Murder By Committee Page 26

  Kate didn't ring. Ellie sewed a button on a blouse, fretting. How were they getting on in the City? Had Sir Arthur been defeated, or had he triumphed yet again? How was Julian Talbot doing? Would the rain never stop?

  Three o'clock found them in Bill Weatherspoon's office, explaining as best they could what had happened. Bill was an old family friend of Ellie's. He had a wise, monkey-like face on top of a tall - not to say gangling - body. Older than her and supposedly thinking about retiring, he was her first port of call whenever she got into trouble. He heard them out, blinked once or twice, and asked for some parts of the narrative to be repeated.

  Then he leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers together. ‘Do I understand that you had information which was relevant to several crimes, including attempted murder … and you left it with Miss Quicke, instead of handing it over to the police?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ellie. ‘I see what you mean. But we did try to tell the police, honest.’

  Bill washed his face with both hands. ‘Lady Kingsley walked out of her house, leaving her husband in possession, instead of asking him to leave?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Felicity in a small voice. ‘He frightens me.’

  Bill exhaled. ‘You do realize you've both placed yourselves in the wrong? Yes?’

  They nodded, forlornly.

  ‘Well, we'll just have to see what we can do about it. Ellie, would you care to use the phone in the outer office to see if your aunt has turned the evidence over to the police yet? Meanwhile, I need to take some details from Lady Kingsley.’

  Dismissed, Ellie did as she was told. She rang her aunt's and Rose answered the phone, to say that Miss Quicke had gone out somewhere quite early, and Roy had been fussing, coming in and out asking where she was, and getting in the way something terrible. No, the police hadn't been round, but Rose thought Miss Quicke was going to see them, because she'd told Rose not to worry if she was some time, which of course made her worry all the more. Rose left the phone for a moment, telling Ellie to hold on, which she did.

  Had Sir Arthur somehow found out that Miss Quicke had the copy of his hard drive, and moved on her? No. How could he? Well, he could guess, perhaps, that Ellie would take money troubles to her aunt. Or Roy would. Then he could have phoned her, offered to meet to discuss the matter.

  Or, she might have offered to meet him, to try to extract Roy from his predicament. And then … it didn't bear thinking about. The phone quacked in Ellie's ear. ‘It's me, Rose, again. Your aunt's just come back and … what's that? Ellie, I'll hand you over to her.’

  Aunt Drusilla. ‘Ellie? Where are you? No, don't bother to tell me. I'm soaking wet because the cab driver wouldn't park right up by the porch. Yes, of course I've taken the hard drive and the messages in to the police. They tried to fob me off with some sergeant or other, but I did manage to speak to someone senior in the end. Then I went on to see the specialist about my hip. Luckily I've got private health insurance and he says he can do it quickly …’ A man's voice in the distance. ‘Here's Roy come in. I want a word with you, Roy! Ellie, I'll just hand you back to Rose.’ Rose was all excited and happy. ‘Oh, Ellie, isn't that just like her, to go off and see the specialist without telling us? Poor Roy - he does look hangdog - but she'll sort him out, never fear.’ Ellie put the phone down, smiling. Good. Extra good. Now let's hope Chris Talbot has some good news, too. She found the number with some difficulty - where was her mobile? She really must look for it properly - and got through to him straight away. ‘Ellie Quicke here. How is your son?’

  ‘A little better. We're hopeful. And you? And my daughter?’

  ‘Your daughter is in with a solicitor, discussing a divorce. I went with her this morning to collect some more of her things. Diana seems to have moved in.’

  ‘Felicity should have kicked him out, and not left him in possession.’

  ‘She's frightened of him.’

  ‘Yes, he can be very frightening. You haven't asked how things went this morning. Kingsley expected to win. He thought he'd promised a couple of the directors enough money to keep them loyal to him. He was mistaken. They faded away, and he lost. The board asked for his resignation, and though he refused, he won't be able to maintain that position. The restructuring will take place as planned. The announcement will be in the press tomorrow.’

  He ended the conversation, as Felicity came out of Bill's room. She'd been crying. Bill always kept a big box of tissues on his desk for clients.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Ellie. ‘What do you say to going out to supper somewhere cheerful? Just the two of us. No men, no hassle. My invitation.’

  Felicity did her best to smile. ‘I have to pop in to see Mummy first, and tell the people at the home to send all the bills to my father in future. After that, yes; that would be nice.’

  Twenty-One

  What woke her?

  Was that the crash of more glass being broken in the conservatory? No, she didn't think that was what had wakened her. The digital clock on her bedside table said half past twelve. It appeared to be a quiet night. No cars in the street; not that there were usually many on this quiet side road. An owl hooting?

  No, a man shouting in the distance.

  Midge wasn't where he'd started the night, tucked up at her back. She turned on the bedside light. The cat was standing at the foot of the bed, ears pricked, looking at the door.

  Ellie's mind went into overdrive. Was Sir Arthur trying to break in to punish her for her interference? Or his wife, for daring to leave him? He'd had hours to work himself up into a murderous state.

  It was very dark out. Suppose he did try to get at her, how would he do it?

  He'd drive his big car to her road, leave it there and … try to batter the front door down? She'd put the chain on, hadn't she? She was pretty sure she had. And shot the bolts on the door. Or, if Diana had cut another key, he could borrow that to get in.

  The shouting had seemed to come from the back of the house. Would he know about the back alley, which gave on to her garden? No, surely not. He wouldn't even be able to find his way up the garden path, would he?

  Except that there was a street light in the alley at the bottom of her garden, and it did allow you to see where the path ran up the slope. People came and went that way all the time.

  The shouting was … where? Not at the front of the house, which was where she slept. Had he got into the garden? Perhaps he thought that Ellie slept in the back bedroom, which was now occupied by Felicity?

  Ellie groped for her mobile phone before she remembered that she'd lost it. Where had she left it? Out of bed, into slippers. The night was warm enough. She pawed through the clothes she'd left on a chair. No mobile. Her dressing gown, hanging on the back of the door. Yes! The mobile was in there. She hesitated. She didn't want to ring the police if it were just some ordinary drunk yelling at the moon.

  She opened her bedroom door. Midge poked his head out, and shot through the gap. She whispered, ‘Come back, Midge!’ He took no notice.

  Felicity's light wasn't on, so she hadn't heard anything.

  Ellie shivered. Not such a warm night, after all. Seeing the house all in darkness, Sir Arthur - if it was he - would no doubt think better of any idea of getting even with her. He sounded drunken. He might be so drunk that he'd stumble around for a bit, mistake the gate into her garden, fall and lie there in a stupor till he'd slept it off.

  She really did not need to stand there on the landing, holding her mobile, shivering. The nights were noticeably colder this last week. She wasn't even wearing a winter-weight nightie yet. Just a cotton one. Quite a pretty one, with a motif of tiny blue flowers on a white ground, and lacey inserts around the top. No sleeves.

  She'd over-reacted. There was no danger. She'd be jumping at shadows next.

  Except, she'd turned off all the lights before she came up to bed, and now there was a light on downstairs.

  She could persuade herself that she'd forgotten to turn it off, and go back to bed. Or …
she could go downstairs in the dark and see who had turned on the light in the kitchen.

  Cra-sh! A horrible, grinding crash.

  Followed by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

  Was he forcing his way into the conservatory? Ellie spared a thought, a hope, that Kate and Armand next door would be woken by the noise and call the police … which would be a good idea … except that Armand was the sort of person who always Had a Go when faced with lawbreaking and Ellie really didn't want Armand facing up to a drunken madman armed with … who knew what?

  And then … the sound of someone swearing in whispers.

  Then a waiting silence.

  Ellie could hear herself breathe.

  Her phone rang down below. Kate, wondering what was wrong? There was no way Ellie was going out there to answer it. Her mobile rang. Ellie ducked back into her bedroom, closed the door, and answered it.

  It was Kate. ‘Ellie, what's happening? Are you all right? Where are you? Is it your conservatory windows again? Look, Armand's coming round, I told him not to, but you know what he's like … oh, Catriona's woken up, and I'll have to …’

  ‘I'm all right,’ said Ellie. ‘There does seem to be someone downstairs. I'll wait for Armand to get here before I go down.’

  ‘Oh, my baby!’ The phone was cut off as Kate fled to rescue Catriona, who was indeed wailing.

  Still no sound from below. Ellie told herself that he wasn't waiting outside her bedroom door. She'd have heard him if he'd climbed the stairs. Wouldn't she? Maybe he was searching for something downstairs, making sure there was no one else in the house before coming up to find them.

  A voice downstairs. Two voices. Someone laughed. Armand, laughing? Whatever was going on? She opened her door a crack. ‘Hello, there! Ellie?’ It was Armand's voice in the hall.

  Ellie shot out on to the landing. ‘Are you all right, Armand?’ All the lights were on downstairs and standing there, holding a reddening tea towel to her hand was Felicity, dressed in jeans and a sweater, and Armand, brandishing a stout walking stick.

  ‘No burglars,’ said Armand. ‘Felicity fell over her bicycle and dropped a glass on to the tiled floor.’

  ‘I'm so sorry!’ Felicity was in tears, again. ‘I didn't mean to wake you. I couldn't sleep and came down for a glass of water. I was going to sit in the conservatory for a bit, and I only put on the little light over the sink so as not to disturb you, only I forgot my bike was there, and fell over it and then I dropped my glass and it broke and when I went to pick up the pieces, I cut myself.’ Ellie began to laugh, until she realized that Felicity was dripping blood on to the hall floor. ‘Let's have a look at what you've done to yourself.’

  Midge jumped up on to the boiler, to indicate he'd like some food. Normality returned.

  The rain was bouncing off the road and that wasn't the only reason Sir Arthur was in a foul mood. Who'd have thought so much could go wrong so quickly!

  He'd gone from one colleague to another, cajoling, threatening; but for once he'd failed to get his own way. They'd been bought off, of course. One of them even suggested it would be best if Arthur did resign … save his face … cut his losses …

  Cowards! Stupid fools!

  He'd have their guts for garters. He never forgot a bad turn, and this was one of the worst he'd ever had. He'd get Martinez to … He hit the steering wheel of the car in frustration, peering through the whirring windscreen wipers at the dark road ahead. Damn Martinez! Why did he have to go missing now?

  Martinez hadn't been careless, had he? Could the police really trace the ‘accident' back to him? If so, then that was just one more thing he'd have to see to.

  The dog whined and pawed at the back of his seat. She wasn't used to travelling in cars. He couldn't trust her in the front with him, so had tied her up in the back where she kept up a continuous whining that was getting on his nerves.

  He took the car round the bend at speed, spraying water from potholes in the lane. The car skidded. He corrected the skid. His mobile rang. Not his hands-free car mobile, but his personal one. He fumbled in his pocket for it.

  Diana. ‘Are you all right, Arthur? I've been waiting for you for ages. Do you know what time it is?’

  Curses. Was it that late? He could do without Diana demanding attention at the moment. ‘On my way back. Had to pick up my new dog on the way. Half an hour?’

  ‘I'll be waiting!’ Oh, but she could put such an intonation in her voice. When he got back, he'd throw her on the floor and … a pity that Felicity had decided to go. He'd miss her in some ways, but Diana …

  Dropping the mobile on the seat beside him, he jerked as the dog threw all her weight against the back of his seat, making it shudder … a bend was coming up … the bright lights of an oncoming car, too high to …

  He fought to keep the car to the left, but the oncoming car was too far into the centre of the road, and the rain … the skid took the car crashing through spindly trees that lined the road … down a steep embankment … he was going to make it … a larger tree loomed up ahead, and he tried to turn the wheel, but it was too late …

  He put both arms above his head as the airbags inflated … the wheel was wrenched round and struck something unseen, and the car tipped over … and over … down the slope …

  The last thing he heard was the dog howling with fear.

  The dog survived and was found a new owner. Sir Arthur died.

  The police arrived at Sir Arthur's house next morning at the same time as Maureen trudged up the drive, wondering how much extra she could demand for her services in future.

  Maureen directed them to Ellie's house, where she and Felicity were having a late breakfast, both listless from lack of sleep and anxiety.

  Felicity answered the front door to a strange policeman, accompanied by a policewoman. The policewoman said, ‘Are you Lady Kingsley? May we come in? I'm afraid there's some bad news.’

  Felicity said, ‘Arthur?’ and slid to the floor in a faint. She was only out for a second or two, but that was long enough for Ellie to wonder if the girl were anaemic, and could she get the doctor out to visit.

  Ellie accompanied Felicity to identify her husband in the morgue.

  * * *

  Later, Felicity sat with both hands around a mug of coffee in the kitchen, while Ellie peeled potatoes for their lunch. Felicity had been very quiet since the police left. She'd refused to see the doctor, or to take a tranquilliser. When Ellie had spoken to her, Felicity hadn't seemed to hear. So Ellie had left her alone.

  Now Ellie saw that Felicity was crying, soundlessly, hopelessly. Ellie drew up a chair, and put her arm around Felicity. ‘Cry it all out.’ She remembered how she'd cried for days and days after her husband died. He'd been the centre of her life for thirty years. He'd always dealt with business affairs for both of them. When he died, she'd felt helpless, couldn't think how she'd manage. Felicity must be going through the same thing.

  Felicity brushed tears away. ‘I'm not crying for him. Or am I? He was kind to me, in his own peculiar way. We did have some good times together. I loved having the garden, and a dog, and someone to look after. I wouldn't have been able to look after Mummy if it hadn't been for him.’

  ‘I know. It comes back and hits you when you least expect it, and you find yourself crying all over again, even when you think you've got over it.’

  ‘How did you manage?’

  ‘Good friends. Good advice. Prayer.’

  ‘Prayer?’ Felicity tested the word and found it alien. ‘Thomas prayed with me over the phone yesterday, but he used ordinary words. I didn't think prayer could be like that. Just everyday words.’

  ‘Why not? Didn't you feel better afterwards?’

  ‘I suppose I did. Can you catch the habit of praying from other people? I've hardly ever been to church since I grew up, but last night I did try to pray. I was so afraid that Arthur would come after me. And now, he's dead.’

  Did Felicity think her husband died because she'd prayed?
No, surely not. Ellie said, ‘It was an accident, remember.’

  ‘Mm. I know. You were saying that after your husband died you had friends to help you. Arthur and I had no friends, only business acquaintances. They all think I'm clueless. Now …’ She shuddered. ‘I suppose I inherit the house, and the manor and the life insurance and all his business interests, and trouble with the police, and I don't know where to start.’

  ‘Your solicitor will help you, surely.’

  ‘Arthur's solicitor's like Martinez. He looks at me and is polite, sort of, but makes it clear he thinks I'm a birdbrain. He did all Arthur's dirty work. He'll run rings around me, and I won't know how to stop him. I don't want to do business like Arthur, but all his business associates will want me to give them my backing, or sell to them, and the police say the newspapers will be featuring his death and will want me to comment, and I don't know what to say or do. Tell me what to do, Ellie.’

  ‘Take time to think and make up your own mind. There's lots of people will want to advise you, Felicity. I suppose the trick is to work out whose advice you should take.’

  ‘Not Arthur's solicitor. I don't trust him. Not his business associates. Not Mummy, who's got no business sense at all and who'll want me to install her back at the manor and wait on her hand and foot. You must think me very hard, but I don't think I could bear that. She sort of mops me up, if you know what I mean. I'd like to have her out of the home to stay with me for the odd weekend, but not for good, because I can't cope with her when she gets drunk and … I don't like to say this about my own mother, but she's horrid when she's drunk, and if I give her any money she buys gin with it, and she can't climb stairs any more and … oh, I oughtn't to be so ungrateful, but I don't think I could do it.’

  Ellie stroked Felicity's hand, but didn't comment. She didn't think she could have done it either.

  Felicity mopped her eyes. ‘You put everything in a trust fund, didn't you, Ellie? Suppose I sell everything and do the same?’

  ‘If you do that, then you must choose your trustees wisely, people who can deal with City sharks and come away with a whole skin. They do say that widows shouldn't make any decisions about moving house, or selling up, for at least a year. What about your father? He'd help.’