go. Most of the rooms needed repainting. The garden out back was overrun, and the outside of the house was in serious need of attention, and she suspected the roof had a leak since the half-story attic smelled of mold. She hadn’t been game to go in and examine the damage yet as there’d been something scuttling in the dark and she suspected it was something more substantial than the ghost.
Maybe a quick sale was all she could hope for, and then Callaway House would be gone forever. While she could feel the weight of her name lifting, she couldn’t let go of the rope. If the house became a bed and breakfast, all she’d have left of Gran would be a few pieces of furniture. It wasn’t enough. She wanted the house and all the memories it held. Callaways had lived here for over one hundred and fifty years. Gran had done everything to keep it in the family, and Lydia didn’t want to be the one to fail.
“Aside from the two paintings and the crystal vase there’s not much in here.” Caspian’s voice broke into her thoughts. She didn’t have to decide yet.
“The vase was a gift, she never told me who from.” But her eyes had always lit up when she spoke about it.
Caspian glanced at it again and smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. “Shall we move on? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your evenings.”
Lydia nodded, then shook her head. This was much better than working late at the office. “I’m still sorting through the personal items in her bedroom. I never thought it would be so hard to pack everything. How do you deal with it?”
“I don’t. I assess and move on. I don’t like doing deceased estates because the emotions are so raw. Not everyone appreciates what I have to do.” He shrugged but looked uncomfortable discussing it.
“I appreciate the way you’re doing it. I’d expected someone to come in and be all obsessed with its unusual history.” Maybe that would have been easier; then she would have been able to brush him off instead of wanting to know more about him.
“The sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”
It didn’t sound scandalous when Caspian said it, yet she still felt like she had to defend the house as best she could. “There was no rock and roll.”
Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t some rock star have their wedding here and then get divorced three months later in the eighties?”
“Not everything you read on the Internet is true… it was almost four months later.” And that had been the end of the wedding location according to Gran.
“Just sex and drugs then.” He was smiling.
She couldn’t stop her lips from curving in response. Was he flirting with her? She took a risk to see how far he’d go. “Mostly sex.”
He nodded, but he was watching her as if he was trying to work out what to say next. Had she just killed the conversation? A flutter of nerves caught in her chest as she waited for him to respond.
“I read the dinner parties were something special.”
Lydia let out the breath she’d been holding. “Well, I guess when you get a whole bunch of powerful men and their mistresses in one room things are going to happen. That’s old though. Later it was more hippie. No mistresses, just people boarding here and partying.”
“Is the ghost a myth too?”
“That depends on who you talk to. Gran believed something was here, but I’ve never seen anything, just lots of odd bumps.” There was definitely something here; however, she wasn’t about to confess her belief in the ghost to Caspian. Not yet. Besides, it would be more fun if he realized for himself that they weren’t alone in the house. And if he didn’t? Well, he wouldn’t be the first person to logic away the ghost. But that crawling sensation that someone was watching when she was alone, or the creak on the floorboard that sounded like steps in the middle of the night—she couldn’t explain them away.
“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” he said with a smile.
She looked at
Maybe a quick sale was all she could hope for, and then Callaway House would be gone forever. While she could feel the weight of her name lifting, she couldn’t let go of the rope. If the house became a bed and breakfast, all she’d have left of Gran would be a few pieces of furniture. It wasn’t enough. She wanted the house and all the memories it held. Callaways had lived here for over one hundred and fifty years. Gran had done everything to keep it in the family, and Lydia didn’t want to be the one to fail.
“Aside from the two paintings and the crystal vase there’s not much in here.” Caspian’s voice broke into her thoughts. She didn’t have to decide yet.
“The vase was a gift, she never told me who from.” But her eyes had always lit up when she spoke about it.
Caspian glanced at it again and smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. “Shall we move on? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your evenings.”
Lydia nodded, then shook her head. This was much better than working late at the office. “I’m still sorting through the personal items in her bedroom. I never thought it would be so hard to pack everything. How do you deal with it?”
“I don’t. I assess and move on. I don’t like doing deceased estates because the emotions are so raw. Not everyone appreciates what I have to do.” He shrugged but looked uncomfortable discussing it.
“I appreciate the way you’re doing it. I’d expected someone to come in and be all obsessed with its unusual history.” Maybe that would have been easier; then she would have been able to brush him off instead of wanting to know more about him.
“The sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”
It didn’t sound scandalous when Caspian said it, yet she still felt like she had to defend the house as best she could. “There was no rock and roll.”
Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t some rock star have their wedding here and then get divorced three months later in the eighties?”
“Not everything you read on the Internet is true… it was almost four months later.” And that had been the end of the wedding location according to Gran.
“Just sex and drugs then.” He was smiling.
She couldn’t stop her lips from curving in response. Was he flirting with her? She took a risk to see how far he’d go. “Mostly sex.”
He nodded, but he was watching her as if he was trying to work out what to say next. Had she just killed the conversation? A flutter of nerves caught in her chest as she waited for him to respond.
“I read the dinner parties were something special.”
Lydia let out the breath she’d been holding. “Well, I guess when you get a whole bunch of powerful men and their mistresses in one room things are going to happen. That’s old though. Later it was more hippie. No mistresses, just people boarding here and partying.”
“Is the ghost a myth too?”
“That depends on who you talk to. Gran believed something was here, but I’ve never seen anything, just lots of odd bumps.” There was definitely something here; however, she wasn’t about to confess her belief in the ghost to Caspian. Not yet. Besides, it would be more fun if he realized for himself that they weren’t alone in the house. And if he didn’t? Well, he wouldn’t be the first person to logic away the ghost. But that crawling sensation that someone was watching when she was alone, or the creak on the floorboard that sounded like steps in the middle of the night—she couldn’t explain them away.
“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” he said with a smile.
She looked at
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