Penmort Castle (38 page)

“Really?” Abby
asked, not convinced.

Cassandra
nodded. “Really. The story goes that the McPhersons have been
hunting ghosts successfully,
very
successfully, for
generations.”

“Twelve, to be
exact,” Angus put in, mouth full.

“Twelve
generations?” Fenella whispered.

“Aye,” Angus
answered. “Proud. Stalwart. Strong. The McPhersons,” he proclaimed
these words like he’d said them a million times before. “Never saw
a ghost I feared, and I’ve seen some nasty pieces of work, make
no
mistake. Started training when I was eight, never looked
back.”

All the women
stared at him speechless until Mrs. Truman broke the silence.

“So what you’re
saying is, this
gentleman
,” Mrs. Truman made the word
“gentleman” sound like saying it caused physical pain, “knows what
he’s doing?”

“If the stories
are true, which apparently they are,” Cassandra said, “then
yes.”

“Been wanting a
crack at Vivianna Wainwright since Anthony Beaumaris approached me
the week before he died to ask me to have a go at her,” Angus
informed them and all the women pulled in breath at this shocking
revelation. “His brother wouldn’t let me near the castle after he
died, though.” Then Angus finished in an undertone, “Something
wrong with that one. Bad seed.”

Abby’s eyes
moved to Fenella who, luckily, didn’t appear to hear Angus’s
last.

“Fraser’s
father asked you to deal with Vivianna?” Mrs. Truman asked.

Angus shoved
the last bite of scone in his mouth, nodding, chewing and wiping
his mouth before he spoke again. “Didn’t want his woman and son in
the castle with Vivianna around. Anthony loved her, intended to
marry her, knew Vivianna would take her out.”

Abby stared at
the Scotsman. “But I thought that Anthony didn’t want to marry
Myra. I thought –”

“Aye, he did,
lass, told me himself,” Angus interrupted her. “He was an
interesting character, Anthony, not an easy man to like. But he
knew what he wanted and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in
his way. Not her illness, not a ghost. He fully intended to take
care of her and his boy.” Then Angus shook his head and finished
softly. “Shame he never got the chance.”

Abby felt her
heart squeeze and her eyes flew to Jenny. “Cash doesn’t know this.
I’m certain he doesn’t.” Jenny was giving her a look that said,
clearly, it was none of her business, but Abby’s gaze swung back at
Angus. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

“I’ll tell
him,” Angus offered immediately.

“No!” Abby
cried and then put her hands to her mouth, feeling her pulse beat
in her throat. Her mind flying in a million different directions,
she dropped her hands and continued. “Cash doesn’t know about
Vivianna and I don’t want him to know. Not yet,”
or ever
,
Abby thought but didn’t say out loud. “I don’t want him to know
about you. I mean, who you are, what you do. He’ll think you’re
nuts. He’ll think
I’m
nuts. If he hears this, he won’t
listen to anything you say. Maybe we can find a way for you two to
meet that doesn’t involve ghosts and ghost hunting and, whatever,
and you can tell him.”

And, if Abby
was able to finagle a meeting between Cash and Angus, she might
suggest Angus lose the kilt.

Angus shrugged.
“However you want to do it, love. Some folks believe. Some folks
need to see to believe. Some folks need their loved ones hurled off
the top of a castle by a spirit-bitch-from-hell to believe.” When
Abby’s mouth dropped open, her racing pulse stopped dead and her
breath caught in her lungs, Angus leaned in and gave her a merry
wink. “We’ll see that last one doesn’t happen to you.”

Bloody
hell,
Abby thought.

* * * * *

Abby stood at
Cash’s bathroom sink, eyes on the medicine cabinet and she stared
at her bottles and tubes which were intermingled with the Cash’s
limited toiletry collection.

This vision
stirred many feelings in her, too many, both good and bad.

Indeed, she had
too many things on the whole to think about, not just feelings,
everything
.

She tried to
prioritise them.

After about two
seconds, she realised this was impossible.

Instead, she
decided not to think at all. She’d think about everything later.
Tomorrow, or the next day, or after she was certain she wasn’t
going to be hurled off the top of a castle by a
spirit-bitch-from-hell.

So she closed
the medicine cabinet door and saw herself standing there, wearing
another one of the nightgowns Cash gave her. This one was a
dusty-pink satin with ultra-thin straps that went over her
shoulders and criss-crossed to hold together the sides of a
dipped-low back. The hem fell to just above her knee and the satin
hugged her body closely but not uncomfortably, like it had been
made for her.

She loved it.
It was elegant and graceful and the satin felt like heaven against
her skin.

Still, it
wasn’t the kind of thing you slept in. It was too delicate. She’d
worry all night that she’d snap one of the straps or something.

But Cash had
bought it for her obviously wanting her to wear it.

Since she was
his… whatever... she didn’t know if she could say no.

And she wasn’t
going to ask.

So she was
wearing it.

She walked to
the door, opened it and turned out the light.

Both lights
were lit on either side of the bed. Cash was on top of the covers,
legs out, ankles crossed, shoulders against the headboard, laptop
on his thighs. He was wearing a pair of black, drawstring pyjama
pants and his glasses.

He looked
good.

His eyes came
to her and he smiled.

That made him
look even better.

Abby sighed and
walked to her side of the bed.

She slid under
the covers and her eyes caught on her hand cream that was sitting
on her bedside table.

Her side of the
bed. Her hand cream. Her bedside table. All in Cash’s house.

Instead of
thinking about how this made her feel, she reached for the hand
cream and opened it.

Abby was on her
side, her back to him and she heard Cash speak, “Darling, can I ask
a favour?”

A favour?

Could he ask a
favour?

Or, if he was
giving her a monthly instalment on which to live, and didn’t want
her to work, was she essentially still working for him? Not as an
escort, pretend girlfriend and glorified whore but as his mistress
which could be considered a real girlfriend but was also kind of a
glorified whore.

While she was
struggling with this, Cash called, “Abby.”

She rolled to
her back but her head turned to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear
me?” he asked.

She looked away
and squirted the lotion in her hands while mumbling, “Sorry, miles
away.”

She put the cap
back on, returned the tube to the nightstand and rubbed the lotion
in her hands.

When she was
done, Cash demanded softly, “Abby, come here.”

She looked at
him again and he lifted his arm out in invitation.

She accepted
and scooted under the covers toward him. When he had her close, his
arm bent and he skilfully tucked her into his side, her cheek on
his ribcage, and his fingers cupped her shoulder.

“You with me?”
he asked quietly.

She nodded and
stared at the screen of his laptop which showed a complicated,
multi-coloured pie chart with lots of numbers, words and arrows
pointing at wedges of the pie.

“Now can I ask
you to do something for me?” he enquired.

“Sure,” she
told him.

His fingers
gave her a squeeze and Cash continued speaking gently, “Next time
we go out to dinner, don’t have a cream tea at Mrs. Truman’s in the
afternoon. You barely touched your dinner.”

Abby continued
to stare at the pie chart.

It was true,
she’d barely touched her dinner.

And it wasn’t
just dinner. It was a
special
dinner. It was a special,
celebratory
dinner.

She hadn’t
known that when she got all dressed up. She hadn’t known that when
Cash had taken her to a beautiful, romantic inn in the country.
She’d begun to realise it when she saw they had a booking and were
led to a secluded table with the champagne already chilling in a
stand at the table’s side. She knew it for certain when they didn’t
order but were served a pre-ordered, delectable meal of lobster,
shrimp and avocado salad followed by individual beef wellingtons
and finished with decadent, rich, dark chocolate pots.

Cash didn’t
declare his undying love, give her a bouquet of the finest roses,
nor did he hand her another velvet box containing expensive
jewels.

Nevertheless,
his point had been made.

Beautifully.

Unfortunately,
that afternoon, Abby was suffering a mini-nervous breakdown after
all that had befallen her. It was the kind of mini-nervous
breakdown which every girl knew could be staved off by engaging in
an eating frenzy. Therefore, she followed her first scone, which
was more than enough, with another one.

During dinner,
she’d also had her mind on a million things, starting with her
grandmother’s house being torn apart and ending on the possibility
of her body flying apart when it landed at the bottom of Penmort
tor.

Therefore, she
had barely touched her delicious, special, celebratory meal.

“Sorry,” she
muttered and put her hand on Cash’s stomach.

His fingers
gave her shoulder another squeeze just as Abby felt Zee’s kitty
body land on the bed.

Her cat
cautiously walked across the bed and stopped. Likely considering
his options, he chose Abby’s ankle and deposited himself half-on,
half-off it.

Then he started
purring loudly.

Abby relaxed
into Cash’s side and her hand slid from his stomach to wrap around
his waist.

Cash’s left
hand moved across the touchpad and clicked the buttons while the
fingers of his right hand started to stroke Abby’s shoulder.

Abby watched
the chart disappear and a spreadsheet with an insane amount of
data, including words and numbers, came up. Cash scrolled through
it so fast there was no way he could read it. Abby certainly
couldn’t. But he clicked it closed and then pulled open another one
which had more columns, more rows, more words and big numbers.

He started to
scroll through that at alarming speed and Abby called, “Cash?”

She meant to
ask him about his work, particularly why he did so much of it.

But when he
replied, “Yes?” for some reason she didn’t ask.

Instead, she
forged on to an even less comfortable subject. “Um, can I tell you
something?”

His finger on
the touchpad froze and he murmured, “Anything, darling.”

She pushed up
on a hand and turned to look at him. His eyes caught hers and his
hand slid around to rest on the back of her neck.

“Promise you
won’t get mad?” she asked.

His fingers
gave her a squeeze before he assured, “Promise.”

She bit the
side of her lip and watched as, behind his glasses, his eyes fell
to her mouth and something changed in his face. She couldn’t put
her finger on it but it looked like humour mixed with warmth.

“I asked Mrs.
Truman to dinner,” she admitted and he’s eyes moved directly back
to hers.

“I’m sorry?” he
asked.

“Tomorrow,” she
went on.

“Abby –” he
started.

She pushed back
and blurted, “I know I should have asked before making plans and I
know Mrs. Truman can be a pill, but she was angry about the workmen
making noise and demanding to phone you at the office. I had to do
something!”

Abby was, of
course, making it sound like she was protecting Cash, rather than
deliberately throwing him under the bus which had been her earlier
motivation but she thought that was the best way to go.

“It’s fine,
Abby,” Cash told her.

“Well, um… I’m
not done.”

Cash just
looked at her, silent.

Abby went on.
“Fenella was there and Mrs. Truman invited her along.”

Cash’s brows
drew together.

Abby soldiered
forth. “Then she invited Cassandra then Jenny.”

Cash’s eyes
narrowed.

“Then Fenella
called Nicola and she invited her.”

Cash stared at
her a moment then closed his eyes and sighed.

“And Nicola
asked Honor,” Abby finished on a whisper.

Cash’s eyes
opened and pinned her to the spot.

Then she tried
to put a positive spin on things. “Suzanne can’t make it.”

“Well thank God
for that,” Cash remarked dryly and Abby bit her lip again.

“I’m sorry,
Cash. It mushroomed out of control before I could –” Abby stopped
talking when Cash’s arm suddenly curled about her waist and he
pulled her close so her torso was resting on his, their faces
barely an inch apart.

“Stop saying
you’re sorry,” he muttered.

“Okay,” she
breathed.

“It’s fine,” he
told her.

“I’ll do all
the shopping,” she babbled on, even though he said it was fine,
“and cooking. And I’ll try to get them to go home early so you can
get work done, if you have things to do.”

He blinked
slowly, as if she’d somehow surprised him and even though she
thought this was strange, she kept right on going.

“Just, you
know, find a way to take me aside and give me a warning when you
get home, if you have things to see to that is. I’ll take care of
it so you can get away. Promise.”

He stared at
her for a moment she could swear like she was some strange but
wonderful, fantastical being.

Then he bent
his neck and touched his mouth to hers.

Something about
his kiss was different.