Twisted (47 page)

“Oh . . . lovely,” Karen murmured softly. Her voice was hushed as if she were in a museum. She began to smile as she followed Rob Comstock up the circular staircase and viewed the second floor. Huge, airy bedrooms with polished oak moldings, a separate dressing room in the master suite with an ancient claw-footed dresser dominating the space—-the interior was just as she had imagined. If only they could afford it.

“The furniture on the third floor is included.” He was speaking to her now and Karen smiled. Rob Comstock could see she was interested. There was no denying Karen's excitement as she stepped up on the third-floor landing and saw what must have been the original ballroom, filled with old furniture covered by drop-cloths. What she wouldn't give to poke under the shrouded shapes and see the intriguing pieces that were stored and forgotten in this enormous shadowed space.

A small staircase with a door at the top led to the cupola and Leslie was scrambling up before Karen could caution her to be careful. The steps were safe enough. The whole house seemed untouched by time, waiting for some new owners to love and nourish it, to bring it back to life again. Karen could imagine it was almost the same as it had been when the original occupants left, with only a bit of dust and cobwebs covering its intrinsic beauty.

“Plenty of real antiques up here, I'll bet!” Rob Comstock was speaking to her, but Karen only half heard him. She anticipated squeals of delight from Leslie over the view that stretched in all directions from the windowed cupola. Strange that there was only silence overhead.

Karen excused herself reluctantly. “I'd better go up and check on Leslie.” A prickle of anxiety invaded her mind as she started up the narrow staircase into the dusty silence.

Karen was convinced there was something wrong when she reached the landing and pushed open the door to the cupola. Leslie was standing at one of the twelve narrow windows, staring out blankly. She looked preoccupied and started as Karen spoke her name.

“Kitten? What's the matter?” The still, stiff way Leslie was standing made Karen terribly nervous. She rushed to put her arms around her daughter.

“Huh? Oh . . . nothing, Mom.” Leslie gave her a funny, lopsided smile. She looked miserable. “I'm afraid Mike won't buy it!” There was a quaver in her voice. “This house is perfect for us, Mom. We just have to live here!”

“Now, don't be silly, darling.” Karen gave her a quick squeeze. “This is the first house we've seen and it really is awfully large for us. We'll probably see other houses you like just as much.”

“No! We have to live here in this house!” Leslie's voice was stronger now and pleading. “You know it's the right house, Mom. We can't live anywhere else. This house was built just for us!”

“I think you should have Mr. Comstock's job.” Karen said, smiling down indulgently. “You're an even better salesman than he is. But really, kitten, we have to be sensible. I know you love this old house and I do, too, but the final decision is Mike's.”

Karen was firm as she turned Leslie around and guided her toward the stairs. “Come on now, honey. We have to get back downstairs before it gets dark. The power's not turned on, you know.”

“But you'll help me convince Mike to buy it, won't you, Mom?” Leslie asked insistently, stopping at the top step. “You know it would be perfect for us.”

“Yes, I'll help you, silly,” Karen promised, brushing a wisp of silvery-blond hair out of Leslie's eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief as her daughter smiled fully and hurried down the stairs in front of her. Leslie would be persistent and she might just manage to convince Mike. Leslie was right. It was almost as if the house had been waiting all this time just for them.