Savage Courtship

She, too, was an only child but her parents had always made her feel all the more special for being different from them, an individual in her own right. Secure in the circle of their love, she had felt free to rebel and to assert herself, to strike out and make her own mistakes, knowing that any disappointment they felt would be for her, not with her.

‘It doesn’t show,’ she murmured.

‘I hope that was a compliment, not a comment,’ he said smoothly and she realised that he was playing with phrases from their conversation in his bedroom that morning.

‘You could always put in a manager and reap the benefits of ownership without the day-to-day hassles,’ she said, refusing to acknowledge the significance of his word-play. ‘You present the right kind of image: charming yet aloof.’

‘Why do I get the feeling that’s definitely not a compliment?’ he murmured back, not giving her time to reply. ‘Do I really come across as distant and supercilious? I’ve always thought of myself as elusive rather than aloof.’

His gaze was engagingly rueful as it met hers, as if he was aware of the inherent romanticism of his self-perception, and was faintly embarrassed by it.

‘You can certainly be very elusive when you choose to be,’ Vanessa conceded wryly, remembering the numerous times she had had to drag him out for meals. Times when he had shut himself up in his studio with his architectural computer and drawing instruments and left his guests to their own devices.

‘No more than you. We had agreed that you were going to bring me up to date on the restorations this afternoon.’

‘I was waiting for you to let me know when you were ready,’ Vanessa fibbed, conscious of Bill Jessop standing patiently by, his grey eyes bright with interest.

‘Really? Is that why I spent ages yanking those damned bell-ropes to no avail?’

Vanessa pinkened at the pleasantly accusing tone. ‘I’m sorry, I meant to warn you that the bells have been disconnected while some of the tubing is being replaced.’ The vintage mechanical system of zinc tubes encasing sliding copper wires still worked remarkably well and only one or two of the row of bells which hung in the butler’s pantry next to the kitchen had had to be replaced.

‘Mm, you obviously didn’t hear me yelling up and down the halls, either.’

Vanessa raised her eyebrows at him, knowing full well that he had done no such thing. He was too well-trained to stoop to such vulgarity.

‘Obviously not.’

‘I was beginning to feel like a wraith of my former self...drifting around an empty house with no one to acknowledge my wailing and gnashing of teeth,’ he exaggerated lazily. ‘I half expected to meet up with my golden-haired ghost again.’

‘Ghost?’ The stonemason’s ears pricked up. ‘You’ve seen a ghost?’

‘I told him about Meg,’ Vanessa cut in hurriedly, moving determinedly away from the two men in an attempt to draw them apart. ‘We won’t hold you up from your work any longer, Bill. Mr Savage—shall we start the tour in the drawing-room? It’s been papered since you were last here...’

‘I certainly saw something in my room late last night,’ Benedict said, ignoring her desperate shepherding motion. ‘If it was a ghost then she was uncannily lifelike, whoever she was. Have you ever seen this Meg?’

‘Well, not myself, no,’ Bill replied rubbing his stone-roughened hands together as if to remove a chill. ‘But then, I’ve never been here alone after dark. I’ve heard tell of some strange goings-on here over the years. Nobody had lived in the place for a couple of years before the judge bought it and it was getting pretty derelict. Personally, I don’t know if I believe in ghosts, as such...’

‘Neither did I until last night,’ said Benedict Savage drily. ‘In fact I could have sworn she was as real as you or I.’

‘Oh, it always pays to keep an open mind about such things,’ Vanessa said quickly. ‘The existence of certain psychic phenomena has been well-documented. And if any place can claim to be the site of spiritual turmoil, then Whitefield can. Meg’s wasn’t the only death by violence here over the last hundred years.’

‘You mean I may find myself visited by more apparitions?’ He sounded dismayingly intrigued by the prospect. ‘How lucky I’m not of a nervous disposition. Perhaps the Architectural Journal might be interested in a paper on the subject—the influence of the fifth dimension on architectural conservation. If all my ghosts are as beauteous and willing as the golden-haired Meg I should have no trouble in arousing interest...’

From the corner of her eye Vanessa saw Bill open his mouth to inform him that Meg had been a flaming redhead, not a blonde.

‘Yes, I’m sure the historical society would be very interested,’ she interposed brightly. Willing? What precisely did he mean by willing? ‘Miss Fisher in particular is a bit of a psychic buff. If she got to hear that you’d had a visitation from the other side, she’d be up here in a flash with her tape-recorder and psychic investigator’s handbook, haunting the place herself.’

To her satisfaction her employer blanched, but then he slanted her a keen look. ‘For a warning, that sounded distressingly close to a threat, Flynn.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she murmured with just the correct touch of haughty surprise. ‘You told me this morning that you wanted to avoid Miss Fisher and I just thought I should point out the possibility. You know how people in these small communities talk...’

‘People might, but since I know you’re an utterly loyal and devoted employee, and since Bill here doesn’t want to get fired, I don’t see how any of this conversation is in danger of leaking out.’

Instead of being offended, Bi

ll laughed. ‘I suppose I’d better get back to washing off down that south wall before you decide to fire me, anyway. Nice to see you back again, Mr Savage.’ He touched his forelock in a mock-salute as he backed towards the door. ‘See you later, Vanessa.’

‘Pleasant man,’ Benedict Savage commented, running his hand over the mortar in the joints between the grey stone blocks. ‘Does a fine job, too. Robert did well to find him.’