The drive up to the main house is filled with the sort of light chit-chat that I’m usually terrible at, but somehow he relaxes me so I play my own part. However, I’m still relieved to see the golden bulk of the house appear in the headlights.
“It’s even more gorgeous than I remember,” he says.
I smile, unclicking my belt. “It’s a lovely looking place to be sure, but it’s more than that. It has its own atmosphere.”
“Really?”
I nod as we leave the car and the wind hits us. “It feels like home,” I say, and he smiles kindly, if a little mystified.
While he goes to the boot, I climb the steps and open the front door, darting in to switch off the burglar alarm. The house is cool and still with a faint scent of beeswax lingering on the air. I move back outside and pause on the steps while he fiddles with something in the boot. While I’m waiting, I sweep my gaze across the front of the house looking for my studio window. To my surprise there’s a light on in the window, and as I watch, a shadow moves across the glass. I narrow my eyes.Who’s in there when the house should be empty?I wonder if Niall has someone working upstairs. Maybe it’s the plumber. I feel a sinking in my spirits at the thought that my time staying with Niall might be drawing to a close.
“Everything okay?” Simeon shouts.
I look back at him. “Someone’s in the house,” I say. “Which is odd because the alarm was switched on.”
“Where?”
“There,” I gesture and stop dead because there’s no light at the window now andChi an Morappears cold and dark again as if it’s hibernating for the winter. I shake my head at my fanciful thoughts. “Never mind. I’m obviously seeing things.”
He pulls out two large packages wrapped in brown paper and when I grab one, I feel the copious layers of bubble wrap squeak under my fingers. We cart them up the steps and through theGreat Hall with me pausing every so often to switch the overhead lights on so we don’t bang into a stray suit of armour. I’ve done that once and never again. The bloody things are impossible to put back together. It had been like dismantling the LEGO Millennium Falcon and reassembling it, only for it to end up looking more like something the Wright Brothers had made as a first try.
Finally, after many stops and starts to get our breaths, we end up outside my studio.
“Wait here,” I say, opening the door. “I’ll clear the table.”
Actually, I just want a quick look at the room first because I know I saw something before. However, there’s nothing. I look in puzzlement around the well-lit room. Everything is in its place. The easel stands under the light like normal, the massive table hasn’t moved, and the racks and shelves with their bottles and small jars of jewel-coloured paint are all neat and tidy.
Then I inhale the scent of pipe tobacco and leather on the air, and when I look properly at the table I spy a few pictures on the far side. I walk over and see three of the small nude paintings I’ve been working on which have been placed carefully as though someone has been examining them.
“Lionel,” I breathe. “You dirty old bugger.”
“Everything okay, Milo?” Simeon calls with a note of concern in his voice.
I look over at him affectionately.He’s such a nice man, I think.So good-looking and concerned.At that moment the leather and tobacco smell intensifies and with a whoosh, the door slams shut in Simeon’s face.
“What the hell?” I mutter. “That’s naughty, Lionel. We don’t do that to guests. Especially paying ones who fancy me,” I whisper. The smell intensifies along with a sense of what feels very strongly like disapproval. Then the door opens again slowly.
“What the hell?” Simeon says, blinking.
“I’m so sorry,” I call. “It’s just Lionel.”
“Where is he?” he asks wildly, looking around.
“Sort of everywhere,” I mutter. “Especially if there’s a chance of him seeing something he shouldn’t.” I smile apologetically when he looks confused. “He’s one of the ghosts here.”
He looks at me as if trying to work out if I’m taking the piss. “Oneof the ghosts?”
I heft my painting up and take it over to the wide table. “Oh yes. There are a few. Lionel was an earl, so he mainly haunts this floor and the earl’s apartment. Other than that, we’ve got a maid who does the main staircase. Poor soul. When the visitors come, she gets quite upset if there’s any mess and bangs on the balustrade. And then there’s the old butler. He mainly haunts the wine cellars, which from what I hear is just death imitating life.”
“And you believe in them?” he asks carefully.
I roll my eyes, secure in the knowledge that he can’t see me with my back turned to him. “Of course. So would you if you lived here. It’s okay. They’re like part of the family, really. Apart from the butler. He seems perpetually bad-tempered, so you can have things thrown across the cellar at you if he’s in a mood.”
“Okay.” He says it slowly as if at any second I’m going to stick straws in my hair and start capering about the room. Careful, I tell myself. Keep it professional.
I turn to him and gesture for his picture. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” Between the two of us, we rip off the paper and tape and unfold the bubble wrap to reveal two very discoloured portraits. In one a lady sits in a chair with a vase of flowers next to her. That part of the painting is very dark so it’s impossible to tell what sort of flowers they are, but the delicacy of the painting is still charming. In the other, a man in Georgian dress stands next to a huge globe. Again this is yellowed and nasty-looking.
“What do you think?” Simeon asks as I run a gentle finger down the old gilt frame.
