but today a man was planting bulbs in giant stoneware containers on the patio.

Ellie was soothed by the sight. It wasn't going to be the cheapest of gardens to maintain. They could have covered the whole of the back garden with tarmac and made it into a car park, but this was to be a very special hotel, offering far more than overnight motel facilities.

Ellie told herself not to stand there daydreaming. She pulled herself away from the window and went to check on Vera, who was deeply asleep, but woke when Ellie called her name.

‘Let me take your temperature.' It was not quite as high as it had been, but still well over the arrow.

‘I must get up.' Vera's voice was a croak.

‘No, you mustn't. Pamper yourself for once. We can cope. Now I'll fetch you some more drinks and fruit. Anything else you fancy?'

‘Mikey …?'

‘I'll look after Mikey. Relax and enjoy a good rest. Do you want me to ring the college, tell them you're down with flu?'

‘If you would.'

Down the stairs Ellie went. Hadn't the cleaners been due today? What day of the week was it, anyway? Thursday? Then … Where was her watch? She'd put it down somewhere, but … No time to look for it now.

She rang the college and reported that Vera was off sick. They said a lot of their other students were off sick, too.

Now where was Mikey? Not in the quiet room, which was where she'd thought he might be. It was lunchtime. Well, nearly half past twelve, and that was lunchtime for Ellie.

Rose put her finger to her lips as Ellie arrived in the kitchen. Mikey was flat out in the big chair, asleep. He was warm but not hot. His flu – if that was what it was – was abating. He didn't stir when Ellie touched him. Midge the cat was on the floor at his feet eating … a biscuit? It might not be a biscuit. It might be something the cat had filched from somewhere. Best not enquire.

Rose looked ragged, her hair in wisps and her cardigan buttoned awry. ‘The boy's all right in here, isn't he? He says he got some more drink for his mum and she's asleep and for me not to bother her. Then he had three scrambled eggs on toast and a pint of orange juice, and fell asleep. I didn't like to disturb him.'

Three eggs and a pint of juice? His appetite had returned, then. Perhaps he didn't have flu after all? Yes, but he hadn't eaten much yesterday, had he? Maybe he was just making up for lost time?

Rose gestured to Vera's laptop open on the table in front of her. ‘I'm trying to do the weekly order from the supermarket. Vera's shown me how I don't know how many times, but I can't make head nor tail of it. I think I've ordered fifty packs of peas. Or that's what it says, and I can't remember how we get to pay the bill.'

Ellie tried to concentrate, but couldn't. There are people who can organize their lives through the medium of computers, and there are those who can't. She couldn't. Full stop.

‘Tell you what, Rose; cancel it. I've got to go and spend an hour with Mr Hooper, see that he eats something for lunch. I'll probably do him scrambled eggs, too. Quick and easy. I'm supposed to be making a couple of calls on the way back, errands for Diana, and then I'll pop into the Avenue and get some food at the shops on my way back. If there's too much for me to carry, I'll get a cab. Have we anything in for supper?'

‘Veg we have, if you count stuff in the freezer. Potatoes we have. There's a lasagne Vera made the other day, double portion. I'll get it out of the freezer to defrost. We could do with some more fruit, though. Let me make a list …'

I
t was raining. Or it had just stopped and was about to start again. Ellie rang for a cab, and while she waited for it she tidied up the sitting room and rescued the piece of paper Diana had given her with the names on it of possible Evan-sitters. She looked for her watch, but it was nowhere to be found. She did find her mobile phone, though it looked as if the battery was getting low. No time to do it now. Into the cab and off we go.

It would have been a help if Diana had thought to give Ellie a key to their house. Evan's daughter would be at school, and he would take his time getting to the front door. Did Ellie have time to ring home to see how Mikey and Vera were? She fumbled in her bag, found her mobile, remembered just in time that the battery was low and decided not to risk it.

At last the door opened. Evan was in his wheelchair, and it didn't look as if he'd bothered to shave that morning. A bad sign. ‘Where have you been? I've been worried sick, thinking you'd forgotten all about me.'

‘No, no.' Let's be cheerful, shall we? ‘A busy morning, business meeting.'

‘It's all right for some. That's what I ought to be doing, not stuck here all by myself with nobody to talk to and nobody to care whether I live or die.'

‘Now, you know I care. What do you say to some scrambled eggs?'

‘Can't you do better than that?'

Ellie held on to her patience with an effort. Hadn't she boasted only last night to Thomas that she liked dealing with people? ‘Unless there's something in the freezer which I can cook for you quickly, it'll have to be scrambled eggs.'

Scrambled eggs it was, as both the fridge and the freezer were almost empty. Now, how was she going to deal with that problem? Diana ought to … Well, don't let's start on that. Diana couldn't. She couldn't be expected to. Well, you might expect, but you wouldn't get.

Patience, she told herself. You'll think of something.

She cleared away the dirty dishes that had accumulated in the kitchen and started the dishwasher. Evan hung around, getting in her way.

She said, ‘Diana says some of your old flames might be wanting to visit you. How do you feel about that?'

He looked dodgy. ‘Hrrrm. Yes, I suppose so.'

Now what did he mean by that? Ah. ‘They've been in touch already, wanting to soothe your troubled brow?'

Almost, he blushed. ‘Why shouldn't I ring round some old friends, see if they can spare an hour to keep me company?' Turning aggressive. ‘What's it to do with you, anyway?'

She despaired. Why bother with such a boor? ‘Diana is worried about you. She worries about leaving you alone, and she worries about not being at the office. She wants to do the best she possibly can for you, but she's not sure how. She asked me to help out, and I'll do what I can even though I've a lot on my plate at the moment. Now, tell me about this harem of yours. Old friends, you say?'

‘Flutter-byes,' he said, with a cross between a grin and a grimace. ‘Good for a gin and tonic and not bad partners for a round of golf.'

‘Pleasant enough for an afternoon's entertainment?'

‘Too long in the tooth for that.'

Did he mean what she thought he meant? Dirty old man! She tried again. ‘I wonder if any of them play bridge? Perhaps you could find another couple, make up a foursome.'

‘Bridge! Hah!' He gave her a sly look. ‘Poker, now?'

Did he mean strip poker? She wouldn't put it past him, the randy old goat. Him in a wheelchair, too. ‘Bridge,' she said, as firmly as she could. ‘A gentleman's game.'

‘Meaning that poker isn't?'

She laughed, because she'd meant exactly that. Or half meant it. ‘Evan Hooper, you are winding me up.'

He laughed. ‘Nice to see you with some colour in your cheeks.'

She twisted round to see the clock. ‘I've got to go. I'm supposed to vet one of your ladies this afternoon, and I'm expecting a visit from a policewoman later on.'

‘What have you been poking your nose into now?'

She said, without thinking, ‘Ladies who die before their time, and Edwina Pryce.'

‘Ah.' He massaged his chin. ‘Edwina. Nasty piece of work. She's been ringing me almost every day. First she said she wanted me to find her a better flat to move into so that she could rent out her present one. I told her to ask Diana. Then she offered me the sale of Pryce House, which I told her straight she has no right to do. Wrapped up in all this was a lot of guff about how appallingly badly you've treated her, and that she believes you're behind some dark dealings at the hotel, which I couldn't make head nor tail of. Total garbage. She wants me to make you “see sense”. I told her you were impervious to threats. You take care, now.'

‘Thank you, Evan.' She bent over and kissed his cheek. Much to her own surprise, and possibly to his, too.

‘See yourself out.' Back to his surly self.

First on Diana's list for a visit was Marcia something-double-barrelled. Ellie used her mobile on the way, to check that the lady was in and would agree to see her. Marcia lived in a large Edwardian house but, according to the rank of bell-pushes in the porch, this one had been divided into flats. Ellie shivered. There was what some people called a brisk wind, and she was feeling the cold today. She hoped she wasn't going down with flu.

She fidgeted, worrying about how long this would take before she could get back home and find out what was happening there. Mikey …

A tinny voice through an entryphone. ‘Yes?'

‘Ellie Quicke. Evan Hooper's mother-in-law.' That sounded grand and also a bit off since Evan was almost her own age. The front door clicked open, and Ellie stepped into a dark hall with a tiled floor. Substantial doors led off to right and left, and one of these stood open to reveal a well-dressed, well-preserved woman with impeccably groomed grey hair and a good if slightly heavy figure. An advertisement for Burberry, Harvey Nichols, and the cream that's supposed to rejuvenate your skin. This woman had been handsome in her time. She was also accustomed to exerting authority. An ex-councillor? Possibly still active in the field of politics? Tory, of course. No, perhaps independent.

A hand with many rings on it was extended to be shaken. ‘Do come in. We've met before, I think, at the golf club? Your husband used to partner me now and then. He died young, didn't he? You never took to the game, did you? I seem to remember his saying you had no talent in that direction.'

Well, that was a good start, wasn't it? Ellie forced a smile. ‘Yes, he loved his game of golf. My second husband doesn't play at all, though perhaps he should, to keep his weight down, you know?'

Eyebrows were lifted at that, indicating disapproval. The sitting room was furnished by Harrods with a preponderance of brocade, velvet curtains, tassels and orchids in pseudo-Chinese pots. There was a huge flat screen above the fireplace and below it a carriage clock which now chimed the hour. Ellie started. Three o'clock already?

There were four silver-framed family-style photographs on a side table.

Marcia saw Ellie looking at them and said, ‘Son; plus second wife and children. The others are ex-husbands.' She counted them off on her fingers. ‘Number one died of cancer. I divorced number two after he ran off with his secretary, who was half my age. She didn't last long, went off with someone who had more money to spend on her. He came whining back to me but by that time I was on to number three … only, he had a heart attack and died within the year. I'm not on the lookout for number four. How about you?'

Ellie blinked. ‘I'm still on my second.'

The furniture in the room was arranged in an unusual way. All the overstuffed chairs and settees – of which there were plenty – had been moved so that there was a sort of corridor of carpet leading from the fireplace to a strange contraption under the windows.

Marcia was holding something … a putting iron? Was that the right term for it?

‘Do sit down. You're in the way. I need to practice my putting.' She dropped a golf ball on to the floor, measured distances with her eye, and swung the putting iron, sending the ball skimming across the carpet and plop! into the plastic container under the window. Ah, an improvised practice ‘hole'.

‘Not bad,' pronounced Marcia, laying her club – if that was the name of it – down and hovering in front of a lacquered Chinese cabinet. ‘One for the road?'

Meaning what? A sherry? At that time of the afternoon?

Ellie told herself not to be so judgemental. ‘I still have a lot to do today, I'm afraid.'

Marcia shrugged and poured some orangey liquid. ‘Carrot juice. I'm not fond of it but it's supposed to help you live longer. It looks better from a decanter, don't you think? So, who asked you to come? Evan or the darling little wifey? Not that she's either a darling or little, come to think of it. She doesn't resemble you, does she?'

Ho hum. One of those women who thought ‘speaking her mind' wasn't bad manners but was ‘making her position clear'.

‘Diana is very worried about Evan.'

‘So she should be. Isn't it her job to look after him in his hour of need?'

Ellie set her teeth. ‘She also has to keep the business going. Plus the baby is due any day now. She's at her wits' end to know how to juggle her priorities.'

‘I've known him a long time. She'll lose him if she's not careful.'

Ellie decided to ignore the insinuation that Evan might discard Diana for another woman. ‘Oh, I don't think he's that poorly.'

‘I didn't mean that, and you know I didn't.'

Ellie felt her colour rise. ‘The prognosis is excellent but it will take time for him to get back on to his feet and into the office. Meanwhile he has much to look forward to.'

Marcia cracked out a laugh. ‘Oh well, if that's your position. I suppose you can't allow yourself to think otherwise. Take it from me, if he doesn't get the attention he thinks he deserves, he'll be looking for wife number five any day now.'