Page 7 of Mistletoe and Mystery

Claudia led Millie back out to the hallway to collect her suitcase.

‘I love this staircase!’

‘Oh, I agree! I think it’s the best feature of the house. My cousin Rupert and I spent many a happy hour sliding down that banister when we were younger, much to my grandmother’s exasperation. She was right, of course, because sure enough, one Christmas Eve, Rupe broke both his wrists after spraying wax polish on his handrail so he could beat me in a race. He’s never changed – he still thrives on extreme competition and adrenalin.’

Millie noticed Claudia’s jaw tighten when she spoke of her cousin, causing her to suspect that her annoyance was related to more than mere childhood antics.

‘Here we are. I’ve given you the Hummingbird Suite. I hope you like it. No prizes for where I got inspiration from,’ Claudia laughed, striding forward to close the curtains, leaving Millie on the threshold to gaze in wonder at the Caribbean-inspired décor that conjured up such happy memories. ‘The bathroom is through there. Make yourself at home and I’ll see you downstairs at eight a.m. sharp for a quick breakfast before we get stuck in to a full day of culinary fun! Goodnight Millie, and thanks again for coming to our rescue.’

‘Good night, Claudia.’

Millie stood in the middle of the room and performed a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree inspection of the place that would be her home for the next week. The suite was bigger than her whole flat back in London. However, the size had no bearing on her excitement – that was solely down to the fact that there wasn’t a splash of magnolia in sight, just a riot of exotic colour and fabric, not to mention her own personal Christmas tree decorated in colourful parrots and baubles in the shape of pineapples and bananas.

Garlands of fuchsia pink, emerald and sky-blue tinsel had been twisted together and draped over the picture frames and there was even a mirrored musical box that played jingle bells when she opened the lid. The headboard, too, had been dressed in brightly coloured bunting and the mantelpiece displayed an impressive collection of painted wooden artefacts from St Lucia, interspersed with a variety of Christmas snow globes. Millie selected a globe containing a miniature replica of the twin Pitons and gave it a vigorous shake, watching with pleasure as the tiny snowflakes descended over their peaks – something that would never happen in real life.

The room was her own personal version of paradise, and she wondered how Claudia had known what a perfect match it was.

She decided to take a shower to try and wash away the still-lingering odour of dead ferret from her hair. The bathroom door was stiff, buckled by the passage of time, and she grinned like a child in a sweet shop when her eyes fell on the black-and-white floor tiles of an oversized chessboard, clearly the Victorian originals. It was a perfect example of a luxury hotel bathroom suite – free-standing roll-top bath, a waterfall shower, even a chaise longue sporting the pyramid of the fluffy white towels guests expected of modern day spas. She almost swooned when she saw the array of bath oils, shampoos and soaps, and stripped off her clothes quickly so she could relish the cascade of hot water on her body.

When she was satisfied that the only fragrance emanating from her skin was that of crushed rose petals, she gave her hair a quick blast with the hairdryer and slipped between the smooth cotton sheets, smiling at the joy of spending the night in a tropical-themed Santa’s grotto.

Before her thoughts dissolved into dreams, she dawdled briefly on the tasks Claudia had planned for the following morning, but she discovered that what she was most looking forward to was the tree-lighting ceremony and the opportunity to spend more time with Zach.

Chapter Four

The next morning Millie checked the ornate alarm clock on her bedside table and was surprised to see it was only six forty-five. Nevertheless, she was wide awake and craved a fix of caffeine. She threw on a pale blue angora sweater and matching cardigan, collected her beloved scrap box of recipes that went everywhere with her, and galloped down the stairs to the kitchen. She filled the kettle and, while it boiled, took the opportunity of Claudia’s absence to scrutinise the culinary amenities more closely.

She slid her palm along the white marble worktops and pristine stainless-steel appliances, before delving into the double-doored refrigerator to discover a true treasure trove of treats which she mentally catalogued for later reference. She loved the central island unit, complete with circular sink and a hi-tech tap which produced instant boiling water at the touch of a button. Resting in the centre was a shiny yellow lever-arch file endorsed with the CC logo containing the laminated recipe cards for each dish to be featured on theFestive Feastcourse.

Another miniscule Christmas tree loitered in the corner, tastefully bedecked with ornaments in the shape of kitchen utensils; little silver cheese graters, miniature corkscrews, whisks, even a tiny pizza wheel and garlic press. But its quirkily dressed branches, and her bafflement over the mystery of Claudia and Tim’s yuletide restraint, paled into insignificant when she saw the view from the window.

Dawn had arrived and with it a brilliant white light highlighting the mounds of snow crowding against the French doors. A languid cascade of snowflakes still tumbled from the flat grey sky and despite being a confirmed sun-worshipper, from her cosy indoor position, Millie was able to recognise the beauty of the winter scenery.

Many of the trees circling the house were naked of foliage, their limbs skeletal veins against the pewter-coloured backdrop, yet the greenery of the fir and spruce endured, their brush-like branches topped with a dusting of snow which had fallen from the treetop canopy like powdered sugar. Millie realised the estate must have provided the very trees whose crushed-pine perfume pervaded the corridors of the house as well as her bedroom.

In the distance, a helix of smoke spun from the chimney of the lodge at the end of the driveway down which she and Zach had travelled the previous afternoon. She knew Zach was an early riser – at least that was something they had in common – although she doubted the reason for his eagerness to greet the day was stubborn insomnia.

Continuing her solo exploration, she cracked open the door at the end of the kitchen and discovered the boot room Claudia had told her about the previous day, home to a medley of Wellington boots, green wax jackets, walking poles and an eclectic assortment of tweed and woolly hats. Millie smiled with relief – clearly former visitors to The Cotswolds Cookery School had also failed to bring their country attire with them.

She fixed herself a cappuccino and grabbed an almond croissant from the enormous walk-in larder. The pastry was buttery and sweet but reminded Millie of her mother and that she would be spending Christmas alone in the south of France. A spasm of guilt invaded her chest. Should she have turned down the chance to co-present theFestive Feastcourse in favour of a trip to see her family for the holidays?

She shook her head to dispel the sudden onslaught of remorse. When she had told her mother about the switch in arrangements, she had been adamant that Millie should grab the opportunity to spend the week with Claudia and had asked her to email regular photographs and updates with which to wow her Salsa club friends.

Millie drained her coffee in one gulp and placed her empty cup into the sink. She brushed the scattered flakes of pastry from the countertop and trotted out to the hallway to explore further. She had only taken a couple of steps when her toe connected with a loose wire and she fell headlong onto the polished parquet flooring, skidding along on her stomach to the bottom of the stairs like an Olympic skeleton racer. She sat up and rubbed her knee and elbow to disperse the pain, squinting into the gloom to see what had breached her path. Snaking along the floor was a coil of cable from the Christmas tree lights. Her lips cracked into a rueful expression until she saw Claudia rushing down the stairs to help her up.

‘Millie, what happened? Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. It’s totally my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going – something I have a habit of doing, I’m afraid.’

‘Thank goodness. Come on, let’s get you a coffee. Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a yuletide log!’ laughed Millie, as Claudia linked her arm and guided her back into the kitchen where she fixed them a cafetière and slotted the arch-lever file of recipes under her arm.

‘Why don’t we take our coffees into the library? Tim got a fabulous fire going before he retreated to his workshop muttering something about working on a remote-control switch for the tree-lighting ceremony tonight.’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ smiled Millie, anxious to take a peek at her host’s sanctuary.

She followed Claudia across the hallway towards the library, this time taking care not to trip. An aroma of furniture polish, stale cigar smoke and nostalgia assaulted Millie’s senses as soon as she entered the room – a veritable cathedral of culinary literature and the place where Claudia had written all her cookery books. She chose a seat on the wrinkled Chesterfield sofa and Claudia perched on the edge of the wing-backed chair next to her.

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