Murder By Committee Page 5
Ellie wondered if Paul really expected people to believe he cared about them?
Click. Architect's plans were thrown on to the screen. Ellie found them difficult to understand. She craned to see if these were the plans Roy had drawn up. Roy was sitting with his chin on his chest, but his eyes on the screen. His face showed no emotion. Archie was plumply smiling. Tum-Tum looked wooden.
Paul continued to beam. He didn't expect his audience to understand fully all the details … so difficult for us laymen to understand architects' plans … but he'd been assured that - click, click - without the parish having to put up one more penny of their own money - their problems had all been solved. Click, click. They were to have a brand-new, purpose-built vicarage in place of the old vicarage.
Click … an architect's impression of the new vicarage shot on to the screen.
‘Three bedrooms, one en suite with a shower room, and a separate bathroom,’ said Paul, displaying radiant charm, like a magician pulling roses out of a top hat to enchant his audience. ‘A large living room downstairs which can double up as a committee room whenever necessary, a small study, a kitchen with breakfast bar … and off-street parking for a car.’ Paul beamed, as if to say, Look what goodies I'm bestowing on you!
‘What's more, our “angel” proposes, as a gesture to the community, to wipe out the remaining debt on the church hall!’
Ellie screwed up her eyes in an effort to see better. Had he or hadn't he shown the plans for six flats? He'd shot so many slides on to the screen that it had been difficult to see what was going on. How many flats had the plan shown?
She glanced to left and right of her. A murmur of appreciation ran round the hall. The younger people relaxed into smiles. Even the older ones did. Mostly. There was a greyish-looking man three along from Mrs Dawes in the next row, who was frowning, flicking figures with his pen into the margin of his agenda. With an effort, Ellie recalled that he was an occasional church-goer - an estate agent? Not the ghastly creature her daughter Diana had been going out with some time ago, but a reputable man.
The chairman got to his feet, clapping. One or two joined in. The clapping spread slowly to the back of the hall. Only a few people looked half-hearted about it. Even fewer refrained from clapping at all. Ellie didn't clap, for one. Nor did Mrs Dawes, in front of her. Mrs Dawes was no financial brain, but she loved gardens and perhaps she'd realized that this ‘miracle' meant they'd lose the vicarage garden. Perhaps Mrs Dawes would start asking pertinent questions about finance etc. Someone ought to.
Not Ellie, of course. She left all that to the men, or to people who were accustomed to speaking in public.
Ellie felt someone tap on her knee. A couple of chairs away sat Jean, who organized the rotas for tea and coffee. Jean was leaning forward, hissing to Ellie. ‘I need some help with the coffee. All right?’ Jean took it for granted that Ellie would agree. Normally Ellie would agree. But the meeting wasn't over yet, and Ellie wasn't leaving till she was sure everything was out in the open.
Four
‘If you please, Mr Chairman …?’ A voice from the other side of the hall. Ellie relaxed. It had been ridiculous to think the plans would get pushed through without any queries.
‘I think we have a lot to be grateful for. For years we've been finding money to keep that white elephant of a vicarage going, propping up the fabric, patching up the central heating … not to mention the recurring problem with the kitchen drain …’
Some laughter. The saga of the kitchen drain had been going on for twenty years or more.
‘… and though I personally don't go along with this idea that God dishes out miracles to order …’
Ellie craned her neck to see who was speaking. Uh-oh. A selfsatisfied member of the PCC, long-retired, member of the golf club.
‘… yet, in this case, I can't help agreeing with Paul that we have indeed seen a modern miracle …’
Some applause. Some sour faces. This sort of oratory didn't go down all that well with the older women. Jean leaned over her neighbour and tugged at Ellie's sleeve. ‘We need to get the cups set out now! Come on!’
‘Not yet,’ said Ellie, eyes on the man who believed in modern miracles.
‘What!’ said Jean, hardly able to believe that Ellie could have refused a direct order. Mrs Dawes stirred in her chair and tried to turn her head round to see who was making all the fuss. Several other people looked round. Ellie blushed and tried to pretend she wasn't there. How embarrassing! Jean turned to stalk out of the hall, striding over legs and bumping knees as she went, but Ellie stuck to her seat. She wanted to see this through.
The speaker was still in full flight. ‘… and therefore, Mr Chairman, I'm wondering if it would be in order to suggest that the new block of flats is named after our benefactor. Naming it “Arthur Court” would be a graceful way of showing our appreciation, don't you think?’
No! thought Ellie. Around her, people were applauding, some enthusiastically, and others politely. Or looking at their watches. Wondering whether the meeting might by any chance finish early enough for them to get back to see … whatever it was on the telly that night.
The chairman was on his feet, relaxed, smiling. ‘An excellent idea. Do I have a proposal from the floor …? And a seconder …? Carried unanimously, then.’
‘No!’ said Ellie, driven to her feet. And there she stuck, not knowing what to say, conscious of many eyes upon her, some looking surprised, others annoyed. And what could she say? That they'd got it all wrong? She wasn't sure that they had. Perhaps the plans put up this evening were only for two or four flats. Perhaps …
She'd never been any good at this public speaking lark anyway. The chairman was looking at her rather as if she'd grown two heads. She knew him quite well; a church warden, a genial man who believed in running meetings where everything had been cut and dried beforehand.
‘Yes? You have some objection, Mrs Quicke?’
‘Yes. I mean … are you sure about … I've probably got hold of the wrong end of the stick, but …’ She was furious with herself. Why couldn't she just have let the motion go through without making a spectacle of herself?
‘You want us to register an objection to the flats being named after our benefactor?’
‘Yes. That is, I'm not sure how much of a benefactor he really is.’
The chairman lost his smile. ‘Oh, come now. You've seen the plans, and heard how much good-’
Ellie stiffened her legs, which threatened to give way under her. ‘I haven't seen the plans. Well, I heard there were supposed to be only two flats, and that seemed all right. But I haven't seen the latest plans and I haven't seen the figures.’
‘Then perhaps you'll let our treasurer - who is good at figures - reassure you after the meeting closes.’
A titter ran round the hall. Ellie was the target of unfriendly looks.
She wouldn't give in. Faint but persistent, that was her. ‘I realize I may be making a fool of myself, but when it comes down to disposing of something so valuable as our vicarage site …’
Paul hadn't lost his smile. He was, perhaps, used to dealing with middle-aged ladies with muddled brains. ‘You know, we really have gone into all this very deeply, Mrs … er … Rich, is it?’
Another titter ran through the room. Ellie went white. How dare he make a mockery of her name. ‘Mrs Quicke is my name,’ she said, firmly. ‘Yes, I'm sure you did your sums perfectly when all this was first thought of. Two flats were to be built on about one third of the existing garden, and that would pay for the rebuilding of the vicarage. I think we all understood the mathematics of that proposal, and agreed with it. Then I understand that the developer felt two flats didn't give him enough of a profit. Is that so?’
‘Well, yes. In principle, yes.’ Paul didn't like admitting it, but he did so. It was clear that this was news to some if not all of the people in the room. There was a general shifting of chairs, and head-shaking. ‘We decided that this would still be a good deal.’
‘So,’ said Ellie, holding on to her shaking hands, ‘when did you hear that there were to be six not four flats? And that they were to be large luxury apartments, and would wipe out the rest of the garden and its trees?’
There was a murmur of incomprehension from the meeting. Everyone looked at everyone else. Did you know about six flats? Lots of head-shaking. No, I didn't. Did you? It's probably not true. No, of course it couldn't be.
The estate agent was doing sums on his copy of the minutes.
Paul did a double take. Didn't he know about the plan to update to six flats? Surely he must have done!
The chairman looked startled. Was it possible he didn't know either? Had she made some horrible, embarrassing mistake?
Archie tapped his teeth with his biro, scowling at Roy. Roy was looking across at Ellie, with a sick look on his face. Did he feel that she'd betrayed him in some way?
The chairman got to his feet, putting on a jolly grin. ‘There has been some mention of our allowing six flats, but nothing has been decided. Has it, Paul?’
Perhaps he hoped Paul would rescue him, but Paul wasn't going to play ball. ‘I've heard something about the necessity of it being six flats, yes. It still seems to me that you have no option but to agree. The benefits to the parish are obvious.’ So he had known.
‘Perhaps someone who's good at figures can do the maths for me?’ said Ellie. ‘These six spacious, luxury flats are going to front on to the Green with plenty of room for car parking, pushing a tiny, much reduced vicarage down an alleyway behind. The flats will have state of the art wiring, kitchens, wet rooms. Four bedrooms, en suite. They will have everything in them to attract people with money to spend. How much would they be expected to sell for?’ She looked directly at the estate agent sitting in her row.
He flicked his pen in the air. ‘I would value them at upwards of half a million each. That's …’
‘Three million pounds minimum,’ said Ellie. ‘How much is it going to cost the developer to put up a very small three-bedroom house to replace the vicarage … on land that he doesn't have to pay for, plus six flats, spreading himself over the whole site?’
There was a subdued uproar. Paul looked thunderous. The chairman yelled, ‘Order, order!’ and was ignored.
Archie sent Ellie a look which should have shot straight through her. Roy leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Tum-Tum laughed, his belly shaking, his eyes almost disappearing.
Ellie felt her way back on to her chair and quivered. Her cheeks were aflame, her feet were icy. She was shaking all over. She didn't know how she'd dared!
‘Mr Chairman …’
They were off. Now they knew what Ellie knew, they were going to worry away at it like a dog at a bone. Everyone could do some simple maths. They realized that the developer had been intending to make the sort of profit you could only dream of … and now the Save Our Green Spaces people were going to have their say, too. ‘What about the loss of the garden, the trees, the …’
‘Mr Chair, it seems to me that we can hardly vote on a proposal which has been sprung on us so …’
‘I second that …’
The meeting began to get heated. Mrs Dawes heaved herself to her feet, and started in. ‘That new vicarage. You say the living room downstairs is to double up as a committee room. Where's the poor vicar supposed to go when we have our Women's Guild meetings, then?’
Ellie crept out, over legs and in front of knees. People were waving their arms about, trying to catch the chairman's eye. He, poor man, was looking flustered. Archie's blood pressure was going through the roof. Paul was looking down his nose. He was packing up his laptop, unplugging it. Was he really going to turn tail and run away without calming the storm? Yes, he was.
Ellie hovered in the kitchen doorway, watching him having a quiet word with the chairman, who announced that, most unfortunately, Paul had another meeting, would have to dash away, but he was sure they were all very grateful to him for coming to …
Ellie closed the kitchen door behind her, trying not to laugh, wondering why she was on the verge of tears.
Jean started in on Ellie straight away. ‘What on earth possessed you to interfere in things you know nothing about! You might have realized I'd need-’
Ellie had had enough. ‘Put a sock in it, Jean.’
‘Well!’ Jean's mouth opened and stayed open. Ellie had never, ever, answered her back before like that. Ellie always helped out, whenever she was asked to do so. ‘What on earth's got into you?’
Ellie's knees were still trembling. ‘I met the developer this afternoon, and I didn't like him.’
‘What's that got to do with it? I don't particularly like my milkman, but he's a fact of life, and I don't have to cuddle up to him, do I!’
The thought of frizzy-haired Jean cuddling up to the milkman was too much for Ellie's composure, and she dived for the Ladies so that she could have a good laugh, splash cold water over her face, and blow her nose.
Only then was she calm enough to go back to help serve tea and coffee. And face the music. Luckily for her, the meeting went on for another half an hour, so while Jean fussed about keeping the urn on the boil, Ellie had plenty of time to put out the cups and saucers and tip some packets of biscuits on to large plates. And remember the teaspoons and the sugar.
When the meeting did break up, it was clear that no one was in a happy mood. They'd come expecting to vote through an acceptable proposal to solve all their problems, and now …
‘We'll have to start all over again,’ announced Mrs Dawes. ‘Disgraceful, I call it!’
‘Next time, we'll brief the architect …!’
‘If we're allowed. The bishop … that Paul … never could trust …’
The chairman was beleaguered, taking refuge in his handkerchief and a timely bout of hayfever. ‘We'll have to have another meeting.’
Archie was surrounded by a group determined to ‘get to the bottom of this', who were not in the least inclined to listen to his plea that he should at least be allowed to get a cup of coffee.
Roy had disappeared. Wisely, thought Ellie. There was no sign of Marco, who'd been driving Sir Arthur that evening. Was he on his way back to report to his master? What would Sir Arthur do then? Ellie shivered a little at the thought.
Dear Tum-Tum, the vicar, was smiling, consoling, listening to everyone's point of view. ‘Nothing to do with me, you know. It's between the parish and the diocese.’
Catching Ellie's eye, he gave her an enormous wink. Which made her feel a lot better.
Nevertheless, she was extremely glad when the last cup and saucer was washed up and put away, the hall swept, and the chairs properly stacked at the sides.
Tum-Tum helped to clear up. Jean stamped off in her car but Tum-Tum fell into step beside Ellie as she crossed the Green on her way home.
‘You've no need to see me home,’ said Ellie, always nervous that someone would think she was monopolizing Tum-Tum's time. Tongues would wag if anyone saw them, and somebody was bound to see.
‘How else can I get a word with you? What an evening! May I ask how you knew about the six flats? I'd heard a rumour which came out of the diocesan office, but when I asked if it were true, I was told that nothing had been officially decided and that I'd be informed if anything came of it.’
Ellie sighed. ‘Roy told me. I see now that he set me up. Sir Arthur put pressure on him to redraw the plans, and Roy didn't like what he'd been told to do. He wanted everyone to know what had happened, but he didn't want to be the one who opened his big mouth and put his foot in it.’
‘I've heard Sir Arthur makes a bad enemy.’
‘Are you warning me?’ A shiver went down her spine. ‘I've met the man. And yes, I think he'll take this set-back personally. Are you escorting me home to make sure I don't get beaten up on the way?’
She was only half joking. In the dusk, it was hard to penetrate the shadows under the trees.
Tum-Tum said, ‘I don't think he'd do anything so obvious, but that man of his - the one who tried to light a cigarette in the meeting - he'll report back.’
They'd reached her gate. Midge was sitting on the gatepost, waiting for her. Tum-Tum tickled Midge around the ears, and Midge yawned mightily, tolerating the vicar's caress. Midge was a good judge of character. Ellie wondered what Midge would make of Sir Arthur.
She said, ‘How did you know the man worked for Sir Arthur?’
‘I caught him trampling down the flowers in someone's front garden a couple of weeks ago. He told me Sir Arthur owned the house, and that he could do what he liked with the garden, because the tenant was behindhand with the rent. I checked. It was true enough.’
Ellie was silent. She'd had her own garden trampled over once, when she'd offended a neighbour. It had been a shocking experience and at the time she'd been devastated. But she'd survived, and so had the garden.
‘Do I know - whoever it was?’
‘Possibly not. She doesn't attend our church, and she didn't welcome my talking about it.’
It sounded as though this person might also have had reason to hate Sir Arthur. Ellie was compiling a list. There was the first architect's wife, Mrs Anderson; the person who'd sprayed graffiti on the garage walls; Roy; the man she was supposed to meet tomorrow; and what about the local builders whom he'd displaced in favour of one of his housing developments? The list grew. Kate had hinted that the man had many enemies, and Ellie could well believe it. Perhaps she should add her own name?
But she hadn't poisoned the pizza, and neither had Roy. She was sure of that.
It amused her that Tum-Tum thought he was being so discreet in not naming the woman who'd had her garden trashed. If she was local - and she must be local or Tum-Tum wouldn't have seen it happen - then Ellie thought it would only take her a phone call or two to find out the woman's name and where she lived.