Authors: Trisha Ashley
‘It’s natural,’ Orla said coldly.
‘Of course it is,’ I agreed hastily. ‘Where
are
you going? Or have you been?’
‘It’s a private party later, which sounds respectable, and it’s not far away so I don’t have to leave for another hour.’ She nodded and lowered her voice: ‘Did you see who is at the bar? I’ve just introduced him to Jason.’
‘Does Cass know who he is?’ Jason demanded, overhearing. ‘How come? He’s only been here a couple of days, and he seems to have spent most of those sorting his house out and setting the police on to Jack Craig!’
‘I bumped into him the other night when I was out ghost-hunting,’ I said vaguely. ‘He introduced himself.’
‘Who?’ demanded Jane, and twisted to look over her shoulder.
Dante’s face was half-turned towards us, giving me a glimpse of an arrogantly aquiline nose and angular cheekbone. His hair looked like the most attention it had had in months was having fingers run through it (including mine), and it didn’t so much need cutting as shearing.
‘What’s
he
doing here?’ I hissed at Orla, and she widened her eyes innocently at me.
‘Why not? This is his local now too, you know. Sh … he’s coming back.’
‘Coming
back
—’ I began, half-rising to my feet in a panic. Then I sat down again, because if the man was actually going to live here I was going to have to get used to meeting him.
There’s supposed to be a time and a place for everything. The one for meeting large, morose strangers you have irrationally done intimate things with is probably
not
while under the suddenly suspicious eyes of your sister, close friend and would-be lover.
It was too late for escape anyway. Dante put a pint down in front of Jason (male bonding rite) then took the chair opposite me and next to Jane, which I now noticed too late had a bulky scuffed leather jacket draped over it.
All his clothes hang on him a bit, like they belong to someone bigger, and I could see that even Orla, the most unmaternal of women, was looking at him as if she wanted to take him home and feed him up. And then maybe
eat
him up.
I sort of half-met his eyes and smiled, like you do when you vaguely recognise someone but can’t quite remember who, what or when. Inside, though, I was doing the hot and cold thing again during which some evil gremlin in my head ran an edited Highlights of the Night tape at fast speed.
‘Hello, Cass,’ he said as easily as though we’d known each other for ever, and if there were any gremlins in
his
head they were in the back room asleep. ‘I was beginning to think you were a figment of my imagination. Would you like a drink?’
‘Yeah, but only if they stock Instant Cup’a’ Poison: Just Add Hot Water And Stir,’ I thought, trying hard not to succumb to the urge to look at him.
Some hope.
‘No, it’s OK, thanks, I’ll get one in a minute when I order some food,’ I mumbled, stealing a glance at him only to discover that he was looking so unconcerned and even, truth to tell,
uninterested,
that I began to seriously doubt that anything intimate had ever taken place between us.
Was it a dream after all? Or something that was, to him, so unimportant that it was instantly forgettable?
Quite unaccountably, considering I was hell-bent on pretending the whole sorry thing never happened, I began to feel piqued and stopped switching on and off like a thermostat.
Instead I set Jane on to him so I could watch him unnoticed while she worked her mojo on him. ‘This is my sister, Jane. Jane, this is Dante Chase, who’s just inherited Kedge Hall, the lovely old manor house outside the village.’
The total stranger I slept with the other night.
‘Hi,’ she said alertly, bestowing on him her full panoply of winsome, white-toothed charm. ‘You look so familiar: now where
do
I know you from?’
‘No idea,’ he said curtly, and turning abruptly met my eyes. His were the greeny-bine of a Caribbean sea – or a glacier’s depths – and showed a momentary glint of some emotion.
I couldn’t for the life of me decide what it was.
Can glaciers burn?
‘Jane’s Cass’s twin sister: isn’t it amazing how different they are?’ Orla asked, changing the subject, because Dante was clearly not about to regale us with jolly tales of his hostage days.
He shrugged, seemingly uninterested. ‘It often happens that way with non-identical twins.’
‘Dante has been telling me his plans for the Hall,’ Orla told us, persevering.
‘You mean, about setting up in competition with your B&B?’ I said helpfully.
‘It’s not a B&B,’ Dante said shortly. ‘My sister, Rosetta, just aims to run themed ghost-hunting weekends, so there’s no competition. There seem to be more alleged ghosts per mile round here than anywhere in the country, most of them haunting my house,’ he added distastefully.
‘It’s noted for it,’ I agreed. ‘And Hanged Man Lane runs right past it.’
‘There’s the Haunted Well too, but it’s not really haunted, we made that one up,’ Orla confessed. ‘It’s in my garden, and passersby love to throw money down it. It’s great!’
‘You made it up?’ he frowned. ‘But I bought a booklet about it from that general shop this morning. Emlyn’s, is it? All about the history of the well, going back centuries!’
‘Oh, Cass wrote that.’
‘I thought it seemed a bit over-imaginative.’
‘So, aren’t you afraid of all the ghosts, up there in your lonely old house?’ asked Jane sweetly, having another go. She’d been looking a bit miffed at his lack of interest, but perhaps the fact that he’d been equally brusque to me, too, had encouraged her. ‘Or – sorry, is there a Mrs Chase?’
‘No,’ he said shortly, scowling at me like
I’d
asked the nosy questions. ‘I’m a widower. And I don’t believe in that sort of supernatural rubbish, so I might have to take a leaf out of Cass’s book, and create an apparition or two to please my sister’s visitors.’
‘It wasn’t an apparition, just a haunted well,’ I said. ‘And
our
motives were pure.’
‘Yes, my husband had just left me, and I was desperate for money!’ Orla agreed. ‘Since then, of course, I’ve started doing B&B’s, and the singing telegrams, so I’m managing fine; but the Haunted Well is a permanent fixture.’
‘You mean, you just made a well in your garden and people come and throw money down it?’ demanded Jane, round-eyed.
‘Oh, there was an old well there, but it was covered over,’ Jason said. We got some stones from an old garden wall and made it look a bit more interesting, then erected an information board, and off it went.’
‘Why didn’t you put it in
your
garden?’ Jane asked me. ‘You never have enough money either.’
‘I get the proceeds from the little booklet,’ I said. ‘And I didn’t have a well to start with.’
‘If you need the money, I told Orla just before you got here that I’d like to hire you for a couple of appearances over Easter weekend, when Rosetta intends to open for business … night-time ones,’ Dante told me, looking deadly serious.
Mind you, with that face it must be hard to look any other way. I’d rate his chances of being voted Mr Congeniality at nil.
‘What, Crypt-ograms?’ I asked doubtfully.
‘No. No singing, no vampire teeth, just flitting around looking scary in the rose garden at night – and maybe the Long Gallery,’ he added, raising one eyebrow at me.
‘No way,’ I said hotly, rising to the bait. ‘I don’t do flitting, and if you have any idea that I’m going to run along the gallery at midnight, stark naked like poor blind Betsy…’
I watched, fascinated, as his eyes filled with amusement, and one corner of his long mouth twitched upwards. ‘Kind of you to offer – and
I
certainly wouldn’t have any objections.’
‘You could make a couple of appearances,’ Orla said helpfully. ‘At the usual rate, of course … plus extra for unsociable hours.’
‘Orla! There’s no way I’m streaking down the corridors at midnight!’
‘No, I didn’t mean that, just that you could—’
‘No!’
‘Oh well,’ she said resignedly, recognising that tone.
‘You know I’m only doing the Crypt-ograms until you find some other acts instead.’
‘Yes, and Cass knows I’m always willing to look after her when she’s doing them,’ Jason said jealously, exchanging a measuring look with Dante. ‘She only has to ask.’
‘Thank you, Jason,’ I said, ‘I can look after myself.’
Jane, I could tell, was piqued by the lack of masculine attention, although she remained smiling serenely, our own little Buddha of Suburbia.
Dante seemed singularly impervious even when she did the sort of fluttery eyelash stuff at him that I’m not only incapable of, but would get me certified if I tried.
‘So you and your sister are going to run the weekend breaks thing together?’ she asked.
‘No. I’ll be there if Rosetta needs me, but running it will be her concern. I’ll be living and working in the west wing, mostly.’
‘What do you do?’ she persisted.
‘I’ve been travelling round the States for a year, making notes for a book I’ve been commissioned to write: sort of an autobiography. I used to be a foreign correspondent for a newspaper,’ he added tersely.
‘Oh?’ clearly Jane had even less idea than me about the hostage-taking episode, but from Jason’s face it had all suddenly clicked.
‘Have you read any of Cass’s books?’ Jane asked.
‘No, I’ve managed to resist their dubious charms so far.’
I scowled at him and he raised one black brow: ‘I’ve just ordered your backlist off the internet in case an acute need for a prolonged period of bad taste comes over me. It only surprises me that you write that sort of stuff yet you’ re too scared to come back to the Hall and brave the ghosts. I thought you told me you didn’t believe in that sort of thing?’
‘No, I said I knew they couldn’t
hurt
me. And I’m not afraid, even though I know there
are
things out there, either echoes of the past, or maybe the dark things from our own minds.’
‘Oh, don’t!’ Jane shuddered theatrically. ‘I know none of them exist, but it still frightens me.’
‘That’s how most people feel, or say they feel, Jane,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s why horror sells so well.’
‘When you thought
I
was a ghost you took to your heels fast enough,’ Dante said to me.
‘You thought
I
was one, too!’ I snapped, glaring at him. ‘And
you’re
supposed to be the sceptic, not me!’
‘When was this?’ Jane said curiously, looking from one of us to the other.
Jason, glowering suspiciously, said: ‘Yes, when did all this nocturnal activity take place? You didn’t say you knew each other
that
well.’
‘We don’t! I told you we only met the other night, ghost-hunting,’ I said defensively, then blushed hotly. Considering how pale-skinned I am I might as well have raised a red flag.
‘I wish you wouldn’t wander about in the middle of the night like that,’ Jason grumbled, looking from me to Dante narrowly. ‘Who knows what might happen to you?’
Who, indeed?
‘You make a habit of it?’ inquired Dante.
‘Oh, everyone knows Cass walks about the graveyard and Hanged Man’s Lane at night for inspiration. She will do it,’ Orla said, and gave me a sideways look that meant: ‘I know you’re holding out on me with some vital information, friend of mine.’
‘Cass won’t be doing that this Friday though, because her mind will be on other things!’ Jane said sweetly, and smiled generally round at everyone. ‘Max – do you all know Max, Cassy’s lover? – well, he’s coming to see her.’
Jason looked gloomy. ‘I suppose he’s returning for good before long?’
‘When his sabbatical year ends in July,’ I agreed uncomfortably. ‘He’s just coming over to see me for a couple of hours tomorrow, after the funeral.’
‘The funeral?’ asked Dante, frowning at me darkly like Thor about to toss the hammer.
‘His wife died recently, in America. He’s bringing her back.’
‘Right,’ he said, then rose abruptly to his feet leaving half his drink untouched. ‘I’ll have to go, I’m meeting my sister at the station. But I’ll try to bring her in to meet you all soon, if you’re here?’
‘
Some
of us will be here,’ Orla assured him, with her special smile ‘We meet here most evenings … unless something better offers?’
Good old Orla, always willing to give it a go.
‘And if you want any advice about the B&B business—’
‘Thanks,’ he said, and with a brief arrow-head smile, strode off.
Orla sighed after him. ‘He’s so gorgeous, but he only seems interested in Cass’s possibilities.’
‘Her
haunting
possibilities,’ Jane amended. ‘I’m sure he’s not interested in her personally. Maybe he’s gay.’
I don’t think so, Jane.
‘He’s not,’ Orla said definitely. ‘Are you mad?’
‘Just a thought. So what’s he running a guesthouse for? Does he need the money?’
‘No, but I think his sister’s been in hotel management and she thought the idea up. Luckily the Hall is pretty well ready to take visitors now, because Miss Kedge had it all modernised over the years, so it’s in good order.’
‘Yes, though hiring big outside firms to do the work didn’t endear her to the local tradesmen,’ I agreed. ‘It was all pretty well kept up until she died, too. There can’t be much to put right.’
Except the odd broken window-catch in a walk-in cupboard …
‘Why won’t you do his ghost act for him?’ Orla asked me. ‘I would, and it will be easy money compared to the Crypt-ograms.’
‘You look too healthy to be a ghost. And I’m not going to mock the spirits in person, only in my books,’ I said firmly.
‘I think Cass’s quite right,’ agreed Jason who’d gone into a gloomy trance over his beer mug. ‘She should avoid the Hall entirely. I didn’t like the way Dante spoke to her, as though he only had to offer money and she’d come running.’
Actually, the way he’d spoken to me absolutely
slayed
me.
‘And he came out of that hostage situation half-starved and half-mad,’ Jason said. ‘I’ve remembered all about it now. He looks unbalanced to me, Cass: you’d better avoid him, especially when you’re on your own.’