Secret Reflection (3 page)

The object of his thoughts returned again, clad in a white robe that scraped the floor as she moved, muttering about finding her ‘cosmo’, which was, he assumed once she’d extracted a colourful and shiny booklet from her smaller case, reading matter of sorts. He had once seen advertising for similar booklets on the viewing box in his mother’s old sitting room.

When Kelly had gone again, he took himself off to the main dining room where he knew young Martin would be about setting the table for dinner.

‘You’re kidding me, right?’ Kelly barely kept a straight face. She looked from Tom’s earnest blue eyes to Nancy’s equally serious amber ones. Neither so much as flickered an eyelid. She expected Tom to be the first to crack but he just stared back at her. She turned to Nancy with raised brows. ‘He’s kidding.’

Nancy swallowed a morsel of her bread roll before dropping the rest to her side plate. She placed her cutlery at forty-five degrees on her empty dinner plate then elegantly wiped her lips with her napkin before facing Kelly.

The smile she wore struck Kelly as a little false and inner alarm bells began to clang. ‘He’s not kidding?’ she squeaked before Nancy could open her mouth.

‘Unfortunately … not. You know me, Kel, I would never have believed it if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears. This place is either haunted, or somebody has a really sick sense of humour.’

Kelly wanted to shake her. Both of them. ‘Guys, I don’t have to tell you that there’s no such thing as ghosts. Somebody’s playing games with you.’ She slumped back in her seat and took a big gulp of wine.
End of discussion
.

‘I wish I could say so with such conviction, Kel,’ Tom said as he screwed his napkin and tossed it onto the table with an air of frustration. ‘We’ve searched the place from top to bottom and we can’t find any microphones or speakers of any kind. We’ve checked behind every painting and tapestry – and I can tell you, there are a lot of those.’

‘So I noticed,’ Kelly returned with a wry twist of her lips.

Tom cast her a look that begged forbearance before continuing, ‘The noises can be heard at all hours of the day and night. It often sounds like someone is murmuring behind the wall or talking in the next room but every time we investigate, we find nothing. I even had a security technician come in and sweep the place for devices last week, but he couldn’t find a thing.’ He slouched in his chair and twirled his wineglass.

‘If that’s the case, what do you think I can do?’

Nancy leaned closer. ‘Well … we thought … if you heard it too, and can maybe prove that it’s legitimate … that you might write a story for the newspaper and help us attract some up-market clientele.’

‘You mean to say you want me to try and prove that the place
is
haunted?’

‘About sums it up,’ Tom said.

Before Kelly could tell them both what she thought of
that
idea, Martin – who obviously covered every job to be had – entered the dining room. ‘Excuse me, Mr Wentworth. Lord Stanthorpe apologises for disturbing you but asks whether you might have a moment to sign some papers. He’s waiting out in the foyer.’

Tom grinned. ‘Sure.’ He started to rise then appeared to think better of it. ‘Why don’t you tell him to come in and join us for coffee.’ He turned to Kelly. ‘Lord Stanthorpe inherited this place but found the taxes and upkeep too much to handle, so he leased the bulk of his holdings to us for the hotel.’

Nancy patted her husband’s arm. ‘I told Kelly about Richard earlier.’

The man who entered the room a short moment later made Kelly pause mid-thought. She didn’t know why, but she’d automatically assumed a viscount would be a thick-set elderly man with a walking stick and long, mutton-chop-shaped sideburns. In contrast to her mental image, the man before her must have been all of twenty-five years old, tall and athletic, with sun-streaked blond hair. And if Kelly had to put a word to it, she’d say he was almost ‘pretty’. His mouth curved with a fleshy fullness and his lashes were far too long to belong to a man. The blue of his eyes echoed the sky on a summer morning and the indulgent smile he wore as they briefly shook hands, told Kelly he knew exactly how attractive most women found him. If she’d been ten years younger, she would probably have been breathless, but a pessimism – born of too much time spent with too many ‘beautiful people’ – had rendered her immune.

‘Very pleased to meet you, Kelly,’ he said as he pinned her to the spot with a gentle but penetrating gaze.

Kelly returned his slight smile and nodded. ‘Richard.’

After taking the seat beside her, he tasted the cup of coffee Martin handed him. ‘What, Tom … no brandy to enliven the taste of this bitter brew?’

With a laugh, Tom shook his head. ‘Sorry, my friend, I’m still waiting on that shipment from London. I do have a bottle of Chivas Regal, though, if you’d care to partake?’

‘Ah, now that is music to my ears,’ Richard said.

Tom poured Richard and himself a measure, while the ladies stuck with coffee.

‘So, Kelly,’ Richard edged closer to her as if sharing a secret, ‘Tom tells me you are going to lift the lid on our resident ghost.’

‘As I was attempting to say just before you arrived,’ she glared pointedly from Tom to Nancy then turned back to Richard, ‘I really don’t know what help I can be. I don’t believe in ghosts, therefore my aim would be to debunk whatever evidence you might think you have.’

‘But that’s the idea,’ Tom exclaimed. ‘If we can make a believer of you – we can convince anyone. The tourists will clamour to stay here if there’s a chance they’ll have a visitation from a real, live ghost.’

‘A bit of an oxymoron, don’t you think, Tom?’ Kelly raised one eyebrow for effect.

‘Oh, you know what I mean, Kel. We need an angle to get people to come out here and our ghost is a ready-made attraction.’

‘Aren’t ghosts run-of-the-mill in this part of the world?’

‘Perhaps,’ Tom replied. ‘But according to the tourist board, it is still the number one reason people holiday at places like this.’

‘Have you ever thought of putting in a nine-hole golf course? Or perhaps a kiddie park? Maybe be a little different?’ Kelly said with untempered cynicism.

‘Those things are in the works, but a ghost, a genuine ghost, will guarantee the hotel’s success. Will you do it, Kel? Can you do a serious investigation and write about it if you discover we’ve really got a ghost on our hands?’

She glanced at each expectant face in turn – even Richard seemed to want her to say yes, and she wondered whether he still had some financial stake in the place.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she savoured its warmth as she gathered her thoughts and considered what something like this could do to her journalistic reputation. Her renown had come from tackling hard-hitting issues with a fearless disregard for officialdom. But this was entirely different. And the repercussions – not only professionally, but personally – might be more than she wanted to contemplate.

‘What you’re asking is impossible – you must know that nobody has ever actually proven the existence of ghosts. If I take this on, I’d be doing everything in my power to prove it is a hoax. And if I do, what happens then? What would that do to our friendship?’

Nancy placed her hand on her husband’s arm before he could respond.

‘We’ve been the best of friends for more than fifteen years, Kel. You’ve helped me through some of the worst times of my life. If you prove that our ghost is a hoax … well … we’ll just have to make do’ – she shrugged – ‘and if that
is
the case, we certainly wouldn’t blame you for it. But if you think the task is too difficult, say so and we’ll try to get someone else to investigate.’

With a sigh, Kelly sat back and closed her eyes for a second. This wasn’t a decision she could take lightly. Leaping in too quickly had landed her in trouble before. Marriage to Frank was a prime example, she thought ruefully. She needed time to sort out her feelings.

‘Can I let you know in the morning?’

At that Tom and Nancy exchanged a rather satisfied smile, one Kelly recognised from times past. Her friends undoubtedly assumed she’d say yes. What was more, as she studied each of them in turn, she had a very strong suspicion that this whole idea was just a scheme they’d cooked up to distract her from the divorce.

She slid her chair back and stood. ‘If you’ll excuse me, jetlag is beginning to catch up. I think I’ll get an early night.’

Richard rose also. ‘Perhaps I can give you a tour of the house and estate some time tomorrow?’

Grinning, Nancy jumped in before Kelly could answer. ‘Would you, Richard? That would be very nice – you know the place so much better than we do. And we’re both going to be busy tomorrow. Tom has a meeting with the renovation crew in the morning and I have a lot of boring errands in the village.’ She turned to Kelly, ‘What do you say, Kel?’

Fait accompli
, she thought, her suspicions about her friends’ motivation already confirmed. Perhaps Lord Stanthorpe was part of their well meaning, but misguided, distraction plan. She hoped not.

‘A tour would be great,’ she replied with feigned enthusiasm; she suddenly felt incredibly tired.

‘I’ll call for you … say … around ten? Do you ride?’ Richard asked.

‘Ride? You mean a horse?’

He nodded.

‘No, I’m a real city girl, I’m afraid. The only horses I’ve ever seen were on a racetrack, and then only from a distance.’

He didn’t try to hide his disappointment. ‘We’ll take the Jeep tomorrow, then. And, if you have a mind to learn, I can teach you to ride while you’re here.’

Tom did a slight double take. ‘Didn’t you say you had to return to London on Monday at the latest?’

‘Just for the day, my dear fellow, just for the day.’

From the subtle scowl Richard sent Tom, Kelly got an uncomfortable sensation. Maybe Richard knew about the divorce and had thought up some diversionary therapy of his own. Again, she hoped not.

‘To be honest, I find horses a little scary. Jeep travel is just fine by me. Well,’ she said making for the stairs just beyond dining room door, ‘goodnight, then.’

She dashed up the staircase as if the sound of their fond ‘goodnights’ would catch her and somehow trap her there. But on the landing she halted when she noticed that the giant mirror that filled the rear wall of the landing was an enlarged replica of the one in her room.

Transfixed, she stared, not at herself, but at the reflected image of the foyer behind her. Like the mirror in her room, the image it projected seemed distorted. It gave the impression of sealing her in a claustrophobic space, as if a looming darkness wanted to shroud and oppress her. All the portraits along the wall appeared to be watching her and she couldn’t prevent the slow shiver that crept up her spine. Yet when she turned and surveyed the view directly, the feeling instantly vanished.

‘My imagination has gone into overdrive. All this nonsensical talk of ghosts is not healthy,’ she told herself out loud, not caring if her friends below could hear.

After a final glance in the mirror, she took the last few steps to the upper hall and sought refuge in her room.

John Tarrant watched as the clock slowly ticked the minutes away. Only a little more than two hours until midnight.

‘ “And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me”,’ he murmured
.

The woman, Kelly –
I must call her by name
, he reminded himself – was fast asleep. She’d returned a few moments after nine and had thrown herself fully-clothed onto the coverlet – if one could call those unbecoming faded trousers ‘clothing’. She hadn’t even
bothered removing her shoes and he marvelled at the multi-coloured, corrugated soles that faced him.

Fashion had certainly changed in the forty years since the room had last been occupied
.

In the vast silence, he studied her from head to toe. And now, as he let his gaze drift over her small body, he decided that the trousers did outline her derrière in a most enticing way.

He checked the thought instantly. Harbouring unattainable ideas was dangerous to his sanity, as he had learned so bitterly in the past. Better to concentrate on what he needed from her, not base desires that would remain unfulfilled for all eternity.

But she did look almost ethereal as shafts of moonlight struck her form.

The clock continued its relentless ticking and chimed the quarter hour. Kelly didn’t move, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to wake her when the time came. He knew she wasn’t sotted with wine, she’d barely touched her glass at dinner. But the others had commented, more than once, on how tired she looked and though he didn’t yet know her, he had to agree that a weariness seeped from her like a slow leaking wound, surrounding her with a greyish haze that only he could see.

It pleased him that the new owners wanted to commission Kelly to find him – perhaps it would make her accept him more readily.

He hadn’t been impressed when Ditchley interrupted dinner. Indeed, the last thing he needed was for Kelly to be distracted by that man’s seductive wiles. The man reminded him of many gentlemen of his previous acquaintance, all of whom drank or gambled too much, and were as insincere with their women as they were in their friendships.

While he hadn’t had much opportunity to observe the current viscount, since Ditchley spent most of his time away in London, John wasn’t sorry to see the young couple take on the running of Stanthorpe. They were a lively pair and much had already been accomplished in returning the building to its former glory. It pleased him greatly that they had opened the south wing where his mother once kept her rooms. For too long the spiders had been permitted to spin their webs uninterrupted amongst the few treasured possessions that remained.

He just prayed that the item he sought might be found in one of the many abandoned hidey-holes that riddled that section of the house.

Stanthorpe contained many Gothic revivalist features. The builder, a man of some note during the late 1700s, had added an abundance of secret places and made new entrances to passages within walls or behind the built-in furnishings. These served to aid the then viscount, Thomas Tarrant, a gentleman with a great reputation for philandering, when he had needed to make a quick exit from a guest’s bedroom.