LOVE'S GHOST (a romance)
Read LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) Online
Authors: T. S. Ellis
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal Romance, #Romantic Suspense, #Fiction
LOVE'S GHOST
Many of us are haunted by the love that got away. By the relationship that should have worked out but didn't. Or by the chance we should have taken but couldn't. We love, we learn, we move on — or we will remain haunted.
Fay Brockway is a booker in the fashion industry. Life was looking good for Fay. She was secure in her job, secure in her relationship. Then her partner of seven years, Russell Hyde, got the jitters and suggested a temporary break. Fay is devastated but is determined that they will reunite.
But during their break, Fay meets a famous artist, Carl Rask. He’s different from any man she’s met — intense and compelling. He lives life to the full, whether he's painting or dating. He even has his own flotation room. But Carl has his issues — an ex-wife and an ex-girlfriend share a tragic history. Their misfortunes have affected Carl very deeply.
Fay is torn between the present and the past. Should she return to a comfortable life with Russell? The man who knows her inside and out. Or pursue a future with the mercurial Carl? A man who could provide her with the most sensual experiences of her life but is highly unpredictable.
Who will she choose? And will the decision come back to haunt her?
Love's Ghost is a tumultuous ride, an emotional rollercoaster. You will find yourself in Fay's shoes, willing her to go one way or the other.
Love’s Ghost
by
T. S. Ellis
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may by liable in law accordingly.
Copyright © Mark Capell 2014
Mark Capell has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First published by The Creative Criteria 2014
Artwork and e-book coding by The Creative Criteria.
“IT’S THE LETTER ’T’ that’s coming through to me.”
I tried hard to suppress a fit of the giggles. I hadn’t known what to expect of Psychic Night at the café. But the psychic was so over the top, it was hard not to laugh.
“No, it’s not the letter ’T’, it’s a ‘P’. Yes, it’s a ‘P’. I do believe it’s a ‘P’ that I need. Has anybody in this room lost a ‘P’?”
I grabbed my napkin, quickly stuffed it into my mouth, and bit down on it hard. My shoulders shook, the laughter trapped inside but trying desperately to escape.
My friend Emily, sitting opposite me at our table, wasn’t helping. She’d tried a different tactic to stop herself laughing. She’d taken the last of her chocolate cake and stuffed it into her mouth, doubling the size of her cheeks.
This only added to my mirth. My shoulders heaved at Emily’s efforts to prevent herself from both laughing and choking at the same time. It was so hilarious. If the psychic didn’t stop soon, both Emily and I would provide the “P”, pee ourselves laughing.
“Nobody? Nobody knows a ‘P’? Somebody must know a Paul? How about a Pauline?” The psychic’s tightly curled white hair seemed to glow, lit by the Victorian-style wall lamp which made this café feel like a trip back in time. The psychic had gone to town, wearing a brown kaftan that was draped in pearl necklaces. She looked every inch like somebody born to talk to the
other side
.
“Would you stop it?” I whispered to Emily, while trying not to laugh. But I wasn’t sure whether my friend could hear me. The words were muffled because I was still biting down on the napkin for all I was worth. And even if Emily could understand my words, there was probably nothing much she could do. We were both trying to stop laughing. But the more we tried to stop, the more we wanted to laugh.
Eventually, Emily forced out some words. “Oh, Fay, stop.” But that was just a cue for more laughter. She took her own napkin and buried her face in it.
“I know a Peregrine,” I whispered to her.
For Emily, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. From behind the napkin veil, a loud snort flew from her nostrils, and I watched her head vibrate hysterically.
“What was that dear?” Unfortunately, we’d attracted the attention of the psychic. She glided over to us, the fabric of her kaftan swirling, making its own breeze.
She stopped right by our table. “No, it’s not a Peregrine.” Oh no, she’d heard my words. She wasn’t having much luck communicating with the dead, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing. I sank further into my chair, hoping that the other twenty or so guests weren’t all staring at us. But of course, they were.
I stopped laughing, the unwanted attention bringing an immediate halt to my giggles. Emily couldn’t stop herself. She turned to face the wall, away from the psychic. Her shoulders jiggled uncontrollably.
But the psychic wasn’t looking at Fay or me. Her head was tilted upwards, as if addressing the spirits. “I do sense energy from this table. A great deal of energy.”
I couldn’t help but follow the psychic’s gaze up to the ceiling. It needed repainting.
The psychic stopped staring at the ceiling and looked down at me. She had the hairiest nostrils I’d ever seen. Perhaps the hair acted as antennae to the spirit world. “You, dear.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. There is a great deal of psychic energy coming from you. It’s pouring out in billowing clouds. Auras tumbling over one another.”
I gulped. “Really?”
Emily finally controlled her giggles by blowing her nose as hard as she could. She turned towards me. “It’s that new perfume you’re wearing.”
And she was off again. Emily tried to hide her face in the napkin, but remembered that she had just emptied the contents of her nose into it. That just made me want to laugh again. I slid the napkin up to the side of my mouth and chomped down on it.
The psychic was oblivious to her subject’s uncontrollable fit of giggles, though a couple of the other guests frowned in abject disapproval.
The psychic waved her hands around as if trying to grasp things out of the air. Her hand wafted by my ear, making me recoil in my seat.
“Speak to me clearly,” said the psychic. But she wasn’t talking to me, or anybody else in the room. “What is it that you have to tell me about this young woman?”
I didn’t feel like laughing now. I love going to any kind of show. Live entertainment is always more fun that watching TV, but I’ve always felt uncomfortable whenever a performer asks for a volunteer from the audience. At that moment, I’ve always tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. But this night, I couldn’t avoid being the stooge.
“Hello, Bill,” the psychic said, to no one in particular.
Who’s Bill?
I thought. I’d never known a Bill. But I didn’t want to interrupt the psychic, who was in full flow.
“You are undergoing a change in your life,” said the psychic, looking down at me again. “A great change. But you must be strong. You are weak, but you must be strong.”
My jaw dropped. What a load of nonsense. I bet she uses that line at every seance she holds. I’d read up on the techniques a lot of these so-called psychics use. I was fully conversant with their cold reading skills.
But although I did feel a little shy, a little cynical, a little put on the spot, I couldn’t resist delving for more information. “What do I have to be strong about?”
The psychic peered down at me dismissively, obviously annoyed at the interruption. “In love, of course, my dear. In love. You must be stronger in love.”
Oh please
, I thought. She’d obviously decided to single out two of the youngest women in the room. What are the odds of their love lives not always running to plan? Love lives that are full of ups and downs? Pretty good odds, I’d guess, of any woman in her twenties. And don’t we all wish we were stronger in love? I mean, who doesn’t? But you have to compromise. The practical realities of maintaining a relationship lead to compromises. Strong in love, indeed.
Emily stopped giggling and raised an eyebrow at me. Then she had the affront to nod in agreement with the psychic. She’d gone from laughing at the psychic to agreeing with her. I was dying to tell her to stop. I didn’t need her to gang up with this charlatan and harangue me.
“The voices are fading,” said the psychic. “The voices are fading.”
That’s fortunate
, I thought.
Then the psychic laid a hand on my shoulder. “Promise me, my dear, that you will be stronger in love.” I found myself doing something I didn’t want to do. Just like Emily, I nodded at the psychic, offering the gesture as a promise. I hoped that, by nodding, the psychic would move along to her next subject. Nevertheless, I hated myself for doing it.
I glanced at the other diners in the restaurant. They gave me reassuring nods and kindly smiles. It was as if they now thought they knew me, and were pitying me for my lack of spine in romantic matters, which wasn’t fair. But I suppose they meant well.
“Shall we go?” I whispered to Emily.
“Oh, why? It was just getting interesting.”
“It’s okay for you.”
I put my napkin down on the table and stood up as quietly, as discreetly, as I could. I grabbed my coat, draped on the back of my chair, and put it on.
Emily was slow to catch on. But when she did, she too stood up and put on her coat.
“Now, the letter ‘Y’ is coming through to me.” The psychic was moving between the tables on the other side of the restaurant. Unfortunately, the restaurant wasn’t big enough for our movement not to disrupt the psychic’s performance. All eyes were back on me. I tried not to glance at the other diners. But I could still see them, in my peripheral vision, nudging each other to point out that I was leaving — evidence that I had been greatly moved by the psychic’s powers.
I tried to push my chair back under the table as quietly as I could, as I waited for Emily to finish putting on her coat.
But I wasn’t quiet enough.
The psychic turned about and looked straight at me. “You’re not leaving are you, dear?”
I was flustered. “Er… yes. Sorry. Nothing personal. We’ve got to go. We don’t want to miss our bus.” We’d travelled to the restaurant in my car.
“Very well. But don’t forget, will you?”
“No,” I muttered under my breath.
As soon as Emily finished buttoning up her coat, I headed for the door. I could almost hear the whispers of concern from the remaining audience, which had the effect of lengthening my stride. Emily scurried behind to keep up.