‘You’ve done enough already. I’ve just got time to make this lot look presentable.’
He sniggered. ‘Just imagining Melissa’s face if she knew her savoury nibbles were actually my leftovers from BargainMarket.’
‘It’s not funny! My reputation’s at stake.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He patted his portly stomach. ‘Once they taste those cakes, those women will be in sugar rush heaven and won’t want to eat anything else.’ A whistling attracted his attention. ‘Luke’s here?’
I stifled a yawn.
‘Late night?’ He winked.
‘You think me and Luke…?’ I pulled a face. ‘I’d rather become a nun.’
‘Kimmy! Have you seen his pecs? And from behind, in just the right pair of trousers…’
We both giggled.
‘Honestly, Terry. He acts as if he’s some megastar and I’m his groupie.’
‘What’s he doing here, so early?’
‘Last night… I couldn’t sleep. There were noises… smoke.’ My stomach scrunched as I recalled that thing grasping my ankle. ‘It’s a long story.’
His cheeks burnt red.
‘Terry?’
‘Really must go, now,’ he muttered.
‘You knew about all this? Why didn’t you warn me?’
‘Um…’
‘This house… Sometimes…strange things happen,’ I said. ‘How long has this been happening?’
‘Apologies…’ Terry shrugged his well-rounded shoulders. ‘You’re right. Once night-time falls, I know from the other housesitters that scary stuff happens…Ever since Walter died, this funny business has been going on. It’s held up every sale. I hoped this time would be different. New, permanent neighbours would be great.’
‘You know, something grabbed my leg last night.’
Terry bit his lip. ‘Jean, the last woman, said it clasped her arm and tried to pull her out of bed. No one’s ever been badly hurt though – just shaken up.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Did she ever mention random smoke or… or Christmassy music?’
‘No music, but yes, smoke, locked doors and a bizarre noise of a blowing gale. How about I fill you in properly later? Who knows, maybe if you stick around for long enough, whatever this thing is will get bored and disappear.’
Blimey. So I really was living with something paranormal. I didn’t know whether to gasp in fear or jump with joy.
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ I said and followed him back to the hallway. ‘Luke thinks I’m bonkers.’
‘Ever watched Most Haunted?’
‘I love that show!’ I said.
‘Me too! Aren’t the celebrity episodes hilarious?’
I grinned. ‘But Walter’s house isn’t ancient. And according to Luke, before Badgers Chase was built, there was nothing here but fields and rivers. No cemetery. Or jail. Or psychiatric hospital.’ I shuddered.
‘It’s a mystery.’ Terry ran a hand over his bald head. ‘Anyway, got to go. All the best for this morning. I look forward to hearing the details!’
I closed the door behind him and raced back into the kitchen. First things first: heat up the frozen goodies – most only took twenty minutes. Whilst they were cooking, I prepared the garnishes. When the buzzer went I took out the snacks and laid them on platters.
I reached for a jar of black olives. I could scatter those with some flat-leafed basil, in between the pizza and cheese bites. As for the mini hot dogs… I quickly fried up some chopped onion and put a spoonful on top of each with a squirt of mustard – that looked well cute. I’d lay the tempura prawns out on a bed of lettuce and sprinkle cherry tomatoes and slim cucumber sticks on top. Natural yogurt, another of Jess’s favourites, would help make yummy dips.
I looked at the time: nine o’clock. For good measure, I’d also take a couple of tubes of Pringles. Well, these guests weren’t celebrities.
I to-ed and fro-ed with all my boxes and plates, stacking them in the hallway. Hands on hips, I surveyed the pile. I’d just have one last check of the kitchen, where I stopped dead at the door. There, on the worktop, stood a couple of silver cupcake stands. They were beautiful, with silver wire swirls to hold the cakes, the stands in the shape of trees. Where on earth had they come from? What an exquisite, beautiful design. It was as if they’d been left there on purpose, just like the apron.
Feeling more like a professional than ever, I carried them into the hallway. Luke rushed past, said he had to go. If that was Adam, he’d have insisted on staying to help me get my stuff over to Melissa’s. Three quick journeys on foot I’d need, to dump everything outside the Winsfords’ house. By the time I’d made my last trip up the drive and past the garages and golf club shaped fountain, it was bang on half past nine – and the gathering grey clouds had turned black. Rain was becoming a bore. With Christmas exactly two weeks today, I was dying for at least a sniff of snow.
I rapped the eagle knocker, which was in the middle of an amazing Christmas wreath, made from miniature gold and white baubles, interspersed with glittery fake bronze holly. Jonny’s Bugatti wasn’t on the drive and I was kind of relieved not to meet him for the very first time in my sexless outfit. As for my make-up free face, I had no intention of meeting such a hot celebrity guy as nature intended. Shivering without a coat on, I smoothed down my hair. The Winsfords’ gardener wore an out-of-season man-from-Del-Monte hat and smiled as he trimmed the hedges at the front of her lawn. I smiled back then flicked a fly away from the tempura prawn platter. Tasty smells escaped the foil cover and my stomach rumbled.
The door opened. Wow. Melissa had theme-dressed for the occasion. Her hair was twisted back in a conservative chignon and she wore modest cream plus fours with a beige, diamond-print, jumper. And as for that demure pearl necklace… Ten out of ten, I thought. It was all very modest.
‘Kimmy, darling… Glad to see you on time!’ Melissa led me into the hallway.
I didn’t see the assassin. I’d been murdered, right? That was the only way I could have died and gone to heaven. I mean, OMG! I’d officially walked into a virtual Hello! magazine spread. Was the décor romantic, or what, with the damson chaise longue and delicately carved telephone table running along the right side of the stairs?
‘That’s an amazing chandelier,’ I murmured, eyes raised to the high ceiling. It had silver effect leaves curling around each glass candle and a hundred times more crystals than on Walter’s.
‘Imported. Cost a fortune,’ said Melissa as she repositioned a large vase of white lilies, mixed with gossamer light feathers, on the window sill at the front.
On the far wall, as you entered, was a large framed quote on a white background:
“Nothing is too beautiful,
Nothing is too expensive.”
Ettore Bugatti
‘And all those trophies,’ I said, in a daze, staring at a glass cabinet straight ahead, behind the chaise longue.
Both of us went over. Melissa opened the glass doors and talked me through each one. She knew exactly when and where each prize had been awarded and carefully lifted them out, one by one – the big silver cups with enormous handles, bronze figures in the middle of a swing, glass golf balls perched on gold tees, a silver golf bag inscribed with the number one, and shield after shield. They