Her mind on the epic battle that lay before her which seemed to get worse by the second, Abby grumbled a barely distinguishable, “Yes.”
When she did, the tension she didn’t realise was in Cash’s body slid away, he rolled, taking her over the top of him and pulled them up.
He knifed out of bed, Abby going with him, he took her to the bathroom and did exactly as he wanted.
Fifteen minutes later, her cuts covered with antibiotic goo and bandaged anew, Abby crawled back into bed as she heard the shower start.
She lay awake in bed long after Cash got ready, came back to bed, pulled her hair from her neck and kissed her there after telling her he was leaving.
She didn’t just lay awake.
She lay awake gripped with fear.
Fear of ghosts.
Fear of Alistair’s intentions.
Fear of Cash.
Fear of her own weakness.
And fear that, one way or another, either propelled off the side of an ancient castle by a vengeful spirit, or conquered by a beautiful warrior, her life as she knew it was going to end.
Chapter Fifteen
Battle Stations
Abby waited until she’d gotten dressed and taken two more paracetamol to combat the nagging headache that started some time after Cash left. A headache that was only partially due to her misadventure with the ghost and also partially due to her crazy, screwed up life.
She waited until she was sitting on the train platform to slide open her phone and hit the speed dial number that would connect her straight to Jenny.
When Jenny answered, Abby proclaimed, “Battle stations.”
“Oh my God. What happened?” Jenny asked.
“I’m in Bath. I should be home in an hour. Be at my house when I get there,” and as an afterthought she demanded, “Bring donuts.”
“Oh no, is it a donut drama?” Jenny moaned, knowing exactly what that meant.
“No, it’s an ice cream and tequila drama but it’s only eight o’clock in the morning. We’ll wait until ten to break out the tequila,” Abby told her.
“Shit,” Jenny muttered, said good-bye and rang off.
A little over an hour later when Abby turned the key in her door and shoved it open, Zee darted out without saying hello.
Abby knew immediately why.
All three of Mrs. Truman’s spaniels came crashing toward Abby to give her a hearty doggie greeting.
Abby bent down to offer them strokes and Mrs. Truman appeared in the hall.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, hands on hips. “The coffee’s cold.”
Abby straightened.
Mentally, she cursed Jenny to perdition for letting Mrs. Truman in.
Verbally, she said good morning, took off her coat and hung it on the coat stand.
When she did, Mrs. Truman gasped.
“Is that blood?” she screeched and ran forward with the energy of a woman half her age.
Jenny came shooting out of the living room and her eyes widened at what she saw.
Mrs. Truman had Abby’s forearm in a gentle grasp and she was pushing back Abby’s sleeve to expose the bandages.
“Abigail, what on earth happened?” Mrs. Truman asked.
“Are you okay?” Jenny called, coming forward.
Abby squeezed Mrs. Truman’s hand and replied, “I’m fine. I need to change. Can you warm up the coffee? I’ll be down in five minutes.”
It was then Mrs. Truman’s eyes narrowed on Abby’s outfit.
“Abigail Butler, you’re wearing the same clothes from last night,” she accused.
“Um, yes,” Abby told her.
Mrs. Truman’s narrowed eyes came to hers. “Are you engaging in hanky-panky with your young man?” she snapped and Abby felt her face flush.
“Mrs. Truman –” Abby started to tell her this, above all, was none of her business but didn’t get anything out before Jenny spoke.
“That’s hardly the point. Her arm is covered in bandages!” Jenny had walked up close.
“It is the point, Jennifer,” Mrs. Truman shot back. “A good girl doesn’t do that before marriage.”
“You were awake when we celebrated the millennium, weren’t you?” Jenny returned and Abby pulled in breath waiting for Mrs. Truman to explode.
She wasn’t disappointed.
“Well, aren’t you Mrs. Fancy Pants?” Mrs. Truman asked sharply on raised voice and one of her spaniels yapped in support of its mistress. “It’s clear to see Abigail has enough emotional distress with losing her grandmother and her job and overall stress with all this banging and new roofs and men in and out of her house all day. Not to mention, her first romance after the death of her beloved. She doesn’t need sex mucking up the waters.”
Mrs. Truman was right about that. Alas, it was too late.
Clearly Jenny also knew the older woman was right. This was evidenced by her lack of retort accompanied by a stubborn glare.
Abby sighed.
“Ladies, can I change?” she asked.
Mrs. Truman let go of her arm. “You change. I’ll make more coffee. Warmed up coffee tastes funny. You need fresh when blood’s involved,” she declared with authority as if this kind of situation happened to her frequently.
Abby escaped to her room, tore off her dress, thigh high stockings and boots, threw on some jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt and dashed, barefoot, to the bathroom.
She said good morning to the two workmen who were installing her basin, asked if they needed a cuppa (they didn’t, Mrs. Truman had serviced them) and then she ran downstairs.
The donuts had been arranged artfully on one of Gram’s china platters. It sat on the table in front of the couch with Gram’s silver coffee service and china.
Mrs. Truman had been busy.
Abby perused the selection of donuts.
English donuts were different than American. There was less variety, which was disappointing. But many of them involved custard and/or cream which Abby thought, as a plus.
While Mrs. Truman poured her coffee, Abby selected a long donut, split lengthwise and piped along the split with mixture of cream and custard and dropped to her couch. One of Mrs. Truman’s dogs jumped up beside her and sat panting and staring at Abby’s donut.
The whole time, Abby felt Jenny’s eyes on her.
When she settled, Jenny impatiently demanded, “Start with the blood.”
“Well,” Abby began, not knowing how to say what she had to say without them thinking she was insane.
“Spit it out, Abigail, we don’t have all day,” Mrs. Truman asked then bit into a sugar-coated jam donut, consuming at least a quarter in one bite.
“I was shoved into a mirror by a ghost,” Abby blurted.
Jenny gasped.
Mrs. Truman snapped, “What?” but since her mouth was full, bits of donut flew out.
Abby took in a breath and explained, “Cash’s family owns Penmort Castle. It’s said to be haunted and I’m here, just barely, to tell you that is most definitely true.”
Jenny shot out of her chair and leaned toward Abby. “I knew this would happen. I told you.”
Mrs. Truman swallowed and decreed, “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“There is!” Jenny shouted, clearly beside herself.
“Is not!” Mrs. Truman shouted back, never really needing a reason to raise her voice.
“Trust me, Mrs. Truman, I would have been fighting your corner but I saw her. I knew what she was. I could see through her. She was there, she was real, she was angry and she shoved me,” Abby told her and looked up at Jenny. “Then my hand went through the mirror, I cut myself, slipped, banged my head on the basin and went unconscious.”
“Oh God,” Jenny breathed and collapsed back in her chair.
“What does Fraser say about this?” Mrs. Truman asked.
“I haven’t told him the ghost part,” Abby admitted.
“Well I can see why not considering if you did he’d rightly think you we
re mad,” Mrs. Truman retorted.
Abby turned her body to face the older woman. “Honest, I wish it wasn’t true. But I’m telling you, Mrs. Truman, she’s real and she means to hurt me,” Abby’s eyes moved to Jenny. “And, in less than two weeks from now, I’m supposed to go back there for the anniversary celebrations and stay there, overnight.”
“You can’t do it,” Jenny told her immediately.
“I know!” Abby agreed. “But I can’t not do it either, Cash would be –”
“You have to get rid of her,” Mrs. Truman butted in and both women’s eyes moved to her.
“Get rid of her?” Jenny asked.
Mrs. Truman waved her donut in the air. “Yes, get rid of her.”
“Who?” Abby queried.
“The ghost!” Mrs. Truman replied with severe impatience.
“How’s she going to do that?” Jenny enquired.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Truman admitted, “but we’ll sort something out.” Then she took another bite of her donut and calmly chewed.
It wasn’t lost on Abby that Mrs. Truman said “we’ll”.
Abby decided not to fight it, she wouldn’t win. It seemed post-dinner-party that Mrs. Truman had decided to become a fixture in Abby’s life.
Abby had to admit she didn’t mind in the slightest.
“I don’t think it’s that easy to get rid of a ghost,” Abby told the older woman.
“I didn’t say it’d be easy,” Mrs. Truman noted, waving the remains of her donut again. “I just said we’d sort something out.” She leaned forward and took a sip of coffee before sitting back and saying, “I know a few people. I’ll make some calls.”
Abby couldn’t imagine what kind of calls she’d make to find someone to get rid of a ghost but she didn’t have time to ask, Jenny spoke.
“Are you okay, your arm, that is?”
Abby nodded. “Yes, Cash found me in the bathroom and carried me to a couch. He cleaned me up and then demanded that the paramedics look me over before he’d even let me sit up. I had a little headache this morning but mostly head and arm are both fine.”
“He’s a good boy,” Mrs. Truman muttered but Jenny was watching Abby closely and Abby knew why.
Abby took a bite of her donut and assured Jenny, mouth full, “It’s all good.”
“You’re being smart?” Jenny asked.
“Yes,” Abby kind of lied.
She wasn’t sure she was being smart but she was trying to be.
Mrs. Truman was looking between the both of them then she enquired, “Is there something I should know?”
Abby answered with another mini-fib, “No, just that Cash and I made up.”
Mrs. Truman made a “pah” noise and then stated, “Of course you did. The papers all say he’s very bright. Anyone who’s bright wouldn’t let a good thing like you slip through his fingers because of a silly quarrel.”
Abby was processing her feelings at getting a compliment from Mrs. Truman when the bell on the door clanked.
“Who’s that?” Abby asked the room at large.
“How should we know?” Mrs. Truman asked back.
Abby dropped her half-eaten donut on the tray and walked to the front door, three yapping spaniels at her heels.
She opened it and a tall, good-looking young man she’d never seen in her life was standing outside.
“Abigail Butler?” he asked.
“Yes,” Abby answered.
“I’m Simon. Mr. Fraser asked me to come and see about your plumbing,” he announced then shoved inside through Abby and the dogs and he closed the door.
“Um,” Abby started, staring at him, unable to take in what he said or his forward behaviour, “someone is already seeing to it.”
Simon had walked through the vestibule, the dogs who he was gamely ignoring dancing at his heels and he was standing in the hall.
“Yes that was mentioned,” Simon told her. “I’m here to make certain the job gets finished to Mr. Fraser’s standards and look into the rest of the system.”
Abby wasn’t certain, but it felt like her blood pressure was rising.
“That isn’t necessary,” she told Simon as she noticed both Jenny and Mrs. Truman had come to the door of the living room to watch. “I’ve got everything under control.”
Simon looked down at her. “I was also told you’d say that. Regardless, Mr. Fraser was pretty clear he wanted a report by close of business today as to how the system could be updated promptly and then he’s stated he wants me to move forward and get it done.”
Abby read between the lines. Cash wanted it done even if Abby refused. And it would get done, no matter what Abby said.
Yes, Abby realised, her blood pressure was rising.
“You’re here on a wasted errand,” she explained to Simon on another kind of lie. “They’re almost finished.”
Simon looked toward the stairs. “I’ll just have a look.”
“Really, it isn’t…” Abby started but Simon was on the move and Abby began to follow him. “Excuse me,” she called up the steps and he turned.
“You don’t have to come, I’ll find my way,” Simon told her and then he kept right on going.
Abby stared at his departing back.
Then the bell clanked again.
Abby turned slowly to the door but looked back at Mrs. Truman and Jenny.
“Well, see who it is,” Mrs. Truman prompted sharply and Abby and the three spaniels went back to the door.
She opened it and a man three inches shorter than Abby and about twenty years older stood outside carrying a tool box.
“Abigail Butler?” he asked.
What now?
“Yes,” she answered.
“I’m Nigel. Mr. Fraser asked me to pop by and fix your bell,” he told her.
Abby looked at Nigel then at the bell in her door then to Jenny and Mrs. Truman who’d come out into the hall.
When she looked back at Nigel, he was bent, had put his tool box on the stoop and was petting two of Mrs. Truman’s panting, happy dogs.
“Cute little fellas,” Nigel remarked.
“Um, there isn’t anything wrong with my bell,” Abby told him.
Nigel’s head tilted back and he looked at her then he reached out and turned the bell.
It clanked cacophonously.
Abby closed her eyes.
She opened them when she heard Nigel say, “Probably just needs a good cleaning. Won’t take but a minute. I’ll just get started.”
Then he grabbed his tool box, straightened, pushed in through Abby and the dogs, closed the door, dropped immediately to his knees and got to work.
Abby stared at him.
Then she turned and stiffly walked to Mrs. Truman and Jenny.
“Did that just happen?” she asked them.
“Yes,” Mrs. Truman said shortly and then vanished back into living room.
Jenny came forward and stopped when she was close to Abby.
“Remember, it’s just a job,” she whispered.
“We talked about this,” Abby whispered back, “Cash and I. He said he wouldn’t interfere.”
“It’s just a job,” Jenny repeated.
“But –” Abby began and Jenny’s hand grasped hers and squeezed.
“Let him do what he wants to do. It’s his thing. If he’s getting off on taking care of you, let him do it,” Jenny said and then went on. “Just don’t get used to it.”
“I don’t think –” Abby started again and Jenny squeezed her hand again.
“It’s his thing. Not yours. Just let it go and keep focused.”
“Jenny,” Abby breathed.
“Focus,” Jenny repeated firmly.
Abby understood what Jenny was trying to do but she was way too freaked out to let her do it.
“It’s my house. It’s Gram’s house. Ben loved this house. It’s theirs. This house is the only place I can still be with them. I can’t be thinking of Cash every time I hear the door bell or take a shower!??
? she cried but under her breath so Nigel couldn’t hear.
“Too late for that,” Jenny said logically.
“Jenny!” Abby exclaimed.
Jenny got even closer. “I know it’s tough and it’s going to get tougher. But you can do it.”
“I don’t think I can,” Abby admitted and Jenny gave her another hand squeeze.
“I know you can. And anyway, you’ve got bigger fish to fry. There’s a ghost who wants to kill you, for goodness sakes.”
This, Abby thought, was true.
“Priorities,” Jenny finished, gave Abby’s hand another squeeze, let her go and then walked back into the living room.
Abby took a deep breath then followed her friend back to the donuts.
* * * * *
Abby felt the hair being shifted off her neck and she opened her eyes to see a man’s thigh encased in black trousers with thin pinstripes set wide.
She looked up and saw a wine-coloured shirt, collar open at a muscular neck.
Then up further and she saw Cash.
He was sitting in the crook of her lap, one hand on her hip, his eyes warm on her face. Abby was lying on her side on the couch in the seating area off his kitchen.
“Did I fall asleep?” she asked in somnolent surprise.
Cash smiled, leaned forward and picked something up from the floor. He came up with her book which she must have dropped after she fell asleep while reading.
“I think you lost your place,” he murmured, setting the book by her still full but now probably cold mug of herbal tea on the low table in front of the couch.
Abby’s eyes went from the book to the digital clock on the microwave over the stove.
When she saw it was a quarter to eight, she shot to sitting position, dodging around Cash, and jumped to her feet crying, “Oh God! The dumplings!”
She rushed to the kitchen, registering that her nagging headache which she’d been keeping at bay all day with pain medication had come back. With it being way late, and with the dumplings to sort, she didn’t have time to do anything about it.
Abby hurried to the counter saying, “I meant to have everything ready for you when you got home. This is going to take at least another half an hour.”
As Abby threw the tea towel off the dumpling dough, Cash’s voice said from behind her, “Darling, relax.” She turned to walk to the drawer to get a spoon as he went on, “Martini or amaretto?”