Page 22 of The Christmas Retreat
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 – butyoucan’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 shortenmyname. I’m called Cariad, which I think sounds abit 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 Icouldforget 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 ifIwas the reluctant child and she the adult.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, looking up at me. ‘There aren’trealGorgons 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.’
