Diana had been beaten up and had come to Ellie for help. Ellie forgot about the gardener and steered her daughter through into the kitchen, shucking off her winter coat, and picking an envelope up off the hall floor on the way. The envelope had been left open, and she could see it contained an invoice. Mr Hurry was in a hurry for his money. A shame she’d missed him.
The left side of Diana’s face was masked by dried blood from a cut on her cheekbone, her left eye was half closed, and her usually smooth hair looked as if it had been run over by a lawnmower.
‘Ouch!’ Diana let herself down on to a chair, holding on to her knee. ‘I need a drink!’
‘You should go to hospital to get stitched up.’
‘No hospital.’ Yet she drew in her breath against the pain. ‘Haven’t you got anything to drink?’
‘I might have some sherry left. I’ll see.’
Ellie rushed into the sitting room, drew the curtains, checked the level in the sherry bottle and clucked with dismay. There wasn’t enough left to anaesthetize a child, never mind an adult in shock. Ellie had a flashback to the last time she’d poured out some sherry, which was when Diana and Denis had dropped round for a celebratory drink. Mrs Dawes often called in after church on Sundays for ‘half a glass’. Not this last Sunday of course. And probably not the next one, either.
Ellie took the almost empty bottle back to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and poured some cold water into a basin. Looked round for something soft to use. Ah, paper tissues would do.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up, then.’
‘I need you to take some photos first.’
‘What?’
‘For proof. In case you need to sue.’
‘Why should I want to sue anyone? Oh. Was it Denis who did this to you?’
‘Not exactly, no.’ She tried to fend Ellie off but Ellie persisted, dabbing gently at the cut and bruised face.
‘What do you mean, “not exactly”?’
Diana drew in her breath sharply. ‘Am I going to need stitches?’
‘I don’t think so, but I’m not a doctor. You certainly shouldn’t drive in this state. I’m amazed you got here in one piece. I’ll call a cab and take you to the hospital, shall I?’
Diana grasped her mother’s wrist. ‘Let me think.’
‘What about your leg?’
‘She kicked me on the kneecap.’
‘She?’
‘Denis’ wife. We were . . . you know! Up against my desk. I was trying to make up to him for losing the house. She caught us at it. Hauled him off, kicked my knee and punched my face. It was her ring that did the damage.’
Ellie was torn between saying that it served Diana right, and horror.
Diana felt down her leg. ‘Torn my tights, too. I’ll have her for this, see if I don’t.’
‘But Diana . . . what did Denis say?’
‘Laughed. Thought it a real hoot. That’s why I came here. To show you what they’re like so that you can get me out of the agency.’
Ellie took the bowl of reddened water to the sink, and poured it away and tossed the stained tissues into the bin. She then poured boiling water over teabags in two mugs. ‘No, Diana. I can’t do that.’
Diana hauled her compact out of her handbag to assess the damage to her face. ‘Of course you can. You got me into it. You can get me out.’
Ellie fished a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer, wrapped it in a clean tea towel, and laid it against Diana’s face. ‘Hold it there. It will reduce the swelling. No, Diana. You borrowed money from the trust to start the agency. Contracts were drawn up and signed by both parties. You and Denis guaranteed that the money would be repaid at set intervals. It was not a personal loan from me to you. It was money granted by a trust of which I am only one of three directors. You can’t wriggle out of repaying the loan, and I can’t get you out of it.’
‘Of course you can. You can see for yourself what’s happened. I can’t be bound to a man who’s responsible for this attack on me.’
‘It wasn’t he who hit you but his wife, and it was your behaviour that provoked the attack. I don’t think I’d try suing her, either. I can’t think a judge would grant you damages. Now, do you want me to take you down to the hospital to get checked out, or not?’
Diana gasped. ‘You surely don’t expect me to continue working with a man who laughed when his wife attacked me?’
‘You chose him as your business partner. You knew what he was like. You led him on, I suppose.’
‘He didn’t need much leading.’
‘Fair enough. But in future you’d be better off finding another man to go to bed with, and confine your relations with Denis to business matters.’
‘I couldn’t!’
‘Oh, yes you could. Take a good hard look at yourself, Diana. What have you got to show for thirty odd years of life? A failed marriage, innumerable “encounters” with the opposite sex, a hefty mortgage on a large house and not a single trustworthy friend. You’ve alienated your relatives by greed and sharp practice, you are on the point of losing your son—’
‘Never! How dare you even think that! Did you put Stewart up to it? Is he going to go to the courts to ask for care and control? I can’t believe that you’d do that to me, Mother.’
‘Believe it,’ said Ellie, with a sigh. She took a seat at Diana’s side and bent down to look at the rest of the damage. ‘Keep that pad on your eye while I have a look at your knee.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie saw something looming up against the conservatory door. She was already bending low to inspect Diana’s leg. As she jerked her head upwards, she came into contact with the underside of the table and knocked herself silly.
The glass in the door exploded inwards.
Diana was sitting with her back to the door. She turned to see what was happening as a large, dark-gloved hand felt for the key in the lock of the door — how often had Ellie been told not to leave the key in the lock — and somebody large and dark threw the door open and charged in.
Ellie tried to stagger up, hands to her head, not seeing straight.
Diana’s voice went high and thin. ‘What . . . ?’
Ellie felt a jolt run through her, and was slammed back against the oven, out of breath . . . out of time.
Diana screamed, but the sound was cut off.
Choked off.
Ellie sagged, putting both hands to her aching head.
She couldn’t see straight. Think straight. Tried to get air into her lungs . . .
She had a flashing image of Diana being thrown across the kitchen. Tossed across like a rag doll, flying through the air. It was unreal. Ellie couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
Then, incredibly, Ellie felt herself being whirled around and thrown after Diana.
She landed on her side, gasping.
Pain in her side. Down her leg.
Diana wasn’t moving. Ellie opened her eyes wide and met Diana’s good eye as it slowly, slowly, closed. Diana breathed out, softly.
Unconscious.
The intruder was a man. No woman had monstrously large trousered legs like that. He strode across Ellie’s body, his rough boot catching her thigh in passing. He stank of something . . .
Ellie tried to make sense out of what was happening.
The attack on Mrs Dawes. The way he’d tossed Diana aside.
It had to be the same man. Mrs Ball as well?
The gardener.
What to do? The landline phone was in the hall and that’s where he’d gone. Her mobile was in her handbag, and she’d dropped that in the hall, too.
He was there now, moving clumsily, shifting the chair that sat by the phone. Opening her handbag. The catch had a distinctive sound. Bumping into the grandmother clock. Cursing.
What to do? She checked her arms and legs, which all appeared to be in working order though it was painful to move her right leg.
Icy air streamed into the kitchen through the broken door in the conservatory. Her poor plants . . .
He was coming back. He lifted her by one arm, twisting it, hauling her upright.
‘Where’s the money?’
She wasn’t acting. She was dazed. But one part of her mind worked it out that he was the man who’d been sitting in the bank that morning when she’d drawn out enough money to pay Mr Hurry. Then she’d turned up on his doorstep, hadn’t she, with those stupid magazines.
She said, ‘Whaa . . . ?’ Pretending to be even more dazed than she really was. Trying to think.
He shook her, hard. Her head snapped back.
‘Where is it?’
‘What . . . ?’
He picked her up, holding her close in front of him. Marching her out of the kitchen, legs dangling. The phone rang and he froze, holding her still in front of him. Feet off the floor.
She tried to free herself, and failed. He was strong.
The phone rang and rang. The answerphone clicked in. A man’s voice. Thomas. Leaving a message for her. He’d call back later.
‘Move!’ The man propelled her forward to where her bag lay, its contents spilled over the floor. ‘Show me!’
She gasped out the words, ‘Spent it.’
‘No, you didn’t, you bitch! I saw you. You put it in your bag, a wad of it. And then you got on the bus straight after. So, where did you put it?’
Where had she put it? She couldn’t think. She gasped, ‘Kitchen!’ At least in the kitchen she might be able to grab a knife, a pan, anything to hit him with.
He reversed direction, still holding her firmly in front of him. Somehow she had to gain herself a little freedom of movement. Diana lay like one dead. Surely she wasn’t dead? But he’d killed Mrs Ball, hadn’t he? And, presumably, the inoffensive Mr Standage, Jake the Peg?
She stammered, ‘I c-can walk.’
He let her down so that her feet touched the ground and, as he released his grip she reached down and took hold of the flesh of his inner leg and twisted. Hard. She’d seen someone do this as a self-defence ploy many years before, and had been interested to see the effect it had had on the attacker.
This time, too. He yelled and released her, doubling over. She kicked at his leg and he staggered. At the same time, an avenging fury rose from the floor and with a banshee wail, swept up a kitchen chair and brought it down on the man’s shoulders.
He stumbled and half fell. Diana, still shrieking, brought the chair down on his head.
The man screamed with pain. Diana hit him again.
Ellie could hear the phone ringing. And the doorbell.
And someone thumping on the wall next door. All the noise they were making must be bringing Armand round to investigate.
The man was sobbing for mercy, bloodied hands over his head, bowed to the ground. The chair shattered. Diana stopped shrieking and started gulping. Ellie limped as fast as she could to the front door.
Mr Hurry, looking embarrassed. ‘Sorry to come round so late, but I was out with the missus and I just thought that if you’d got the money . . . are you all right? You look . . .’
‘Come on in.’ Ellie drew him in out of the cold night. ‘Can you tie someone up for me? We’ve just been attacked.’
‘Grief!’ said Mr Hurry, staring wide-eyed at the man writhing on the floor. ‘If that’s who I think it is . . . is that the gardener?’
Ellie was delving into a drawer. ‘I’ve got some string here somewhere. I’ve heard that if you tie a man’s thumbs together, he can’t move. I don’t know where I heard it, but let’s try it, shall we?’
He took the string. ‘Are you sure he doesn’t need the hospital, instead?’
‘I wouldn’t risk it, seeing what he’s done to us.’
Diana was lowering herself on to an intact chair. Her cheek was bleeding again. Her face had ballooned up and one eye was closed tight. Her tights were in shreds, her leg bleeding.
Mr Hurry took note of Diana’s injuries and though the gardener was groaning, decided to believe Ellie. ‘Are you sure this’ll hold?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Ellie, inching her way along the wall to the phone. At that moment, Armand came bursting through the front door asking what was up. Ellie tried to tell him. Gulped tears. Couldn’t get the words out. ‘Shock!’ she said. ‘Police!’
Armand took in the scene in the kitchen, with Mr Hurry standing over the injured man on the floor. ‘What the . . . ?’
Ellie managed to press the right buttons on the phone at the third attempt. ‘Police, please. And hurry!’
* * *
‘I saved my mother’s life!’ Diana was the heroine of the hour. In her attack on the gardener, she’d sprained her left wrist. What with having to keep her arm in a sling, the butterfly stitches on her cheek, her black eye and bandaged leg, she presented the perfect picture of plucky victim to the world.
She blossomed under all the praise she received. Her normally abrasive manner softened since she had to smile a lot when having her picture taken. Her story appeared in a couple of the tabloids and in the local paper, which was all free advertising for the 2Ds agency. Oh, and there was talk of recommending her for a medal for bravery.
She negotiated a deal with Denis that she would run the office during the week, and have most weekends free to be with little Frank. Nobody was convinced that this arrangement would solve all their problems, but it did mean that the agency would continue to function and Frank still see his mother at weekends.
Once the confusion over identity had been resolved, Lee was charged with the murders of his landlord, Russell Standage, and of Mrs Ball. He was also charged with grievous bodily harm to Mrs Dawes, and of assault on Diana and Ellie. Under questioning by the police — not by Ears, but a more senior officer brought in to disentangle the case — Lee admitted everything. He told the police that in his view, prison, without any worries as to where his next meal was coming from, was preferable to having to work in the supermarket to provide for his wife.
Ellie got away with a number of bruises in places she was not keen to have displayed, and put on a pound in weight, due to comfort eating in the days that followed.
She cherished a hope for some days that she might receive a letter of apology from Ears for his conduct of the case. She was saddened but not surprised, that this was not forthcoming.
The police released young Neil with a caution. After all, he had swung a punch at Ears, and in the eyes of the police, that couldn’t be forgiven and forgotten.
Ellie helped Mr Hurry to get his money from Mr Ball, and Neil got to redecorate Mrs Dawes’ house. Ellie paid for both. Neil got a new girlfriend and began to grow his hair.
Mrs Dawes made a slow recovery. She was transferred to another hospital for physiotherapy but her batteries seemed to have run down. Ellie worried that her old friend might give in to her children’s wishes and go into a home. Then, on a routine visit to Mrs Dawes’ house, Ellie had occasion to check the meter reading for the gasman, and discovered some wizened hyacinth bulbs in a cupboard under the stairs. Mrs Dawes had put them there to force for Christmas but they’d been sadly neglected and were now only fit for the rubbish bin.
When Mrs Dawes heard this, she was so incensed that she discharged herself from hospital, visited the hairdresser to have her hair dyed jet-black, and appeared in church to tell the flower arranging team that their efforts were a disgrace and that they’d better buck up their ideas now she was back in charge. She had perhaps lost a little of her old edge, for a couple of weeks more she walked with the aid of a stick, but she’d also lost a lot of weight which could only be a good thing.
Felicity continued to keep well, while complaining — with a smile — that Roy wouldn’t let her do anything in their house or garden.
In some ways Ellie took longer to recover than Diana or Mrs Dawes. If she could have gone straight to bed and stayed there for a week, being waited on hand and foot, she’d probably have picked up more quickly. But there was Mrs Dawes to visit, and all the Christmas preparations. So she struggled along, telling herself that it was ridiculous to feel so tired all the time.
Perhaps it would have helped if Thomas had come round to see her, but she only heard news of him from others. She knew he’d settled in happily at Miss Quicke’s, and that Rose had been spoiling him to her heart’s content, but not once did he ring her, or suggest they have a meal together. She wished their friendship hadn’t ended like that, but didn’t know what to do about it.
The parish held a monster party at the new vicarage on the day after Thomas moved in. Catering was arranged by Rose, courtesy of Waitrose. A team of waiters was provided by Maria at Miss Quicke’s request, and altogether it was a joyful occasion to lighten a dark day in early December.
Ellie escorted Mrs Dawes there and helped her up and down the stairs, for the older lady wished to inspect each room, and every modern labour-saving appliance. And to comment on them. Mostly her view was that the parish hadn’t needed to spend quite so much money on the latest gadgets, such as broadband for Thomas’s new computer, and a coffee machine in the kitchen. On the whole, though, she approved the décor, devised by Roy and Felicity.
Even Diana, who for once had taken time off her office duties to whiz in and out — complete with a slightly unnecessary sling — commented that the underfloor heating and stripped floorboards made a positive impression. A lot of the furniture from the old vicarage had been judged too large and decrepit to keep, but Thomas had rescued his own furniture from storage and after a good polish up from Maria’s cleaners, it looked good in its new surroundings. Mrs Dawes approved of the brand-new kitchen and bathroom, but opined that it had been unnecessary to spring to an extra shower room and loo.
When Mrs Dawes grew tired of inspecting everything, she told Ellie to find her a suitable armchair at the side of one of her old friends, and leave her be.
Ellie looked around for someone else to talk to, and found her aunt installed in a high-back chair by the window, overlooking the as yet barren garden. Miss Quicke said, ‘I understand Rose and Felicity are planning to create some kind of miniature Hampton Court out there come the spring. I’ve told Felicity to take care, but she doesn’t listen to me.’
Ellie found the right words to soothe. ‘I’m sure Rose will see that Felicity doesn’t overdo it.’
Kate from next door was there, with Catriona and the new baby in a double pushchair. Kate looked rosy and well. She said they’d arranged a date for the christening, and asked Felicity to be godmother.
Then suddenly the crowd thinned out and Ellie was standing next to Thomas, with nothing to say for herself.
‘We’re in the way here,’ said Thomas, as the waitresses started to clear away. ‘Come and see my study.’
He led the way to a quiet room at the back of the house, where his new computer equipment was in the process of being set up. The window overlooked the garden, which still contained some mature trees. Ellie could see that this was where he intended to spend most of his time, for there were boxes of books on the floor waiting to be put into the new built-in shelving, a small television set and some hi-fi equipment had been set up in a corner, and a new Lazy Boy chair was in the process of being unpacked nearby.
‘It’s very nice, Thomas.’
‘It’s going to be all right in time. When I’ve got some pictures up and that.’ He unlocked a drawer and took out a small jewellery box.
At once Ellie’s heartbeat went into double time. If that was an engagement ring in that box . . . ! No, she didn’t want that. Most definitely. Let me out of here!
Thomas looked down at the box, rather than at her. ‘I’ve been wanting to thank you for what you did for me, but I didn’t know how. I don’t suppose you realized how far down I’d gone when—’
‘It was nothing,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘Honestly, Thomas. Anyone would have—’
‘No, they wouldn’t. Nobody else saw what you saw, or acted so promptly and so practically. After my old friend died, well, you saw how I was. I was afraid I’d have to go back on medication and be of no use to man or beast for a while. I was fighting it and getting nowhere. And then you rescued me. You’re a most unusual woman, Ellie Quicke, and I want to give you this.’
He handed the box to her, but she didn’t want to take it, thrusting it back at him. ‘Please, no. I don’t want anything.’
‘I daresay you don’t. But I took a long time choosing it, and I showed it to your aunt and she said it was just like you, so you must at least look at it. Keep it in a drawer or something, if you don’t want to wear it.’
That didn’t altogether sound like an engagement ring, did it? And his manner was not lover-like, either.
She took the box, and opened it. Inside was a heavy Victorian gold locket on a chain. Not a ring. What a relief! She snapped the locket open, to reveal two oval spaces into which you could insert small photographs, or miniature paintings of your loved ones.
‘It’s beautiful.’
He cleared his throat. ‘I thought you might like to put a photo of your late husband in there, or your mother, or someone else dear to you.’
She felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach. She’d heard that widows passed through different stages in their grieving process: numbness, disbelief, anger, denial, loss, the misplaced belief that they were coping and the downward swoop into grief, all over again.
Looking back, she could see that she’d taken a slightly different course. She’d grieved for him and for herself. She’d built herself a new life, convincing herself she could manage very well without his care of her. She’d thought she’d got over her loss and that she might even consider a second marriage.
She’d been wrong. Just at that very moment she felt more vulnerable than ever. What wouldn’t she give to have Frank back at her side, willing and able to take over all responsibility for her life!
Of course, one part of her mind she knew that she’d outgrown her dependence on Frank. She’d moved on. She supposed she’d grown up, in a way. She didn’t really want to go back to being a cosseted little wifey with no opinions of her own. Not really.
But oh, she missed him. Dear Frank. He’d been the centre of her world, the touchstone by which she had formed all her opinions. Still was, in a way. She remembered, as if it were yesterday, his coming towards her the day they’d first met at the tennis club, holding out his hand to her, smiling.
She turned away to hide her tears. She wondered, a little crazily, if she’d ever get over his loss. She kept her eyes on the locket. ‘A photograph of Frank. I like that idea. Yes.’
‘I know how you feel. When my wife died, I . . . for a long time. Confused. Of course, one day you might want to put someone else’s photo in there. Some time in the future, I mean.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I might.’ She found her handkerchief and blew her nose.
‘Meanwhile, I’d welcome your advice. Your aunt has very kindly asked me to join you all for Christmas lunch, but I was going to invite Mrs Dawes and one or two others to come here for lunch, thinking they wouldn’t be cooking for themselves. Your aunt has been most kind to me and I don’t wish to offend her. So, what do I do? Advise me, Ellie.’
THE END