Murder in Mind (12 page)

Sunday evening

The Hoopers' house was a substantial, ugly, red-brick mansion in a quiet road lined with trees. The building itself looked to be Edwardian, but had been well maintained. There was a burglar alarm box above the front door, and the driveway had been recently tarmacked. There was a double garage at the side, with what looked like living quarters for staff above it. Diana's car was parked near the front door.

Ellie tugged on a knob marked ‘Pull' and an old-fashioned bell tinkled inside. No battery to run down. No expense spared.

Diana let Ellie into a large, oblong hall with a tiled, patterned floor. Doors led off it in different directions. A couple of three-foot-high pottery Dalmatians guarded an imposing flight of stairs. The staircase had been painted white, which was a crime in itself as the wood beneath was probably oak, but at least an oatmeal coloured carpet muted sound.

The walls of the hall had also been painted white. No, not white: something which looked white but had a tinge of pink in it. There were hunting prints on the walls on either side of a grandfather clock which was a reproduction and not a genuine antique. A large framed photograph of a sensuous young blonde hung nearby, flanked by huge mirrors.

Decor by Harmony in the Home, to please Angelika?

Everything could do with a dust. Diana had said that the housekeeper had left, hadn't she? A landline telephone was ringing, but no one seemed to be in a hurry to answer its summons.

Diana said, ‘You're letting the cold air in. Come in, do.'

Ellie went in. Stared at Diana, who had changed into a mid-blue, long-sleeved top, fastened asymmetrically à la Mao, over darker blue jeans. Ellie had never seen Diana in such garments before. What on earth was the girl playing at now?

Evan Hooper appeared in the doorway of a room to the right. ‘Who is it, Diana?' Casually dressed, big and beaky. He looked all right at first glance. An imposing figure of a man. The Great White Shark . . . Only, perhaps not quite as formidable as he had been?

Diana gestured to Ellie. He nodded. ‘Oh yes. You said.' Without saying a word to Ellie he went back into the room he'd just left. The phone stopped ringing. And started again. Still no one answered it.

‘He's in a bad way,' said Diana in a soft voice. ‘Hardly knows which day of the week it is. Go in and have a word with him while I see if I can find Angelika.'

A large room filled with islands of off-white modern furniture, all of it giant-sized. Carpets and curtains echoed the too-pale theme. Another portrait of Angelika – it couldn't be anyone else, could it? – hung over the largest of the settees, which must be twelve foot in length. At least. Mirrors. Shiny walls.

A huge television set over the fireplace had been switched on, featuring a game show. Fortunately, the sound had been turned down low, but Ellie found the flickering images distracting. Beside the fireplace was an operational bar, complete with optics and refrigerator.

There were signs of the usual Sunday disorder of papers and a couple of nasty stains on the off-white carpet. More dust. A mishmash of a room. Not a room to receive guests in. Too large for a snug. If Ellie sat on one of those giant chairs, her feet wouldn't reach the floor. Also, the room was beginning to lose its air of being ready for a photographer to drop in – by appointment, of course – to be featured in the next
Homes & Gardens
magazine, because there were mugs and dirty glasses here and there, even on the carpet. And some takeaway boxes.

The phone stopped ringing. Good. It had been doing Ellie's head in.

Evan poured himself a drink. Double scotch, and not the first of the day by the look of it. He was using a cut-class tumbler.

He swallowed. Shivered. Took another gulp. Lifted his glass to Ellie. ‘Care for something?'

She shook her head. ‘I'm sorry to hear of your loss.'

He threw himself in a chair, gestured to her to seat herself. ‘She'd been living on borrowed time. I ought to have expected it. I suppose it could have happened any time these last few years. But to do it now, on top of everything else! She'd let herself go, you know. I insisted the girls visited, but they used to make excuses. Well, Freya did, but you can't really blame her for that. Fern passed out in the middle of the meal, last time she went. Fiona got on better with her mother, saw her more often. Perhaps Fiona's death helped to unsettle Fern . . . But there, in all the years I've known her, my ex-wife never considered anyone but herself. It's all just too much.'

Ellie nodded. The phone started to ring again. She said, ‘Shall I answer it?'

‘What? Oh. No. Ignore it. I do.' He crossed to the door and shut it. The phone went on ringing, but at least the sound was muffled now.

Ellie tried sitting back on the chair, and her feet lifted off the floor. She perched on the front edge. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?'

He sipped. Swallowed. Passed one hand across his brow. ‘We've just got to sit tight, ride it out. I've got to get back to the office, decisions only I can make, you know how it is, the buck stops here, etcetera. Expectations. Can't let the side down. There's at least two deals pending which . . . But I must admit I'm . . .'

He took out his Blackberry, swiped at it a couple of times, concentrated on something. Sat up straight. Started to work on a reply. Hesitated. Sighed. Put it down on the glass-topped table in front of him. ‘Can't think straight. Deal with it tomorrow. I'll have to get back to work then. Everything depends on me, you know. Diana's marvellous, of course. But . . .' He finished his drink with one last swallow.

Diana appeared in the doorway, with a bottle of pills in her hand. ‘Darling, I've switched the landline through to the answerphone. Is that all right? And it's time for . . . you know?'

‘Oh. Yes. Forgot. Ellie, make yourself at home . . . At least . . .' He glanced around, seemed to see the disorder for the first time. ‘Diana, where's that no-good housekeeper?'

‘She left, remember?' Diana went to the bar, poured out a glass of water and handed it to him with a tablet.

‘Oh. Did she?' He shook his head at himself. No, he didn't remember. He took the tablet with the water and poured himself another scotch.

Diana gave him a peck of a kiss on his cheek and beckoned Ellie to follow her from the room.

Now Ellie knew what Diana's outfit reminded her of: a nurse. Maybe that was what Evan Hooper needed at the moment. He had slipped a long way back from being the confident – perhaps overconfident – man at the top of his world that Ellie had met earlier.

Was it an improvement? N–no. Possibly not. She couldn't help but be sorry for him – a little – as she followed Diana into the hall.

Evan came after them, glass in hand, still talking, leaving the television on. ‘When I remember how she used to be . . .' He paused to take another gulp of his drink. ‘When I first met her, great heavens, what a creature of fire and passion . . .!'

Diana pushed through a door at the back of the hall, and they followed her into an enormous kitchen-cum-dining-room which had been built on to the side of the house. Windows on three sides. The very latest in modern living . . . except for the dirty plates and pans piled into the sink. Didn't they have a dishwasher?

And where was the gym?

Someone – a tall blonde, slender except for a prominent pair of breasts – was poking around inside a walk-in fridge.

Evan ignored the blonde. ‘Fern used to run about the house naked, you know? She was built like . . . like an Amazon!'

‘Yes, yes,' said Diana, soothing him. ‘You know the doctor said you should rest or you'll be fit for nothing tomorrow.'

‘Three funerals! Three!'

Diana took him by the arm and led him – still mouthing the word ‘three' – away.

The blonde slammed the fridge door and shook back her long hair. She was wearing a cropped top over jeans, and her feet were bare. She was a size zero, except for the boobs which pertly pushed up above her tank top. ‘Thank God for small mercies. I don't know what you're going to find to cook for us tonight, but you'd better get on with it.'

She had a hard, green stare. Contact lenses?

Ellie looked behind her and realized that Angelika had mistaken her for an agency cook. ‘Oh. I'm Diana's mother. Ellie Quicke.'

‘I don't care who you are, so long as you can put something on the table quickly. I don't suppose
he'll
eat much, if anything. I'm Mrs Hooper, by the way. Then there's my stepdaughter, if she's still around, which she may not be. Don't bother about getting anything for your daughter. I'm sure she'd prefer a diet of toads and snakes.'

Ellie suppressed a giggle, partly from shock and partly out of genuine amusement. So the current Mrs Hooper thought Diana a witch? Well, well. ‘When did you eat last?'

A shrug. ‘I had some fruit and yogurt at lunchtime. That was just before the sky fell on my dear husband. He's been on a liquid diet ever since. Freya disappeared when she heard the news. Who cares, anyhow? The sooner I'm out of here, the better.' There were tears in her eyes. Perhaps she was not as hard as she tried to pretend?

Ellie gently moved Angelika to one side in order to investigate the contents of the fridge. Soya this and that. Minced meat, cheeses, sliced ham, salad stuffs, all still in their plastic wrappings just as they'd come from the supermarket. And rapidly deteriorating. They should have been removed from the plastic as soon as they were brought home. ‘Is there a freezer somewhere?'

‘Mm? That door there.'

The freezer was packed with ready meals from the supermarket, heavy on cholesterol and E-numbers. Cupboards to left and right slid out from the wall on rails, to reveal well-stocked larders.

Angelika seated herself on a high stool beside a giant cube decorated with dark glass insets . . . Was this the latest in ovens? It reminded Ellie of an X-ray machine.

Angelika produced her Blackberry and tried a number. ‘Why can't he be there when I need him?' She threw the Blackberry down; it skidded off the table top and landed on the floor.

Ellie retrieved it and put it on top of the cube. ‘A friend, or a member of the family?' She went back to foraging in cupboards.

‘My agent. Doesn't like me having to turn down jobs. Says he won't be able to fix me up with anything else for weeks. My family? Don't make me laugh! I'm the one that got away, the black sheep, the only one that's worked for a living in three generations. They only contact me for handouts, and that's . . . that's not going to be . . . Sorry, I'm somewhat . . . you know.'

Ellie remembered Diana saying that Angelika needed a shoulder to cry on, and it looked as if that might well be true. However, Ellie was not going to push it.

‘How about a spaghetti bolognese with mushrooms and tomatoes, sprinkled with Parmesan cheese? With a green salad on the side?'

‘It's Sunday. He'll expect a roast. I'll have a salad, of course, but he doesn't eat salads.'

‘There's not enough time for a roast.'

A green stare. ‘You can use a microwave, can't you?'

‘As I tried to tell you, I'm not a professional cook. I'm here because my daughter asked me to help you out at this very difficult time. Now I
am
here, I'll throw some supper together, if you would like me to.'

She thought:
say ‘please', and I'll do it.

Another hard stare. ‘Mrs Quicke. I remember. Aren't you married to some sort of Holy Joe?'

‘Thomas. Yes. He's a good man. Would you like to talk to him?'

‘What about? Oh. The Precious Infant. Well, I'm not going to pretend. That's not my style. She was not exactly what . . . I've heard of mothers not being able to bond with their daughters before now, and that's what . . . I suppose it didn't help that I had that swimsuit commercial so soon afterwards. I'd signed up for it before I realized, and then . . . I had to go on that crash diet to get back in shape, and I swear she liked her food more than she liked me. The way she used to look at me . . .'

She wrenched a can of Diet Coke from the fridge, popped the top and drank without bothering to pour it into a glass. ‘I suppose I wasn't the best mother in the world.'

Ellie found a large saucepan, half filled it with water, and wondered which dial on which surface of the cube might operate the cooker. She pressed buttons and turned knobs. Ah. Result. Now to find a heavy-bottomed saucepan for the minced meat. She said, ‘You were very young. Was the baby a mistake?'

A glitter of tears, swiftly wiped away. ‘I hadn't intended, it's true. I thought he'd said . . . But it turned out he hadn't taken any precautions and of course
I
hadn't because I trusted him, being so much older. I wouldn't have dreamed of having a baby so soon. Why am I telling you this?'

‘Because I had four miscarriages. Or was it five? Those years tend to blur in my mind. Having a baby changes you in more ways than one.'

‘That's true. Did you really have so many misses? That's awful. It's so difficult to get your figure back afterwards, isn't it?'

‘It was after we'd had Diana, of course. The last one I carried nearly to . . . Well, it was all a long time ago.'

Ellie went to and from the fridge and the larder shelves, preparing and cooking onions and then mince, chopping mushrooms and tomatoes, popping spaghetti into the boiling, salted water, looking for a cheese-grater.

‘Sorry,' said Angelika, making wet rings on the cube's granite top with her can of Diet Coke. ‘The funny thing is that I do miss the brat; though she was a brat, you know? I thought that she'd grow out of it. If she'd been a pretty little elfin thing, which is what I'd always imagined I'd have, I'd have been able to love her more easily. Or to show it more easily. As soon as I knew I was pregnant, I dreamed of us doing commercials together, mother and baby, you know? But she was so like Evan that that was never on the cards.