The Silent Touch of Shadows (26 page)

The room Melissa had chosen as her bedroom wasn’t large, but it had the advantage of a private bathroom, as well as the magnificent view. If anyone had asked her, she would have been unable to explain why she had chosen that particular room. She’d had a choice of at least two larger ones, but she hadn’t hesitated for a second. She felt at home in this one.

The walls had been in need of redecoration, so she’d painted the plaster with a soft primrose yellow, and bought matching curtains, giving the room a warm and welcoming aura. In one corner was the smallest fireplace she had ever seen, with an exquisitely carved stone surround. She never needed to light a fire in it, so instead she’d put an arrangement of dried flowers in the little grate. They, too, matched the overall colour scheme, as did an old-fashioned quilt Melissa had inherited from her grandmother, which had always been a favourite of hers.

Waking up, the morning after the Open Day, she stretched and gazed around the room contentedly. Somewhere near the ceiling a fly buzzed lazily, and she watched him for a while as he continued his search for a way out.

Melissa rolled over onto her side and her right hand encountered warmth, as if the bed had been shared by someone. With a gasp she sat up and stared at the second pillow. There was an indentation.

Jolie.
She must have sneaked in during the night, as she used to do when she was little, and then left before Melissa woke up. Relieved, Melissa drew in a deep breath and slumped back against the pillows with a grin. ‘Cheeky little so-and-so
 
…’ but the smile faded as she recalled that Jolie had spent the night at Amy’s house, a last-minute treat the girls had begged for as reward for all their hard work at school. A chill crept up her spine.
So who’s been in my bed?

She closed her eyes and snatches of a dream returned to torment her. Roger again, no doubt about it. He’d held her close, undressed her, caressed her bare skin and
 
… The pictures which formed in her mind were too vivid for comfort and she gasped once more. She forced herself to breathe slowly in order to calm her erratic heartbeat, but in the next instant her nostrils detected the scent of him and she turned abruptly to sniff the pillow. Horse, leather and
 
… man.

‘Nooo!’ She threw the pillow clean across the room where it hit the wardrobe with a thud. ‘I’m going mad, totally mad.’

Casting the sheet aside she strode into the bathroom and turned on the taps of the shower full blast, as if the water could wash away her thoughts. She found that she was shaking and it took a long time before she calmed down enough to catch hold of the slippery soap. The softness of the lather on her heated skin was almost too much, however, and brought more fevered images into her mind.
His big hand, stroking her breast. The touch of his fingers, slightly rough, sending shockwaves through her body
 
…
A sob of frustration escaped her.

The steam rose slowly up to the ceiling before sinking down towards the floor. The swirls floated about and Melissa could have sworn she saw the shape of a man coming closer. With trembling fingers she yanked open the glass door of the shower cubicle, but there was nothing outside except vapour dissolving gently. The cold air hit her skin and she shivered violently.

‘Go away, Roger. Leave me alone, damn you!’ With a muffled curse she banged the door shut and finished quickly. Once out of the shower she dried herself off with jerky movements, glancing round the room from time to time, but nothing stirred. He was gone. For the moment.

Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

A little moorhen was scuttling across the pond, hooting an anxious warning to her tiny chicks, who all came swimming obediently at her command. They propelled themselves towards safety as fast as their spindly legs could manage. In his haste to reach his mother, one tiny bird even walked on top of a lily pad, which was blocking his way. The long, thin legs on such a small, fuzzy body was both a comical and charming sight. Melissa watched as the whole family disappeared from view under an overhanging bush.

She drew in a deep breath and caught the scent of the enormous wisteria that was climbing up the gable end of the barn behind her. At the bottom the stems were as thick as her calves, and the lilac flowers and clinging tentacles covered almost the entire wall. Spring had arrived with a vengeance.

Absently throwing a piece of mouldy bread to the voracious carp that lurked in the mud at the bottom of the pond, she brooded on her predicament and wondered what to do about it. The fish eagerly sucked soggy bits of bread into their gaping mouths, making a curious smacking sound, but Melissa hardly noticed. She hurled another chunk of bread.

‘Are you all right, dear? You look a bit tired.’ Dorothy joined Melissa on the wooden bench.

‘No, I’m not tired, Dorothy. It’s just that I don’t know what to do about Roger. He won’t leave me alone.’

‘You’ve seen him again?’

‘Not exactly.’ Melissa felt her cheeks turn warm, as an image of a man making love to her passed swiftly through her mind. She had seen entirely too much of him, in her opinion, but her traitorous body disagreed and responded to the picture by becoming heated, her heart increasing its rhythm. She gripped the bench hard and concentrated on the lovely view. ‘I sense him all the time, as if he’s trying to tell me something, and he haunts my dreams. I want to help him, but I don’t know how. I don’t even know his full name, so how can I find out what happened to him?’

‘Have you considered hypnotherapy? Perhaps a hypnotist could make you remember more of your dreams. There might be a clue for you.’

Melissa felt herself blush again and shook her head.
God forbid I should talk to someone about sleeping with a ghost!
They would have her sent to an asylum for sure. ‘No, I don’t think that would help. There must be another way.’

‘Come on, let’s walk around the garden. It is really so pretty this time of year.’

They wandered aimlessly and Dorothy chatted about the garden, describing the various flowers and vegetables which were grown every year. ‘Over there we have strawberries and raspberries – you’ll have to try and keep the girls out of there or there’ll never be any left to pick – and over here are the blackcurrant bushes. I usually make a lot of jam
 
…’

While Dorothy continued with her commentary, Melissa tried once more to make sense of her dreams and Roger’s plea for help. She felt sure there must be something she was meant to be doing, but she had no idea what it could be. Her brain seemed unable to come up with anything useful, other than to continue with her research about the house.

As they came to the back of the garden, Dorothy cleared her throat and brought Melissa back to the present. ‘Melissa,’ she began, ‘you’re getting too caught up in this ghost business. What I mean is, you’re not the first person this has happened to. You remember I told you about my sister and that I overheard a shouting match between her and my mother?’ Melissa nodded slowly. ‘Yes, well, from what I can remember Mother said the handsome ghost haunts at least one woman of every generation in our family, but it will pass. As I told you, he seems to pick on the girls with reddish hair. Ruth’s was almost the same colour as yours. Perhaps Sibell had red hair and he’s looking for her? You mustn’t let it disturb you, dear. I’m sure he’ll give up soon.’

‘That’s easier said than done,’ Melissa scoffed. ‘What with Amy’s father reminding me of Roger, and all those dreams, how can I forget it?’

‘How can you be sure it’s not Jake you’re dreaming of? You two seemed to hit it off, or am I wrong? I think perhaps your imagination is working overtime and you have confused the two.’

‘I wish I could believe you, Dorothy, but there’s more to it than that. And although I do like Jake, I’m not sure whether it’s just because of his likeness to Roger. The two are confused in my mind, almost as if they overlap somehow. Does that make sense? No, probably not.’ An overwhelming weariness washed over her, and her shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t know about the others Roger has haunted, but this time I’m convinced he won’t give up.’

‘If you say so, dear.’ Dorothy capitulated with a sigh.

Just past the greenhouse, where that year’s tomato seedlings were almost ready to be planted out, Melissa stopped and looked around in confusion. ‘Where has the walled garden gone?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The walled kitchen garden. I thought it was over there. I could have sworn I saw it last time I was in this part of the garden.’ Melissa pointed to her left, but then she noticed Dorothy staring at her and realised her mind had been playing tricks on her again. Her frustration boiled over and she shouted, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ startling a couple of rabbits who hopped off into the bushes. She sank down onto the grass cradling her head in her hands.

Dorothy looked thoughtful. ‘I see what you mean. Perhaps there is more to this than I thought. You’re quite right, actually, there is part of a wall over there, behind those bushes, but I didn’t know it was for a kitchen garden. It’s very likely though.’ She patted her great-niece’s back awkwardly. ‘I wish I could help you, but this is obviously something only you can sort out. Perhaps if you just wait, the answers will come to you. I think Roger will tell you all when he’s good and ready.’

Melissa wanted to believe her, but couldn’t rid herself of the despair. She hated the feeling of helplessness. She wanted to be in charge of her own destiny.

Most of all, she wanted to be free of Roger. Or did she?

‘Are you sure I was invited as well?’ Melissa asked for at least the tenth time as they climbed into Dorothy’s tiny car and set off down the drive.

Dorothy sighed. ‘Yes, dear. Caroline specifically asked me to bring you so everyone can meet you. You need to make some friends if you’re staying in this neighbourhood, you know. And it will take your mind off things.’ The words ‘ghost’ and ‘Roger’ hung unspoken between them.

Melissa knew Dorothy was right, but when her great-aunt had told her they were invited to a cocktail party at the grandest house for miles around, she’d felt daunted.

‘It’s just that I don’t think these are my sort of people. You may be used to mixing in high circles, but I’m not. Rich people make me feel uncomfortable.’

‘I’m rich. Well, comparatively
 
…’

Melissa smiled. ‘You’re different.’

‘Maybe there are some others just like me? You shouldn’t tar them all with the same brush.’

‘Yes, I guess you’re right.’ Still, Melissa would definitely have preferred to stay at home and put the finishing touches to Jake’s family tree, as far as it went at the moment. She had put off calling him until she had it all ready, but she knew she couldn’t stall for much longer.

‘You’re sure Jolie and Amy will be all right with Savannah?’ The grand-daughter of one of Dorothy’s friends had agreed to keep an eye on the girls, who were having yet another sleepover, even though they’d initially insisted they were too old to be babysat.

‘Of course, why wouldn’t they be? Savannah’s a lovely girl.’

Melissa stifled a sigh. She was being silly and she knew it.

Lights and noise spilled out of the large mansion as they parked on the driveway next to what seemed like hundreds of other cars. ‘Good grief,’ Melissa muttered. ‘Have they invited the whole county?’

‘Oh, Caroline’s parties are always well attended. The canapés are out of this world. You’ll see.’

They were greeted by their hostess, a stunning lady of indeterminate age, dressed in a glittering sheath and covered with chunky jewellery that had to weigh a ton. ‘Dorothy, darling, how lovely to see you,’ she gushed and Melissa cringed inwardly. ‘And this is your lovely niece, is it? Welcome, my dear, I’m Caroline Brooke-Fearnley. So glad you could come. Do go through, I’m sure Dorothy will introduce you to everyone.’

Shedding their coats in the hall, Melissa tried to shrink behind Dorothy as they entered a room so big it could have been used as a sports hall. It had been decorated with flower arrangements and swags of greenery and there was a small orchestra at one end providing subtle background music. They could have saved themselves the trouble though, since the noise level from the guests was deafening. Melissa could never understand how a group of people doing nothing but talking could possibly be so loud.

She looked around and wondered if this was what Cinderella had felt like. The only difference was that Melissa’s fairy godmother had forgotten to provide her with the requisite sparkly outfit. Her black dress was plain and unadorned, its severity relieved only by a pretty diamond brooch that Dorothy had let her borrow. She was very thankful for that, at least, as every other woman present seemed to shimmer in one way or another. She felt like a peahen in a room full of peacocks, but she knew deep down this was what suited her best, so it didn’t bother her much.

An hour later, her head was beginning to throb and her cheek muscles hurt from keeping up the polite rictus grin throughout boring conversations. Although everyone she’d talked to had been welcoming, so far she hadn’t met anyone she’d really like to be friends with. All she wanted was to go home. And if one more person asked what she did for a living and where Mr Grantham was, she thought she would scream.

Where’s Prince Charming when you need him? she wondered, taking a fortifying sip of her drink.