Mistletoe Mystery (19 page)

“Then we just do a search on the Internet for Harry Johnson
in Australia,” Puck said. “If he’s genuinely a businessman, he’s bound to turn
up somewhere. Businesses need to advertise their wares.”

“I’ve got a feeling there’ll be a lot of Harry Johnsons in
Australia,” said Philly. “It’s a very common name. Even if we find him, it
doesn’t answer the question of who is here searching the attic.”

“Unless it is him,” said Matt. “Think about it. If he was
forging paintings, involved in some sort of art scam, maybe some of the
originals are hidden up there.”

“But how could they be?” Mrs Cunningham asked, frowning.
“I’ve already told Philly. We didn’t have the key to the attic. Only the family
did, and they lived abroad.”

“Did the Sandersons ever come here for anything, Mrs.
Cunningham?” asked Philly.

“No. At least not when I was here. I don’t think we ever met
them. The leasing was done through an agent in London. It always seemed rather
sad to me that they worked so hard to keep hold of this house, yet could not
afford to live here.”

“There are only a few small paintings up in the attic,” said
Philly. “I took the Robespierre to the art dealer, and we’ve put a few others
on the walls. I’m pretty sure they’re fake.”

Matt nodded. “Yes, they are.”

“How on earth do you know that?” asked Philly.

“We deal in insurance, darling. So I have to know if what
we’re insuring is the real thing.”

“Of course,” said Philly. She still felt there was something
else Matt was not telling her. Why would he make note of the paintings being
fake? Unless it was just professional curiosity. Something he could not switch
off.

Worn out with talking it all through, and finding they only
went around in circles, the group said goodnight. Matt walked Philly to her
room.

“You’re not really going to sit at the bottom of the stairs
all night, are you?” she asked him.

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m not sleeping very well at the
moment anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Do you even have to ask?” He pulled her into his arms. “Every
time I close my eyes I see a pair of beautiful blue eyes.”

“Matt…” Philly stroked his cheek, wondering if now was the
right time to tell him that she had overheard his telephone conversation.

“What is it?”

“Please don’t sit on the stairs all night.”

“You say that as if you’re afraid of something.”

Philly could not put her fears into words. If Matt were not
trying to con her then he might be hurt by the intruder. If he was trying to
con her, he had given himself a legitimate excuse for lurking around. All he
had to say if he was caught was that he heard someone in the attic so went up
to investigate.

“I am afraid,” she whispered. “I’m afraid that the truth of
all this is something that I won’t want to hear and I’m afraid that…”

“What, darling? Tell me.”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I’m just tired, that’s all.
Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Remember to holler if you need me.”

She needed him then, but until she could trust him, she had
no plans to tell him that.

Philly had put her pyjamas on when the idea came to her. The
means of finding out the truth had been there all along. The only question was
why she had not thought of it before.

Chapter Thirteen

“Are you still here?” Philly asked half an hour later, going
to sit next to Matt on the stairs. As far as she knew, he had not moved from
that spot.

“Yep. I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep. There is so much going on in my head, I
think it might explode.”

“Yes, mine too.” Matt looked exhausted, and a little bit
sad. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines, and it was obvious he struggled to
stay awake.

“Why don’t we go downstairs and get some cocoa? Then we can
chat about things.” Philly suggested.

“I’m supposed to be on guard.”

“It’s a waste of time, Matt, I don’t think anyone is going
to come up here tonight. Not after all the fuss of last night.” She took his
hand. “Come on. I make good cocoa.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, following her down the stairs.

“Does your dad mind you being here?” she asked, as she
warmed milk on the stove. “I’m surprised he can spare you.”

“I’m entitled to time off,” said Matt, a little too abruptly
for Philly’s liking. He went into the cupboard for the chocolate biscuits, and
it struck Philly that he was not only familiar with the house, but the house
was familiar with him in it. She told herself it was a dangerous feeling to
have. She could not get used to him being there. Even though she wanted so much
to be able to.

“So what exactly does the job entail? Insuring art work and
all that?” She leaned against the worktop. “Do you have to value them yourself
or do you get someone in?”

“A bit of both. What I mean is that we use valuers, but I
also have a degree in art, so I know a fake when I see it.”

“So there are no lost Rembrandts on my walls then?”

“Nope. Sorry. Were you hoping there would be?”

“Hell, yes. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about this place
anymore.”

“Philly, I know your godmother said to keep hold of the
place at all costs, but try to remember it’s just a house, darling. A pile of
bricks.”

“It’s my pile of bricks.”

“I understand that. Really I do. But my mom always says that
it’s people who make a house. And this house would be nothing without you in
it. So don’t go thinking that it’s the other way around. That you’d be nothing
without the house.”

“I don’t think that, Matt.”

“Are you sure? I see you working yourself to the point of
exhaustion here, and I can’t help wondering to what lengths you would go to
keep it.”

“I wouldn’t sell a forged Rembrandt as a real one, if that’s
what you’re thinking.” Philly did not like the way the conversation was going.

“No, of course I don’t think that. I … oh I don’t know. I
just think that your godmother placed a terrible burden upon you.”

“It’s only the same burden as she had,” said Philly. “She
used to tell me that her father said the same thing. The house must be kept in
the family at all costs. Her great-great grandfather helped build most of it,
you know. So it isn’t just something they bought. It’s something they created
with their own hands. I sometimes…”

“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.”