The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (23 page)
Read The Collector's Edition Volume 1 Online
Authors: Emma Darcy
‘You don’t resent that I’m going to have all the happiness that was once rightfully yours?’ Ashley asked.
Penelope’s smile held no reservations. ‘In my condition strange things happen. I will have that happiness in ways you cannot possibly understand.’
‘You don’t mind my being pregnant?’
‘The bringing of life to Springfield Manor is the greatest joy of all.’
The sincerity in her voice convinced Ashley that this was rightly so. ‘You’re so unforgettably beautiful,’ she couldn’t help saying.
‘So are you. Don’t be alarmed. I can assure you through means that I cannot reveal that I will not interfere with your future happiness. In fact, in this part of the universe it works quite the opposite way. If you ever need help or someone to talk to, I’ll come to you, Ashley. I want us to be friends.’
‘Yes.’ Ashley was not about to disagree with that.
‘It’s very simple really,’ Pen explained. ‘My love for Harry now joins yours.’
Ashley didn’t see her dematerialise. She was there. Then she had passed through the solid oak door and was gone. Ashley wondered if she’d dreamt the visitation, but how could she have when she was sitting up in bed wide awake? She pinched herself to make sure. It hurt. Either she was having hallucinations or it had actually happened. Well, there was one way of finding out.
Ashley dressed as quickly as she could. She left her bedroom and went to Harry’s. He was sliding his arms into a gorgeous teal blue jacket as she entered. He grinned at her, his eyes dancing wickedly. ‘You beat me to a visit.’
She dithered. Should she let sleeping dogs lie?
The twinkle faded as he frowned. ‘Is something wrong, Ashley?’
There could be no harm in it. Penelope had told her so. If ghosts could be believed. Besides, ghosts needed to be laid to rest, as well. ‘Do you have a photograph of your Pen, Harry?’
‘Yes.’
‘May I see it?’
The frown deepened. ‘Ashley…’
‘Please?’
He shrugged off his concern. ‘If you wish.’ He went to a bureau drawer and drew out a framed photograph. ‘This was taken towards the end. Pen was very thin by then.’
Ashley took one look and knew she hadn’t hallucinated. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s her.’ The same beautiful face and soft wavy hair. Even the same clothes, although they were coloured in the photograph.
‘Mum! Mum! Where are you?’ The call from William was loud, breathless and excited.
She quickly handed the photograph to Harry and hurried to the wide corridor that ran the length of this bedroom wing. ‘I’m here, William.’
He came pelting out of her bedroom. ‘Mum! Guess what? I saw a ghost. And I wasn’t even hunting for one.’
‘Where?’ she asked sharply.
‘Downstairs. I was having a look at all the old stuff in the great hall and I saw her zap straight through the doors into the sitting room.’
‘Her? A woman with short, wavy hair?’
‘Yes. But she was definitely a ghost, Mum. The doors were closed. I chased after her but when I went into the sitting room, no-one was there.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No kidding, Mum. It was a ghost. I’m going to find Mr. Fotheringham. He might know who she is.’
He was off again just as Harry joined her outside his bedroom. ‘What was that all about?’
‘A ghost in the sitting room.’ She flashed a look of entreaty at Harry. She wanted his belief. ‘It was Pen, Harry. She’s saying goodbye. She came to me about half an hour ago.’
He searched her eyes for several tense moments, then accepted her statement without equivocation. ‘Let’s go down to the sitting room. She liked lying on the chaise longue by the windows, watching the roses bloom and the daffodils in flower on the lawn. Nature’s sunlight. She loved the sunlight. She always brought light wherever she was.’
That was where they found her, right at the far end of the room in a soft glow of light. She rose from the chaise longue and turned to them both, more ghostly than before.
‘It’s all right, Harry,’ she softly soothed. ‘I’m not here to haunt you. I never wanted to.’
‘Why now, Pen? Why didn’t you allow me to see you sooner?’ he asked gruffly.
‘I wanted you to let go, Harry. You had so much more of life to live. Your grief kept me here,’ she said sadly, then slowly a smile grew, glowing with
the most incandescent benevolence. ‘Your happiness… your love for Ashley and hers for you…releases me from the chains of your grief. My soul is now free to soar. I wish you and Ashley every happiness in the world. Don’t waste it. Never waste it.’
She began to fade.
‘Pen…’ Harry reached out to her.
‘It’s loving that’s life, Harry. Loving…’ It was barely a wisp of sound, a wisp that shimmered for a moment, then disappeared.
The ensuing silence was fraught with swirling emotions.
‘Loving,’ Harry murmured at last, and slowly drew Ashley into his embrace. ‘We must never let anything get in the way of loving, Ashley.’
‘No. We never will, Harry. Pen told me something else, too.’
‘What?’
‘She advised me to see Dr. Jekyll in the village.’
‘There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ he asked anxiously.
‘No. Something very right. Pen said I was pregnant, Harry. I’m only two days overdue. I can’t be certain. But Pen was quite definite that we’d made a baby.’
He smiled. The smile grew into a grin, then a chuckle, then a burst of happy laughter. ‘I hope you’re pleased, my love, because I can’t help feeling I’m the luckiest man on earth.’
‘And I’m the luckiest woman,’ Ashley said fervently.
A long way away, their kiss was sensed, a pure bonding of souls, an explosion of joy and love, and the being who had been known as Penelope was content.
The thought came to Ashley that for all the years she and Harry lived at Springfield Manor, a vase of roses or daffodils would be placed beside the chaise longue in the sitting room.
There was a knock on the door. William rushed in, followed more sedately by George. ‘Any ghosts in here, Master Harry?’ George inquired.
‘Not at the moment, George.’ He smiled at William. ‘It will have to be the minstrel gallery tonight. Eric the Red might pay us a visit if we’re lucky.’
‘Indeed, yes.’ George tactfully gathered William under his wing. ‘Come. I shall show you the fireplace where Eric the Red split the mantel with his axe. Quite an exciting ghost, Eric.’
‘Before you leave us, George…’
‘Yes, Master Harry?’
‘The bottle of 1860 Madeira we discussed before my trip to Australia. I think you’ve earned it, George.’
‘How gracious of you, Master Harry!’
‘And tell your good wife that a June wedding date is out. We’ll be having the wedding much sooner. As soon as it can be suitably arranged, in fact.’
‘I shall certainly drink to that, Master Harry.’
A self-satisfied smile played on George’s lips as he ushered William out of the sitting room to give the happy couple some private time together. A duty well done, he thought.
Then, with intense pride, he added…And, of course, the butler did it.
The
Times
Personal Column
Births
Cliffton—On 14 October to Ashley and Harold, a fine son, Edward John, at 8:10 p.m., and a beautiful daughter, Emily Louise, at 8:20 p.m. A brother and sister for William.
Emma Darcy
Her stomach clenched. The archdeceiver himself! If he thought she was about to rush in and beg for more, he could think again. “Yes?” she queried, her mind suddenly cold and clear.
“I found your note. It was a great night for me, too.”
“I’m glad it was mutual,” she replied silkily, waiting for the perfect line to turn the knife.
He laughed. “Couldn’t be more so. When do you think you’ll finish work tonight?” “Oh, I don’t know. What do you want, Michael?” That was a good question. Let him beg!
“I’ll be with you again as soon as you’re free.”
She deliberately heaved a sigh. “Look, Michael, it was a great night. A really great night. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?” Silence. “Come again?” He sounded puzzled, disbelieving.
Lauren went in for the kill. “Well, the fact of the matter is that I don’t go in for repeat performances. Why spoil a perfect memory?”
For Sue Curran, my editor, in warm appreciation of her sharing and caring
“L
AUREN
says…”
Michael Timberlane’s jaw clenched. His friend and client, Evan Daniel, continued talking, blithely ignorant of the effect of those two explosively evocative words.Lauren
says.
Michael didn’t hear anything else. His mind filled with brooding resentment.
He couldn’t count the number of times his ex-wife had thrown those words at him as though Lauren Magee was the font of all knowledge and wisdom on how a marriage should work.
Lauren says, Lauren says.
a long litany of feminist claptrap that had given Roxanne the encouragement to indulge herself in single-minded selfishness. Any sense of give and take had flown right out the door under Lauren Magee’s influence.
It was a black day when that woman had accepted the position as publicist at the publishing house where Roxanne worked in marketing. Why the Sydney branch of Global Publications had to import a career woman from Melbourne to head its publicity department was beyond Michael’s comprehension, but the word in the industry was that Lauren Magee was a fireball. She obviously didn’t mind whom she scorched, either.
Michael grudgingly conceded he had not been averse to the idea of divorce by the time Roxanne decided it was what she wanted. His ideal of a true partnership within a love relationship had been comprehensively whittled away. Nevertheless, Evan’s inadvertent reminder of the interfering judgments by a woman who didn’t even know him stirred a vengeful wish to turn Lauren Magee and her insidious list of women’s rights upside down and inside out.
Would that he could!
It was undoubtedly a waste of energy even thinking about it. The woman had to be a man hater with a brick-wall temperament, totally closed to logic or reason. She would probably have Evan’s balls for breakfast if he stepped out of line on this promotional tour she had organised for him. A male author who liked an alcoholic lunch would not be her cup of tea at all.
Michael unclenched his jaw, relaxed his facial muscles and dutifully tuned back into Evan’s flow of excitement over his jam-packed schedule of interviews with the media. Global Publications, via Lauren Magee, was certainly doing him proud in their efforts to launch his new historical novel on the Australian reading public. Michael hoped it would sell well, not only for his friend’s sake, but also for his own satisfaction as Evan’s literary agent.
He silently congratulated himself on getting Evan an extremely good deal for the book, though he would have privately preferred the highest bidder
to have been any other publishing house than Global Publications. But business was business. The best interests of all the authors on his list had to be served. That was one of the principles by which he’d gained his reputation as an agent whose judgment could be trusted.
He knew books. He knew what they were worth and where their market was. Evan Daniel’s sweeping saga of early colonial days in the convict settlement of New South Wales was a rattling good story and had the elements for solid, commercial success. All it needed was the right push to bring it to public attention.
“I need your help, Michael.”
Evan’s excitement seemed to have faded into a sudden fit of anxiety. Michael raised his eyebrows, inviting elaboration on whatever problem was troubling his friend. This had to be the underlying reason for his visit this morning. It was a long drive from Evan’s home at Leura in the Blue Mountains to Michael’s apartment-cum-office at Milson’s Point in the very heart of Sydney. Enthusing over his promotional tour hardly constituted a strong enough motive to bring him here.
All the signs of inner agitation were evident. Evan shifted his somewhat roly-poly body uncomfortably. He tugged at the frizzy brown curls above his ears, pulling them out into tufts. With his round face and big, dark, soulful eyes, Evan frequently reminded Michael of a cuddly koala bear. Despite his rotund shape, women were attracted to him.
There was something very appealing about Evan. His bright and benevolent personality reached out to people.
“Could you take the time off to come with me on the tour to Melbourne and Brisbane?” he finally blurted out.
“You don’t need me to hold your hand, Evan. You’ll do fine. Your natural enthusiasm about your book…”
“It’s not that. I’m not scared of the interviews,” came the hasty assurance. His ensuing grimace held both apology and an appeal for understanding. “It’s Tasha. She’s going to be rabidly jealous of Lauren the moment she lays eyes on her.”
Michael was astounded. “Lauren Magee?”
“You know how gorgeous she is. And I’ll be staying in the same hotels with her.”
“Lauren Magee…gorgeous?” Michael couldn’t believe it. In his mind’s eye Lauren Magee was a sexless martinet, as thin as a matchstick with every bit of feminine sweetness squeezed out of her.
Evan looked puzzled. “Haven’t you met her?”
It would be pistols at dawn if he did, Michael thought darkly. “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” he drawled with deliberate carelessness.
“I thought you knew everyone in the publishing industry.”
Evan’s surprise was comical. Michael had to smile. “The publishers and the commissioning editors, yes. I haven’t met every single person on their staffs.”
“But Lauren. Oh, well, you can meet her at the party tonight. I’ll introduce you. Then you’ll see why I need you to come with me on the tour. I know it’s asking a big favour, Michael, but…”
“I won’t be there tonight,” Michael stated flatly.
It was Global’s launching party for all its new books for the coming year. Roxanne would be swanning around with her second choice of husband, who was, Michael thought cynically, quite perfect for her. Her preening didn’t bother him, but she made such a pointed show of it in front of him he felt sorry for the other guy. It was distasteful. Such comparisons always were.
Michael prided himself on being civilised. Most of the time he was. Very civilised. Extremely civilised. The combination of Roxanne on parade, trying in her perverse vanity to make a fool of him, plus Lauren Magee on the sidelines with her feminist cant, just happened to bring out the savage in him. It was not a feeling he liked.
Evan looked hurt. “I’m one of the speakers.”
“I’m sorry, Evan, but you don’t need me to applaud your speech.”
“I do need you. Not for applause. If I could stand you between Tasha and Lauren, it would save me a power of trouble. Tasha wouldn’t get any funny ideas with you around. It’s perfectly obvious that any woman with two eyes in her head would go for you, not me.”
That wasn’t necessarily true, Michael thought. Superficially, he supposed, he fitted the tall, dark
and handsome tag, but in a savage mood, he knew he could look more intimidating than attractive.
“And if you came on tour with me,” Evan pressed, “Tasha would have no reason to get upset.”
The impassioned plea tried Michael’s patience. “Your marital problems are none of my business, Evan. If you can’t assure your wife of your unbreakable fidelity, take her with you.”
“You know Tasha is eight months pregnant,” came the plaintive protest. “Can you see her manoeuvring into an economy-class seat on one of those small intercity planes? Not to mention her doctor’s orders to rest and take care. We’re not taking any chances with this baby. Not after two miscarriages.”
Michael frowned. He had forgotten Tasha’s delicate condition and the trouble she’d had in carrying a child to full term. Evan was right. It was stupid to take any risk. If it was his wife and baby Michael knew he’d be cocooning them in cotton wool.
His desire to have children had been frustrated by Roxanne’s deceptions, and he wondered now if he’d ever get to be a father. Finding the right woman had to come first. He assured himself that at thirtyfour, he was still in his prime and his choices in life were wide open. He was not restricted by time.
“Surely Tasha can trust you,” he offered. “It’s only for a few days.”
Evan sighed. “Normally, yes, but she’s in a very fragile mood, feeling all lumpy and undesirable. We’ve had to refrain from sex because. Well, I don’t want to go into that.” He flushed. “Anyhow, she’s not going to be happy about me flying off with a woman as gorgeous and sexy-looking as Lauren Magee.”
Lauren Magee sexy-looking? Michael shook his head incredulously. That was wrapping a wormy apple in a glossy skin.
The glum, discomforted face of his friend stirred sympathy. Evan and Tasha were going through a tough time. The successful launching of this book was important to them financially, so it couldn’t be dropped, and Evan was quite likely to fumble the interviews and get smashed on double gins if he was upset.
“Please?” he begged. “There’s no one else I can turn to. If you don’t help me.” He rolled his eyes and gestured despairingly.
Michael’s curiosity was piqued. “Do you like her, Evan?” he asked pertinently.
“Who? Lauren?” He looked innocent. “She’s a lovely girl, but I’m a married man, Michael. I love my wife and I’m not about to stray.” Hotly earnest.
“Does she like you?”
Uncomfortable shifting again. “Well, er, only in a friendly kind of way. I just don’t want Tasha to misunderstand. If you’re with me, everything will be all right.”
A nasty little troublemaker, amusing herself by coming between husbands and wives, Michael thought with considerable venom. Not this time, Lauren Magee, he silently vowed.
Lovely
girl…huh! She might be gorgeous and sexy-looking, but she clearly had the sting of an asp, poisoning other people’s relationships.
Michael decided it would give him immense satisfaction to do a bit of stinging of his own. Besides, Tasha deserved to have peace of mind during this difficult period. The strain of an advanced and possibly threatened pregnancy was more than enough for her and Evan to cope with. Protecting them from any capricious harm by Lauren Magee was the decent thing to do.
“Okay, Evan, I’ll run interference for you,” he said, a dangerous little smile lurking on his lips.
Relief burst over his friend’s face. “At the party tonight? And the tour?”
“Yes. You can count on me for both.”
And to hell with Roxanne and her ridiculous gloating with her new husband! He could stomach that if he had to for one evening. It was in a good cause. As for Lauren Magee, well, he was beginning to look forward to locking horns with her.
Evan surged out of his chair and reached over Michael’s desk to grab his hand and shake it vigorously with both of his. “You’re a true, true friend and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means I can relax and enjoy everything, and Tasha
will, too. She’s been looking forward to tonight’s launching party. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“Then I hope she’ll have a happy evening.”
Evan grinned. “Champagne on tap. I love free drinks.”
“Don’t forget you have to drive,” Michael warned dryly.
“Uh-uh. We’re staying in the city overnight. Taxis both ways.”
“What hotel? I could pick you up. Best if we arrive together, don’t you think?”
“Great!” Evan heaved a huge, contented sigh. “I won’t forget this, Michael. Any time you want a favour, you’ve got it.”
“I’ll remember that. Do you have a list of the tour details with you. dates, times, flights, hotels?”
“Sure do. With all the telephone numbers for you to make your bookings.”
Evan was probably right about no-one else being able to help him, Michael reflected a few minutes later. The cost of this safeguard venture would prohibit most people. Money meant nothing to him, never had, and Evan knew it. Real friendship did. All the wealth in the world couldn’t buy that. If a couple of thousand dollars could prevent Tasha and Evan from being messed up by Lauren Magee, Michael was only too happy to supply the necessary.
That lady had a few things coming to her.
Michael figured he was just the man to deliver them.
He could feel the primitive savage stirring inside him, and this time he didn’t try to suppress the feeling. He revelled in it. Being civilised could definitely be overrated. He had the taste of revenge in his mouth. It was sweet.
