Murder by Mistake (8 page)

‘Agreed. Should I go up to Mia?’ It was odd, but Rose now seemed to have taken over responsibility for Mia. ‘I brought back a load of clothes for her to try on, and oh, some stuff for supper.’

‘Leave her be for the time being. She feels safe here with me. Cooking for us seems to calm her down, and I’m not going to stop her, am I, if it makes her feel useful, though as you know highly spiced foods don’t agree with me. But if it helps her then I’ll eat and take some Bisodol afterwards.’

‘Agreed,’ said Ellie.

‘Oh, and Ursula left a folder of stuff for you to look at. She went through it with Mia and me, and I must say I think she’s thought of everything from our point of view, but she wanted to make sure you had someone coming in to move the furniture about and clear up afterwards, which I said you were paying for because you’ll be using your usual cleaning company that you always have, and that they’d been round to give us a special extra clean on Monday, which was when you were out, and they’re looking forward to the wedding, too. Only, Ursula looked serious and said she ought to be paying for that, though I’m sure I don’t know how she thinks she’s going to do it, but she says she’s put a little bit by now and then and her father’s giving her something, which her mother doesn’t like at all, but you know what Mrs Belton is, you couldn’t please her if you gave her a thousand pounds because she’d want it to be five. Thousand, I mean.’

She took a deep breath, and Ellie nodded. ‘And Maria rang and Pat didn’t know what to say to her, so she called me and I went through to your study and had a word with her about the extra that’ll need doing around the house and she said to leave it with her, and knowing her I could do that, though it wouldn’t be many people you could trust in such matters, would there? So I told her – Ursula, that is – that we were all looking forward to her wedding enormously, and not to worry about the cleaning and moving furniture because it was giving us something lovely to think about, and it’s going to be no trouble at all to us to have her wedding reception here, with the photos in the conservatory, she says, because she knows I love my flowers, though I think perhaps a trip to the garden centre first wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it? We’re not looking at our best in that direction at the moment, are we?’

‘Garden centre. Agreed,’ said Ellie, her mind whirling.

‘And that Pat’s been in looking for you three times now, lots for you to sign and look at, she says, and oh yes, there’s a letter come for you, by hand. On the hall table.’

A hand-delivered letter? Ellie didn’t often get those. Something for Thomas? She went to look. No, it wasn’t for Thomas. It was addressed to Ellie in an angular script, handwritten and not typed. Very black ink on a heavy, cream paper. Ellie’s first instinct was to throw it in the bin, because she guessed who it was from.

She didn’t throw it away, of course. She was trained to open post and deal with it as soon as possible. Sometimes, naturally, she passed awkward correspondence on to Pat, but in this case she knew she’d have to deal with it herself.

There was an embossed address on the letterhead, that of Prior Place. Mia’s old home. The tower block which Mr Prior had built on the North Circular bore the same name. Mia’s ordeal had begun in the penthouse suite of the tower block, and had continued back home.

So Mrs Prior was still living at home, was she?

A square script, written with an expensive pen.

How dare she make herself out to be ‘another’ innocent victim, she who had entered into all her husband’s schemes and had been quick to arrange punishment for anyone who dared defy him!

So her name was Adelina, was it? Appropriate. And she was now calling herself ‘Rossi’. Was that her first husband’s name? It occurred to Ellie to wonder in what manner Adelina had got rid of her first husband, in order to marry the wealthy Mr Prior.

Yuk! And to pretend that her sole concern was for Mia’s well-being after all that had happened! Ellie felt that she would very much like to strangle the woman . . . except – she had to laugh – that the boot would probably be on the other foot, since Ellie was neither very tall nor very muscular, whereas Adelina Rossi, ex-Prior, née Parham, was both. In fact, she was monumental. The only time Ellie had seen the woman, she’d towered over most people, including her husband.

Ellie took the letter through to Thomas, expecting him to join with her in condemning Adelina Rossi, but he was in no mood to listen to her, jabbing at his keyboard and growling into the telephone. Not wanting to interrupt him, Ellie kissed the top of his head, patted his shoulder and left.

Now what? Her mind was awhirl with jobs to do.

That letter from Mrs Prior. Ex-Prior. Ellie had been brought up to believe that there were always two sides to an argument. She tried to make herself believe that Adelina Rossi, ex-Prior, might not be as black as she’d been painted. That, appearances to the contrary, she really was concerned about her daughter.

Ellie snorted. Unlikely.

She remembered something else that had been bothering her earlier and went through to her study. Pat had gone for the day, but Ellie knew her way around the filing cabinet and the computer records. Well, most of the time she knew her way around the computer. Enough to find out what she wanted now.

She pulled up last week’s rental returns. Stewart sent through the latest figures to her computer every Monday, and once a week he would come in and they would go over what needed to be done to the housing stock: repairs, renovations, lettings, problems and so on.

Mm, mm. Diana had said that Denis was going to rent a big house with six bedrooms, two en suite plus two bathrooms, presumably somewhere local. Of course it might not be one of hers. Most unlikely.

There were only a few such large properties on their books; four were already let out on long-term leases, one was undergoing a major refit, new bathrooms and kitchen, etc. There was just one ready to go back on to the market; six bedrooms, two en suite plus two more bathrooms. Newly fitted kitchen. Conservatory. Eighty-foot garden, mostly lawn, surrounded by shrubs. Easy maintenance.

Ellie reached for the phone and got through to Stewart. ‘Sorry to trouble you. I know we weren’t supposed to be meeting this week because you’re off on holiday – when? Wednesday, isn’t it?’

‘Maria wants to make sure everything goes smoothly for you on Saturday, so we’ve decided to put it off till after the weddings.’ An even tone, hiding emotion?

‘Ah, you’ve heard?’

‘Frank came home from a visit to Diana saying she wanted him to dress up in a satin costume with a floppy tie and be a ring boy at her wedding. He was distressed, said he wouldn’t do it. I rang Diana, and she confirmed she’s having the reception at your place. I gather Maria’s organizing extra staff to help you to cope.’

Ellie grimaced. ‘The reception was thrust upon me and as the invitations have gone out, I don’t see how I can get out of it. How is Frank taking it? I know little boys don’t like dressing up but . . . is he really upset about that, or about her getting married again?’

‘He’s distressed, full stop. We’ve had the dickens of a job getting him to sleep at night, ever since. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was afraid. But of what?’

‘Ah. I think I know. Diana says Denis is taking a large house so that they can have all the boys with them in the holidays.’

A sigh. ‘I’ll have to ring her again. The wedding; well, if she really wants him to act as ring-bearer, then we’ll go along with that. It doesn’t matter so much if we postpone our own holiday for a few days, but I wouldn’t want to change the existing arrangements for Frank. Maria loves him and he’s doing well at school. He doesn’t always see Diana at weekends, but when he does he comes back in such a state it’s hard to calm him down.’

‘I know. Diana isn’t the wisest of mothers. Not everyone is gifted to be a wise and loving mother, though your dear Maria certainly is.’ Here Ellie remembered Adelina Prior, who was nobody’s idea of a loving mother, but who pretended to be exactly that.

‘Stewart; there’s something else. Probably it’s nothing, but could you check on the house in Castlebar Road for me? The workmen must be nearly finished, but it’s not been let out yet, has it?’

‘Mm? Oh. Yes. Last weekend. It’ll be in the next report.’

Ellie clutched the phone even harder. ‘Who’s the tenant?’

‘I didn’t deal with it myself, but I seem to remember it’s a divorcee with four or five children, wants to take in her aged mum as well.’

‘There’s the usual clause about not subletting?’

‘Of course. Is there a problem?’

‘I just had a horrid feeling . . . Diana told me Denis was renting a house which answered that description, and I couldn’t help wondering if it might be one of ours.’

‘Why would he want to rent one of our houses? Oh.’

Ellie sat down with a bump, because she, too, could think of a very good reason why Denis might want to rent one of her houses.

Stewart was silent. She could imagine that he was thinking Diana had already been well provided for. When she’d married Stewart, her father had given them the money to buy a house, which had been sold at a profit when they divorced. Diana had used that money as deposit on a big house down here in London, which she’d divided into flats for sale, retaining the best one for herself. On top of that, when Ellie had inherited her aunt’s big place the previous year, she’d made Diana a present of the semi-detached house in which she herself had lived for so many years . . . and which Diana had immediately rented out. Diana had done well out of what she’d been given, but had never been satisfied with what she’d got.

Ellie couldn’t defend her daughter’s past record, but she could excuse her present conduct to a certain extent. ‘She says her present flat is too small for her and Denis together. I may be imagining things, of course, but suppose Denis
is
behind the let. Suppose he’s trying to rent the property under a false name. Once he’s moved in, he might think I wouldn’t dare to turn my own daughter out. He could break the terms of the agreement by subletting, and naturally he wouldn’t bother to pay any rent. He’d be well away, living in a six bedroom house in a good part of Ealing, while the Trust would be down the drain for thousands of pounds, when we might have let the house out to someone who really needs it.’

Stewart sounded as worried as Ellie. ‘I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about, but tomorrow morning I’ll check the tenant’s references and follow them up. I’ll also get on to the bank to see that the cheque the tenant gave us hasn’t bounced. It may be perfectly genuine.’

‘I know. Put my fears down to old age.’

‘I’d go back to the office and start on it now, except that Maria’s yelling that supper’s ready and Frank wants me to read him a bedtime story.’

‘You do that, Stewart. This can wait.’

She put the phone down and rubbed her forehead. Of course Stewart was right, and there was nothing in it. She’d just got a ‘down’ on Denis, that was all.

Now to deal with something else; she must get her house guest to talk about her mother, see if their stories tallied.

She was going back into the hall to collect her shopping when there came a knock and a ring on the front door. She hesitated. Would Rose hear it? Nobody was mentioning it, but Rose liked to have the volume on her television turned up rather too loudly nowadays. ‘For company,’ she said. Or maybe because she was getting a little deaf?

Ellie opened the front door, only to have a large wreath of red roses thrust into her arms. ‘Sign here.’

‘We haven’t ordered—’

‘You want them taken to the crematorium? You should have said.’ An elderly man, delivering in a florist’s van. He checked his clip board. ‘It says, “For Mia.” This is the right address, isn’t it?’

Ellie signed and took the wreath through into the kitchen quarters. Luckily neither Rose nor Mia was there. The wreath had been beautifully made from the new flower shop that had just opened up in the Avenue, but there was no way Ellie was going to let Mia see it. She put the wreath in a black plastic bag and dropped it outside the back door.

First lilies, then roses. It was harassment, wasn’t it? Ellie retreated to her study, shut the door, and rang the police station. Needless to say, the DI was not available, but Ellie left a message with the dependable – she hoped – DC Milburn, asking her to collect the wreath and to investigate.

She looked through the pile of correspondence Pat had left for her, checked the latest emails, and tried to concentrate on work, while all she could think about was Mia.

Where was the girl to live? Would she ever be capable of earning a living wage? Would she have to exist on social security payments for the rest of her life? What could she make of her life in future?

That is, if she had a future. That wreath . . . Oh, this was all nonsense, of course. Let the police deal with whoever was making these threats. They did amount to threats, didn’t they?