Murder in Mind (32 page)

But Freya wanted — no, needed — to be of use. Ellie led the way to the dining room and laid out all the materials which Betsey from Harmony in the Home had sent her. There were sheets of suggestions for this and that. Swatches of fabric. Photographs of furniture available for hire.

‘What's all this?' Angelika, following them. ‘Looks like Betsey's work to me. Oh, look at this gorgeous fabric. What are you planning to do with it, Mrs Quicke?'

Ellie explained about the projected visit of Thomas's relations and how they needed to reorganize the house. For one thing, she didn't think the torn dining-room curtain could be mended in time, so they were going to need a complete new set of curtains. Then they needed to shift Thomas's office into the library and turn his old office into his new quiet room. This would in theory make another bedroom available upstairs, for which they needed furniture and furnishings. And . . . and . . .

‘But,' said Ellie, in despair, ‘I've only one pair of hands and young Mikey's laid claim to a corner of the library and Thomas is away for another day, and I really don't see how we can be ready in time.'

‘We can sort this for you,' said Angelika, running an experienced eye over the swatches of material. ‘I don't think much of the flowered chintz for this room, but . . . what do you think of this cream and gold brocade, Freya? Too old-fashioned?'

‘Mikey's only trying it on, being in a new place,' said Freya, drawing up a chair beside Angelika. ‘Vera was telling me all about him last night . . .'

The front doorbell rang, and Ellie left them to it.

A stranger. No, the first Mrs Hooper in a superbly-cut black overcoat, carrying a handbag the size of a suitcase. A sleek black car stood outside, matching her elegance.

‘Monique?'

‘If I may come in? It's stopped raining but the wind's getting up. I couldn't get any sense out of the hospital about Evan's condition—'

‘Too many Mrs Hoopers, I fear,' said Ellie, closing the door behind her visitor. ‘Diana's sitting with him at the moment, but he's going down to the theatre this morning for an operation.'

‘Serious?'

‘I don't know. Something to do with the concussion. Releasing pressure on the brain? I'll ring and see if we can get some news about when he's likely to be back in the ward.'

Monique looked about her. Nodded approval of the wide hall, polished staircase and conservatory. ‘I tried ringing my son's place last night and again this morning. The nanny said he wasn't with her any more. I didn't believe her.'

‘I've rung the police, given them what information I have. I hope they'll pick him up before he can do any more damage.'

The doorbell rang again. Ellie opened it to admit another gust of wind and a wispy female in layers of grey clothing. She, also, was clutching a handbag, though it was neither imposing nor very new. Who . . .?

‘Ah,' said Monique. ‘I know you, don't I? So, where's Philip?'

The newcomer ran her tongue over her lips. ‘Philip left me a note to say he was coming round here today to . . . Well, he said he was going to finish what he'd started. I'm not sure what he means, but I thought I'd better warn you, though really he's not responsible for his actions. He's suffered so much. It's you who've driven him to do—'

‘Nonsense, woman!' said Monique. And to Ellie, ‘Odds on he's not far behind.'

Ellie drew the newcomer in. ‘I'm afraid I don't know your name.'

‘I'm Jeanette. Mrs Jeanette Hooper.'

Monique rolled her eyes. ‘If you believe that!'

A querulous tone. ‘As the only person who's ever cared about Philip, my adopted son, I can call myself that if I like.'

Ellie blinked. Was the woman for real?

Angelika and Freya were standing in the doorway to the dining room with their mouths open.

Ellie said, ‘Angelika, Freya: may I introduce some more Mrs Hoopers? This one's called Jeanette and I believe she used to be Philip's nanny. The other one is Monique.'

‘The first, so to speak,' said Monique. ‘Evan is getting to sound more and more like Henry the Eighth with his half a dozen wives, isn't he? I seem to remember only a couple of them managed to survive him. Henry, I mean. Let's hope we have better luck.' She ignored Angelika to advance on Freya. ‘You are Fern's daughter, the one who wants to follow your father into the business? Yes, I can see him in you. What subjects are you studying, my dear?'

The doorbell rang, and the knocker rapped. Impatiently. It must be Diana.

It was. Clad in dark blue with white trimmings today. She seemed to have abandoned her usual black for the duration. Her bulge was just beginning to show, and the band on her ring finger had grown larger and more prominent since Ellie last saw her.

As Diana stepped inside, Ellie said, ‘And this is the next Mrs Hooper. Diana; may I introduce you to your predecessors? This is Monique, the first. The second is unfortunately deceased—'

‘
I'm
the second,' said the wispy female. ‘I'm Jeannette.'

‘Born Jean Marks,' said Monique. ‘Now calling herself Hooper. I always called her Jean. She was good with Philip, I'll give her that.'

Diana shot a frowning question at Ellie. ‘Is she legal?'

‘Of course not,' said Monique, impatient as ever. ‘Evan wouldn't. Evan didn't. Not his type. Now, can we all go and sit down somewhere? My back's killing me.'

Ellie said, ‘In here.' She led the way into the sitting room, collecting her handbag on the way, thinking she might need to use her mobile phone in a minute to get it touch with the hospital . . . if, that is, she had replaced it in her bag, which was something she couldn't be sure about.

The others filed in after her and found themselves seats.

Monique, predictably, took the high-backed chair by the fireplace.

Where were the police? And – as the song would have it – where, oh where, has my little boy gone? Where, oh where, can he be?

If she was any judge of the matter, Philip was lurking in the shrubbery. Or round the corner. With intent to kill more of the family off?

No, he wouldn't want to hurt his nanny. Or would he?

Diana, baulked of the most commanding chair, took up a position in front of the fireplace. Freya and Angelika seemed to have formed some sort of alliance in adversity and subsided, side by side, on to the settee.

The wispy Jeannette dithered, unsure of herself. Ellie remembered Monique had described Jeannette as a hoverer.

Monique shrugged off her coat, revealing a fine wool-and-silk black trouser suit with a diamond brooch on the narrow lapel. The rings on her fingers glittered as she extracted a cigarette from her bag. ‘You don't mind?'

Ellie said, ‘I'm afraid I do.'

Angelika looked horrified. ‘Oh, please don't. I get asthma.'

Monique shrugged, put the cigarette away. ‘Oh, do sit down, Jean. You make the place look untidy.'

Jeannette flushed, but sat on the edge of Thomas's reclining chair. ‘You have no right to speak to me like that.'

Diana was not accustomed to being relegated to second place. ‘I don't understand why you're all here. I'm due back at the hospital soon and have only dropped in to check the details of the insurance company and decide who's to board up the house—'

‘I've contacted the insurance people,' said Monique. ‘I don't suppose you realized it, but Evan merely rents the place from me.'

‘Actually, I did know, but I find it's best to double-check.'

Angelika eyed Diana with dislike. ‘The delicious Stewart – who I gather is one of your ex-husbands – has had the house boarded up for me most beautifully.'

‘What?' Diana didn't like any of this. She looked to Ellie for information. ‘You got Stewart involved? Why?'

‘Angelika very sensibly asked Stewart to board up the house to repel looters and stop people going in and getting hurt. The staircase has almost burned through and might come down at any minute.'

‘But Evan wouldn't want—'

‘Hah!' said Monique, smoothly taking over again. ‘As I see it, Angelika's the only one who has a legal right to speak for him at the moment. So here we are, all Evan's women, past and present, gathered together in one place. Waiting.'

‘For what?' said Diana, though she almost certainly knew.

‘For Philip,' said Ellie. ‘I rather hope the police will make it before he does, but it's going to be a close run thing.'

Someone rapped on the French windows that led into the back garden, and everyone looked that way. Predictably, it was the wispy Jeannette who went to let Philip in.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Angelika. Everyone else froze.

Philip – if it was Philip, because the figure was wearing a balaclava, jeans and an ominously bulging anorak – was carrying a mobile phone. Or what looked like one. ‘Anyone moves, and I blow us all up!'

B
low them all up?

Did he mean that he'd packed explosives around his body and could trigger an explosion by using his mobile phone? Oh. That was the way terrorists had worked on public transport, wasn't it? Could Philip be copying them?

Angelika was on her feet. ‘Philip? Why? I don't understand!'

‘You! Why aren't you dead? There was enough weedkiller in the sandwiches I got you to kill a dozen people.'

‘Yes, but I don't like tuna!'

‘Sit!'

Angelika sat.

Freya, sitting beside her, stared at Philip, refusing to cringe.

Monique said, ‘Oh, really, Philip!' in an exasperated tone.

Diana was no coward, either. She turned away from the fireplace and took a seat on an upright chair. ‘So this is Philip, the black sheep of the family?'

Philip sang in a rough tenor, ‘“Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full.” It was always, “Yes, sir. No, sir,” wasn't it? But now it's my turn to call the tune. Get my father back here, now!'

Jeannette was wringing her hands. ‘Oh, Philip; no!'

Monique said, in a voice which refused to tremble, ‘I'm afraid he's unable to join us for the time being. He's having an operation this morning.'

‘Concussion,' Diana explained. ‘They have to relieve the pressure on his brain.'

‘I don't believe you! He was coming round when the ambulance people got to him, so he can't be seriously hurt. You're hiding him from me, that's what you're doing. Get him back here, now! Or I'll blow up the lot of you.'

Monique blinked, fingered her cigarettes. ‘Philip, dear. You can't blow us up without blowing yourself up, too. And if you blow yourself up, then you'll never get to confront your father – if that's what's on your mind.'

Silence while Philip thought about what his mother had said.

Ellie was more intrigued than afraid. This wasn't either tragedy or comedy; it was farce. She didn't think they were in any danger . . . or were they? Um, well; perhaps they were. Philip was so unstable that a wrong word might easily set him off. But wasn't he overdoing the amateur dramatics? Why, for instance, was he bothering to wear a balaclava, when everyone knew who he was?

Did he think its presence made him into a menacing figure? Well, yes. Probably. He liked disguises, didn't he? First he'd dressed as a clown, then as a woman reporter. Maybe there'd been other disguises at different times. Disguises gave you confidence, if you weren't naturally a confident person.

Yes, looking at it that way, the balaclava made sense. He aimed to frighten, but Ellie doubted that the odd bulge in his anorak contained dynamite, or whatever it was terrorists used nowadays. After all, where could he have got dynamite from? Ah, but the terrorists had made up their own bombs hadn't they? Not dynamite, but just as effective.

Oh, but he really wouldn't want to blow everybody up yet, would he? In the first place, Evan – who must be considered the chief target – was unavoidably absent, and in the second place, Philip was surely enjoying the situation too much to let it end quickly.

Ellie took a step back and let herself down on to a chair, opening her handbag and placing it on her lap. Monique had hers on her lap, as did Jeannette. And Diana. Ellie fingered through the contents of her bag till she found – eureka – her mobile and switched it on. And pressed buttons to put a call through to the police. Nine nine nine for emergencies. She hoped she'd got the right number this time.

She had thought of trying to contact Thomas but he'd have his phone turned off while he was in the conference auditorium, so that was no good.

Philip unzipped his anorak with his free hand, revealing that he had a bulky rucksack strapped to his chest. Filled with enough ingredients to blow them all up? It did look as if he'd taken some trouble to copy the terrorist's favourite weapon of destruction.

Angelika certainly thought so. Eyes wide, she made herself small on the settee, huddling closer to Freya . . . who watched, wide-eyed, breathing faster, but not allowing herself to show fear.

Monique's eyes switched from Philip to Freya and back. Monique had written Philip off years ago. Perhaps she was now assessing Freya as a possible substitute?

‘Excuse me if I light up.' She extracted her cigarettes from her handbag and lit one. This time no one objected.

Ellie wondered if Monique had also managed to switch her mobile phone on while fumbling in her bag for her cigarettes. And if so, who had she called?

Ellie could hear her own call going through. She could hear a woman's voice saying, ‘What service do you want?'

Somehow she had to alert the woman as to what was happening. ‘What a pity the police couldn't make it in time to join the Hoopers at play. Coffee, anyone? Monique? Or any of the other ladies? I can easily get my housekeeper to brew some up. And for you, Philip? What would you like?' She hoped she sounded sufficiently silly. She didn't want him to take her seriously. He probably wouldn't because she wasn't a Hooper and therefore not in the first line of fire. And perhaps the woman on the other end of the phone might be sharp enough to put two and two together.