“I’ll wake you up when the lawyer arrives,” he promised, pushing down on my shoulders until I sat on the bed, and tucking my feet up under me. It was easier to go with him than to fight him, and before I could even object, I was curled up in bed with Edward tucking me in.
Not exactly how I’d imagined any potential next meeting between us where there was a bed involved.
Bending down, he kissed my forehead, staying there just a moment too long. Long enough for me to breathe in the scent of him, soak in the warmth of his lips.
Then he pulled away, and I realised my eyes were closing.
“I’ll be back before lunch,” he said, and my eyes flickered open long enough to see his long, lean form moving away from the bed, towards the door.
I was asleep before I heard it close.
Chapter Eight
Item 7: Ghosts
There are lots of different sorts of ghosts – poltergeists, crisis apparitions, vengeful ghosts – even ghosts who don’t know they’re dead yet.
I think the Rose Garden ghost must be a ghost with unfinished business.
I wonder if Granddad will be one too.
Excerpt from Caroline Ryan’s List of the Unexplained (with notes)
I woke to Edward’s hand on my shoulder, and a fresh glass of water on the bedside table.
“Pat Norris just pulled up,” he murmured, his voice bedroom soft. It made me want to reach my arms around his neck and kiss him again, but I managed to restrain myself. “I’m just going to round up the others.”
I nodded, and struggled to sit up as he left again, as quietly as he’d come.
I washed and changed clothes quickly, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt from my case. My make-up had worn away hours before, and my eyes were too sore from all the crying to think about redoing it. I ran a brush through my hair and called it job done.
Downstairs, I found the family all nervously perched around the drawing room, sipping tea and not eating biscuits.
“How about some anniversary cake, Pat,” Dad tried, but Nathaniel’s lawyer shook his head. He was, very clearly, here for one purpose only, and keen to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. I didn’t blame him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend the day with my family in their current temper, either.
“Shall we begin?” he asked, and we all nervously nodded, except for Isabelle, who continued to stare out of the window as if none of it mattered at all, really. I knew my grandmother, though. She was listening most carefully.
Mr Norris started in with the usual explanations and disclaimers – when Nathaniel had last updated his will (more recently than I’d have expected – just two weeks ago) and what instructions he had left, which at least vindicated Edward’s insistence that the study door remain locked until Mr Norris’s arrival. Isabelle scowled briefly at that, before regaining her expression of bereaved indifference.
“Now, the actual bequests.” This part, at least, seemed straightforward – almost everything went to Isabelle, including the rights to all his books. There was also a generous allowance made to Therese until her death, along with the deeds to her cottage. Isabelle scowled at this too, but Therese’s face and shoulders relaxed for the first time that day. I let out a small sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about.
There were bequests to Mum and Dad, and smaller ones to us grandchildren. Caro’s would be held in trust until her eighteenth birthday. As a favoured granddaughter, Caro was also left Nathaniel’s collection of his own first editions, all signed. But there was nothing in there to really upset Isabelle.
Until we reached the section about the memoirs.
“To Saskia Ryan and Edward Hollis, I leave the notes, files and existing work achieved on my planned memoirs, on the understanding that they complete and publish the work according to the plans I leave. Should they not be willing to undertake this task, the files will be boxed, sealed and delivered to my lawyers, to be auctioned off in twenty years’ time, with the money going to my nominated charity. If they do complete the work, they are to share equally any profits made.”
Absolute silence.
Shortly followed by absolute chaos.
“That impossible man!” Isabelle shrieked, slamming her teacup down so hard a crack spread out from the base. “He cannot possibly have done this!”
“Saskia, you’re not really thinking of taking over writing the memoirs, are you?” Therese asked, calmer, but with a similar edge of panic in her voice. I started with surprise. I’d thought that Therese, at least, didn’t care about the memoirs – but it seemed she was as apprehensive as everyone else. Why?
“I…I didn’t know he’d done this,” I said, staring at Edward, but no one was listening to me.
What had Nathaniel been thinking? He must have known how this decision would go down with the family. Why would he put this on me? And why on earth hadn’t he told me?
Edward’s gaze darted away from mine and I wondered, had he known? Had Nathaniel warned him?
“But, how can you write them, Kia?” Mum asked, frowning. “I mean, not that you can’t write, sweetheart. But you weren’t there, were you? You don’t know. It would be irresponsible to try and tell a true story you don’t really know.”
Irresponsible. The word cut out at me. Didn’t they all already believe that was what I was? And weren’t they right?
Whatever Nathaniel had intended by naming me in his will this way, he certainly hadn’t made my coming home any easier.
“Nathaniel has left very comprehensive notes,” Edward said, his voice calm. Unlike the rest of the room. “Along with his diaries and journals, which chronicle his life from an early age. With Saskia’s family and personal knowledge, and my experience in writing biographies…it shouldn’t be too hard to put together an accurate picture of his life.”
He might have been talking to the room at large, but he was watching me as he spoke. Edward wanted me to do this, I realised. He wanted me to risk alienating my surviving family, to honour the last wishes of my grandfather. And, of course, make Edward’s career. I couldn’t ignore the fact that he had a professional reason to want me on board with this.
While my family, apparently, had myriad personal reasons for wanting me to refuse. I just wished I knew what they were.
But Edward’s words were too much for Isabelle.
“You! You really think you can write my husband’s life story after knowing him for, what, eighteen months? Fifty years of marriage, not to mention the twenty-six before that, and you think you can condense everything important into a couple of hundred pages? A few pithy anecdotes and some heart-wrenching sob stories? You’re a hack, Edward, and you’re crazy if you think we’re going to let you tarnish Nathaniel’s memory with your words.”
Edward’s face turned ghost white, the same colour as his knuckles as he grasped the back of the chair in front of him. The rest of the family fell silent – whether in shock or agreement, I couldn’t be certain.
But I sure as hell wasn’t letting Isabelle get away with that, grief or not. Just because she was beating herself up about her last moments with Nathaniel, that didn’t give her permission to treat Edward that way.
“Stop.” The word came out louder than I’d intended, and suddenly all eyes were on me. I swallowed, and tried to sound like I wasn’t making it all up as I went along. “Nathaniel left this project to both of us. He obviously believed that we could produce the book he wanted. There’s no need to attack Edward just because Nathaniel trusted him with this. It’s his decision whether he thinks he can do it. Not ours.”
“Well, actually it is a bit yours, Saskia.” Pat Norris lifted the paper in his hand with a small smile. “The terms of the will are very clear. You and Edward both have to agree to proceed.”
“Well, it’s decided then,” Isabelle said, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. “They won’t be doing it. Saskia would never betray her family like that. Would you, Kia?”
The pointed look she gave me, followed by the
glance at Ellie, stabbed straight to my heart. I knew what she was saying, even if the words she used were different. You’ve already betrayed your sister. Surely you wouldn’t hurt the rest of us this way, too. You wouldn’t let us down again. Imagine how your parents would feel. Imagine telling the world what you did, in print. Imagine your friends and family finding out what you are in the pages of a book. You’d never be welcome at Rosewood again.
I stared at Edward, willing him to find the right answer for me. Nathaniel had wanted me to do this. But it could cost me everything.
“Saskia, we just don’t want you to jump into something and make a mistake,” Mum said. “You have to think of the family, darling.”
“Isabelle does have a point,” Therese added. “I know you loved Nathaniel very much, but you weren’t there for most of his life. And you’ve never written anything like this before. You said yourself that you mostly just type up press releases.” I winced at her description of my job, accurate as it was.
“And really, Kia, do you honestly think it’s a good idea to air all our dirty laundry to the public?” Ellie’s voice was sharp, and filled with as much hidden meaning as Isabelle’s had been.