Mistletoe Mystery (9 page)

“Well…” Matt raised a hand. “I think it is about time we let
you go to your rooms and unpack. Dinner will be at seven thirty, but there are
tea making facilities in your rooms so you’ll just have time to get what you
English call a nice cuppa. As you pass me on the stairs, I’ll hand you your
roles.” Matt walked to the bottom step, and did just that as everyone filed
past.

When they had all gone he looked at Philly and said, “How
did I do?”

“You did great. Really.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, I’m not surprised at all. I knew you could charm the
birds off the trees.”

“Yet I don’t seem to be having that affect on you at the
moment.”

“Matt, it’s like I said when you arrived, I need things to
slow down a bit, that’s all.”

“I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you’ve
done your best to avoid me.”

“I haven’t avoided you. I’ve been really busy, getting
everything ready.” It was half the truth, except that she had used being busy
as an excuse to avoid him.

In the weeks leading up to the weekend, Philly, Puck and Meg
had spent every waking hour going through the attic, trying to find out what
was in there that fascinated Matt. There had been more pictures, but they were
tiny in comparison to Robespierre’s painting of the tower. They were mostly of
Madonnas and the baby Jesus. The friends guessed that they were not worth much,
as they were merely smaller copies of the original Old Masters.

Puck had suggested putting them along the hallways. “Seeing
as it’s Christmas,” he said. “Baby Jesus and all that.”

Philly had been reluctant. “Until we know what Matt’s
looking for, I think we should leave everything locked away up here. For all we
know, we could put the very thing he wants on show. Then he could just walk out
with whatever it is whilst we’re not looking. Our best chance of catching him
is if he goes up to the attic.”

They had arranged to set a trap, leaving the key where Matt
could find it. Philly had even separated it from all the others, and put a
label marked ‘attic’ on it. With everything else they needed to do that
weekend, looking after guests and going through the pantomime of Dominique’s
story, it would be a wonder if they managed to fit that particular plot in.

“Maybe when this is over,” said Matt, cutting into her
reverie, “we can spend some proper time together, getting to know each other.”

“I’d like that,” said Philly, tears burning the back of her
eyes. She realised with an aching heart that she not only meant what she said,
but also regretted that it would never happen. Matt would either be arrested or
go away again not having found what he wanted. She was tempted to ask him
outright what he had been looking for. If he wanted it that badly, she would
give it to him. Then she remembered that everything in the house belonged to
her and that if she needed money to keep the Hall maintained, she could not afford
to go giving away priceless jewels or paintings. “I ought to go and help Puck
and Meg with dinner.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Perhaps you could just wait in the drawing room for the
guests to come down, and serve them drinks. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m glad to be useful. They won’t be
ready yet, so I’ll check everything else is in place, shall I?”

“Yes, that would be really helpful. You have the script?”

Matt tapped his jacket near the inside top pocket. “I do
indeed.”

Philly put her hand in her own pocket and fingered the attic
key. It was not the right time to plant it just yet. Not with her and her
friends busy in the kitchen. She smiled shyly at Matt and turned to go to the
kitchen. He caught her arm and pulled her back.

“I know you don’t want to rush things, but since we’ve
kissed already…”

Before she could argue, he had taken her in his arms. She
was powerless to resist him. If, in that moment, he had asked for everything
she owned, she would give it to him. She pulled away reluctantly. “I hardly
think this is the correct behaviour between the headmaster and the games
mistress,” she said, trying to sound humorous, only to find her voice trembled
in her throat.

“It’ll be our guilty secret,” said Matt. “We could say that
Dominique found out about us. It gives us both a motive.”

“You mustn’t deviate from the script… Your motive, as the
headmaster, is that you used to hang around with Kim Philby and all the other
Cambridge traitors and you were still in the pay of the Russians. My motive, as
the games mistress, is that I’d been stealing from school funds meant for
buying hockey sticks in order to feed my alcoholism. Remember?”

“There’s nothing wrong with ad-libbing. Especially if it
gives me an excuse to kiss you. I could be the traitor, you could be the thief,
yet we could still be secret lovers. Or perhaps you’re blackmailing me into
having a torrid fling.”

It sounded very seductive, the way he wrapped his tongue
around the word torrid. “You’ll just confuse everyone,” said Philly, trying to
sound more business-like. “Stick to the script.”

“You’re a very bossy games mistress.”

“Yes, and if you don’t behave, I’ll make you do a hundred
push ups.”

“Only a hundred? You’re not so tough after all.”

“Get you, Bruce Willis!” Philly laughed, her dark mood
instantly disappearing. No matter who or what Matt was, she could not help
feeling good when she was with him. “Now let me go and help out in the kitchen,
or I’ll have your motive as sexual harassment of the innocent young games
mistress.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t change the script.”

“I said you couldn’t change the script. I have writer’s
privileges.” Philly pulled away from his arms and headed towards the kitchen.

“Philly…” Matt’s voice sounded more serious.

“What is it?”

“You know I wouldn’t, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Sexually harass you.  I mean, if you gave me any sign
you weren’t interested in me, I wouldn’t force my attentions on you.”

Things had suddenly become very serious again. Not least
because no matter how hard Philly had tried, she clearly had not managed to
appear reserved in Matt’s company. Her longing for him must be all too
apparent. “I didn’t mean to suggest that, Matt, I’m sorry. It was just a joke.”

“As long as you know that for sure.”

Rachel Jenson and her cameraman, Joe, arrived just before
dinner. They set up the camera in the dining room. It was placed behind those
who had stated they did not wish to be featured on television, so that it only
filmed the back of their heads. It meant that some of the original seating
arrangements had to be changed at the last minute.

“It won’t record sound,” Rachel explained to everyone. “It
will only record images, then I’ll talk over it for the television report. So
feel free to talk as you normally would. None of your deep dark secrets will be
revealed to the public.”

“Rachel,” said Matt, “I saved you and Joe some characters to
play. If you want to.”

“Ooh yes please,” said Rachel.

Joe decided he would rather just be himself. Because he had
to look after all the equipment he could not really devote his time to thinking
up a back story and a motive.

“Remember that the bedrooms are out of bounds, even to
filming,” said Philly. “It’s only fair on the guests.”

“Of course,” Rachel smiled. “We’re not filming Big Brother
here.”

“That’s a relief,” said Frank Bennett, who was one of those
who chose to sit with his back to the cameras. “If I have to dress up and play
silly games, I’m going home. It’s bad enough having to cook when I’m on
holiday.”

“I have to, every time we take the caravan in Morecombe,”
said Mrs. Bennett.

“Now, shall we all get into character whilst we eat our
soup?” suggested Matt. Philly was grateful that he prevented yet another
bickering session between the Bennetts. They were a direct contrast to the calm
and obviously devoted Cunninghams. “Why don’t you start, Mrs. Bennett?”

“Ooh, I don’t really know how to.”

“Start by telling us what role you’re playing. Maybe the
rest will come later.”

“Oh yes.” Mrs. Bennett picked up her card. “It says here
that I’m the school nurse or doctor. Oh dear, I hate the sight of blood.” That
caused a few raised eyebrows, especially as Mrs. Bennett had already told
nearly everyone that she was addicted to rather vicious American murder
mysteries. “Very well, I’m the school nurse. Just call me Matron. I came to
work at the school in nineteen fifty-eight after doing a stint in Vietnam.”

“I don’t think the Vietnam had started then,” said her
husband. “And it was an American war.”

“I’m sure she means Korea,” said Matt, kindly.

“Yes!” Mrs. Bennett beamed at him. “It was Korea. I worked
with the MASH four oh seven seven.”

“They were also Americans,” said Mr. Bennett.

“There was a lot of crossover,” said Matt. “The English and
Americans have always come together in times of war.”

“Exactly,” said Mrs. Bennett. She giggled. “I had my heart
broken after a torrid romance with Hawkeye Pierce.”

“Oh, I wish I’d been the school nurse now,” said Mrs.
Cunningham.

“Alan Alda was lovely, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Bennett beamed, having
found a kindred spirit.

“He certainly was. And still is.”

“That’s all I can think of for now,” said Mrs. Bennett,
apologetically.

“You did great,” said Matt. Philly was struck by how easily
he commanded the room. Everyone looked to him for guidance. “Mr. Bennett, do
you want to tell us who you are?”

Frank Bennett sighed and picked up his card. “It says here
I’m the janitor. That’s what I do in real life. I clean toilets at a local
school. Couldn’t I have had something more exciting?”

“But,” said Philly, cutting in before Matt could, “the role
can be as exciting as you want it to be. Maybe you’re working undercover for
the police or government.”

“Well I’m not going to tell you that at the beginning of the
story, am I?” said Frank. “It’ll give it away.”

“Quite right,” said Philly. “But you could tell us some
basic details about him … you.”

“Right, well he’s … I’m a janitor and I have a wife who ran
off with Alan blooming Alda.”

Everyone laughed, even though Frank had sounded genuinely
peeved.

Chapter Eight

“Who wants to go next?” asked Philly. Matt really was taking
over, and it unnerved her. She had to regain control, not just of the situation
but of herself. Yet she had to concede that he knew how to deal with people. He
had soothed Mrs. Bennett’s nerves, and whilst Frank Bennett was a tougher
customer, he had still bowed to Matt’s authority in the end.  Philly
realised life would be much easier if Matt were not so charming and
approachable. It put her off her guard, and she could not afford to do that
with so much at stake. “What about you, Mrs. Cunningham? As you’re playing
yourself, perhaps you could tell us a little about the school when you worked
here. Give us some background.”

“Yes, what a good idea,” said Mrs. Cunningham. Philly
silently blessed her for her ability to get with the programme. She hoped that
Mrs. Cunningham’s input would calm all the other nervous guests.

“It wasn’t a big school,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “We only had
about one hundred girls, aged from thirteen to eighteen. You can imagine the
effect of all those hormones in one place. There were often tears, but there
was a lot of laughter too.” Mrs. Cunningham fell into a reverie, her eyes
shining with remembrance. “I loved working here … Not all the girls stayed till
they were eighteen. Those whose parents could afford it sent their daughters to
finishing schools in Switzerland. It was a pity really, as the headmistress of
the time was quite progressive. She did not think all girls should grow up to
be the overdressed wives of diplomats, and nor did she think they should fall
into the normal female professions of nurses and secretaries. One of our girls
went on to become a heart surgeon in the late nineteen sixties. Another was a
famous actress. At least for a short time. She seemed to fall from grace very
quickly.” Mrs. Cunningham raised her eyebrows as if to suggest matters not fit
for discussion in mixed company.

“What about the star of our show, Dominique?” asked Matt.

Mrs. Cunningham shook her head. “As I told Philly when we first
met, it was very sad about Dominique. Not just that she went missing, but
before that. I tried with that girl, I really did, but it seemed that no one
could reach her. I understand that we’re here for fun this weekend, and I don’t
wish to spoil that for anyone, but I did hope that coming back here would jog a
memory of some sort. Something to solve the puzzle.”

“I hope you’re not offended that we’ve arranged this,” said
Philly, not for the first time.

“Oh no, dear. Life has to go on. It’s only when you get to
my age that you start living more in the past. I have to admit that I’m as
intrigued by Dominique’s disappearance as anyone else.”

“It was a man, I am sure,” said Monsieur De Lacey. “It is
always a man.”

“I thought the saying was
cherchez la femme
,” said
Mrs. Cunningham with a smile. “Look for the woman. Except that Dominique was
barely a woman. Little more than a child. Oh dear, I’m going to spoil things, I
can tell. I promise to be more cheerful.” Mrs. Cunningham surreptitiously wiped
her eyes. Philly’s heart went out to her, and she felt a pang of guilt. The
vicar’s wife obviously did care about what happened to Dominique, yet they were
using the details for entertainment purposes. “Come, Monsieur De Lacey, tell us
why you’re at the school,” Mrs. Cunningham said with a smile. “You must be a
spy, with that accent.”

“I am hardly likely to admit it, Madame,” said the monsieur
with a smile. “It says on the card that I am the teacher of mathematics. This
is a pity as I do not add up very well.” He shrugged in the way only a
Frenchman could. It was very charming.