Murder in House (9 page)

‘She impressed me. I thought at first that she was a manipulative little madam, but sincere in her belief that something had gone very wrong. By the time I'd finished with the two mothers I'd decided that Ursula was imagining things, that Lloyd's death was an accident, and that her sit-in at church was her way of grieving over lost innocence. She said her friend had gone missing. Well, young girls do get carried away and run off with unsuitable men and leave their families without a forwarding address. I convinced myself that I didn't need to take the matter any further. I've got a call in to her to ring me, and I thought I'd say that I'd done as she asked, and that that was the end of the story.'

‘My friend Peters made you rethink?'

‘Yes. What do you make of it all, Thomas?'

He pulled a face, rubbed one hand over his beard. He stood up, his eyes wandering around as if looking for something. ‘I don't know, I really don't. I need to . . . is it still raining? It was when I came in. I wonder if . . .'

He wandered out into the hall, opened the door to the dining room, which had been set up for Ellie's next business meeting. Closed that door. Went along the passage to his office, opened that door, and stood looking at the piles of work, the computers, the books. Closed that door. Didn't touch the door of the room which was now Ellie's study.

Ellie followed him, wondering what on earth was wrong. He seemed frustrated, looking for something. But what?

He said, ‘I used to be able to pop across to the church to sort myself out, and it never occurred to me, now I'm no longer a parish priest, that I'd want to . . . I mean, with all the vandalism that's around, it's quite right that churches are locked up out of hours, but . . .'

Ah-ha. Ellie understood, at last. He needed a space in which to be by himself and pray. Of course he could, in theory, pray anywhere. And, in fact, he did. But every now and then he needed to go away by himself to a quiet place and put in a bit of concentrated one-to-one at the feet of the Almighty. She knew he was capable of praying for an hour at a time. She hadn't that rigorous concentration herself. She was all for action in a flurry of arrow prayers. But Thomas was different.

She caught hold of one of his hands, led him back along the passage and up the stairs to the first floor. Past the master bedroom they went, past the pretty guest room and the room in which Frank occasionally slept, to the unused bedrooms at the end of the corridor. The house had been built to hold a large family, and there were five bedrooms on this floor, not counting Rose's bedroom and bathroom, which were over the kitchen quarters.

Reaching the end of the corridor, Ellie threw open the door to the first of the two unoccupied and unused bedrooms. Miss Quicke had had the furniture in these two rooms piled into the centre and covered with dust sheets, while the walls had been painted magnolia. There was an ancient blind at the window, and surprisingly little dust.

Thomas looked bewildered as Ellie dived under the piled-up furniture to retrieve a high-backed wood-framed Windsor chair, a roll of carpet and a small table. She pushed the chair against one wall, laid the carpet before it, placed the table at the side of the chair and stood back. ‘There you are, your own chapel. I'll have the cleaning women move the rest of the furniture out tomorrow, and give the place a good hoover.'

‘I don't need—'

‘Yes, you do. You've always needed a space of your own in which to pray. You should have said, sooner. I thought you were sickening for something.' She looked around, frowning. ‘You'll need a cross on the wall, won't you?'

‘Ellie, I can pray anywhere, in my office, anywhere.'

‘No, you can't. Well, you can, of course. But not without distractions, the emails, the unanswered letters, the phone calls. Here there's nothing but you and the cross. If only I can find you a cross. Ah.' She had had a thought. ‘One minute.'

She hurried down the stairs. A while ago she'd found a Victorian religious picture worked in wools in the cupboard under the stairs, which probably hadn't been turned out in decades. It might have been worked by some distant member of the Quicke family – though certainly not by Miss Quicke, who had despised all womanly arts. Perhaps it had been bought on impulse at a church fête and immediately consigned to oblivion as being both ugly and of no value? Ellie had dusted it down, resolved to put it on the bric-a-brac stall at the next church fête, and forgotten about it.

It was definitely not her cup of tea, but perhaps it wasn't quite as hideous as she'd remembered it to be, and maybe Thomas would like it.

She fished it out, and had to laugh. It was even worse than she'd remembered. The Good Shepherd was in a beige coloured nightie, trying to balance a black sheep across his shoulders and looking distinctly unhappy about it. She took it back upstairs with her to show to Thomas, who was still standing in the middle of the room, looking stunned.

She said, ‘I thought this might do for the moment, but I'm afraid it's past it.'

‘No, it isn't,' said Thomas, smiling. He took the picture from her and balanced it against the piled-up furniture. ‘See, he's got a beard like mine, and a comfortable figure, and he's finding it hard to carry that awkward and very naughty sheep across his shoulders. I'm sure that sheep is trying to wriggle down, but he's holding on to it for dear life. Just like I have to hang on to my faith at times.'

He was actually laughing! He put his arm around her shoulders and held her tight. ‘Thank you, Ellie.' Was his cold getting worse again? ‘You are a pearl of great price. You give me so much more than I ever dreamed possible. Yes, I can pray here. And I will. If I'm late coming to bed, you'll know where I am.'

Ellie made her way downstairs, thinking how strange matrimony could be. It wasn't all cuddles in the bedroom, or companionship, or facing problems together. It was about adapting oneself to someone else. It made her smile – a trifle wryly – at the idea of her first husband Frank wanting space and time apart from her. If he'd wanted it, he'd have taken it without reference to her wishes. By going out to play golf, for instance. But he'd expected her to be at his beck and call whenever he condescended to come home.

Thomas was different. He needed his quiet times; times in which to pray. It was part and parcel of what made him what he was. She was extremely glad that she'd worked it out at last, because he would never have asked for it himself.

As she reached the ground floor, she heard the telephone ring and smiled again, thinking that there was no way Thomas would hear it up in his new room. She glanced at her watch. Whoever could it be at this time of night?

It was the operator, asking if she would pay for a call from Ursula in Portsmouth. Of course. The line was poor; background noises indicated dance music and people talking, laughing.

‘Hi, Mrs Quicke. I'm ringing from the Student Union. It's a public telephone. You wanted to speak to me?'

‘Very much so. I returned your ring to Daniel, who refused to accept it. I spoke to Mrs Collins, who gave me your mother's address. I left the ring with her.'

‘How is she? I've been really worried about her.'

‘Improving.'

‘That's all? You're satisfied with the official verdict on what's happened?'

‘Ursula, will you please stop playing games with me? Give me one good reason why I should look any further than the end of my nose.'

‘Gut reaction doesn't count?'

Ellie sighed. ‘It might. Tell me in words of one syllable what you know. Not what you've been told by others, but what you yourself know.'

‘Half the time I think I'm going crazy, but . . . well, all right. Our crowd was asked by Anthony to act as “hostesses” and “guides” for the Grand Opening of Prior's Place. We were to dress up prettily, and show would-be buyers around the flats and the gym. We were sucker bait. We chatted them up, gave out leaflets, and so on. Anthony said our crowd was going to continue the party upstairs when the guests began to leave, but I had to shove off to the airport to catch my plane. Daniel came with me to Heathrow, so we actually missed what happened.'

‘Then whatever you've heard about Lloyd's death is hearsay. Inadmissible evidence.'

‘True. I had a brilliant time in New York, texted Daniel and Mia – she's my best friend here – from time to time, but only got one text back from Daniel, and none from Mia. I didn't worry too much, thought my battery was run down, hadn't got my charger with me. I bought presents for everyone; Daniel met me at Heathrow on my return. He told me then that Lloyd had got drunk, messed about with Mia, had tried to fight someone who interfered and, in taking a swing at them, had gone over the balcony to his death. He said Mia had subsequently run off with another man.'

‘Did Daniel see any of this happening himself?'

‘No, it happened after we left. So yes, what he told me was hearsay too. I was so shocked, I couldn't take it in. Lloyd drunk, dead? Mia playing around, running away? No way! Daniel dropped me off at home where I found Mum really poorly, so I couldn't talk to her about it. I put her to bed, made hot drinks for her. The next day I tried ringing Mia but her phone was out of order. I phoned her parents but they said she'd left and they didn't know where she'd gone and what's more, after the way she'd behaved, they couldn't care less. It was like dropping into Alice in Wonderland; everything had changed.

‘I met Dan at the café; didn't want him coming to the flat with Mum so ill. I tried to discuss it with him but he lost his temper, said didn't I believe him. The awful thing was that I didn't. He looked . . . guilty. I realized then that he knew something, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. That was a terrible moment. I knew he hadn't been there when it happened, but I thought he must know something, have been told something. I said I needed to talk to someone who'd actually been there, and he went all huffy on me, said if I didn't believe him I could do what I liked.

‘He wouldn't come with me, but I knew Anthony and his special friends would probably be at the new gym that evening, and so they were. Anthony said there were eye witnesses to Lloyd's getting drunk, that there was vodka all over his clothes and in his stomach, and that Mia was a little slag and I'd been deceiving myself if I thought she wouldn't lift her skirts for anyone who fancied her.'

Ursula gulped. ‘It's not true, Mrs Quicke. Lloyd hardly drank at all, and he wasn't the sort to lose his head just because the others were overdoing it. Mia wasn't a slag; we told one another everything and she'd only tried once and that hadn't worked because she was tiny, you know? She'd decided to wait till she met someone who really turned her on, and as of eleven o'clock on the night of the party, she was fancy free. I'd stake my life on it. Besides, where is she? No one seems to know.

‘I was so angry, so miserable, I went to the police. They said, like everyone else, that boys will be boys and Lloyd's death was an accident. Case closed. As for Mia, they said she was over eighteen and if she chose to leave home that was her prerogative, and if she wanted to get in touch with me then no doubt she would.'

‘That sounds sensible.'

‘So I'm not sensible! But I tell you . . .' Her voice rose, and she brought it down again with an effort. ‘Mia is Anthony and Tim's stepsister, right? Mrs Prior had Mia by her first husband, whom she divorced ages ago. Then she met Mr Prior, and married him. He'd also been married before and brought the two boys to his second marriage. So what sort of stepbrothers are they, not to care when Mia goes missing? All right, they weren't a very lovey-dovey family, but . . . you see what I mean?'

Ellie was silent. Ursula had a good point, there.

‘Nothing made sense any more. When I tried to find out what happened, I got nowhere. Daniel let me down, big time. I'd always thought it didn't matter that I was the strong, stable one in our relationship. When he chose to side with Anthony rather than back me up, I realized what sort of future I was letting myself in for, always nursing him along, always having to be the strong one, the one who made all the big decisions. I told myself that it didn't matter, but it did. It took some time, but eventually I realized that however much I loved him, I couldn't go on being engaged to him. Breaking it off was really hard . . .'

Her voice wobbled. She cleared her throat. ‘I was stuck, like. I didn't know what to do next, but I felt I had to do something. That's why I pulled the church stunt. I needed space to grieve for Lloyd and Mia and I couldn't do that at home, with Mum being so poorly, and I thought . . . I'm not sure what I thought. I'm not sure even that I believe in God, but I felt the need to get away, to be quiet, to think. I told Mum I was going back early to uni, and I took my gear to the station and left it there while I went to church. Then you came, and everything went wrong.'

Ellie thought about this. ‘You haven't given me one fact to disprove their story. Except . . . what happened to your mobile phone?'

‘Anthony smashed it.'

‘Anthony Prior smashed your phone? Why?'

‘To show me who's boss. I don't want to say what he did next, but it wasn't nice.'

‘He hurt you?'

‘He tickled me. The others held me, and he . . . I thrashed about, I couldn't help it. In the end . . . he made me cry. That's what he wanted, I suppose. They all laughed.' Humiliation leaked out through every broken phrase.

‘You told Daniel?'

‘He said Anthony would never do anything like that.'

‘He probably did believe you, but was afraid to admit it. Daniel is one mixed-up kid.'