Page 13 of Don't Believe A Word

Mia nodded agreeably. ‘That’s true. And you take after her in that way. Did you have sparklers? You’ve always loved them, especially on birthday cakes. She’s never grown out of it,’ she toldCristy. ‘We don’t with some things, do we? Are you staying long in Guernsey?’

‘Just until the fog clears,’ Cristy replied, picking up her coffee.

‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ Mia smiled and took a sip from her delicate cup.

Not entirely sure what to say next, Cristy willed Sadie to come to the rescue for it was clear already that David was right about trying to pin Mia down. She wasn’t going to stay on subject if she didn’t want to, and even when she did there was no knowing how much of what she might say was true.

‘May I ask where you live, Cristy?’ Mia said, sounding interested.

‘Bristol,’ Cristy replied, glad to be on safe territory. ‘Close to the harbourside.’

‘Oh, very nice. Not that I’ve ever been there, but it sounds idyllic.’

Amused by the overstatement, Cristy dared to say, chattily, ‘How long have you lived in this house?’

Mia frowned as she thought – and thought.

Cristy waited, knowing it was going to be easy to check the land registry, or Guernsey’s equivalent, so she was really very interested to hear Mia’s answer.

‘I think it must be about twenty-three years by now,’ she said, looking to Sadie for confirmation. Receiving it, she added, ‘It wasn’t like this when we moved in. In fact it was quite run-down, but thanks to Lottie’s vision and some very talented builders we’ve come to what you see now.’

‘Are you actually from Guernsey?’ Cristy ventured.

Mia gave a nostalgic little sigh. ‘No, Lottie and I hail from London. Kensington, to be exact.’ After a pause she added, ‘We kept the house after we left – it was Mummy and Daddy’s of course, we inherited it after they passed – but then we decided to sell. We weren’t going back, so there seemed little point in keeping it. It was really quite large. Do you have parents, Cristy?’

Admiring how astutely she was running the conversation, Cristy said, ‘Not any more, sadly.’

Mia’s tone was heartfelt as she said, ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It’s hard when they go, isn’t it?’

Mindful of Sadie’s birth parents, Cristy tried to think of a way to turn matters in that direction without seeming obvious, but Mia was speaking again. ‘Lottie and I were in our thirties when it happened to us. Such a shock, losing them both the way we did. There one day, gone the next.’

‘How did they die?’ Cristy asked politely.

Mia frowned, as though not entirely sure, or maybe she’d belatedly realized she was heading towards a place she didn’t want to be. ‘Are you a reader, Cristy?’ she asked brightly.

With a quick glance at Sadie, Cristy said, ‘Yes, I am. Are you?’

‘Oh yes. It’s one of my favourite pastimes. Do you happen to have read any of my short stories? I haven’t had any published for a long time, but quite a few were, back in the day.’

‘It was Lottie who wrote,’ Sadie reminded her.

Mia laughed. ‘That’s what we used to tell everyone, but really it was me. I wrote them all. I just didn’t want the fuss and bother of finding an agent and editor, and all the business that goes with getting them into the public’s hands. Or the clutches of reviewers.’ She gave a shudder of distaste. ‘Heaven save us from them, is what I always say.’

Feeling the sands shifting again, Cristy said carefully, ‘Do you still write?’

‘Oh no. I gave it up a long time ago. I just read now, and listen to the occasional podcast.’ She twinkled charmingly and put her coffee cup down. ‘It’s been lovely talking to you, Cristy. Thank you for coming, but I have a lot to be getting on with today so I shall leave Sadie to show you around. She’s very good at doing tours. Are you interested in the Arts-and-Crafts style?’

‘Uh, yes, I find it quite fascinating,’ Cristy assured her, wondering if Mia now thought it was the reason she’d come, to view the house.

Mia was on her feet. ‘Do feel free to take photographs if you’d like to,’ she said, ‘but we’d rather they didn’t show up in unsuitable magazines, if you don’t mind. Sadie will give you a list of those we’ve approved.’ She checked the grandfather clock again, but said no more as she left by the door she’d come in through.

With a laugh, Sadie said, ‘And there you have my aunt Mia. Mad as a box of frogs, or is that just what she wants us to think?’

Wryly, Cristy said, ‘It’s a tricky one. But tell me, do you think she actually did write the stories?’

‘No, I know she didn’t, but that’s what I mean about her seeming to mix herself up with Lottie. She does it all the time. Tomorrow she’ll be the spy and Lottie will acquire some other sort of mystery, or hang-up, or bizarre little hobby. Anyway, I’m happy to give you a tour if you’d like one, or we can just take a look at Lottie’s suite. You’ll see for yourself what I’m up against.’

A few minutes later, Cristy was surveying first one, then another, and another of Lottie’s spacious rooms, all opening off one another, each with high ceilings and elaborate French doors leading onto terraces that hung over the sea, way below. The endless clutter of boxes, books, filing cases, ornate chests, sports equipment, odd musical instruments, exercise paraphernalia and so much else, all stacked against walls, on desks, under tables and every other available surface, was almost overwhelming.