Secret Reflection (36 page)

‘I told you so,’ Nancy said, giving him a gentle dig in the ribs with her elbow. ‘People love a ghost story – and with John’s story being so poignant, every romantic who read the article has decided they want to catch a glimpse of him.’

Kelly sighed and stabbed at a spear of asparagus that she had no intention of eating. ‘I wonder how long it will take for people to realise he’s not here anymore.’

‘I’m betting people will have visitations anyway,’ Tom said.

Turning her head sharply, Kelly asked, ‘What? Are you planning on faking it for them?’

‘Not at all.’ He laughed. ‘It’s just that human nature being what it is, I’m sure some of the guests will see what they want to see and hear what they want to hear. You know what I mean … someone will hear another guest going into their room late at night, a few bumping noises or a bit of muffled muttering, and the next morning they will tell everyone they heard the ghost of Stanthorpe House. They won’t be able to help themselves.’

While Kelly wasn’t sure he was right, she had to concede the imagination could do very strange things. Her middle-of-the-night solo sexual encounters were prime examples. She just prayed that once she got back to the States they’d stop because she didn’t know how long she’d cope otherwise.

For one thing, she’d never again chance falling asleep in front of another living soul so long as it continued.

‘I’d be interested to see what happens,’ Kelly commented, although she wasn’t certain whether she was talking about Tom’s assertion or her fears about her own uncontrollable sleep adventures.

Tom cast a wary look at his wife and cleared his throat. ‘I got a call from Richard earlier today, Kel.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, he’s out off hospital. It seems he is paralysed from the waist down. The doctors are hoping it is only temporary.’

Drawing a ragged breath Kelly stared at Tom, then Nancy, in turn. She still didn’t know how she felt about Richard. She supposed desperation made people act in ways that they otherwise might not, but she didn’t think she could forgive what he did – what he forced her to do. She’d never have pushed him into the mirror if he hadn’t tried to rape her. John had been on the mark when he said Richard Ditchley was tainted by the bad blood of at least one ancestor.

‘I can’t pretend that I’m sorry,’ she admitted ruefully as that familiar chilled sensation swept unbidden through her. ‘He tried some nasty tactics in an attempt to extort a lot of money from me. And though I’d like to believe people innocent until proven guilty … the thing with Deanna … I wouldn’t wish paralysis on anyone but …’ she put her glass down and frowned slightly, ‘let’s not talk about Richard.’

‘Mmmm, let’s not,’ Nancy agreed. ‘This is supposed to be a private celebration for our new venture and we’ve gone and gotten all morose.’ She raised her glass in a toast, ‘To Stanthorpe House, may it prosper!’

The grand opening came and went in a whirlwind of excitement and mishaps. Several local dignitaries attended, puffing out their chests and taking credit where no credit was due. The first groups of guests arrived by the busload, many abuzz with the prospect of meeting a ghost. Tom slanted a knowing look at Kelly when they overheard two women muttering their disappointment that the master bedroom would not be open to the public at this time.

By bedtime everyone on staff seemed exhilarated despite their exhaustion. The atmosphere of the manor seemed strange to Kelly as she prepared for bed. With people occupying virtually every room it no longer had that old-world feel that she had come to think of as home. Now it bustled and hummed with all the trappings of the twenty-first century and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

It made her time with John seem all the more unreal.

At about two in the morning she woke with a start, not because of one of her regular solo orgasms. That had occurred earlier, at midnight, as usual. No, this time she woke because she felt a presence in her room.

John?
her mind whispered in desperation.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she felt her heart lurch. Someone stood beside the bed but whoever it was, the size and shape told her it couldn’t be John.

‘Are you the ghost?’ a small, frail voice whispered.

Kelly sat up and reached for the bedside lamp.

Before Kelly stood a little old lady, eighty if she was a day, staring at her with wide-eyed amazement. Her silver hair stuck up on one side.

‘Of course I’m not the ghost.’

The woman’s face dropped with disappointment and she held a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh … yes … dear – I remember you from the party earlier. You’re the owner’s friend. I’m so sorry to have disturbed your sleep. It’s just … all my life I have wanted proof that ghosts exist … and I thought – well,’ she reached out a withered hand and patted Kelly’s cheek, ‘it is quite obvious you’re not the ghost. I’ll just go back to bed now,’ she muttered and turned away.

‘Wait,’ Kelly said. ‘Why is it so important to you?’

She turned and gave Kelly a sad smile, ‘It’s nothing really. My husband Harold passed away forty-two years ago. We’d only been married such a short time and I always wanted to think he was somehow still there, close by. I guess I won’t know until my time comes.’

With an inward sigh, Kelly tried to return the woman’s smile. ‘If it’s any consolation, I have spoken to the ghost so I know he does exist. I wrote the article in the newspaper.’

The woman’s face lit up as if she had just won a wonderful prize. ‘Is he here now?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.’

‘Oh. Well, thank you dear. I’ll just trust that my Harold is waiting for me. I do apologise again for waking you.’

This time Kelly’s smile was genuine. ‘That’s okay. If you want to talk more tomorrow – I’ll be about the place for most of the day.’

The woman nodded and slowly left the room.

Wide awake now, Kelly knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep for quite a while so she reached across to the bedside chest and withdrew John’s journal from her tote and began to reread it. She started at the beginning this time. It gave her immense comfort to have something tangible to hold onto. She just hoped her late night visitor had something of her Harold that could give her the same sense of comfort.

Day Eighteen

‘All packed?’ Nancy asked, trying to put on a bold face but Kelly could see a suspicious-looking tear or two.

Jamming the case closed then sitting on it, she attempted to smile as she grappled with the complicated tumbler-style locks. One just didn’t want to snap into place and in the end Nancy had to add her weight as well.

‘Yep – just my hand luggage to worry about in the morning.’

‘I wish you’d stay longer.’

Kelly wrapped her arms around her friend. ‘I know, but if I want to come back in time for the birth of my goddaughter then I’m going to have to get back to work.’ She didn’t add that she needed to get away from the vividness of her memory of John.
Tonight would have been his final night to be seen … if he’d survived
.

She sighed as she looked around her. Being in this room only encouraged her to fixate and with each passing day the fixation got stronger.

‘How do you know it’ll be a girl?’ Nancy asked, returning Kelly’s hug with a squeeze of her own.

‘I just do,’ Kelly replied obliquely. ‘Actually, that’s a lie. Dora Lester, the little old lady I had lunch with today, says it’s a girl and she swears she has never been wrong.’

‘You two seemed thick as thieves all day, what was that about?’

Kelly laughed. ‘She came creeping into my room last night hoping to meet the ghost … we got to talking, and she turned out to be a nice old bird. Has had an interesting life. I might even write a story about her. She reminds me very much of my grandmother.’

‘Your grandmother was nuts!’

‘Precisely. Dora would make a great human interest story.’

Nancy’s brows puckered. ‘What’s this? Have you given up the political stuff?’

Plonking the heavy case beside the bed, Kelly couldn’t help but glance at the mirror. As usual, the little wisp of hope fled when all she saw reflected was the room itself. ‘I don’t know what I want to do, Nance. I’ve been thinking about it and all the politics and stuff feels like bullshit to me now. The plastic people with their hidden agendas. I can’t see myself going back to that. I’m going to speak to the editor and ask for a reassignment. I don’t know what … he mightn’t have anything, but I’m going to try. And if he can’t reassign me, I might use a little of Gran’s trust money and become a full-time playwright.’

‘I never knew you wanted to write.’

‘It’s always been my secret dream. Frank tried to spoil it for me but I think I might be ready to really give it a go.’

‘Well good for you! I don’t suppose your first play will be a ghost story would it?’ Nancy asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

‘Well … I’m not saying – yet. But don’t be surprised.’

‘I’d better let you get some sleep.’ They embraced as if they wouldn’t see each other for a long time. ‘We’ll need to get an early start if you’re to be at Heathrow by ten. How about we share breakfast in the small salon at six?’

‘It’s a date. Sleep well.’

‘You too,’ Nancy replied. ‘Sweet dreams.’

You’d be shocked to know how sweet
, Kelly thought, though she didn’t dare say the words out loud.

The storm had whipped up around eleven and twice Kelly had to get out of bed to tighten the locks on the windows to stop them rattling. The temperature dropped sharply, making it cosy to snuggle into the warmth of the covers. Lightning came in torrid bursts, illuminating the room brighter than day before a blackness so absolute momentarily blinded her. She’d grown to love storms since she’d been here. She had met John during a storm, and though she had been terrified at the time this one held no fear for her. She wriggled deeper under the covers and drifted off in the knowledge that in her dreams, at least, he would come to her.

A sudden jolt woke her. Sitting up she saw an echo of lightning reflected like a glowing jagged line down the mirror. She stared at it. Strangely, it didn’t disappear, but remained like a luminescent splatter of paint: a giant crack in the glass. The sound of glass shattering made goosebumps rise along her skin but as she watched, she realised the breaking glass must have occurred somewhere in the distance – her mirror was still intact.

Another bolt of lightning hit even closer than before. The room shuddered and light exploded before her eyes. Dots of silver danced in her vision and she blinked to try to clear them. The storm sounded so close now. As she pulled the covers tight about her neck she wondered whether the house was protected against lightning strikes.

The wind dropped and the rumble of thunder faded. Then suddenly all she heard was silence. She shivered. It felt like she sat in the eye of a hurricane, the quiet so eerie she could almost imagine she was alone in the universe. In the silence, almost as if in slow motion, the largest of the druid’s eggs rolled slowly off the mantle and broke in two with a loud snap on the stone hearth. The overwhelming stench of burnt hair filled the air.

A sizzling sound drew her gaze back to the mirror. The jagged line seemed to be expanding, extending from top to bottom and gradually widening as she watched. Perhaps the house
had
been struck?

Kelly shoved the blankets aside and jumped out of bed, prepared to help rouse the guests but she was stopped in her tracks when a large shadow seemed to glide out of the crack of light that had formed in the centre of the mirror.

Her breath caught and her throat closed. Shoving her fist to her mouth to prevent a sob, she didn’t dare close her eyes for fear he’d disappear. She didn’t believe it.

Frozen – she waited to wake up. Or learn her intruder was just another ghost hunter.

‘Kelly?’

Her heart lurched …
it couldn’t be!

‘Kelly?’ he said again.

‘John?’ His name came out as a mere whisper; her voice had deserted her.

Another bolt of lightning struck outside and in the bright light she saw his face. Everything inside her seemed to melt as the world tilted around her. She put out her hand to steady herself almost afraid that she still dreamed, but it met with a chest as solid and real as her own.

‘Oh, Kelly, I am here at last!’ He lifted his hands to her cheeks and she felt how much they trembled. ‘I have been trying so hard to find you,’ he whispered as he drew her to him, enveloping her in an embrace she never thought she would ever know.

She held on tight. His heart thumped frantically against her cheek and a gurgle of joy bubbled up her throat. She wanted to laugh and cry, but instead she stood still and breathed in the sandalwood scent of him, revelling in the way it teased her senses.

‘I thought you were gone. I thought I had killed you!’

‘I was lost … for a while. I do not know how long. When you and Richard fought, I tried so hard to get to you.’ He crushed her to him. ‘Then it was as if all the mirrors had disappeared, I was surrounded by darkness and cold. Did Richard …?’

‘No, thank God. He fell against the mirror and smashed it. His arm got badly cut.’

‘I am so sorry I could not stop him.’

She shook her head and reached up to cup his cheeks. In the dark she could barely see his face, but she knew his expression would hold that sad vulnerability she always saw when he believed he had failed the woman he loved. ‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now that you’re here.’

He lifted her so her face was level with his. ‘Madam, I feel like I have waited hundreds of years to ask this: do I have your permission to kiss you?’

‘That is one thing you need never ask,’ she replied as she stood on tiptoe and touched her lips gently to his.

The instant his mouth met hers, the heat began to flow. An involuntary shudder darted down her spine as he drew her closer. Moist and hot, his mouth seemed to consume her. She opened to him, sliding her tongue along his, her sole focus the sweet taste of him. Her entire body molded itself to his and she couldn’t fail to notice the strength of him, nor that of his arousal. She wriggled against him, wickedly making him throb against her.