Mistletoe Mystery

by Sally Quilford

  “You sometimes what?”

  “Oh it’s silly,” Philly grinned awkwardly. “I sometimes think I can feel their presence in every brick. They’re urging me on, wanting me to succeed.”

  “At any cost?”

  “What? No, of course not. What are you suggesting, Matt?”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “Nothing, I just…”

  “You think I’ve got something to do with what’s going on in the attic. Is that it?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. I just wonder sometimes how much you do know.”

  “I don’t know anything. Why are you saying this? You’re the one who couldn’t wait to get in there.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I heard your telephone conversation by the lake. ‘Leave it to me’ you said and promised you’d get the key to the attic. I don’t know what your game is, or whether you planned to seduce the key out of my hands, but you haven’t fooled me as much as you think you have.”

  “Philly, darling it wasn’t what you’re thinking.” Matt came towards her, his arms outstretched.

  “Don’t darling me. And keep your arms to yourself.”

  At that point, the pan, obviously in tune with their emotions, boiled over, spilling hot liquid onto the cooker. The aroma of burnt milk filled the kitchen. Philly spun around and turned the ring off. Without thinking, she grabbed the metal pan handle, yelping when it burnt her hand.

  “Let me see,” said Matt.

  “No, I don’t want you to help me,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What I want is for you to leave now. Go away.”

  “No, I’m not going away, until you listen to me. But first let me sort your hand out.” He pulled her to the sink and set the cold tap running. “Hold your hand under there for a while.”

  Again, showing that he knew the house almost as well as Philly did, he went into another cupboard for the First Aid kit. Coming back to her, he said, “I’m not trying to con you, Philly, whatever you may think. This … this thing, goes back to before we were born.”

  “What thing?”

  “In the late sixties and early seventies, my dad worked as a claims investigator. It’s pretty much what I do now, for our company. He became interested in Robespierre, but could never quite catch the guy. It was an obsession for my dad. It almost cost him his marriage to my mom.”

  “So when you saw the picture, you thought I was connected to Robespierre.”

  “I didn’t know, darling. I just thought I’d come here and see what I could find out.”

  “So you are conning me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, Matt! Yes, you are. Because you’ve worked your way into my life and that of my friends, pretending to be our friends, and all along you thought we were crooks.”

  “You thought I was a crook.”

  “With damn good reason! This is my house, remember. I’m meant to be here. You’re the … the interloper.”

  “I didn’t mean things to happen this way, Philly, I promise.”

  “So what did you mean, when you practically threw yourself at me outside the auction house, telling me that I was the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen? What was all that if it wasn’t to lie your way into my house and carry on your father’s investigation? That’s if you’re even telling me the truth about that. I have no good reason to believe you.”

  “No, I know you don’t. But now it’s all out in the open, I’m asking you to trust me. Something is definitely going on here.”

  “There is nothing going on. Me and my friends are not crooks.”

  “I know you’re not, but someone is. Someone was up in the attic last night. Someone climbed over the roof and broke the window in Room One.” He touched her shoulder gently. “I’m afraid for you.”

  “I’m afraid for me too, but I don’t think the danger is coming from anyone but you.”

  “I’m sorry you think that. Because you have to believe me when I tell you that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “You’ve already hurt me, Matt. More than anyone else ever could.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “No. I don’t forgive you. I’m tired and my hand hurts. I’m going to bed.”

  Philly remembered that she could not go to bed, not yet. If she went upstairs, Matt would surely follow her and her plan might be ruined. She went to sit at the kitchen table instead.

  Without speaking, Matt refilled the pan with milk and set it going again. A few minutes later he put a cup of hot cocoa in front of Philly, along with a plate of biscuits. “Here, drink this and you might feel better,” he said. He sounded so gentle and kind, it made Philly feel even worse. He sat down opposite her, perhaps realising that he needed to keep some distance, at least for the moment.

  “I told you I was engaged before, right?”

  “Yes, so?” Philly was tempted to put her hands over her ears. She was not sure she wanted to know about Matt’s previous girlfriend.

  “Her name was Natalie and I thought I really loved her. She was interested in my work, which is rare. Usually when you tell people you’re in insurance they either think you’re the mafia or the most boring man in the world.”

  “I thought mafia,” said Philly.

  “Ouch. Okay. Fair enough. Yet you still invited me to your house?”

  “Go on with your story.”

  “It turned out she was too interested. She was part of a gang of crooks, interested in stealing expensive works of art. She just used me to get information about our clients and their security systems. I made a vow never to trust a pretty face again. So yes, at first I did wonder if you were up to your ears in crime.”

  “Thanks very much.”

  “I’ll remind you that you thought I was a criminal.”

  “And I’ll remind you that I had more reason to. You conned your way into my house by pretending you liked me.”

  “I didn’t pretend I liked you, Philly. And I wasn’t the one running around London with a Robespierre painting.”

  “I didn’t steal it! I found it in the attic, just as I said I had.”

  “I know that now. But that doesn’t alter the fact that there is a link between this house and Robespierre. And now, with all the stuff about Harry Johnson, it seems I was right. About that at least. But I was wrong about you and I’m sorry. I’m also very glad” He reached out to touch her hand, but she moved it away. “I guess you still don't trust me.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

  “Seeing that you thought I was Michael Corleone, I’m pleased to hear that.”

  “No, what I mean is you’re not the man who seemed interested in me and my friends, and what we’re doing here. Everything you’ve done has been to make sure you get to stay in this house.”

  “Not everything.”

  “No?”

  “No. It might have been like that at first, but it isn’t like that now. Philly, I…”

  Matt was prevented by saying anymore when Joe, the cameraman walked into the kitchen. “I thought I smelled cocoa and chocolate biscuits,” he said.

  “You certainly did,” said Matt, smiling. “You might have got a bit of burnt flesh with that too. Philly is walking wounded.” He was rewarded with her glaring at him.

  “Ouch,” said Joe. “Is there still milk in the pan? No, don’t get up. I’ll do it.”

  “You having trouble sleeping too, Joe?” asked Matt.

  “Well I wasn’t but…” Joe started to say, but stopped when Philly imperceptibly shook her head. “But you know how it is. One little sound and you’re wide awake.”

  “Did you hear something?” asked Matt. “Maybe I ought to go take a look.”

  “Nah, it was nothing. Just someone in the next room, snoring. Rachel, I think.”

  Philly stood up, taking her cocoa with her. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Can we talk first?” asked Matt.

  “No.”

 
As she left the kitchen she heard Joe say to Matt, “Woman trouble, huh?”

  ***

  The following morning, Joe was nowhere to be seen. Philly assumed he slept in, due to her disturbing him the night before, but she was eager to see if he had managed to film anything.

  Whilst Matt had been sitting at the bottom of the stairs, Philly had gone to Joe’s room, which was in her wing, and asked him if he could set up a camera, with an infra red lens, at the junction of the stairs, with enough sweep to see anyone going up or down. Though not sure of the legalities, Joe had decided he was game if Philly did not mind.

  She had looked for the camera when she went back to bed, and not found it, so Joe must have hidden it well. It was only when she was in her own bed that it occurred to her that if Joe were the culprit, he would not share anything with her. She dismissed the idea, deciding that Joe was not only very young to be involved with Robespierre, but also a bit too chunky to fit through the attic window, let alone be able to run about on the roof at night.

  Matt was also late appearing. Whilst Philly helped Meg and Puck put out the breakfast buffet on the sideboard in the dining room, she asked about him, trying to sound casual.

  “Oh he’s left, Philly. Didn’t you know?” said Meg. “I’m surprised he didn’t say goodbye to you.”

  “Left…” The mini packet of cornflakes Philly was holding fell to the floor. “When?”

  “This morning, just before you got up. He said he had things to do.”

  “Oh well, that solves that problem. I doubt we’ll see him again.” She quickly filled her friends in on what Matt had told her the night before.

  “The sneak,” said Meg. “Oh, Philly, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” She put her arms around her friend. “You’re well rid of him if you ask me.”

  “Yeah, good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Puck.

  “I thought you both liked him.”

  “We did, but now you obviously hate him, we hate him too,” said Meg. “The rotter.”

  “Yeah, he’s not worth crying over, sweetheart,” said Puck. “You can do better.”

  “Oh, I doubt it,” said Philly.

  “Yeah, I doubt it as well. He was a bit of a peach,” said Puck, winking and clucking the roof of his mouth with his teeth. “But I’m sure you can do nearly as well. Well probably not even nearly as well, but they do say there’s someone for everyone. So … er … yeah, good luck with replacing him.”

  “Thank you, Puck, that makes me feel so much better.” Philly could not help but smile. Her friends always knew how to cheer her up.

  “That’s what I’m here for, babe.”

  “Have either of you seen Joe this morning?” she asked. “He’s usually first down for breakfast.”

  “I think he went out to do some filming in the grounds,” said Meg. “He said he wanted some nice winter scenes for the report.”

  “Ah, that’ll be where he is. If you two can manage here, I might go and look for him. I wanted to ask him something.”

  “Yeah, we’re about done,” said Puck. “I’ll fetch the coffee cups.”

  “Good. It’s time to wrap this up and move on with life, I think,” said Philly. “After breakfast, we’ll gather everyone together for the denouement, then feed them lunch before they all leave for home. To be honest, I’m willing to accept that Dominique was an alien from another planet, who hitched a ride back home on the same space ship as E.T.”

  “Works for me,” said Meg.

  Philly did not just want to go out and speak to Joe. She wanted to think clearly about Matt, if such a thing were possible. Why had he suddenly left, after refusing to the night before? She began to wonder if everything he told her about his father had been a lie after all, and he really was there all along to try to steal something. He had no doubt turned it on her, trying to make out she was the one with criminal leanings. When she thought about it, it was a clever trick to play. It put her on the back foot, making it hard for her to continue accusing him, because she was too busy defending herself.

  Her heart ached. Despite all her best defences and the doubts she had, she knew she was in love with him. She remembered the feeling of inevitability on the day they met. She knew now that only she felt that way. This was probably why it had been so easy for him to drive away from her. Good riddance to him! The thought barely reached the hallway ceiling as she put on her winter coat. It would take her a long time to get over Matt Cassell. Not just loving him, but her disappointment that he was not the man she believed him to be.

  How could she get it so wrong? She always thought she could tell the difference between good people and bad people. Now she was not so sure. Matt’s apparent duality had brought to the fore other fears. The fears that she had felt since becoming interested in the mystery of Dominique DuPont’s disappearance. Since the very beginning and for reasons she could not fathom she was convinced it was all connected to her.

  As she stepped out of the front door, she shuddered. Not because of the chill in the air, but because someone walked over her grave. Suspicions that she had been forcing deep down inside of her were coming to the fore. She had no proof, only a strong feeling of something not being quite right. It was partly to do with Mrs. Cunningham’s newfound realisation that Dominique’s accent was put on. It created a flicker of something within Philly. A memory of when she first started drama school and had to practice accents. She had been no better at it than Meg. Her Yorkshire accent was pretty good, but her French accent always came out sounding Welsh. What was it she had to remember? Almost as if the memory was afraid to come to the fore, it stayed deep within her, insisting it was irrelevant. It could not possibly be part of the jigsaw puzzle that had been forming since she found Robespierre’s painting in Dominique’s trunk in an attic that neither should have anything to do with. To acknowledge there may be a connection, and complete the puzzle, might be to admit something so painful that she might never recover from it.

  She looked around the land. Her land. The pain subsided a little. Sometimes she found it hard to believe that this beautiful house and park were all hers. Mr. Scattergood would no doubt say she was selfish, but even if she sold it, the developers would only turn the house into several apartments selling for a million pounds each. Why should she not own it all to herself, and then maybe pass it on to her children. If she ever had any. She could not imagine loving anyone but Matt. He had filled her life in such a short time, it already felt empty without him.

  She saw Joe in the distance and called out to him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Have you got anything for me, Joe?”

  “Not what I thought I had, Philly.” He sat on a bench at the side of the lake, looking at the viewing screen on his camera.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come and sit down and I’ll show you. I thought I’d caught your prowler, but it turns out I’ve only caught a couple of illicit lovers.”

  “Really? Amongst the guests you mean?” Philly sat next to him, blowing on her fingers. She really ought to have put her gloves on. “How fascinating. Do show me.” It was something amusing to take her mind off her troubles.

  Joe fiddled with the camera a bit, rewinding it through the night. “Here, look at this,” he said, pausing the picture at around two-thirty in the morning. “I found this when I checked the camera on my way back up to bed last night. You can’t see much, but you can hear a voice.”

  Just as Joe said, there were a couple of figures talking at the top of the stairs, but they had their backs to the camera. As far as Philly could make out from their size and body forms, one was a man the other was a woman. “We can’t talk now,” said the woman. “I’ll meet you by the lake early in the morning. Say seven o’clock. I always go for a walk before he wakes up.” The man nodded, and they parted company, but neither of them went up to the attic.

  “That’s Mrs. Bennett!” said Philly. “I’d know her voice anywhere. I wonder if that’s Mr. Graham. They have become rather close. But I
’d have sworn she was devoted to her husband, despite her crushes on random actors.”

  “Nah, it’s not Mr. Graham. Did you know he used to be a photographer? Did weddings and all. I love old cameras and he’s an interesting man to talk to. Watch this.” Joe fiddled with the camera again. “There’s nothing else for the rest of the night,” he explained. “So your prowler must have decided to rest last night. Mrs. Bennett met her fancy fella in between you and Matt going up, and me following half an hour later. So I came down here with the camera just before seven. Bit naughty of me, I know, but I couldn’t resist finding out who they were.” Joe held the camera up to Philly. “Here’s her secret lover.”

  The film showed Mrs. Bennett throwing her arms around a man, hugging him tightly. There was very little passion in the embrace, but a lot of love.

  “Mr. Scattergood! No, it can’t be,” said Philly. “They only met…” She stopped. Of course, it was so obvious. “No,” she said to Joe. “They’re not lovers. I just think they’ve known each other for a long time, that’s all. I also think I know who the prowler is. We were right. He’s been here all along. Mind you, I’ve no idea how he managed to climb over the roof.”

  Philly said nothing over breakfast. She wanted to try to get Mr. Scattergood alone. Despite his brusqueness, she had warmed to the old man because of his affection for her godmother. Unfortunately it also meant that more of the jigsaw puzzle than she ever wanted to see was beginning to appear. But much better to face it than to pretend it had never happened.

  After breakfast, she left Meg and Puck to finish off the denouement, making sure that Mr. Scattergood was sitting safely in a chair in the drawing room. As far as she could tell, he was not about to move. Mrs. Bennett seemed very emotional. She kept wiping her eyes, and her husband continually asked her what was wrong.

  “Nothing,” she said, sniffing loudly. “It’s just my hormones, that’s all.” He seemed happy with that explanation.

  Philly went directly to the attic, and then straight to the corner where she had seen the beam of light. Sure enough, she found something she had never noticed before. At the back of the attic was a false door, set into the wooden panels. She pushed it open and peered inside. There was a light on inside the panelled area, operated by the sort of string one found in a bathroom. That was the light she had seen. The hidden room had other surprises in store. Piled up around the walls in the tiny space were dozens of paintings. Philly did not know if they were originals or not, but her best bet was that they were.