The Ghost (34 page)

After he went upstairs, he thought about reading the journals again, but he realized he needed some breathing space from them. He was so involved with her and Francois now. They were becoming far too real to him, and all he wanted was to be with them. It wasn't healthy.

He picked up a novel that night, and forced himself to read it. But it was so dull, compared to Sarah's words, that by ten o'clock, he was sound asleep, and he stirred when he heard a sound in the room. He opened his eyes and looked around for a minute, but he was half asleep and he didn't see her. He hadn't touched the journals all week when he left the house to pick up Francesca and Monique on Saturday. He stopped by to see Gladys on the way, and gave her a book he'd been saving for her. They had a quick cup of tea, and then talked about Francesca again, and Gladys was pleased that he was seeing her again. It made her happy to know he had a friend, and she hoped to meet her one day, if Charlie continued to see her.

When he arrived at their house, Monique was wearing a bright red one-piece suit, and Francesca was looking extremely stylish in a black stretch suit. It was easy to believe she'd been a model, she was very striking. And they both looked in good spirits. They put their skis in the car, and fifteen minutes later, they were in Charlemont, and Francesca was threatening to put Monique in ski school. She didn't want her cruising all over the mountain by herself, picking up strangers. Charlie could see her point, but Monique was bitterly disappointed.

They're all terrible in ski school, she complained, no one knows how to do anything fun. I don't want to, she pouted, and Charlie felt so sorry for her he volunteered to ski with her. He had really enjoyed her. It was how they had met after all, and what had started their friendship. But Francesca didn't want to impose on him any more than they had already.

Don't you want to ski on your own? she asked him honestly, and he couldn't help noticing how green her eyes were, although he was trying not to.

She skis better than I do, he grinned, I can hardly keep up with her.

That's not true, Monique said fairly with a smile, you're pretty good. You've got good style, even on the moguls, she complimented him, and he laughed at her assessment. She definitely had her fatfier's genes, at least as far as skiing. And Charlie thought it was funny.

Thank you, miss. So, are you skiing with me? and then he turned to her mother. Would you care to join us? Or are you too expert for us? He had never actually seen Francesca ski, he realized, only her daughter.

She's okay, Monique conceded, and Francesca laughed at her, as the threesome decided to ski together that morning. But Charlie was duly impressed when he saw Francesca head down the mountain.

He didn't know if her Olympic champion ex-husband had taught her some tricks, or if she'd skied like that before him, but she was much better than she had told him. She was almost as good a skier as her daughter, though not quite as confident, and she was very humble about it. She skied with such elegance and grace that it caught several people's attention, and he could only admire her when they stopped again at the bottom.

You're very good, he said admiringly.

I like it, she admitted. We used to go to Cortina when I was a kid. My father was a great skier, but I've always been a little too cautious, she said, and Monique nodded vehemently. She liked to go a lot faster. Francesca was a woman of many charms, many talents, most of them either unsung, or hidden. She had so much going for her, and she was so unwilling to share it. It seemed a terrible waste to Charlie. But he found as the day wore on that he really enjoyed being with her. The sharpness that had so irritated him before never showed itself once, she just seemed happy and relaxed, and it was easy to see how much she loved skiing. And she enjoyed being with him too. By the time they took their last run, they felt like old friends, and looked like a family, as Monique skied in front of them. Francesca always kept an eye on her, but most of the time she skied with Charlie. And when they took off their skis at the end of the day, they stopped at the restaurant at the base for brownies and hot chocolate. Monique looked tired by then, but Francesca seemed to glow with exhilaration. Her creamy skin was warmed to a rosy color, and her eyes looked brilliant.

I had a great time, she said as she thanked him. I used to complain that the skiing isn't as good as Europe here, but I don't care anymore. I enjoy it anyway. Thank you for bringing us, she said, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and looking at him warmly.

We should try some of the other resorts near here. Or go up to Vermont. Sugarbush is pretty good skiing, he said calmly.

I'd like that, she said, before retreating into herself again, but she seemed completely at ease with him now, and she sat very close to him at the small table. He could feel her long, graceful legs next to his own, and it sent a small thrill through him. He hadn't felt that way for anyone since Carole left him. He'd been asked on a couple of dates in London, but they'd sounded awful. And he had never tried it. He knew he wasn't ready. But this woman, with her fine mind, intense shyness, and great pain, was beginning to warm him.

In fact, he hated to go back to Shelburne Falls, and he suggested dinner on the way, which Monique accepted on behalf of her mother. They stopped at the Charlemont Inn and had delicious hot turkey sandwiches with mashed potatoes, and they talked animatedly about a variety of subjects, including architecture, and they discovered that, like him, she had a passion for medieval castles. Monique was almost asleep by then, and when they went back to the car, she was yawning, and almost stumbled but Charlie caught her. It had been a long, happy day for all of them. And this time, when they reached their house, Francesca asked him if he'd like to come in and have a drink or a cup of coffee. She felt as though she had to do something to thank him.

I have to put Monique to bed, she whispered over her head, and then took her into the back of the house, to her small, cozy bedroom while he waited in the living room, and looked at the wall full of books Francesca had brought with her from Europe. There were some wonderful volumes she had collected over the years, mostly about European history, and a number of them about art, and she even had several first editions. Can you tell I'm a book freak? she said when she came back into the living room, and noticed that he had lit the fire. It was a small, comfortable room, full of well-worn things that meant something to her, most of which she had brought from Europe. It was an insight into her to see it. She had seemed so cold to him at first, so distant, but this room told a different tale, and so did her eyes when he turned and looked at her. He wasn't sure what to do now, there was something very strange and very powerful happening between them, and he knew that if he acknowledged it, she might never see him again, so he decided to ignore it. And as though to confirm that, she left the room to make coffee and he found her in the kitchen. He was very careful about what he said then. He decided that Sarah Ferguson was probably a safe subject.

I've been reading about Sarah Ferguson, he explained. She was a remarkable woman, with incredible courage. She came over on the tiniest ship I'Ve ever read about, it was an eighty-ton brig out of Falmouth, that carried twelve passengers, and it took over seven weeks to get here. I can't even imagine an experience like that. I get sick thinking about it. But she did it, and survived, and started a whole new life here. He stopped before he said any more, because he still didn't want to tell her about the journals, but Francesca looked puzzled.

Where did you read that? I'Ve never found anything like that about her, and I'Ve searched our library very thoroughly at the historical society. Did you find something about her in Deerfield?

I ' uh ' yes, I did actually. And Mrs. Palmer gave me some articles. He would have loved to tell her what he'd found, but he didn't dare yet. He was satisfied to simply talk about it with her, and they talked about Sarah's courage for a little while, and the parallels in their own lives. She had a whole new life here. Apparently, she left a terrible man in England. They exchanged a look as Francesca nodded thoughtfully. She had left a terrible man in Paris. Or maybe he wasn't even terrible after all, just stupid, like Carole. Or perhaps what their mates had found elsewhere was really what they needed to complete their own lives. It made Charlie pensive as he thought about Carole and Simon.

Do you still miss her terribly? Francesca asked gently, she could see from the look in his eyes what he was thinking.

Sometimes, he said honestly, I think I miss what I thought we had, rather than what we did have. Francesca understood that perfectly. All she could think about with Pierre afterward, was the happiness of the beginning and the horror of the ending, never the ordinary reality of the middle, which had been most of it, but that seemed to have been forgotten.

I think we all do that, she agreed with him, we remember the fantasy we create rather than the reality we lived with, whether that fantasy was beautiful or ugly. I'm not sure I even remember who Pierre was anymore, just the man I came to hate in the end, whoever he was.

I suppose I'll get that way eventually with Carole. Even now, some of it gets a little hazy. Everything seemed either better or worse than it had been, and sometimes he could see that. And then he thought about Sarah again. You know, the remarkable thing about her, he said to Francesca thoughtfully, was that she fell in love all over again, with the Frenchman. From everything I've heard, the important part of her life was with him. Even after everything that happened to her, she wasn't afraid to start over. I admire that, he said with a small sigh, but I'm not sure how to do it.

I couldn't, Francesca said firmly, it was a confirmation of everything she'd said to him already. I know myself well enough to know that.

You're too young to make a decision like that, Charlie said sadly.

I'm thirty-one, she said firmly. That's old enough to know you don't want to play again, ever, and I don't.I wouldn't survive the hurt next time. And although he still felt an attraction between them that couldn't be denied, he also knew she was telling him not to try it. And if he did, she was fully prepared to run out of his life forever. He had heard the warning, very clearly.

I think you have to think about that, Francesca. It made him want to give her the journals to read, but he wasn't ready to tell her about them. And he realized that maybe he never would be. He still felt very private about them, and he would have had to be very close to her to share them.

Believe me, I've thought about nothing but for the past two years, she said sternly, and then she asked him a strange question and he wasn't sure how to answer. Are you sure you've never seen her ' Sarah, I mean ' with all the stories you hear about ghosts ' and spirits living in houses, in this part of the world, it's hard to imagine that you haven't. Have you, she persisted with a smile, seen her ghost ' ? She was looking straight at him as he denied it, and he wondered if she believed him.

No, I haven't ' I ' He hated lying to her, but he was afraid to tell her what he had seen for fear she'd think he was crazy. I ' I've heard some noises a couple of times. But I don't think it's anything. I think that's all local legend. Her eyes searched his, and she smiled a funny little smile, that made him want to lean over and kiss her, but he knew he couldn't.

I'm not sure I believe you, and I don't know why. You seem amazingly well informed about her ' why is it that I think there's something you're not telling me? she asked pointedly in a sexy voice, and he laughed nervously, and wondered how she knew he was lying.

Whatever it is I'm not telling you has nothing to do with Sarah, he said, sounding husky, and they both laughed. But he reassured her again after that that he had seen nothing. I'll be sure to let you know if I do though. You know, Ghost-Watch. He was teasing her, and she laughed, and she had never looked prettier as she did it. When she relaxed a little bit, she was so beautiful and so warm and so appealing, but the door always slammed shut just before he could reach her. It drove him crazy.

I'm serious, she insisted. You know, I believe in that. I think there are spirits around us sometimes, and we're not aware of them. But we could be, if we paid attention. He was fascinated by the earnestness with which she said it.

I'll have to go home and concentrate, he said, still teasing. Any suggestions about how I do it? A Ouija board maybe, or just meditation?

You're impossible, she said. I hope she wakes you up from a sound sleep, and scares you.

Now, there's an appealing thought. I'll have to sleep in your living room tonight if you make me too nervous. But somehow she didn't believe that he was susceptible to that kind of terror, although he would have loved an invitation. And when he finally did leave, he wasn't sure what to say to her. He could feel the attraction between them again. It was so powerful, but so unspoken.

And then he decided to brave it, and invite her to spend the next day with him, and her daughter. It was Sunday. But she was quick to decline the invitation. They were getting too friendly.

I can't. I've got some work to do on my thesis, she said, averting her eyes so she didn't have to look at him.

That doesn't sound like much fun, he said sympathetically, looking disappointed.

It isn't fun, she acknowledged, and she could have put it off. But she didn't want to. He was becoming a threat now. She was much too comfortable with him. But I really have to do it.

You could come to my place and we could go ghost-hunting, he teased, and she laughed at him.

That's a difficult invitation to resist, but I'd better stick to my books. I haven't done much lately. Maybe some other time, but thank you.

She stood in the doorway and watched him go, and he thought of her all the way home, sorry that he hadn't just grabbed her and kissed her. But he knew full well how dangerous that would have been. He would never have seen her again. And yet, he could feel an incredible tension between them. And when he got home, and walked around his empty house, thinking about her, and not Sarah for once, he was really bothered that she hadn't accepted his invitation for Sunday. They had such a good time together, she had no right to shut him out. Besides, he even liked her kid, and it was obvious how much Monique enjoyed him. He sat there, muttering to himself about it, and then finally, he couldn't help himself. He picked up the phone and called her. It was midnight, and he wasn't even sure he cared if he woke her, although he was sure he wouldn't. He had just left her.