The Ghost (13 page)

How are things with you? How's Simon? Tired of him yet? Hate him? Has he gone off with someone else? Are either of you cheating? He didn't give a damn what Simon did. Charlie wanted his wife back.

He's fine, Carole said quietly, and we're fine too. She knew exactly what Charlie was asking.

I'm sorry to hear that, he said, looking like a kid, and she laughed. She knew exactly the expression he was wearing, and in her own way, she still loved him, but not enough to want to be married to him anymore. She was very much in love with Simon. And she still wasn't sure what had happened to them, but she knew that somewhere along the road, she had fallen out of love with her husband. And in spite of everything different he wanted to believe, Charlie knew that. It was just a question of learning to live with it for the next forty or fifty years. But at least now, he told himself with a rueful smile, he had Gladys ' and Sarah. But he would have traded them both for Carole in a minute. He tried not to think of her, of how she looked, of those long graceful legs, and the tiny waist that had always dazzled him, as they went on talking. She had just told him they were going to St. Moritz over New Year's.

I was on my way to Vermont, when I stopped here, he explained to her. That was five days ago, and then I met the woman who owns the chateau, and ' I'll tell you about it sometime. It was too long a saga to go into, standing at an open phone in Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts. And as he listened to her at the other end, it started snowing.

Let me know where you are, she said to him, and he frowned as soon as she said it.

Why? What difference does it make?

I just want to know you're all right, that's all. She was instantly sorry she'd said it.

I'm getting a phone and a fax next week. I'll call you when I have the numbers. At least it was an excuse to call her, but she was already starting to feel uncomfortable about the conversation, and Simon had just come into the room to see where she was. They had dinner guests, and she had taken forever.

Just fax it to my office, she said, I'll get it. But he could tell immediately that she was no longer alone, and it seemed ironic to him. A year before, she had been cheating on him with Simon, and now she was afraid to live with him and talk to her husband. It wasn't that she was afraid of him, it was that she just didn't want to, and Charlie knew that.

I'll call you sometime ' take care of yourself ' he said, feeling as though she were fading away. And she was. He could hear other people in the room now. Their guests had all come into the room where she'd been speaking. It was an informal gathering, and they had come into Simon's den after dinner to have coffee.

You too, she sounded sad as he said good-bye, and then as an afterthought, she shouted after him, Merry Christmas ' I love you, she wanted to add, but knew she couldn't. And even if Simon hadn't been there, she knew that she could no longer say that to Charlie, he wouldn't have understood it, how she could love both men, but only want to live with Simon. Charlie was like her dearest, oldest friend now. But she knew it would have been unkind to confuse him.

And after he'd hung up the phone, he stood staring at it for a long time, with tiny snowflakes swirling slowly around him. He wanted to hit something, or cry, or ask her again why it had happened. What was she doing there, at Simon's house, with his friends, pretending to be married to Simon? She was still his wife, for God's sake, the divorce hadn't gone through yet. But it would eventually, and he supposed he knew what would happen. He just couldn't bear to think about it. And he got back in the station wagon with a sigh, and drove slowly up into the hills, thinking of Carole.

He was still thinking about her when he got to the clearing where he usually left the car, and he walked through the snow back to the house he had fallen in love with. It was dark, and there was no sign of life, and he wondered if the same woman he had seen was waiting for him there. He needed something, someone, someone he could love and talk to. But all he wanted as he unlocked the door was Carole. And there was no one in the house this time. Nothing stirred, there was no sound, no apparition, no feeling. The house was empty, and he sat down in one of the few chairs he had, in the dark, looking out the window into the darkness. He hadn't even bothered to put the light on. He just wanted to sit there and think about her for a while ' the woman he had loved and lost ' and then the woman he had caught a glimpse of the night before, and could only dream of.

Chapter 6

CHARLIE WAS UP early, and feeling energetic, the day after Christmas. He was going to town with a list of things he needed to polish the floors and to clean the marble steps and the fireplaces. And before he went out to shop, he got a ladder, and let himself into the attic. It was a large, well-lit space, with four large, round windows, and he had no problem finding his way around there. There were some boxes of old clothes and things that Gladys told him she'd stored, and then, sadly, he found some of Jimmy's things, his Navy uniforms, some toys from when he was a child, and some things of Peggy's. It tore at Charlie's heart to see them. And he suspected that Gladys kept them there so she wouldn't have to come across them.

It took him an hour to go through everything, there were about a dozen small trunks and cardboard boxes. But he didn't find anything particularly interesting, and none of it appeared to have been Sarah's, and when he came back downstairs, he was more than a little disappointed. He wasn't sure what he had expected to find, but he had somehow hoped that over the years some of her things had gotten left there. But Gladys was far too neat and organized to overlook something as important as a box of Sarah's belongings. He wasn't even sure what he would have done with them, but he felt as though it might have brought him a little closer to her just to see them. He reminded himself that the woman had been gone for nearly two centuries, and if he wasn't careful, she might become an obsession with him. He had enough real problems in his life without believing in a ghost, let alone falling in love with her. How would he ever have explained that to Carole? But as it turned out, he didn't have to. He found none of her things, and he was sure from what Gladys had said that Sarah wasn't likely to appear to him again. In fact, in the clear light of day, two days afterward, he almost wondered if what he'd seen had been a figment of his imagination, a sign of the incredible pressure he'd been under, first with the divorce, and everything that led up to it, and then with his office when he left them. Maybe there had never been a woman there at all. Maybe he'd fallen asleep, and only dreamed it.

But when he stopped at the hardware store that afternoon in Shelburne Falls, he couldn't resist going to the historical society right next to it. It was a narrow shingled house that had been donated to the town years before, and housed an extensive library about local history, and a small museum. Charlie wanted to see if there were any books available about Francois or Sarah. But as he stepped inside, he was in no way prepared for the reception he got there. The woman at the desk had her back to him, and when she turned and looked at him, in spite of a face that looked like a cameo, she had eyes full of sorrow and hatred. And her response to his Good afternoon was curt almost to the point of rudeness. She looked as though she was furious at him for coming in at all, and it was obvious that she didn't want him to disturb her.

I'm sony, he apologized with a warm smile, but nothing in her eyes or face responded. He wondered if maybe she'd had a rotten Christmas, or a rotten life, but actually, he decided as he looked at her, maybe she was just a rotten person. She was a very pretty girl. She had big green eyes, and dark auburn hair, and creamy skin that went with it. She was tall and thin and her features were very delicate, and he saw, as she put her hands on the desk in front of her, that she had long, graceful fingers. But everything about her told him not to come near her. I was looking for some books on Sarah Ferguson and Francois de Pellerin, if you have anything. I'm not quite sure of the dates, but I think they lived here at the end of the eighteenth century, and she must have been around for a bit longer. I think whatever I'd want is somewhere around 1790. Are you familiar with them? he asked innocently, and she stunned him again by almost snarling at him, as she jotted down the names of two books on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

You'll find them over there. She pointed coldly at a rack of books across the room, just behind him. I'm busy right now. If you can't find them, let me know. He was really annoyed at her attitude, and it was surprisingly unlike everyone else he'd met in either Shelburne Falls or Deerfield. Everyone else seemed anxious to make him feel at home, and they'd been excited to hear he'd rented the chateau. But not this woman. She was like the kind of people he'd encountered on the subway in New York, on the rare times he'd taken it, but even they had been more pleasant.

Is something wrong? he couldn't resist asking her. It seemed impossible that she would be that disagreeable without a reason.

Why? She looked at him with eyes like green ice. In fact they were just a shade more yellow than emeralds, and he wondered what she would look like if she were smiling.

You seem upset, he said gently, his own warm, brown eyes like melted chocolate looked into her cold ones.

I'm not. I'm just busy. She turned away from him again then, and he found the two books, and leafed through them. He was planning to take them home with him, and he was curious to see if there were any drawings of either of diem, but his breath caught as he flipped through the pages of the second book, and found one. There was no question of who he had seen. The likeness was extraordinary, even the look in her eyes, the shape of her lips, the way she had seemed about to smile, or speak, or laugh at him. It was the same girl with the long black hair and huge blue eyes. It was the very same woman as the one he'd seen ' it was Sarah.

And as she turned to look at him again, the young woman at the historical society saw his look of amazement. Is she a relative? she asked, intrigued by his obvious fascination. And she felt only slightly guilty for being so short with him. But it was unusual for anyone to come in, except now and then in tourist season. Most of the time the historical society was just used as a reference library, and Francesca Vironnet had taken the job of curator and librarian because she knew she would have very little contact with people, and would have plenty of time to herself, to work on her thesis. She had earned an art history degree in France years before, and another in Italy, and she could have taught, but in recent times, she had far preferred books to people. She was proud of the historical society, kept good track of the books they kept there, repaired them when necessary, and zealously guarded the antiques that were on the second floor in the rooms designated as a museum. It was really only in summer that people came to see them.

She looked annoyed when she glanced up, and saw that Charlie was watching her with interest. She was uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and he was surprised she had even bothered to ask him a question. She seemed anything but friendly.

No, I've heard about Sarah and Fran+oois from friends, he explained. They must have been interesting people. He pretended not to notice her standoffish expression.

There are a lot of myths and legends about them, she said cautiously, trying not to appear intrigued by him. He looked intelligent and sophisticated, more like the Europeans she knew, but she resisted any impulse to get to know him. I suspect most of them aren't true. They seem to have grown larger than life in the last two centuries. They were probably very ordinary, although there's no way to prove it. It seemed a depressing outlook to him, and he hated the idea of reducing them to the size of mere mortals again. He much preferred the great passion to which Gladys had referred, the touching love story, and the courage to flaunt the mores of the times out of love for each other. He wondered what had happened to this girl to make her so angry and unpleasant. But paradoxically, in spite of her sour face and angry eyes, she was almost a beauty. Was there anything else? she asked Charlie then, as though he were a nuisance. It was obvious that she was anxious for him to leave and end their conversation. And then she told him that she was closing early.

Do you have anything else about them? Even some old books where they're mentioned? he asked stubbornly, he wasn't going to be rushed out the door just because she hated people. He had read her correctly. She loved the books and furniture and artifacts she was responsible for, and their history. But books and furniture would never hurt her.

I'll have to look into it, she said coolly. Do you have a number where I can reach you? But he shook his head in answer to her question.

Not yet. I won't have a phone till next week. Ill call you and see what you've come up with. And then, as though wanting to warm her up, though he didn't know why, except that somehow her coolness challenged him, he told her that he had just rented the house that Fran+oois and Sarah had once lived in.

You mean the chateau on the hill? she asked, intrigued this time, and her eyes warmed slightly, but only for an instant.

Tes, that one, he said, still watching her. It was as though a door somewhere had opened just a fraction of a crack, but just as quickly she had slammed it.

Have you seen a ghost yet? she asked sarcastically, amused that he was so interested in Sarah Ferguson and Fran+oois de Pellerin. It was a sweet story, but she had never paid much attention to it.

Is there a ghost? he asked casually. No one's told me about it.

I don't know. I just assumed there was. I don't think there's a house in this part of the world that doesn't claim at least one. Maybe you'll see the lovers kissing one night at midnight. She laughed at the thought, relaxing for just a fraction of an instant, and he smiled, but she looked away from him when he did. She looked frightened to see him smiling.

I'll call and let you know if I see anything. But she seemed to have lost interest. The door was not only closed, but locked and bolted very firmly. Do I need to sign the books out? he asked in a businesslike tone. She nodded and slipped a piece of paper across the desk to him, and reminded him that he had a week to return them.