Murder by Mistake (30 page)

‘I love you too, Rose!’ said Mia, embracing her friend.

Rose laughed. ‘Mind my hat, you silly thing! The cab’s waiting for us.’

Ellie took one last look around. The caterers were laying tables. Mr Balls and his slaves were ticking boxes on lists.

Ellie warned Mr Balls, ‘You have one hour max.’ She stepped into the cab, wondering what awaited her at the end of the journey. Another attempt on her life, or a simple church service?

NINETEEN

T
he cab driver dropped them outside the church, smiling to see the excited crowd arriving there. ‘You want I wait for you today?’ he said.

It would be convenient if he did, but . . . ‘No, thanks,’ said Ellie, ‘not today.’

Mia jumped out to run to Ursula’s little American sister, spotlessly clean in a new white frock, braces on her teeth glinting in the sunshine. ‘Well, just look at you!’

The roly-poly usher handed Ellie a boutonnière of a white rose, which she pinned to her lapel.

She tried to remember exactly what instructions she’d given to the cab firm when she took Mia to the solicitor’s at the beginning of the week. She’d told him she didn’t need a cab for the return journey, as they were planning to have lunch out in the Broadway. Had the Volvo been part of the plot to kill her, too?

Someone had a masterful touch on the organ inside the church. She looked around for a white van. Or another Volvo. None in sight. Anyway, there were too many people hanging around for a car to target one particular woman among the throng at the church gates.

Mia was laughing, happy, carefree for once. Rose caught Ellie’s arm. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day for it?’

Yes, it was. An usher held out an Order of Service to Ellie, and she took it. She and Rose would sit at the back since they planned to rush back home while photographs were being taken of the wedding party after the ceremony. Pray heaven the caterers would be ready in time.

The Volvo might have been a joyriding accident. Yes, it might.

The white vans . . . no. Was it the same van which had tried to run her down outside the Priors’ place, as the one last night outside the church? Difficult to say. Neither had any logos on their sides. The most she could say was that they were the same size, plain, white, clean. Newly rented?

The church was filling up with happy people. There were a respectable number of people on Sam’s side of the church, and yes, he was already there, chatting over his shoulder, smiling. His best man at his side.

They were both wearing tailcoats. Goodness gracious! How often did that happen nowadays? Rented? Ah, of course. It showed a nice feeling that they’d bothered. He would never look handsome, but he looked distinguished, would improve with age . . . Yes, that must be his brother acting as best man, and his father was in the row behind him, and also, possibly, an uncle; they all looked very much alike. Medical men? Foreign office? Highly placed civil servants? She’d known, once. Not that it mattered.

What about their womenfolk? All large, capable-looking women, with four – no, five – children in tow. Yes, Ursula would feel at home in that family.

The music changed. Was Ursula going to be late? It wouldn’t be like her.

Thomas walked down the aisle in his robes, smiling, chatting to this person and that. Was there to be a choir? No?

Rose nudged Ellie. ‘Mrs Belton’s hat!’

Mrs Belton’s hat was indeed a wonder to behold. Ellie stifled a laugh. An unfortunate choice, the wrong shape and colour. Cerise pink was not easy to wear even if you had a wonderful complexion or good make-up, and the poor woman had neither. No one would giggle to her face, would they?

Thomas greeted the bride’s mother and led her to the front row, where she sat in solitary state. Ursula’s stepmother and the toddler sidled in behind her.

Thomas reached Ellie’s row and leaned in to say, ‘Remember?’ They both smiled, as it had been in this very church that they’d exchanged their own vows, some months ago.

Ellie opened her Order of Service – well designed, nicely printed, undoubtedly something Ursula had organized – and resolved to put white vans and Volvos out of her mind.

There was a stir in the porch, and the organist broke into a well-known wedding march. Ellie felt tears stand out in her eyes, as Ursula – big-boned, positive, strong-minded, clear-thinking, warm-hearted and radiantly beautiful – made her way down the aisle on her father’s arm, with her little sister holding Mia’s hand and following close behind.

Ursula was wearing a white brocade coat dress, screamingly simple, with long sleeves and the merest hint of a train. No exposed shoulders for her. Her hair hung, honey-blonde, down over her shoulders, topped by a crown of tiny white flowers – orchids? – from which fell a short gauzy veil. Her bouquet was all white. She was all white, except for the colour in her cheeks and lips, which looked natural and probably was. Her eyes were brilliant, fixed on the man who was waiting for her at the altar.

The little girl tripped and nearly fell half way down the aisle, and everyone went ‘Oh!’

Ursula and Mia were equal to the occasion. They picked the child up and, seeing that she was ready to cry, her father hoisted her up on to his free arm.

Laughing, throwing back the veil which had fallen over her face, Ursula continued down the aisle to where Sam was waiting for her. Light glinted on tears on Mia’s cheeks, but she smiled as she took Ursula’s bouquet from her and stood aside for Mr Belton to give his daughter away.

Rose sniffed. Ellie reached for her hankie.

Thomas’s voice filled the church with the age-old words of welcome.

As the bride and groom withdrew to sign the register, Ellie whispered to Rose, ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we?’

They left the church and stood outside in the sun.

‘That was beautiful,’ sobbed Rose. ‘So . . . so family! Ursula didn’t think of herself at all and how it might look. Did you see the look on her man’s face as he took her hand at the altar steps?’

A limousine was at the kerb, waiting to take the bride and groom on to the reception. A second hired car waited behind it to transport her relatives and the bridesmaids. From the cab firm Ellie used?

Ellie considered walking back home. Yes, but would Rose make it? She didn’t walk much anywhere nowadays. Some late arrivals drew up in a black taxi, exclaiming that their train had been late. They hurried into the church, so Ellie and Rose took the taxi on home.

No minicab drivers hovered. No white vans, either.

She went over it again in her mind. Forget the Volvo. Perhaps that really had been an accident. On two other occasions a white van had tried to run her down. Why?

She paid off the taxi outside her house, and hurried indoors. People were criss-crossing the hall, all was bustle, the kitchen had been taken over by the caterers, Mr Balls and his minions were orchestrating the event. Neither Ellie nor Rose was needed.

Rose took off her hat and fluffed up her hair. ‘I could do with a cuppa before the hordes descend. How about you? We could have it in my sitting room, where it’s nice and quiet.’

‘A good idea. I’ll just see how Diana’s getting on first. Perhaps she’d like her mother to dress her for this wedding, since she has no bridesmaids.’

‘Humph!’ said Rose.

Ellie mounted the stairs and checked that her bedroom and bathroom were neat and clean, ready for use by Ursula and her groom in a while. Someone – one of the ushers? – had brought up two suitcases and left them beside the bed.

Was Sam himself going to drive them away to their future, or was someone else taking them to the airport? Would two more suitcases now be safely hidden in a friend’s car, with air tickets, passports and travellers’ cheques?

The florist had been thoughtful and had set a vase with some white roses in it on the dressing table. Ellie took off her hat and put it away. No need for formality now.

Or was there? Would Diana expect formality that afternoon?

She went along the corridor and tapped on the spare room door. Diana opened it, wearing a kimono and looking disgruntled. ‘I thought I asked you to keep everyone quiet downstairs.’

‘They’ll be back from church soon. Is your headache better? Can I get you anything?’

Diana went to look out of the window at the marquee below. ‘Are you asking me what I’d like as a wedding present? You haven’t given me anything yet.’

‘You haven’t got married yet.’

‘Well, you know what I want. Make over that nice big house of yours to me.’

‘In the first place, it’s not
my
house. It belongs to the Trust, which was set up to provide housing for people who can’t otherwise afford it. I can’t just take a house off the list for myself. You know that really, don’t you?’

A shrug. ‘If push came to shove, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? The other people on the Trust think you’re next door to a saint, so they’d play ball if you asked nicely.’

Somewhat to her surprise, Ellie now realized that she wasn’t going to give in on this matter. ‘I’m not even going to try it. Tell me, Diana; why is Denis trying to kill me?’

‘What!’ Diana swung round, open-mouthed.

Ellie sank on to the chaise longue at the bottom of the bed. ‘Twice now a large white van has driven straight at me and would have mown me down if I hadn’t been saved, first by jumping into a hedge and then by a man throwing himself into its path.’

‘What?’ Diana seemed genuinely bewildered. ‘But . . . but Denis can’t drive a van. You need an HGV licence for that, don’t you?’

‘I didn’t say he was driving. I don’t know that he was. What I think is that he might have arranged it. Yesterday someone managed to take the licence number of the van, so it’s now being sought by the police.’

‘But that’s got nothing to do with—’

‘I can’t think of anyone else who—’

‘Denis wouldn’t do a thing like that!’

‘Or get someone else to do it?’

‘But . . . No, why on earth should he?’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to work out. You know that Denis used to visit Mrs Summers every week for a session in her bedroom?’

Diana snorted. ‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘It seems your idea of him and mine are far apart. I think he killed Mrs Summers, and I think he’s behind the attempts to kill me, too.’

Diana’s face suffused with red, proving she wasn’t wearing any make-up yet. ‘You mean to sit there and accuse Denis of being a mass murderer without the shadow of any evidence to . . . No, Mother, not even you could be so—’

‘If I died—’

‘You’ve got a good few years in you yet.’

‘Yes, but if I did . . . How would that benefit him?’

‘Well, it wouldn’t. How could it? If you hadn’t made that absurd will, leaving everything to the Trust and cutting me off with a pittance, then I suppose . . . No. Ridiculous! Are you trying to make out he’s a fortune-hunter?’