The next morning Eve awoke to see Gerry standing at the window, his back to her. He had pulled back the brocade curtains to reveal a damp grey morning.
‘Uneventful night. No ghostly visitors,’ he said, turning to her with a rueful smile.
He knew that Eve had lain awake most of the night, keenly anticipating any ghost-like rustlings in the house.
Eve was grateful for his lack of smugness.
‘Pity,’ she replied, yawning daintily. ‘Oh well,’ she continued brightly, ‘I still have a fair bit to write about. George had some great stories to tell.’
She swung her legs off the bed and put on her dressing gown.
Gerry headed for the door. ‘I checked on Rick earlier; he’s fine. He’ll see us downstairs. Enid said breakfast’s at eight thirty.’
Eve nodded. ‘We should head off straight after, before it rains again.’