Free The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) by Joanna Challis Page A

count.”
    “Helmut.” Susanna laughed. “How well you remember everything I tell you. He has a brain for storing knowledge,” she said to me, “perhaps you have encountered it?”
    “Once or twice.” I smiled, gazing out the window. I could just see the jutting point of Tintagel Castle stretching out to sea. The rain obscured part of my vision but I longed to go out there. It didn’t look like we’d have time today and for once, I did not care. Susanna interested me far more.
    After luncheon, when she took me into her reading room, I thought I’d found a piece of heaven. I’d seen many libraries in grand houses in my time yet none of them matched the simplicity and elegance of Susanna’s book room. From floor to ceiling, the room oozed charm, all decorated in warm plum hues. Thick carpet warmed the floorboards and was slightly faded through use, as was the upholstery on the twin set of library armchairs. Solid oak shelves graced two sides of the wall where an antique oval desk with its own embossed green leather writing surface stood empty.
    “That is where Wilhelm used to work … it is a pity, I have little use for the desk now.”
    “It’s beautiful,” I murmured, touching it before turning to run my fingers along the many titles stacked on the shelves. I loved the desk. I wanted to draw out the chair and pen something upon it while looking out the narrow window to the sea.
    “Daphne is a writer.” The major sashayed around, biting into another piece of Susanna’s delicious almond seed cake. “She’s published.”
    “Not novel length,” I added, my face burning.
    “Is that what you wish? To become a fiction novelist? What do you like to write about? Drama? Intrigue? Romance?”
    “Oh.” At Susanna’s invitation, I tried one of the library chairs. “I don’t know exactly. I love history and I love old houses. I also like books with a darker theme, exploring emotions which aren’t often recorded in popular fiction.”
    Lifting a brow, Susanna grinned at the major. “You have chosen well, Tommy. She’s smart. I like her. I like her very much and I do hope you will come and visit me again, Daphne?”
    “Yes, I will,” I promised, not realizing how the time had slipped away.
    “You are most welcome to come and stay and write on that desk,” Susanna said on parting, the invitation so invitingly warm I thought I just might accept one day.

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    We arrived back to Thornleigh half an hour late.
    “Ellen is very punctual.” I sighed, exasperated with him for he refused to share information with me.
    “She’s in mourning,” he murmured, slipping out of the car to open my door. “The world changes when one is in mourning.”
    It was true. Ellen’s words haunted my steps to her room. How can I go on without him? How can I? “She loved him and he loved her. The age difference didn’t signify at all. It’s a cruel twist of fate that his heart should have failed him at this time.”
    The major said nothing, indicating he knew something. I’d come to know by the slight telltale serration on the left side of his face. It flexed whenever he wished to avoid my inquiries.
    Ellen received us in her private study. Thornleigh had two studies, one for the master and one for the mistress. The master’s adjoined the library whereas the mistress’s overlooked the gardens at the back of the house. It was bright and sunny, like a morning room, and Ellen liked to come here in the mornings because the light warmed the room.
    As we entered, I could not help comparing Ellen’s study to Susanna’s tiny library. Spacious, one large Geroge III desk with floral inlay and complete with numerous drawers stood in the center, with two small plain cushioned chairs before it. Yellow drapes framed the windows, matching the upholstery of Ellen’s chair and the sunflower painting on the wall. There was also a smaller Victorian ladies’ writing desk in the far corner but it was just for show, not for