Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

by Carla Burgess

  ‘I don’t want to make a complaint. I’m not that vindictive.’

  ‘You’d be within your rights to do so.’

  ‘They know anyway, don’t they? I thought you’d told them this morning?’

  He winced slightly. ‘Well, I err, kind of left out the bit where I kissed you.’

  ‘Technically, I kissed you first,’ I said, then promptly wanted to kick myself for reminding him. I closed my eyes and pushed a hand through my hair, digging my fingers into my scalp. ‘Look, let’s just forget last night happened, shall we? I don’t want it to be awkward between us and I’m sure you’re…’

  The warm pressure of his lips on mine cut off the rest of my sentence and made my eyes flicker open. Butterflies swarmed in my belly.

  ‘Now we’re even,’ he said, his voice husky. He kept his head bent close to mine, our noses almost touching. ‘I wasn’t exactly fighting you off last night, was I? I’m pretty sure I did my fair share of kissing you too. How about we find Patrick so I can take you on a proper date?’

  I looked up at him through my lashes, my heart thumping. My instinct was to grab him and kiss him passionately, but I didn’t completely trust that this wasn’t another trap. He seemed like a perfect gentleman, but I couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t be laughing about this tomorrow with his colleagues. I’d already proved myself to be a gullible fool where Patrick was concerned. I didn’t need to do it again with the detective who was investigating him.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, clearing his throat and backing away a little. ‘I’ll probably see you tomorrow. Will you have made that list of dates and places by then?’

  ‘Yes, I should have.’ I followed him to the front door, knees slightly wobbly from the kiss.

  ‘Great!’ He turned and smiled. ‘Goodnight, Rachel.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  I watched him walk down the dark path to his car. Rain slanted sideways in the glow of the streetlamp, and he pulled up his collar as a gust of wind shook the bushes at the side of my garden. I told myself I was watching him leave out of politeness, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he unlocked his car door and climbed inside. He raised his hand and I shut the door, pressing my back to it and touching my lips, which still tingled from his kiss. Oh God, what was happening to me? What was I doing? I felt like a hormonal teenager with a raging crush. This wasn’t like me at all.

  Chapter Four

  ‘So you’ve had to make a list of all the places you went with Patrick?’ Bobbi said as she arranged a bouquet of pink roses and cream stocks. ‘I bet that didn’t make you feel very happy, did it?’

  ‘Not really, but what’s done is done.’ I tapped a pen on the order pad and stared out of the window at the drizzly rain. It was only just after lunchtime, but the cars driving past already had their headlights on. My mood was as gloomy as the weather.

  ‘I’m really rather proud I’m the only one who got to meet Patrick,’ Bobbi went on, wrapping a cream ribbon around the base of the stems.

  ‘Only briefly. You didn’t even speak to him, did you?’

  ‘I know, but I still got to see him. Your mum was so jealous, do you remember?’

  I grunted, feeling guilty again. Patrick had caused a lot of resentment between me and my parents. ‘When was that, anyway? It was quite early on, wasn’t it? Back last winter?’

  ‘Yes, January, I think. It was really cold and rainy, and I’d already left to get my bus, but I’d forgotten my bag so I had to come back. He’d parked his big, posh car outside the shop and was holding an umbrella over your head as you locked up. I remember thinking it looked really romantic, like something off one of those old-fashioned romantic postcards.’

  I scowled, not wanting to remember details like that. Better to remember him as a selfish bastard who never turned up or called than a romantic hero, protecting me from the rain. All the same, memories of that night bombarded my brain, with Patrick being at his most charming and funny. We’d eaten dinner at a country pub a few miles away and then he’d stayed at mine until Sunday afternoon. It was only one of a handful of times we’d spent the whole weekend together. Usually he’d have to leave the day after, or even the same night on one occasion. I pulled the piece of paper I’d noted down the dates on from my pocket to check it was on the list. The date was there but the details of where we’d been were missing. The trouble was, I’d spent the last few months trying to forget him, so wilfully remembering every detail and writing them down in chronological order was quite an effort. With a sigh, I noted down where we’d been and the fact he’d stayed all weekend.

  ‘If I tell Anthony I met him, do you think he’d take me for dinner, too?’ Bobbi asked.

  I laughed. ‘You could give it a try. He’s a bit old for you, though.’

  ‘Oh yeah, he’s way too old for me. What is he, like, forty or something?’

  ‘He’s thirty-five, I think.’

  ‘He’s not too old for you then?’

  ‘No, but I’m part of the investigation, depressingly enough, so even if we wanted to be together, which we don’t,’ I lied, ‘we couldn’t anyway.’

  Bobbi looked at me in surprise. ‘But you do want to be with him, don’t you?’

  I thought about last night’s kiss and tried to remember my reasons for not wanting to be with him. I’d give myself a stern talking to last night, after he left. He’d already mislead to gain information about Patrick and I needed to protect myself. ‘Not since I found out he lied to me.’

  ‘He didn’t really lie, did he? He told you he was a detective.’

  ‘Yes, but he left out the bit about how he was investigating my ex-boyfriend and then proceeded to ask me questions about him.’

  ‘That’s quite clever, though, isn’t it? Because then he’d be able to gauge how you felt about the police and if you had any idea Patrick was up to no good.’

  I shot her a look. ‘I don’t think it’s strictly ethical, though.’

  ‘Well, no, but I really like him,’ Bobbi said, cheerfully. ‘Not just because he’s handsome, but he has a nice aura about him.’

  ‘Aura? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You know, the feel you get off him. He’s just so pleasant and nicely spoken. He seems like a real gentleman.’ She leaned on the counter, and looked at me appraisingly. ‘You’d look good together.’

  ‘Oh yes? Why’s that then?’

  ‘You’re both so old-fashioned.’

  ‘Old-fashioned? This is retro, darling. Vintage. It’s not old-fashioned,’ I said, indicating my 1940s-style swing dress. It was one of my favourites, blue with cream birds. I’d worn it to try and cheer myself up. ‘And he’s not exactly old-fashioned. That suit’s probably handmade from some tailor in Savile Row.’

  ‘No, but he’s got an old-fashioned charm about him. He’s so polite and well-mannered. Not like most men you meet today. Most men are like “Get your tits out, darlin’”, but I bet he’d be like “I wonder if you might possibly consider showing me your breasts?”’

  ‘Bobbi!’ I squeaked, starting to laugh. ‘What kind of men do you know? Besides, it’s probably his work persona. I was thinking before that’s probably how he gets people to confess. Charms it out of them.’

  ‘I’m sure he likes you, though,’ Bobbi said. ‘You can tell by the way he looks at you. He’s got a right twinkle in his eye.’

  ‘He has not.’ I touched my lips where he’d kissed me last night. ‘Besides, you only saw him yesterday before he dragged me off to the police station, and he looked guilty and uncomfortable.’

  ‘He hardly dragged you off, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

  ‘He looked shifty.’ I drew in a breath and let it out as a sigh. ‘I’m so fed-up today. I could scream. Why can’t I find a nice, uncomplicated man?’

  ‘You’ve been out with nice, uncomplicated men in the past,’ Bobbi pointed out. ‘But then you got bored.’

  ‘How about a nice, uncomplicated
man who’s not boring then?’

  ‘Maybe Anthony is boring.’

  ‘Yes, I bet he is,’ I said savagely. ‘I bet he’s really bad in bed, too.’

  ‘Bound to be.’ Bobbi nodded in agreement and then gave me a sideways glance that said she didn’t believe a word of it. I didn’t either. My thoughts returned to the kiss in the bar and I sighed longingly before trying to conceal it by turning it into a yawn. I was really tired today. After Anthony had left last night, I’d spent the rest of the evening going through my calendar and trying to pinpoint the dates of the weekends I’d spent with Patrick. I’d found the tickets I’d mentioned at the police station in a hat box in my wardrobe among dried rose petals the colour of old blood. I’d tipped them out, disgusted with myself for keeping them, but kept the box because it had the address of a Parisian florist on the bottom. Patrick had sent me a few bouquets by mail from this particular florist so it was possible he held an account with them. If so, Anthony might be able to trace him through that. It was better than nothing, anyway.

  I still wasn’t sure why I’d kept all this stuff after we’d broken up; it wasn’t what I usually did. But then Patrick was the first man I’d truly cared about. He seemed so sophisticated and mature compared with the other boys I’d been out with in the past. Patrick was different. He was older and already a successful businessman. I suppose I was a bit in awe of him. He had a big personality and took charge of every situation. He knew about food and wine and wore expensive suits and Rolex watches. Elena had gone mad at me when I’d told her this, ranting on about how superficial it all was and how I should be judging him on how much time he spent with me. I was so mad I didn’t speak to her for a week. Not that she noticed, of course; she was too loved-up with Daniel to realise. But I could never stay mad with her for long, and she’d forgiven me for being suspicious about Daniel when she first got together with him. It was hard to believe now that I’d ever thought he was using her. How wrong could I have been? Still, I was happy to be proven wrong where Elena was concerned.

  I wasn’t so happy to be proven wrong about Patrick, though. But when I sat and thought about it, I couldn’t think of anything that meant he couldn’t be a criminal. The only thing I could think of was that I couldn’t possibly have dated a criminal. I didn’t do that sort of thing. I’d never been attracted to that whole ‘bad boy’ persona thing girls went for. I liked men who were good and smart and clean-living. Patrick had seemed to be all of those things.

  The hat box and receipts were in the back of my car now, waiting for Anthony to stop by and collect them. He hadn’t said he would, but I thought it was likely. As a result, I spent the rest of the day watching out of the window for him and jumping every time a customer came into the shop. It made me cross that I wanted to see him again so badly, and it made me even crosser when closing time arrived and he hadn’t made an appearance at all. Bobbi went home and I locked up the shop before going out into the courtyard to drive home. The rain beat down on my head as I crossed to my car, soaking my hair and the shoulders of my coat. Anthony’s car glistened wetly next to mine, and I turned and glanced up at the doorway to his flat. The light was on in his hallway, so presumably he was in. I paused for a second, debating whether I should knock or not, before taking the hat box from the back of my car and going up the stone steps to his front door.

  There was no answer at first and I was just starting to make my way back down the steps, thinking he wasn’t home, when the door opened and Anthony appeared, framed in the light of his hallway.

  ‘Oh! It’s you!’

  He was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and his shirt collar was open. I stared at him for a moment too long before remembering what I was there to do. Trotting back up the steps, I thrust the box at him and wiped some rainwater out of my eyes.

  ‘I’ve made the list and there are some receipts and things in there that might help. Also, there’s an address for the florist he used at the bottom of this box and I’m wondering if he had an account. I doubt it will help but you never know.’

  My heart was hammering as I turned away to walk back down the steps. Those glasses were just too cute.

  ‘Don’t go, Rachel. Come in.’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘I don’t want to disturb you. I just thought you’d want that as soon as possible.’

  ‘You’re not disturbing me at all. Come in, I’ll make you a drink. You must be freezing standing out there, and you’re soaked through.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Slowly, I walked back up the steps and into the hall, feeling awkward and uncertain. Should I be here? I could do without feeding my desire for him. Maybe I should make an excuse and leave. But even as I was formulating a reason to go, Anthony was shutting the door behind me and telling me to go upstairs. The apartment was designed with its three bedrooms on the lower floor, and an open-plan living area with kitchen, dining area and living room upstairs. It smelt deliciously of beef casserole.

  ‘I was just about to have dinner,’ Anthony said, following me upstairs. ‘Your mum made me a casserole.’

  ‘My mum?’ I said, incredulously. ‘When did she make you a casserole?’

  ‘She called round before. I think it’s a house-warming gift. She even apologised for not making it before. She’s very sweet, isn’t she?’

  ‘I haven’t even seen her this week,’ I grumbled, a bit offended she hadn’t made some for me, too. I loved my mum’s casserole. ‘In fact, she hasn’t even phoned to tell me she’s back from holiday!’

  ‘She said she only got back last night and was in a mad rush. Please stay and eat it with me. I’ll never eat it all. She’s made me a huge pot.’ He went to the cooker and stirred the contents of the saucepan on the hob.

  ‘You can always freeze it,’ I suggested, even though I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and my stomach was rumbling. It smelt gorgeous.

  ‘There’ll still be loads left even if you have some. I don’t know if she thinks I need fattening up or something. I’ve only warmed half of it up, but there’s more than enough for both of us. Have you eaten already?’

  ‘No, I’ve just finished work.’

  ‘Well then, take off your coat and sit down.’ He nodded towards the round oak table on the other side of the room. A pile of papers was stacked to one side of an open laptop. ‘Excuse the mess. I’ll move that in a minute.’

  Unbuttoning my coat, I moved towards the table as if in slow motion. I couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Anthony placed a plate of steaming casserole in front of me virtually the minute I sat down, and then whisked away his laptop and files.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. Your mum made it. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Just water, thanks.’

  Filling two glasses from the tap, Anthony carried them over before placing a plate of crusty bread in the centre of the table.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said, tucking into his dinner. ‘This is gorgeous.’

  ‘I know, I do love my mum’s stew.’

  ‘Can you cook like this?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not really. So, when did she bring it round?’

  ‘About four o’clock this afternoon. I’d just got in from work.’

  I pulled a face. ‘That was sneaky. She could have come and said hello to me. I wonder if I’ve upset her somehow?’

  ‘Your dad was waiting with his engine running. I think they had to be somewhere.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ I still felt a little bit miffed but I supposed she had a lot to do and it was sweet of her to make Anthony some food. I knew she’d been disappointed he was moving in when she was away.

  ‘So, how was your day?’ Anthony asked.

  ‘Okay. How was yours?’

  ‘Frustrating. We keep drawing a blank in finding Patrick. We’ve got everyone else we think is involved, we just can’t find him.’ He blew on his forkful of food and looked at me curiously. His eyes looked bigger behind his glasses. ‘
So, you definitely haven’t seen or heard from him since you told him it was over? Despite the fact he said he’d phone?’

  I nodded, chewing my food slowly. ‘Definitely. Did you manage to get onto my phone?’

  ‘It’s gone to another department. Did he know anyone else in Chester? You said he was here on business? What business was that? Where was his meeting?’

  ‘He never said. It was a one-off, I think.’

  Anthony frowned. ‘Did he ever mention anyone he knew in Chester? Or did you see him speak to anyone when you went out?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘When you met him, you were waiting for someone else?’

  I felt my cheeks redden. ‘Yes, I was just about to leave when Patrick came over.’

  ‘Who were you waiting for?’

  ‘Someone I met on an internet dating site.’ I swallowed uncomfortably. My humiliation was complete.

  ‘You sure it wasn’t Patrick all along? You can be anyone you want on those sites, can’t you?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Why would he do that? That’s just weird.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it means he gets to check you out before you know who he is, and then he looks like a hero for rescuing you when you’ve been let down.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘Seriously? People do that?’

  Anthony shrugged. ‘He’s not the most honest person in the world. I’d say he’s pretty much capable of anything. I mean, to leave you dangling, waiting for more phone calls after you dumped him for standing you up is pretty rotten. That was why you broke the phone, wasn’t it?’

  I sighed heavily and carried on eating. Reaching for the bread, I ripped off a chunk and dipped it into the gravy. ‘I was angry, sure, but in my head it was over anyway and nothing he could say or do was going to change that. It wasn’t like I was hoping we’d repair the relationship. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to marry him any more. I felt like I didn’t even know him. He was so secretive. He never answered any questions I asked him with a straightforward reply. It was all “oh, you know how it is, baby, blah, blah, blah, change the subject”, but I didn’t know how it was at all. I didn’t have a clue. We never even talked about where we’d live once we were married. My life is here in Chester, but he’s based two hundred miles away in London. I was never going to be willing to move to London.’