Chapter 6 A Grand Entrance #2
‘I’d already made my Christmas cake before I knew I was coming here, so I brought it with me. Could you give it to Mrs Matthews for me? I’m sure she’s already got one by now, but it does keep for ages and I didn’t know what else to do with it.’
‘My wife, Bronwen, who does most of the cooking, always makes two and struggles to keep one uncut for Christmas Day, so she will be glad of it. In this house, cake vanishes faster than snow in summer … though, of course, no one would dare touch the wassail cake till tomorrow evening.’
What, I wondered, was a wassail cake?
But before I could ask, he added: ‘Speaking of snow, don’t think your car has been stolen tomorrow morning, because I’ve moved it into the courtyard and run it under a little lean-to roof – it just fitted nicely – and it will be more sheltered there if the weather turns bad.’
‘That was a kind thought,’ I said gratefully, but with a cheery wave of his hand he was already making off down the corridor. Even his walk was the rolling gait of a sailor.
It suddenly made me think what fun it would be to have the next Mrs Snowboots book, which would be a summer one, involve her becoming a ship’s cat for some exciting voyage … although with a pang I remembered she wasn’t there any more to be told about her latest adventures.
*
An hour and a half later, my art materials and table easel were arranged on the desk.
The carpet finished before the window embrasure, leaving a stretch of practical vinyl, which, together with the state of the top of the desk, made me think I wouldn’t be the first artist to choose to work in their room.
The contents of my suitcase and holdall were now all stowed away too, taking up a minute amount of space in one wardrobe and a couple of the drawers, and I’d showered and changed into one of my two decent dresses, a patchwork-print tunic in shades of amber, jade and turquoise.
It was so long since I’d worn tights that they felt weird and constricting and my silver ballet flats had seen better days, but at least they were as comfortable as slippers.
I added a pair of carved jade earrings that Evie had once brought me back from Singapore and then examined myself in the mirror: no make-up other than a bit of tinted lip salve.
I hadn’t worn any since the start of the first lockdown and I found it had all congealed or smelled weird when I got round to checking it. There hadn’t been time to replace it.
I needed a shopping trip, another thing I really didn’t feel ready to face …
My thick, straight hair, which Liv had occasionally trimmed for me into a shoulder-length bob, was now almost as long as my hostess’s, even though I’d lopped twelve inches off the ends with the kitchen scissors before leaving home.
My pale pointed face, with its high cheekbones and the smudge of eyebrows that were, thankfully, darker than my hair, stared back at me.
Entirely unremarkable, I thought, unlike Evie, who was most likely holding forth downstairs at this very moment, because it was almost twenty past six, the witching hour I’d been summoned for.
The corridor outside was quiet. Earlier I had been conscious of the sounds of other occupants around me: the rattle of old water pipes and the distant sounds of voices.
I started down the wide staircase and, as I turned the corner of the first flight, saw the front door swing open and a child – a mere impression of a knitted hat and quilted anorak – run past towards the back of the house.
I carried on down, then came to a stop a couple of steps from the bottom, almost face to face with the tall, broad-shouldered man, his tangled black hair flecked with snowflakes, who had swiftly followed the child in and was now shrugging off his coat as he headed for the stairs.
He, too, came to a stop as he finally spotted me standing in the shadow thrown by the huge Christmas tree.
For a long moment we stared into each other’s eyes. His were a strangely hawklike dark amber.
I’d seen eyes like those once before, and I realized with a sudden shock who he was, and why the deep, mellow voice of the man who had come to my assistance earlier had sounded vaguely familiar.
I thought confusedly that the first time we’d met, a good ten years ago, he’d looked a bit more civilized and a lot less Neanderthal than he did now, with his heavy dark brows drawn together in a formidable frown over those deep-set eyes in a face that was more craggy and arresting than handsome … but attractive, for all that.
In fact, he was very Heathcliffian and I could imagine him striding across bleak moorland, but unlike Heathcliff, there was something about the line of his lips that suggested generosity and kindness.
Or perhaps I was reading more into it than was there. For here, in front of me, was Rhys Tarn, who, in her last words his dying wife, Annie, had called her cariad.
The distant slam of a door jarred us out of the moment and I could see now that the frown was one of exhaustion.
He ran a hand over a blue-stubbled chin and said: ‘You got here OK then? I didn’t think you’d damaged your car, just scratched the paintwork a bit.’
‘How did you know that was me?’ I said, blinking and trying to pull my wits together.
‘Because all the other guests arrived in time for tea so I saw them briefly then. I’m Rhys Tarn, by the way – Nerys’s husband, Timon, is my uncle and I live here.’
He was peering at me now, where I stood in the shadows at the foot of the stairs, those heavy brows knitted again.
‘You know, you seem familiar. Don’t I know you from somewhere?’
‘We met very briefly once, years ago,’ I said shortly.
‘Oh, right,’ he said, then stifled a great yawn. ‘Sorry! I only flew back from the States this morning and then drove straight back here from Manchester airport. I assumed all the guests had arrived until we met on the road and you said you were headed here.’
‘I was a very last-minute addition,’ I said, but I didn’t add that had I only known his connection with the place, nothing would have made me fall in with Evie’s plans! I frequently suspect fate has a warped sense of humour …
‘Well, I’d better go and change,’ he said. ‘Go through that door at the back of the hall to the right and I expect you’ll find everyone there.’
He tossed his coat on to a large mahogany hall stand and then went past me upstairs. Then I descended the last steps and stood irresolutely in the hall, nerving myself to face the others.
I only realized there must be a back stair somewhere when I heard a child’s voice saying from above: ‘Are you still here, Daddy? Slowcoach!’
A girl, who looked about ten, came hurtling down and almost knocked me into the prickly embrace of the Christmas tree. I only stopped myself falling backwards by grabbing the newel post.
‘Oops – sorry!’ she said.
Divested of hat and coat, she was a skinny child, with a mop of unremarkable brown hair, a pair of intelligent brown eyes and a Roman nose of generous proportions.
The dark eyes examined me with interest. ‘Are you one of the guests? Daddy said two of them were Gorgons, and there should be three Gorgons – but you can’t be one of them. Do you know about the Gorgons? Uncle Noel told me. He knows lots of good stories.’
‘Yes, I always think they sounded like the ancient equivalent of the school bullies in the playground,’ I said, wondering if Evie was one of the number. ‘I’ve only just got here, so your father didn’t meet me earlier. I’m Ginny.’
‘What’s Ginny short for?’
‘Virginia, after an author my mother admired,’ I admitted reluctantly. ‘But I try and forget it.’
‘My friend Melangell likes to be called Mel, but I don’t shorten my name. I’m called Cariad, which I think sounds a bit silly, but Bronwen says its distinctive and I’ll grow into it, like my nose, and she’s usually right about things.’
‘Cariad?’ I repeated blankly, my mind reeling almost as much as when I realized I’d be sharing a house over Christmas with Rhys Tarn, of all people.
‘It means “darling” in Welsh.’
‘How lovely,’ I said weakly, and she gave me a scornful look.
‘I don’t want lovely. I’m going to be an archaeologist and I want to be taken seriously.’
‘You will be,’ I assured her, but my mind was computing what she’d said, which made Annie’s last slow, halting words take on a whole new meaning.
I looked at that vivid little face and realized that I had seen her mother die.
Then it occurred to me to wonder if, at the time, the police had passed my name on to Rhys along with the last words I had so carefully given them.
But even if they had, he probably wouldn’t have connected a Virginia Spain with me.
At that time, of course, there were no in-person inquests and, to be honest, events during lockdown had become very hazy – other than the crash itself, just before, of course. I only wish I could forget that.
I must have been standing in a trance, but it was broken now by Cariad’s impatient voice.
‘Come on, let’s go and meet the Gorgons!’ she said, seizing my hand and tugging me towards the door to the sitting room.
‘OK,’ I agreed, but my feet dragged a little, as if I was the reluctant child and she the adult.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, looking up at me. ‘There aren’t real Gorgons in there, you know.’
‘I – I don’t like meeting strangers and I’ve hardly been anywhere for over two years. I’ve sort of … got out of the habit.’
‘It won’t be so bad, because you’ve already met me and Daddy – and probably Nerys, too?’
I nodded and attempted a smile. ‘I’m just being stupid. Come on, let’s beard the lions in their den.’
‘Or the Gorgons in their cave,’ suggested Cariad.
Flinging open the door with a flourish, she announced loudly, as if we were the main attraction everyone had been waiting for: ‘Here we are at last!’