Mistletoe Mystery Page 2

  It was said to be one of the best in the country, so she hoped they would be honest with her. She carried the painting up the steps, almost crashing into a man who was just coming out.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just…”

  “No, it was my fault completely,” he said. He was about thirty years old with an American accent. He had the greyest eyes Philly had ever seen, and looked like the sort of White House intern they had in television dramas, clean cut and handsome in a preppy way, but with a slightly tougher edge. Dressed in jeans, t-shirt and a tan leather jacket, he turned informal into an art form. She had to remind herself that tongue hanging out was not a good look for any woman. “Wow that’s an interesting painting you have there.”

  Philly looked down to see that the sheet had fallen off the Robespierre picture. “Yes, I’m coming to get it valued. I’m hoping I’ll at least get a Big Mac out of the proceeds.”

  “Robespierre…? Interesting.”

  “You know him?”

  “I know of him.”

  “Oh well, that’s hopeful. Do you work here at the auction house?” She could not think of anyone she would rather have answer her questions about the paintings.

  “No, I just called in to see an old pal. My name is Matt Cassell, by the way.”

  “Philly Sanderson.”

  “Sanderson?”

  “Yes. You know it?”

  “No, no. Well, it was nice bumping into you, Philly.”

  Ask him to go for coffee, her mind commanded. “You too. Bye.” Damn! She would have to get better at asking men out. She smiled shyly and picked her painting up.

  “Look … er… I know this is very forward,” said Matt, “and I promise I don’t do this sort of thing all the time. Would you like to go for a coffee? When you’ve had your painting valued?”

  “Yes! Absolutely. I’d love to. I mean … thanks.” She wanted to kick herself for her over-enthusiasm. Her godmother had always said she should play it cool with men. The trouble was that left men believing she was cool and unapproachable. She could not let this one go. “I’ll just deal with this.”

  “I’ll come back in with you. If you don’t object.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Great, because I’m afraid you’ll fly away if I don’t keep you in view.”

  Philly had only reached the top of the steps when the doubts set in. Gorgeous men did not just ask her out like that. Maybe he knew the painting was worth a fortune and had decided to latch on to her. On the other hand, he looked to be very much his own man. How can you know that on five seconds acquaintance, Philly, she mentally chided herself. He could be a murderer for all she knew. On the other hand, he might seem perfectly nice but turn out to be one of those boyfriends from hell. The type who didn’t like you going out with your friends, then turned out to be slowly poisoning you… Philly tutted to herself. She really had appeared in too many bad television dramas!

  The auction house reminded Philly of a library. The colours were muted, and the atmosphere matched. She was glad she had found a smart, nineteen-fifties style grey suit in one of the trunks in the attic. It fit her almost as if it were made for her. With her dark chestnut hair pinned back in chignon, she hoped she looked sophisticated and business-like.

  “If you were a blonde, Alfred Hitchcock would be swooning in his grave,” Meg had told her before she left.

  There was a reception desk at the auctioneers, but no one staffed it. She tapped on a brass bell.

  “Did you forget something, Matt?” a man asked, coming from one of the offices.

  “No, it’s this young lady who’s looking for you, Sebastian.”

  Of course, thought Philly, he had to be called Sebastian. He was a nice looking young man, but appeared to have a bad smell under his nose, judging by how high he stuck it in the air when he looked at her. The suit was not going to impress him, that much was certain. He looked her up and down, disdainfully.

  Unwittingly, Philly followed his gaze to her feet, and almost swore when she realised that she had forgotten to change out of her pink plimsolls, which she always used for driving. She had packed a pair of elegant black court shoes, but they were still in the boot of the car. To make matters worse, Matt’s eyes had also followed Sebastian’s to her feet. She shuffled around a little, as if doing so would magically make the pink plimsolls disappear. It did not work. “I have this painting,” she said, putting it onto the reception desk with a bang. That took their attention from her feet! “I wondered how to go about getting it valued. It’s by Robespierre. Two people I’ve spoken to have heard of him, so he must be famous.”

  “Everyone has heard of Robespierre,” said Sebastian, as if Philly had said something stupid. “But I’m afraid your painting will not be worth anything other than as curiosity value.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “Robespierre was a master counterfeiter. I am guessing that’s a copy of the Haywain that you have there.”

  “No,” said Philly, feeling hot and bothered. “It isn’t actually. It’s called The Robin Watches. I Googled it last night and it’s not listed anywhere.”

  She had also done an Internet search for Robespierre, only to find over four million web pages about the French Revolution Robespierre rather than the artist. She gave up searching through them when she reached page ten of the listings and had read too many descriptions of people going to the guillotine.

  “I’m sorry but you are wasting your time,” said Sebastian.

  “Come on, Seb, give the girl a break,” said Matt. “I’d like a closer look at the picture.”

  A look passed between the two men, after which Sebastian was all smiles. “Of course. It is possible that Robespierre did something original. I’m told he was very good in his youth, but he wanted to make a fast buck.”

  “My friend said Robespierre was a champagne socialist,” said Philly.

  “Yes, he was that too … oh, this is rather good…” Sebastian seemed to have forgotten Matt and Philly were there. “Very good indeed. I don’t think I know it. Look, can you leave it here for a day or two and I’ll find out what I can about it?”

  “Erm…”

  “It’s perfectly okay. I’ll give you a receipt for it, of course. Where did you find it? It will help prove covenance.”

  Philly quickly explained about inheriting Bedlington Hall from her godmother and finding the painting in the attic. “There are more up there, but I haven’t had time to check everything. I don’t suppose it’s worth it if Robespierre was a counterfeiter. Chances are they’re all by him.”

  “Don’t be too hasty,” said Sebastian. “You may have hit on something original, in which case it might be worth something. Not millions, but it has been known for Robespierre’s counterfeit works to fetch a few hundred pounds each.”

  “Really? That’s great.” Philly smiled. Okay, it was not millions, but it might help her pay some of the costs of running Bedlington Hall.

  ***

  “So,” said Matt, sitting across from Philly in a coffee shop. “What will I have seen you in?”

  “I was a victim in The Bill. I had to utter the immortal lines ‘It was … it was …ugh’ before dying.”

  “The Bill?”

  “Yes, it’s a British cop drama. Then I was a road traffic victim in Casualty. Like ER but without George Clooney. I didn’t have any lines in that before I was declared dead. I just had to lie there whilst they poked and prodded me. It’s not easy to do when you’re ticklish. That is probably why they’ve never asked me back. Oh, and I was a cyberman … cyberperson … in Doctor Who.”

  “Now Doctor Who I’ve heard of! Haven’t you been in anything where you had a proper speaking role?”

  “I was in a teen soap when I was about eighteen. I died in that too, of whatever disease was fashionable eight years ago. I’ve done a lot of stage work. Mostly small towns. I was Cinderella in Huddersfield last year, on the back of my work in the teen soap, but people only came to watch it bec
ause the baddie was being played by an ex-Big Brother contestant. What about you? What do you do?”

  “I work for my dad’s firm.”

  “And what does your father’s firm do?”

  “We’re in insurance. Kind of.”

  Oh God, thought Philly, he’s the son of a mafia don. They did a ‘kind of’ insurance. Like ‘pay us all your money and we’ll insure we won’t send Cousin Roberto around to break your legs’. She knew he was too handsome to be true. “When you say ‘kind of…”

  “It’s mainly big stuff. Like paintings and sculptures.”

  “Ah…” Philly breathed a sigh of relief. “So you couldn’t promise me a reasonable quote on my car whilst singing opera then?”

  Matt laughed. “You really don’t want to hear me sing. Tell me about your godmother. How come she raised you?”

  “Mum and dad died when I was seven.”

  “I’m sorry, Philly.”

  “It’s alright. I’ve come to terms with it, I think. They’d gone on a second honeymoon, and were in a crash on the way home from the airport. So my godmother, Robyn was made my guardian. She wasn’t just my godmother. We are related in some way. Second cousin, something removed. I forget which. Dad was her second cousin, and her solicitor. I don’t think she knew what to do with me, so she pretty much packed me off to boarding school within weeks of the funeral.”

  “That must have been tough.”

  “Yes … Yes, I suppose it was at the time. I had no other family to stay with. I was at boarding school for most of the year. Sometimes she’d come and take me out for the day during the break. Sometimes I’d go home with friends for the holidays. But for one fortnight a year, Aunt Robyn – I called her that even though she wasn’t my aunt – would come and take me to Bedlington Hall to stay.”

  “What did she do? For a living I mean?” Matt sipped his coffee.

  “She was a model. Though she was getting on a bit by the time I knew her. She used to model for Chanel in the fifties and sixties, and a few other fashion houses. Beyond that, I don’t think she did anything. When she retired she spent most of her life jetting around the world, staying with rich friends. Male friends mostly.” Philly grimaced, feeling a bit embarrassed talking about her godmother’s love life. “She was always talking about sheik this, and prince that.”

  “She sounds like quite a gal.”

  “She was. Even though I didn’t see her much, when I did, it was great fun. With Aunt Robyn there were no rules about bedtime or eating. Everything was geared towards enjoyment. She got me into acting. She had a great gift for mimicry, and she used to teach me all her tricks. It’s a pity I’m not very good at it. We’ve been running murder mystery weekends at Bedlington Hall. My friends, Meg, Puck and I, that is.”

  “Is Puck your boyfriend?”

  “Oh no, he’s Meg’s fiancé. I went out on a couple of dates with him at drama school, then I introduced him to Meg and that was it. Fireworks, violins, you name it. All the clichés came together in their meeting.” A bit like when I bumped into you, she thought, but did not say. She might have heard the fireworks and violins, but there was no reason he should have.

  “And you’re still her friend?” Matt raised an eyebrow.

  “Of course. Meg is a wonderful friend. Besides Puck and I never had the fireworks and violins, and like I said, we only went out on a couple of dates.” In truth, Philly had been relieved. Puck and Meg’s meeting gave her an excuse not to get too involved with anyone and risk getting her heart broken. In Philly’s experience, people you loved were always taken from you, so it was better that it happened before she fell in love with Puck. “Meg is a good friend,” Philly added defensively.

  “I don’t doubt it. She’d have to be to deserve a friend like you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So… there’s no boyfriend around that I have to challenge to a duel?”

  Philly laughed. “Nope. Though I’d rather like to see that. It appeals to my sense of the dramatic. What about you? I bet you have an impossibly beautiful woman in your life.”

  “Not until today.”

  Philly’s tummy did a triple back somersault. If he were too good to be true, would it hurt for her to enjoy being flattered by a handsome man? It had happened so rarely in her life. Certainly she had never met anyone like Matt before. “Thank you,” she whispered, sipping her latte. “That’s a very kind thing to say.”

  “I’m not being kind. I’m being honest. When I saw you outside the auction house … Oh this is crazy, isn’t it? Please tell me you heard the violins and fireworks too, Philly, or I’ll think I’m going mad.”

  “I heard them…”

  “So when can I see you again?”

  “Erm … I don’t come down to London that often.”

  “Then I’ll come up to see you. Midchester, isn’t it? Where exactly is that?”

  “It’s up in Shropshire. It’s a lovely little village. It was a Roman garrison at one point, and we have the ruins to prove it. I could show them to you. If you’re remotely interested.”

  “I would love to see your Roman ruins. And Bedlington Hall. Is it haunted?”

  “There was a rumour of a ghost haunting it at one point. The ghost of … oh my God!”

  “What?”

  “Dominique DuPont. That’s where I’ve heard that name.” Matt frowned, looking puzzled. “Sorry,” said Philly. “When I found the painting, it was inside a trunk. The label on the trunk said Dominique DuPont. I knew I’d heard it somewhere before. When Bedlington Hall was a school, a young student … a French girl … disappeared. Completely disappeared. There were rumours that she haunted the school and the surrounding area for years afterwards. It was her trunk I found! I suppose the school must have put it in the attic when she left, hoping someone would come for it.”

  “Wow… now that is worth a visit. When can I come to see you?”

  “Hmm,” said Philly. “Now I’m not so sure if it’s me you’re interested in, or my ghost.”

  “Can I be interested in both?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Not to mention the Roman ruins. Midchester sounds like a crazy sort of place.”

  “Really?” Philly giggled. “Then you obviously don’t get out much! It’s pretty boring most of the time.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Matt, looking into her eyes.

  “We’re doing another murder mystery weekend at Christmas,” said Philly. “Mistletoe and Mystery. Perhaps you could come up for that.”

  “That’s weeks away. Do I have to wait that long?”

  “I suppose you could come up this weekend…”

  “Great. Are there any hotels in the area?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. There are loads of bedrooms in the Hall. I mean, if you wanted to stay there.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Matt smiled.

  Philly was shocked at her own forwardness. It would never have occurred to her to ask any other man to sleep in her home after such a short acquaintance. But with twenty bedrooms set aside for guests, it was not as if she was asking him to share her room. Not that the thought had not crossed her mind. She knew she needed to put the brakes on a bit. Things were moving way too fast. Yet there was something inevitable about Matt and her feelings for him. As if they had always been there, but she had not known it. How did that song go? About knowing you loved someone before you met them? She hastily pushed that thought aside. She could not possibly love him. She barely knew him. It was simply an overwhelming and rather exciting attraction. He was charming, handsome, and seemingly interested in her. Maybe all she really felt was gratitude.

  It had started to rain when Matt walked her to her car. “Can I give you a lift anywhere?” she asked him, unlocking her door.

  “No, I’m good thanks. So I’ll come up to see you on Friday?”

  “Yes. I’ll look forward to it. You’ve got my number if anything comes up.”

  “I have. And you have mine,
in case you decide to withdraw the invitation because you’ve decided I’m a raging psychopath.”

  “Oh I still haven’t made up my mind on that,” said Philly.

  In reply, Matt pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She clung to him, not wanting to let him go and lose this moment. Her natural pessimism knew that it could not last. He would break the heart that she had protected for so long. But the sense of inevitability remained, and his kiss convinced her that she had embarked on a journey that she would not stop until it reached the ultimate destination, no matter what it cost her.

  When she walked through the door of Bedlington Hall late in the evening, Meg and Puck came running from the kitchen.

  “I’ve had an idea what we can do for the Mistletoe and Mystery weekend,” said Meg.

  “I’ve got an idea to get the punters in,” said Puck.

  “I’ve met someone drop-dead gorgeous,” said Philly.

  Before Puck could open his mouth to speak, Meg clamped her hand across it. “Philly goes first.”

  Chapter Three

  “You mean you actually invited him to stay the weekend,” said Meg. They were sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee.

  “Yes, you don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course we don’t mind,” said Puck. “This is your house after all. It’s just that you’ve never … I don’t mean to be unkind, Philly, but you’re not the most spontaneous person we’ve ever met. I seem to remember that when you and I dated, you had a schedule for the dates and we weren’t allowed to deviate from it.”

  “God, did I really? Oh yes, I remember now. But this feels right. Except if feels wrong too. I know I’m going to get my heart broken, but I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, whereas I think I was deliberately trying to scare you off because I didn’t really fancy you. Sorry, Puck, no offence and all that.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s only my pride and masculinity you’ve destroyed.”

  “Oy,” said Meg with a grin. “I think you’ll find that’s my job nowadays.”

  “And you’re the only woman who could really do it,” said Puck, taking Meg’s hand. Philly felt a pang of regret. Not for letting Puck go, but for never having known the love that Puck and Meg shared. She was wise enough to know that what she felt for Matt Cassell was probably nothing more than infatuation.