over his half-consumed pint that was rested on the bar. ‘Your boyfriend is on his way down to see you. You must —’
‘I seriously doubt that.’ Riane politely cut him off.
‘But he seemed very concerned, I —’
‘Look,’ Riane became more adamant. ‘Geoff is not my boyfriend. My boyfriend is waiting for me … elsewhere.’ She was unable to prevent a smile of delight forming on her lips. ‘I am very grateful for all you’ve done for me, really I am, but the weather is fine and if you could tell me where I might find reliable transport, I shall be on my merry way.’
‘Mick, at the local petrol station, towed in your wreck,’ he grumbled, bemused by her persistence. ‘He’s an agent for a rent-a-car mob and reckons he can fix you up with something.’
‘You’ve made my millennium!’ Riane kissed the historian’s cheek. ‘Thanks again.’ She waved to all the patrons as she fled the pub as quickly as she was able.
‘Bloody tourists … never listen,’ the old historian grouched and finishing up his beer, he ordered another.
Riane chain-smoked for the entire drive, as if hoping the packet might live up to its claim and kill her. She considered it odd in retrospect that she hadn’t even thought about smoking during her stay at the manor. Still, her time there had been so blissful, that there hadn’t been any need to dull the stress or calm her nerves — unlike now.
‘Oh God, where is the friggin’ driveway?’ She began to fret that she might not find it, that Marcus had created another illusion to prevent her tracing her way back to him. ‘It has got to be along here somewhere.’ The area was very distinctive due to the light patch of forest — very rare in the highlands. ‘Come on, Marcus, don’t lock me out.’ Tears of desperation were forming when she spied the parting in the trees. ‘Yes!’ She steered into the driveway and followed it all the way to the manor gates.
Even the ruins of the house appeared enchanting as a light snow fell down to coat its grand remains.
As she entered through the gate her head filled with memories of ballgowns and music, feasting and finery, laughter and love. ‘God, I want to be back there.’ She drew a deep, resolute breath ahead of scaling the front steps and entering through the void where the front doors had once been.
Inside walls had collapsed, making the entire structure very unstable. All the finery had gone. Past all the rubble of the collapsed staircase and down the corridor of rising damp, the tower room of Marcus’ study still appeared to be intact, barring the windows, doors and furnishings that she recalled. The beautiful timber in the ceiling had also been ripped out, and thus Riane concluded that the place had been ransacked, rather than having fallen into ruin via natural causes.
‘A crying shame,’ she mumbled to herself, as she eyed over the cold remains of her nirvana. But, somewhere between life and death, the manor still existed untouched by the ravages of time, and Marcus still awaited her in this very room.
‘I told you I’d be back, and this time I’m staying until the end.’ Riane began to strip off her clothes. ‘My death will be no accident, it will be my will and therefore suicide.’ Having stripped off her outer layers, Riane began exposing bare skin. ‘I will be a ghost, if that’s what it takes to be with you.’
Having stipped to her underwear, Riane lay down on her discarded attire to await her certain death. Was this how Velvet, Rochelle, Marion and Arabella had been found? Were they the girls the historian had originally reported missing?
‘Of course they were.’ Her teeth chattered violently and she decided to refrain from speech. And now I shall become a ghost story in these parts. They will tell of how I was rescued from this place, only to return here and commit suicide the next day. She smiled as she recollected telling the local historian that she was off to meet her boyfriend.
‘I seriously doubt that.’ Riane politely cut him off.
‘But he seemed very concerned, I —’
‘Look,’ Riane became more adamant. ‘Geoff is not my boyfriend. My boyfriend is waiting for me … elsewhere.’ She was unable to prevent a smile of delight forming on her lips. ‘I am very grateful for all you’ve done for me, really I am, but the weather is fine and if you could tell me where I might find reliable transport, I shall be on my merry way.’
‘Mick, at the local petrol station, towed in your wreck,’ he grumbled, bemused by her persistence. ‘He’s an agent for a rent-a-car mob and reckons he can fix you up with something.’
‘You’ve made my millennium!’ Riane kissed the historian’s cheek. ‘Thanks again.’ She waved to all the patrons as she fled the pub as quickly as she was able.
‘Bloody tourists … never listen,’ the old historian grouched and finishing up his beer, he ordered another.
Riane chain-smoked for the entire drive, as if hoping the packet might live up to its claim and kill her. She considered it odd in retrospect that she hadn’t even thought about smoking during her stay at the manor. Still, her time there had been so blissful, that there hadn’t been any need to dull the stress or calm her nerves — unlike now.
‘Oh God, where is the friggin’ driveway?’ She began to fret that she might not find it, that Marcus had created another illusion to prevent her tracing her way back to him. ‘It has got to be along here somewhere.’ The area was very distinctive due to the light patch of forest — very rare in the highlands. ‘Come on, Marcus, don’t lock me out.’ Tears of desperation were forming when she spied the parting in the trees. ‘Yes!’ She steered into the driveway and followed it all the way to the manor gates.
Even the ruins of the house appeared enchanting as a light snow fell down to coat its grand remains.
As she entered through the gate her head filled with memories of ballgowns and music, feasting and finery, laughter and love. ‘God, I want to be back there.’ She drew a deep, resolute breath ahead of scaling the front steps and entering through the void where the front doors had once been.
Inside walls had collapsed, making the entire structure very unstable. All the finery had gone. Past all the rubble of the collapsed staircase and down the corridor of rising damp, the tower room of Marcus’ study still appeared to be intact, barring the windows, doors and furnishings that she recalled. The beautiful timber in the ceiling had also been ripped out, and thus Riane concluded that the place had been ransacked, rather than having fallen into ruin via natural causes.
‘A crying shame,’ she mumbled to herself, as she eyed over the cold remains of her nirvana. But, somewhere between life and death, the manor still existed untouched by the ravages of time, and Marcus still awaited her in this very room.
‘I told you I’d be back, and this time I’m staying until the end.’ Riane began to strip off her clothes. ‘My death will be no accident, it will be my will and therefore suicide.’ Having stripped off her outer layers, Riane began exposing bare skin. ‘I will be a ghost, if that’s what it takes to be with you.’
Having stipped to her underwear, Riane lay down on her discarded attire to await her certain death. Was this how Velvet, Rochelle, Marion and Arabella had been found? Were they the girls the historian had originally reported missing?
‘Of course they were.’ Her teeth chattered violently and she decided to refrain from speech. And now I shall become a ghost story in these parts. They will tell of how I was rescued from this place, only to return here and commit suicide the next day. She smiled as she recollected telling the local historian that she was off to meet her boyfriend.
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