Murder With Mercy (6 page)

Ouch! She was supposed to be babysitting Evan Hooper at nine. She sprang out of bed – well, lurched out of bed, actually – and headed for the bathroom. ‘Give me ten minutes and I'll be up to see to your mum. I think Thomas had to go somewhere today. He must have left early. I've got to go out, but I'll take you to school on my way.'

Mikey slid off the bed and eeled out of the room.

Vera was indeed most unwell, running a high temperature. Ellie knew there was nothing to be gained by ringing the doctor for a simple case of flu, but made sure the girl had plenty to drink and some painkillers. She dashed downstairs to snatch up a banana and eat it while checking she had her mobile phone in her handbag, and her keys … and a notebook, just in case. She found a dry-cleaning ticket … She ought to have collected her coat two days ago. She must remember to pick it up. She reassured Rose that she'd be back at lunchtime, ignored the mess in the sitting room and phoned for a cab to take her to the Hooper household, dropping Mikey off at school on the way. She had never learned to drive but kept a tab with a local cab company.

The Hooper house was a large, detached, three-storey house in a road of similar well-to-do houses. All traces of the fire that had done so much damage had been banished with fresh paint and triple-glazing for the new sash windows. The double garage to one side had been completely rebuilt, but there were no curtains at the windows of the flat above it, so there was no live-in staff as yet. The place looked stark and unwelcoming on such a dark, drizzly morning.

Diana – who was Evan's fourth wife – didn't approve of frills, or of allowing greenery to soften the red brick of the frontage. Each of Evan's wives had wanted a different decor for the interior. Ellie wondered how Diana had risen to the challenge of removing her predecessor's image.

Needless to say, Diana was waiting for Ellie in the hall, looking at her watch. ‘You're cutting it fine. His daughter's at school and Evan is in the sun room. He'd like some coffee and toast for his breakfast, as quickly as you can. I may be late back. I'll ring you if I am.' Off she went, pulling her coat up around her neck.

How long would Diana be able to keep on working? The baby was due next week, wasn't it?

Ellie admired the new William Morris wallpaper in the hall. It suited the house. She went into the kitchen – she might have guessed it would be all black marble surfaces – and through that into the large conservatory at the back of the house. From being a private gym in the time of Evan's third wife it had been returned to its original use as a sun room, but there were no plants in it. Instead there was bamboo furniture, screens and a water feature. Ellie wondered if Diana would install plastic plants; they'd fit in nicely.

The master of the house looked as beaky as ever. Even in a wheelchair he was an impressive figure of a man, but he had put on weight recently. Probably because he had nothing to do except eat and grumble? He greeted her without a smile – what had she expected? – and demanded the day's news-papers, his iPhone and coffee.

She said, ‘Please?'

‘What?'

‘My daughter has asked me to keep you company this morning and, although I am very busy, I am happy to oblige. But I am not your servant, and when I've brought you what you've asked for, I hope you will remember to thank me.' Smiling as sweetly as she could, she returned to the kitchen. Once out of his sight, she stamped her foot and mouthed a bad word. Then went to do as he'd asked. Perhaps when he'd been fed and watered, he'd be in a better mood.

He started yelling for her even as she carried his coffee in to him. ‘Ellie! Hey, you there!'

Ellie said, ‘Do you treat my daughter the same way?'

‘What?' He thought about that. ‘It's no fun being in a wheelchair, it's enough to make a saint swear, and I'm no saint.'

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.'

T
he 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 …