Secret Reflection (8 page)

Kelly jumped backward as if stung. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last she’d have expected.

‘What did you say?’

‘Madam – your hearing is quite adequate, I am sure, but I shall humour you and repeat my statement. It is said that confession is good for the soul.’

He heaved a great sigh before he again fixed her with his stern stare.

‘I killed her. I killed my childhood friend, Elizabeth. Loyal, sweet, beautiful Elizabeth. I ended her life and in truth I deserve this prison in which I am bound. And though I cannot claim I am in hell, after one hundred and forty years I would have it done. I seek your help,’ he implored, ‘so that I might break this unholy spell and go to confront my Maker.’

Kelly didn’t know what to say. Compassion rose in her breast, despite her best logic. His face, his expression, appeared so genuinely self-loathing that for a few seconds she found herself almost buying into the whole charade.

Almost.

A knock on the door sent her inner alarms into overdrive and her mind back to reality.

The door swung inward and Nancy’s face peeped around it. ‘There you are!’ She looked about the room as if perplexed. ‘Were you just talking to someone?’

Kelly’s ‘no’ came out as a mere squeak.

Nancy gave her a questioning frown. ‘I could have sworn I heard voices.’

When Kelly remained mute, Nancy gave a dramatic wave of dismissal and entered the room, in full view of the mirror. ‘Well, we were just about to have some afternoon tea. If you feel like joining us, we’ll be in the salon.’

Kelly studied her friend to gauge if she showed any reaction to the man standing in the mirror. As far as Kelly could tell, Nancy had no inkling, but then again, she had a reputation in school for being an accomplished actress – in their final year, her death scene as Juliet had been particularly convincing.

For herself, Kelly pretended that she saw nothing and agreed to be down in a few minutes. ‘Just give me five to freshen up and make some phone calls,’ she said as she pushed the door closed.

When she turned back to the mirror, it displayed nothing but her own reflection and that of the room behind her.
Had it all been in my mind? No
–
it may be an elaborate hoax but I was definitely talking to someone
.

She just needed to find out who.

Her first call, to the local library, yielded some helpful information. Apparently, all the local histories had long since been sent to either the National Archives in Surrey or the Bodleian Library at Oxford. At the National Archives access to documents was possible but she needed to make a request two days in advance, which, though a nuisance, might figure in with her quest for finding the actor who played her illusive phantom. Thus, Kelly’s afternoon loomed as full of online research in order make lists of needed documents, as well as addresses of theatrical agents in London. If necessary, she’d try the Oxford library if she came up empty in London.

The second call, to the local vicar’s residence, also promised reward. The housekeeper suggested a visit to nearby Abingdon where the retired curator of the historical museum was renowned for his knowledge of local legends of the estate homes of Oxfordshire. Kelly took down the details deciding that if she had to wait till Wednesday to go to the National Archives, she could spend the next day or two doing some research in the local area. She’d also resolved that she would extend her physical searches to the mirrors the ghost had mentioned in his explanation. While she couldn’t for the life of her see how they were pulling it off, she was sure that one of the mirrors had to contain some clue.

Glancing about the room, she wondered about the pictures as well. Her mind flashed to some of the movies she’d seen where the eyes of portraits were used as peepholes so the villain could spy upon his victims. The idea might be absurd but at this point she was willing to consider anything. Like architectural plans. If Richard could be believed, the house harboured a number of secret passages and only the Lord knew what else. Perhaps the crew in charge of renovating the manor had some helpful information along those lines. She’d have to talk to the foreman in the morning.

As she closed the telephone directory, Kelly gave a little sigh. For the first time since the divorce, she felt in command. The sniff of mystery, admittedly ridiculous in nature but a mystery nonetheless, made her feel alive again. This is what she did best, investigating a story. It was what defined her as a journalist, what drove her to the truth. That inner fire she’d thought had died along with her marriage was rekindled and she knew, deep down, that Tom and Nancy had manufactured the whole scenario for that very purpose. The need to confirm they’d done so already dug at the core within her – a core that refused to be truly quashed. She acknowledged the irony with a wry smile. They’d pay for their attempted trickery, but afterward she’d probably also thank them for forcing her out of her self-indulgent melancholia.

The afternoon sun was just arcing beyond the row of willows when Richard pulled up alongside the coach house. He knew she would be there even if he hadn’t seen the bicycle. She had become too clingy of late and he knew he’d soon have to give Dee her marching orders. A shame really, she was a versatile little thing.

‘What are you doing here, Dee?’ he said in a low voice as he pushed the door closed. She stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts, nursing a glass of wine.

‘Drinking wine is against the law for someone your age, Dee.’

She smiled, one of those smug little smiles she wore when she had grand plans for them both. ‘I’ve missed you, Ricky. We’ve barely seen each other in the past few weeks and you promised we’d start making plans once the lease agreement had gone through.’

Turning, he removed his jacket and took his time hanging it on the coat hook by the door. He kicked off his shoes and left them where they fell before turning back.

‘The money hasn’t come through yet, and the bank will be keeping more than expected. It seems a lot of interest accrues when you default on your loan repayments. So … the long and the short of it is … we won’t be able to take that trip for a while yet.’ He neglected to tell her that his bookie, Denny, still hadn’t been paid off and likely wouldn’t be so he’d have to come up with another way to get the money.

He’d done a little research and discovered that Kelly wasn’t just a high-flying journalist, she also came from a very wealthy family and had a trust fund conservatively valued in the millions, which made her a very good catch for a man in need of liquid assets. He’d decided on a whirlwind courtship. No woman he knew had been able to resist his charm, and he was certain he could make her forget that ex-husband of hers if she’d let him. All he had to do was get a little time alone with her.

‘You better not be taking that American away with you instead,’ she warned.

How the hell did Dee know about Kelly?

‘I think you’re jumping to conclusions again, Dee. I barely know the woman.’ He pursed his lips to suppress the snarl that wanted to surface; he hated that Dee always seemed to know what he was thinking. ‘Tom asked me to squire her about and show her the countryside. Maybe help her on her ghost hunt. She just got divorced and Tom and Nancy are worried about her emotional state. I’m supposed to help distract her.’

Dee sidled up to him and ran a blunt fingernail down the front of his trousers. He stirred, instantly hard.

‘Just how distracting do you plan to be?’ she asked, and though she smiled when she said it, he could tell that she wasn’t in the least happy.

He gripped her hand and held it still while he slid the zipper of his pants down. ‘Not as distracting as you can be,’ he murmured as he pushed her fingers inside his briefs.

She smiled again, this time with delight as he filled her hand.

‘You’d better be sure nobody saw you come here. Don’t forget I can still be sent to jail if they find out about us. You have to keep our secret. When you turn eighteen … mmmm.’ Her hands were hot, and though small, gripped him with just the right pressure to make him throb. He groaned deep in his throat as she smoothed along his length and circled him with her other hand sending ripples of pleasure down his spine. ‘You have such clever fingers.’

‘I had a great teacher.’

Yes, he hadn’t forgotten that Dee hadn’t yet turned thirteen when he’d set about seducing her. Or had she seduced him? He didn’t quite remember and nor did he care. She’d dropped into Stanthorpe asking for a part-time job to earn money for a trip her class planned to take in France. He’d offered her work washing his cars and cleaning his riding gear. Of course, when she got soaked hosing down his BMW … well … she had to strip off and take a shower, didn’t she? He hadn’t meant to watch but he’d taken one look at those small breasts and faint thatch of hair at the junction of her thighs and his body reacted predictably. She’d caught him spying on her and flashed him that sexy look that had him hard and hot in an instant.

For the past three years she had been servicing his needs whenever he ventured up to Stanthorpe and in that time he’d taught her all the tricks he knew. She had filled out somewhat but was still a delectable piece of baggage. Eager to learn, she was completely uninhibited and amoral – just as he liked it. He could ask for anything, do anything, and she acquiesced without a single complaint. He still paid her … just to keep her father from wondering.

Right now he wanted to be in her mouth. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed downward until she knelt before him, her eyes large and glistening when she stared up at him. First she licked her lips then as she put out her tongue he closed his eyes to revel in that silken heat. Yes, it was a sad thought that he’d have to give her up … but someone like Dee wouldn’t willingly take second place, and he knew that if he wanted to snare Kelly, Dee would definitely have to go. For now though, he’d enjoy her nubile young body.

As her hot mouth closed around him and the fire began to consume him, he stopped thinking altogether.

The room remained as she had left it – the mirror, thankfully, empty of anything but the usual reflections. Kelly wondered whether the actor was now off duty and thus would leave her in peace.

Again she felt compelled to go over every piece of furniture, every light fixture – every bubble in the wallpaper. After two hours of painstaking searching, she couldn’t find a single thing that resembled a camera or a microphone in either the room, or the dressing room. The bathroom was easier to check because the walls were all tiled and there were few fixtures but she made sure to be thorough. Screwing off the showerhead had proven a mistake as it continually wanted to cross-thread as she tried to reattach it. Her arms were aching by the time she’d finally set it to rights.

She was just changing her damp blouse when the phone rang.

‘Kelly speaking,’ she answered as she flipped the small device open.

‘Hi there, Kelly, Graham Zatz returning your call. What can I do for you?’

‘Oh Graham, thanks so much for getting back to me.’ She sat at the desk, careful to keep her back to the mirror and buttoned her shirt as she spoke. ‘I need to pick your brain for an assignment I’m working on here in England.’

‘Fire away, be glad to help in whatever way I can.’

Kelly detected a slight smile in his voice and couldn’t help responding in kind. ‘I need to know what to be looking for if I think a place is bugged. I have a situation where I know there is surveillance, but I cannot find anything at all. The place has apparently been professionally swept, but I don’t trust it. Can you help?’

‘Sure. Give me your email address and I’ll send you some pics of the latest in spy gadgetry. They can be incredibly small, but equally expensive so if you are being watched, someone is paying big money to do it. Any idea why?’

Kelly had been afraid he’d ask that question. ‘It’s a very long story so I won’t bore you with it now since you’re paying trans-Atlantic phone charges.’

That brought a laugh down the line. ‘Not this bunny. One of the perks to this job is to be able to communicate around the world at no cost.’

‘Still, at this stage I can’t reveal too much. Perhaps after I’ve finished the assignment I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘Over dinner?’

She pursed her lips. He was pleasant enough though not in the least her type, but dinner she could do. ‘Sounds nice.’

‘It’s a date then.

‘Check out the images I send, and make sure you pay particular attention to the dimensions. Some are incredibly small. If you still can’t find the items let me know and I’ll get the name of the best expert there in London. Actually, I’ll track him down and include his contact details in the email. Give me a couple of hours to load all the images. I hope you’ve got high speed cable or satellite. The file might be slow in coming otherwise.’

‘It’ll be fine. Thanks, Graham, you’re a life saver.’

‘The problem that serious?’

She chuckled. ‘Not at all – just a figure of speech. I’ll wait for that email and if your information solves the problem, I’ll buy that dinner when I get back to LA.’

‘We can argue about it when you get here. I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Me too.’

As she rung off she chewed her inner lip hoping she hadn’t just led the poor man on. Her divorce had made the headlines back home so he’d know she was now a free agent and she recalled he’d once made a pass at her, a few years ago, just before she met Frank.

Turning to the mirror, she wondered whether she should find some spare sheets and cover the thing so she could sleep without fear of being watched. But then, there was no way of knowing how she was being watched, or from where. She didn’t dare ask Nancy for another room – that would be impossible to explain without revealing that she’d made contact with their ghost.

The four-poster had fancy bed curtains, she’d simply close them on all sides and pray that the camera wasn’t hidden within the headboard somewhere.

The rest of her evening passed without any appearance from the phantom, adding more weight to her suspicion that the poor actor was taking a break from his performance. Graham’s email, when it arrived, was quite large and unfortunately she didn’t have a printer available so she saved the images to disk and promised herself she’d find somewhere in London, on Wednesday morning, to print them up.