Page 103 of A Good Heart is Hard to Find
‘Orla explained to me about the slave auction. She said you were going to frighten the guests, that’s all.’
‘Perhaps you should let Pa come up, he’d frighten them even more,’ Isuggested.
‘I’m hoping that I’ll manage to get hold of Jane on the phone tomorrow and then they will have to admit she isn’t here and we can all go home. After all, I’ve been away for days and I’ve got a business to run.’
‘And mountains to climb,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll give you a ring at Orla’s tomorrow and see if you’ve succeeded.’
‘Right.’ He downed the rest of his pint and got up. ‘I’d bettergo before they miss me.’
I fished in my bag and handed him an Extra Strong Mint. ‘Here – suck this on the way back, or you’ll be excommunicated for devil-brew drinking.’
Orla and Jason seemed to be having a promising quarrel, so I just slipped out and walked slowly back. I was tempted to return to my cottage for a while, since Pa’d already visited it so it should be safe; but then thought itwould be just like him to sneak back later and try and catch me out.
On the way up the drive the two male Spectrologists, Mr Shakespeare and the Birthday Bream, passed me, going the opposite way, probably heading for the graveyard and other haunts.
They didn’t see me, since I stepped into the bushes when I heard them coming. If I was going to appear as a ghost later, I thought it better thatthey didn’t see me by moonlight now in case it gave them suspicious ideas.
I wondered what Mr Bream would think of his singing telegram. And what would Mrs Bream think of the change of character? Marilyn Monroe is one thing, and Barbarella is quite another. Especially Orla’s version of her.
I went round to the kitchen, which was empty and quiet apart from the dishwasher chugging away under thecounter, and Dante sitting morosely at the kitchen table with a glass of red wine and a copy ofBritain’s Most Haunted Houses.
He frowned at the sight of me and snapped: ‘Where have you been?’
‘My bondage doesn’t start until midnight,’ I pointed out. ‘But if you really want to know, I’ve been down to the pub for something to eat and to talk to my brother Francis.’
‘Oh … sorry,’ he muttered.‘Have a glass of wine?’ He pushed the bottle towards me and I noticed that his greeny-blue eyes glittered a bit.
I held the bottle up to the light, and there wasn’t a lot in it. ‘Have you drunk all this?’
‘Yes. I needed something to take the taste of guilt out of my mouth.’ He got up and opened another bottle and handed it to me as if he expected me to drink it straight down like a wino.
‘You’venothing to be guilty about,’ I said, opening and shutting cupboard doors until I found a glass, because I’m not one to leave a man to drink alone – though you’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now withthisone.
‘I have at least one outstanding guilty verdict against me, according to my delightful former mother-in-law. She’s demanding we hold a seance here – one last one – and if I co-operateand Emma doesn’t contact her she will give up and leave me alone.’
‘So what did you say?’
‘That I wouldn’t do it. I’ve already done everything she asked me, even though I knew it was all dangerous nonsense. But Reg – who is an inoffensive little man, too good for her – is afraid she’ll work herself up into a full-blown heart attack if I don’t agree. And I suspect she’ll try and hold one secretlyanyway, even if I refuse.’
‘I share your feelings about seances and that sort of thing, though probably for different reasons. But maybe it would be worth it just to get her off your back once and for all?’ I suggested. ‘Hopefully, no harm will come of it, but if it does, we’ll get the vicar to come in with bell, book, and candle and sort it out.’
‘I said I’d sleep on it, in the end,’ he said,running his fingers distractedly through his dark hair. That was probably as close to being combed it had come to for some time, and it all instantly sprang back into a wild mane anyway.
Getting up he poured us both more wine. It was good stuff.
‘Have you been in the cellar again?’ I asked, but unfortunately my innocent remark brought a reminiscent glint to his eyes, and also seemed to remindhim that he had a grievance or two against me.
‘I’m afraid so,’ he said gravely. ‘And neither of us will be doing much sleeping tonight. Or tomorrow night.’
‘Oh?’ I stared at him, my glass halfway to my lips. ‘We won’t?’
‘No, we’ll be a-haunting. I’ve told the Breams and Mr Shakespeare about Betsy’s midnight runner and the haunted rose garden and they’re all agog.’
‘I didn’t agree to do Betsy!’
‘But I thought you were going to do anything I wanted?’ he said. ‘Though I’ll let you off nude: I’ve put some floaty white ghost clothes on your bed that should look pretty effective. You can run down the corridor looking as if you’re silently screaming and terrified.’
If he carried on looking at me like that I might beloudlyscreaming and terrified.
