A Proper Family Christmas (9 page)

Never, never again would she submit to three unadulterated hours of Leo's company. The drive had been interminable, and as darkness gathered, there had been nothing to do but listen while he rabbited on. If only he would let you sit there in peace while he told you how clever he was it would be one thing, but no, Leo had continually to test, to ask probing questions to prove one had been attending, and that one had an opinion - the correct opinion - on the subject he'd been pontificating about. It reminded Hilary of English tutorials back at Oxford, with a particularly exacting tutor determined to extract the full potential from a bright but idle student. And despite the way Leo kept going on about her intelligence, if she did venture to enter into a discussion to alleviate the boredom, he would dismiss whatever she said with a patronising air that made her want to shoot him.

They were a long time answering the door, and she was forced to get out and slowly climb the steps.

“Ring again. They can't have heard the bell.”

“This is ridiculous,” he said at last. “I don't believe anyone's going to answer.”

A little flutter of panic rose in Hilary's breast. She had been so looking forward to the end of this awful journey, to having someone take Leo away and offering her a cup of tea…

“They can't be out. William knew
I
was coming.”

Why did she get the feeling that the door would have been answered if Leo hadn't been with her?

Perhaps something of the sort occurred to him too. He set his mouth grimly and banged hard on the door, then stepped back to scan the dark crenellations and leaded panes above them.

“Someone's bloody there! There's a light on in the attic.”

Hilary looked wistfully up at the gingerbread-cottage dormers, with a fleeting idea of hauling herself up the ivy. “I don't suppose they can hear us from there.”

“It's iniquitous keeping us standing about like this!” Leo slapped his arms with an exaggerated shiver, although the evening happened to be unseasonably muggy. “ - Especially you, Hilary.” He turned on her suddenly. “They can treat me like dog-shit - Good God, I've had to learn to be thick-skinned where this family's concerned - but it's quite unforgivable to force you to hang about on a cold winter's night!”

“I don't see why I should get any more favourable treatment than you,” said Hilary, then, realising she'd fallen into the trap of his paranoia, added quickly: “Anyway, I'm sure they're not keeping us out here on purpose.”

Leo gave a knowing smile. “We'll go round the back,” he said, as one making a triumphant discovery, then hesitated.

The pathway that led into blackness round the side of the house did not look inviting.

“Have you got a torch in the car?” asked Hilary.

“No.”

Surely Leo must be the only man in the world not to keep a torch in his car.

“Well feel along the wall. You'll probably find there are lights on further round.”

“You're coming, aren't you?”

Hilary smiled at the unmistakable note of pathos that had crept into Leo's ‘no bars are going to keep me out!' tone.

“I thought I might wait here.”

“You know the house better than I do.”

“Of course I don't, Leo! You must have been coming here ever since you were a child.”

“No I haven't. William's never liked me. Ben used to visit him much more than I did. Surely you came with him?”

Hilary sighed. The times she had come with Ben had always been in daylight. The sitting-room with its big turret window must be round to the right. Someone was bound to be in there. “You go ahead, then.”

“Better take my hand.” Leo failed to specify whose protection he had in mind.

“I'm okay,” Hilary said untruthfully. Beyond the range of the porch light, the darkness was almost total. The path they were on was narrow and felt slimy, and she daren't put out a hand to balance, for fear of meeting Leo's.

When they finally reached the turret, it was unlit. Only a faint gleam from the open door made it clear that the room inside was totally empty. Leo banged on the window nevertheless.

“Try the French doors,” said Hilary, with little hope. She was right. They were locked.

Leo rattled the handle aggressively, then carried on along the terrace, peering in at windows, with the desperation of the wolf trying to get in to the three little piggies.

Hilary rested against the dining-room wall and gazed out over the invisible lawn, fantasising about seizing Leo's car and driving off to the nearest hotel. He disappeared round the corner of the East wing, and she suddenly realised she didn't want to be left on her own.

“There's a light on here,” he said. “William must be in the kitchen.”

“Thank goodness!”

The curtains were drawn and no one responded to their knocks and calls.

“There'll be a side door somewhere,” said Hilary.

“I dare say.” The shrubbery had encroached right over the path at this neglected corner, making it almost impossible to get through.

“Why doesn't William cut some of this stuff back?” Leo growled, flailing at an overgrown privet branch, and slapping it into Hilary's face in the process.

As she ducked to avoid it, something caught her eye at the bottom of the house wall - a movement. Something pale had moved!

She jumped, and steeled herself to look again. A dark frame was set low against the path, and within it… No, it couldn't be! For a moment Hilary could swear she'd seen a face - a white face, its mouth open in a silent plea for help…

“Leo!”

“What?”

“Nothing. Is this the back door?” She pushed past him and began to hammer at it - violent, panic-stricken blows.

“Oh why is William so deaf?” She heard a sob in her voice. This was ridiculous. She'd come to Haseley out of the goodness of her heart, and now she was in some kind of Haunted House scenario - a bad B film.

“We might as well go back to the car,” said Leo.

“No, not that way!” Hilary shrieked as he made to go back the way they had come - past the face. “I mean, it'll be quicker to go straight on,” she finished lamely.

On the last side of the house was a small window, dimly lit from the hall. “I suppose he locks all the windows,” said Leo.

He stepped onto the remains of a rockery, reached up and gave the sash a half-hearted push. It shifted.

Frances decided that she wouldn't make a good burglar. She felt embarrassed creeping about other people's homes. It wasn't really likely that William would climb all the way up here and ask her what she was doing in his attic, or that she would suddenly find herself invading the privacy of some previously undisclosed occupant behind one of the numerous doors, but she still felt uncomfortable searching the upstairs bedrooms.

Julia had been right about the cupboards. Nearly every room seemed to have one close under the eaves - black, musty holes ideal for keeping skeletons in, or worse. She decided it wasn't in her job description to explore each one to the end, and she limited her investigation to a quavering call in the doorway which nothing, to her relief, responded to.

At last she felt honour had been satisfied, and made her way slowly down the back staircase to see if Lesley and Stephen had had better luck with the cellar.

She turned the last corner, and froze. Someone was climbing through the window at the bottom of the stairs! Talking of burglars, here was the real thing - taking his chance on a large house at Christmas time. He probably knew William lived alone, or might even have heard he'd planned to be away. Whatever ought she to do?

As she hesitated, the man glanced up and saw her. His appearance was suitably unkempt, with hair that looked as if he'd just climbed through a bush, heavy-lidded eyes, a big nose and a weak mouth. An expression of irritation and embarrassment crossed his face, appropriate to a burglar caught in the act.

Frances had no idea what to say. Her social skills did not extend to addressing someone found half way through a window in somebody else's house. “Go away” was a bit tame. She might scream for help, but that seemed rather unnecessary when hers was so obviously the position of advantage. By rights the burglar should have run away of his own accord once discovered, but he seemed to be having problems with the window. In fact as she watched the sash suddenly gave, trapping him on the window-sill.

His arms flailed as if he was practising swimming. “I suppose you wouldn't think of giving me a hand?” he said tetchily.

Frances was clear about this. “No,” she said in as firm a voice as possible, and returned rather hurriedly back up the stairs.

Hilary saw the window drop and managed to reach up and just lift it high enough to free Leo. To her annoyance he wriggled back out instead of in.

“There's a girl there,” he explained when she protested.

“Good! Is she going to let us in?”

“I - er - expect so.”

“Well we'd better go round to the front.”

“There's no one there now,” said Tony.

He was right. The window was shut. It was as if Frances had dreamed the whole thing.

“But there was a burglar! …I saw him.” her cheeks flamed. It was bad enough having disturbed Tony and Julia in the middle of what was apparently a nap, without Tony thinking she had got him down here under false pretences.

But he put a reassuring arm round her shoulders. “Never mind - he's obviously gone now. Come along with me and we'll see if we can't find out where William keeps his whisky. Nothing like it for post-burglar shock.”

“My God, what's that?” gasped Hilary. The black darkness had been suddenly lit by the arc of a powerful beam.Had William installed some hitherto unsuspected security system? Were they about to be attacked by ravening alsatians? She didn't feel her overstretched nerves could take much more.

“It's a car. Cor - nice Mercedes!”

They could see it now, resting panther-like on the drive. A man in a long winter greatcoat climbed out and went round to open the passenger door.

“Do you think William has Secret Service connections?” Hilary whispered a little hysterically. “No wonder he didn't want anyone here for Christmas! This is probably a Safe House, and…”

“It's Mother,” said Leo.

“Oh, so it is! How wonderful!”

“I suppose so.”

Hilary ran up and embraced her mother-in-law. “Thank goodness you've come! We can't get in. No one seems to hear.” She broke off, making an effort to control herself in front of the stranger.

“William's a deaf old fool,” said Margery. “Ought to be in a home. Wasn't I telling you, Oliver? This is my daughter-in-law, Hilary - married my elder son, before… Well, you heard about that. This is Oliver Leafield, the architectural historian. You'll have read those fascinating articles of his in Country Life.”

“Yes…er…” stammered Hilary.

“ - If you've been to the dentist lately,” he rescued her, with an understanding twinkle.

He was disconcertingly tall, and she found herself mumbling `How do you do?' into his coat buttons as his hand enveloped hers. When she craned her neck back the extra few inches, she met a sensitive, intellectual mouth, finely-sculptured nose, and eyes that seemed disturbingly perceptive in this half-light.

Hilary felt suddenly shy, dominated by the size of his hand, and that huge coat. She turned away with the excuse of introducing Leo, and found that he wasn't there behind her.

“Who's that lurking in the shadows?” said Margery. “Have you got someone with you?”

“Hello, Mother.”

“Leo! What are you doing here? You weren't invited, were you? Of course not! William can't stand you. Hilary, why on earth have you brought Leo? …This is my younger son, Oliver. I don't know what he's doing here.”

“Mother, please…” Leo shook Oliver's hand, trying to indicate his mother's eccentricity with a grimace and a twist of his head.

“I expect you'd like to know what he does for a living,” Margery continued remorselessly. “ - We all would!”

“I'm a novelist, as Mother knows perfectly well. - Leo Watlington. And I do write under that name, before you ask.”

“He wasn't going to,” said Margery tartly.

“I gather you met Margery at a dinner-party, Oliver.” Hilary decided it was time to intervene.

“Yes indeed,” he said warmly. “You can always be sure of meeting someone interesting at Nigel's. And when Margery discovered my thing was architecture, she very kindly invited me down to see Haseley House.”

Leo gave an exaggerated cough and attempted to engage Hilary in a meaningful look, but she refused to catch his eye.

“Mother's good at issuing invitations to other people's houses,” he was forced to murmur.

“Not kind at all,” said Margery. “Write a decent article about the place and you'll be doing William a favour - put Haseley on the map, so to speak.”

“Not to mention whoever he leaves it to!” Leo assured himself of Hilary's attention this time by digging her sharply in the ribs.

“We've always found it rather hard to take seriously,” she confessed. “It's so like the set for a horror film.”

“Not take it seriously?” Oliver raised his eyebrows at her. “One of the most important works of Joseph Watkinson of Oxford?”

“It's dark now,” she grinned. “Wait till you see it in daylight!”

“I must say, I'm already staggering from the effect of that magnificent porch. Hardwick Hall meets Strawberry Hill - amazing!”

“We were brought up to think all this Victorian stuff was impossibly ugly,” said Margery, waving an arm dismissively at her ancestral home, “but I gather it's fashionable now. Oliver says people write theses about places like Haseley.”

“It never ceases to amaze me what so-called students are permitted to waste their time on,” said Leo, forgetting that his anti-academic hobby-horse wasn't the best way to impress Oliver.