Collette Bonnar's short stories: The Party at Willowfield House

“What do you make of the new guy?” Amy asked.

“He’s certainly settled in quickly,” Lucy answered.

“There’s something really weird about him,” Joan frowned.

“What do you mean?” the other two women asked in unison.

“I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

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The three women were having lunch in the staff canteen of the accounting firm where they worked. They were discussing the suave, debonair Killian Hunt who had been transferred to the branch two months earlier.

A few weeks later, a call came through for Killian from Greg Cosgrove in head office.

“Ah Greg, how’re things?”

“Fine at this end. I suppose you’re settled in by now.”

“Yes, it’s a bit different from the big smoke, not the same buzz. The staff are a mundane lot. Still, I’ll be off on holidays soon.”

“Anywhere nice?” Greg asked.

“Well, you know me, I love a bit of adventure. I’m going cycling in the Rockies in Canada.”

“Good for you. Enjoy. I’m sending you through those spreadsheets this afternoon, so don’t get into the holiday mood just yet,” Greg laughed as he hung up.

Joan was listening with interest but the ringing of the telephone distracted her.

“Doing anything exciting for the weekend?” Lucy asked Killian as they left the office that Friday evening.

“I’m going to Prague for a stag do,” he answered. “Mate of mine in Belmore branch is getting married next month. I fly out at eight this evening so I must crack on.”

“Have a nice time, see you on Monday.”

“Killian seems to have a hectic social life,” Lucy remarked later as they were having a drink in The Thistle Pub.

“I don’t know how he can afford it,” Amy said. “After all, he’s just employed here as an accountant, he’s not a partner.”

“And that’s not all,” Amy added, “I heard him telling someone on the phone that he’s bought Willowfield House.”
Joan’s eyes widened as her thoughts flitted to her Aunt Violet and Uncle Harold. She decided to say nothing to her friends for the moment.

As the weeks passed, the enigmatic Killian amazed his colleagues by the high-flying life he led. He soon established himself as the shining light in the firm. “I’ll be a partner soon,” he boasted to Joan and Amy one day.

“The more I get to know him, the more I dislike him,” Amy remarked to Joan – Killian had just told them about the hefty bonus he’d received with his last salary.

“But do we really know him?” Joan asked.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ll get to the bottom of it, just watch this space,” Joan replied.

“I played brilliant golf at the weekend,” Killian told his workmates the following Monday morning at coffee break.

Amy caught Lucy’s eye as she asked; “Did you win anything?”

“Captain’s prize,” he gloated. “Broke the course record and did the eighteen holes in sixty-four shots.”

“Amazing,” Joan remarked as she raised her eyebrows.

Joan was passing Killian’s desk a few days later. She overheard him talking to Alex Whyte in Dunport branch. “I’m having a house-warming party the week after next, pity you’ll be in London.”

“Sure, you’ll have plenty of people there from your own branch,” Alex replied.

“Huh, you must be joking. I wouldn’t invite that boring lot, guaranteed to nosedive the party.”

That evening, Joan invited her friends around to her house for a chat.

“How on earth did you discover all this?” Lucy and Amy asked when they’d settled with a coffee. Joan was filling them in on the bizarre behaviour of the mysterious Killian.

“I was talking to a few people in our Belmore branch and … surprise, surprise! Morgan Williams just happens to be going on a cycling holiday in the Rockies. And it was Marcus Hamilton who won the captain’s prize at Dunport golf club. The photographs Killian’s been showing us of his ex-girlfriends, are women that he worked with before he was transferred here. As for the stag do in Prague, he didn’t get invited as the guys in Belmore can’t stand him.”

“Wow. What an imposter.” Lucy gasped unable to take it all in. “The nerve of him pretending to have a wonderful social life.”

“Indeed,” Amy agreed. “But what about Willowfield House? I wonder if that’s a figment of his imagination too?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Lucy said, “he’s probably googled an auctioneer’s website.”

Joan smiled slowly. “I’ve plans for next Friday night - a little eye-opener for our obnoxious Killian.” She then proceeded to tell them about her Aunt Violet and Uncle Harold’s move up north.

“A house party?” Killian’s eyes widened when Joan invited him to the bash of the year.

“It’s friends of my parents,” Joan fibbed. “They own a beautiful big house and they hold a massive soiree every year. Anyone who is anyone will be there.”

“Really?” Killian’s eyes were out on stalks. “Count me in.”

“This should be fun,” Joan giggled as Amy and Lucy piled into her Volkswagen car. On their way to the party, they picked Killian up at the Yacht Club.

Thirty minutes later they pulled up on the gravel outside a large country pile.

“Is this it?” Killian gave a low whistle.

Lucy could barely stifle a giggle as he was clearly overwhelmed by his surroundings.

“Aunt Violet, Uncle Harold!” Joan hugged her aunt and uncle who’d just flung open the front door of the Palladian Mansion.

“So good to see you all,” her aunt cried as she ushered them inside to the assembled gathering. “Welcome to our house-warming party.”

Joan then stepped forward and a hush fell over the guests as she glanced at Killian and announced, “Aunt Violet, Uncle Harold, I want to wish you many happy years in your new home - Willowfield House.”

Killian looked like he’d been hit with a steamroller.
“Hear, hear,” everyone chorused as Lucy whispered to a mortified Killian. “Willowfield House – I heard you on the telephone, telling someone you had bought this place. Next time you decide to tell a porky about where you live - at least check it out.”