Eternally Yours

by Jennifer Malin

  “Lara, this house is listed on the National Registry of Historic Places. The whole block is, in fact. You’re not permitted to change the facade. Since this is a corner lot, that wall faces a street, which makes it particularly important. I’m afraid you’ll have to limit your ideas to restoration and decoration.”

  “Restoration and decoration?” She scrunched up her nose. “The place will look the same as it always has.”

  “The same as it was intended, actually--with all the original splendor restored.”

  “That’s not enough.” She sprang from her stool, revealing--much as he had feared--an artist’s temperament. “I need change.”

  “There are plenty of things you can change in here--the paint, the carpeting, even the wood.” He got up and walked to the bookcases along the back wall. “Stripping these would do a lot to lighten the room.”

  “Not enough.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she paced away from him then turned back. “Look, it’s clear that we can’t work together on this. I’m sorry I wasted your time. Forget about the grant.”

  “Your getting the grant is almost a sure thing. This house would be an excellent investment for the society.”

  “But only if I don’t build the addition?” She tapped her foot on the hardwood floor.

  “You can’t build the addition, with or without us.” He gave her a hard look. “You’re not thinking of going ahead with the idea anyway?”

  “That’s no concern of yours.”

  “The local historical board has set guidelines for what can and cannot be done--”

  “This house is mine,” she interrupted. “The historical board owns no part of it. They--or you, for that matter--have no say in what I do.”

  He twisted his mouth, disappointed in himself. He should have approached this matter with more tact. At this rate she would never see his point. Adopting a tone of patience, he said, “Lara, I know you must understand that this house has historical significance, or you wouldn’t have contacted the society in the first place.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about that.” She reached into the pocket of her shorts and drew out his card, glancing at the front. “Mark Vereker. I can’t believe you’re related to that wonderful poet.”

  He snorted. What nonsense. He didn’t live up to that hack? For her to say so without reading a single chapter of his books proved how rash she was.

  She held the card out to him. “Your ancestor would be ashamed of you. You have no vision whatsoever.”

  Heat rose under his collar. He snatched the card away from her. “Well, I’d choose taste over vision any day. And if you consider old Geoff’s maudlin clichés visionary, that’s just an example of your lack of taste.”

  As he pulled back his arm, his elbow hit the bookcase behind him. Though he barely jarred it, a book dropped from a high shelf and skimmed his head. Startled, he fell against the case with a thud. The case pivoted and ground along the floor, and he landed beside it on his rear end.

  A hole had opened up in the wall--no, not a hole but an entrance. Unhurt but stunned, he lay staring into the doorway to an unlit hidden chamber. Cold air drifted out of it, adding an eerie quality to the discovery.

  “Oh, my God.” Lara stooped next to him. “Are you all right?”

  He pushed himself up into a sitting position, his attention anchored on the exposed opening. Peering into the darkness, he asked, “What is this?”

  Lara stood slowly and took a step backward, as though she expected a monster to jump out and attack them. “I don’t know. I always thought the kitchen stairs were right behind that wall.”

  He hoisted himself to his feet and brushed off the seat of his pants. Leaning through the doorway, he said, “It’s pitch black in here, though judging by the echo, there’s a fair amount of space. Amazing--we’ve found a secret room. Do you have a flashlight?”

  “Not on me.” She hesitated. “Mr. Vereker–as long as you’re not hurt--I believe you were about to leave.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind a chance to see what’s in here.” He turned around and found no encouragement in her expression. Somewhat daunted, he added, “Even in my business, I don’t run across hidden rooms every day.”

  She glanced toward the opening, rubbing her upper arms. “Why is it so cold in there? Do you feel that horrible chill?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it leads to a cellar or tunnel--which is why I don’t want to walk in without a light. Who knows what the footing is like? You must have a flashlight around here. Why don’t you go and get it?”

  “Why don’t you just go?” she threw back.

  He frowned. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

  “I’m afraid I do.” She pursed her lips. “You should be glad that you won’t need to spend any more time putting up with me and my terrible lack of taste. As I told you, I’m withdrawing my application for the grant. Now, I’m sorry about your head. I must have left that book sticking out when I put it back this morning.”

  She bent to pick it up, and he glimpsed the cover. To add insult to injury, the book that had hit him was a volume of Geoffrey Vereker’s poetry.

  Straightening back up, she looked him in the eye. “As long as you’re not hurt, I have to insist that you go.”

  He matched her gaze for a long moment. “Listen, Lara, I know we have our differences, but can’t you look past them for five minutes and give me a chance to explore something as extraordinary as this?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’m too busy to waste another five minutes.”

  He looked away from her to the dark entrance next to him. The opportunity for him to get a peek inside was slipping away, but if she didn’t want him around, there wasn’t much he could do. Now he wished more than ever that he’d presented his views about her house in a more diplomatic way.

  Racking his brain, he came up with a last-ditch attempt to change her mind. “You know, going in there by yourself after I leave could be dangerous. Even if the footing looks all right, the floorboards may be half-rotten. You really should have someone with you when you investigate.”

  She glanced at the hole and quickly looked away. “I’m not going to investigate--not now anyway.”

  “What?” he asked in disbelief. “You’re not dying to see what’s in there?”

  “Frankly, the only thing I’m dying for is some time to myself. I have a painting to get back to--and a lot of work and planning to do regarding my house.”

  He shook his head, frustrated by her attitude. “Instead of coming up with so many plans for this house, maybe you should take some time to appreciate it. Your lack of interest in this find is unbelievable.”

  Her jaw dropped. “So is your interference in my business, as I’ve already pointed out.”

  “Do you know what I would give to have an opportunity like this of my own, what I’d give just to have my parents’ house back without any secret rooms? If this place had been passed down to you from your parents or grandparents, maybe you’d understand. But, no, this beautiful home simply landed in your lap. You say your ex’s family never changed a thing here. What would they think of your recklessness now? Don’t you care about anyone else’s feelings?”

  She let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, now you’re on very thin ice. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “But I do. I’ve seen how careless people can be.”

  “Have you? Well, I’ve seen a lot of things, too.” She strode to the drawing table and picked up his note pad and pen, holding them out. “Here. Now get out of my house.”

  The anger in her eyes convinced him he’d said enough--probably too much. How did she end up with this house? he wondered...but now wasn’t a good time to ask. He took his belongings from her and stashed them inside his jacket. Being thrown out of someone’s house was a new experience for him, and he didn’t know what to say.

  “Okay, then,” he muttered. “Good-bye.”

  He walked out of the studio without looking back, leaving her amid th
e mess of art supplies and smelly rags.

  * * * *

  Geoffrey Vereker smirked to himself. As far as he was concerned, the encounter between the mortals couldn’t have come to a more perfect conclusion. The little he’d seen of his descendant had done nothing to impress him. The man had denigrated both Geoff’s poetry and his current favorite, Lara. Knocking a volume of his own work onto the fool’s head had brought him some pleasure, but this altercation meant far more to him. Now he had Lara all to himself again...at least until she met another earthbound man.

  He watched Mark walk out to his motorized carriage and climb inside. As the mortal started up the engine, he looked back at the house one last time, and Geoff followed his gaze.

  Lara’s face appeared at the window of the front door. The next second the curtain closed.

  The ghost frowned to himself. He looked back at his descendant, who dropped his gaze, his brow furrowing.

  Could it be that he has an inkling of what a fool he’s been? The comments Mark had made about Lara’s apathy had indeed gone beyond the pale. From what Geoff had overheard when her former husband left, the man had spent his days lazing about while she went out to win the bread. So much for his maintaining his treasured family home and caring about his heritage.

  True, Lara’s plans for the house were misguided, but what did Mark expect from a member of the impractical gender? A man was meant to guide a woman, not insult her, as he had done. Perhaps her disinterest in the hidden room had been somewhat surprising, too, but not what one could call uncaring. Geoff, too, had wondered what was in there, but not enough to look for himself. Something about the room disturbed him, just as it seemed to unnerve her.

  While the ghost floated above, anxious for his descendant to leave, Mark spent another moment looking back toward the house. Surely the man wasn’t contemplating an apology!

  Go home, Geoff tried to will him, go home. But his thoughts didn’t seem to affect the mortal.

  After what seemed like ages, Mark finally looked ahead at the road and drove the carriage away.

  Geoff breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately for him, his good-for-nothing descendant didn’t know when to eat his words. He only hoped the fellow had as little conscience--and taste in women--as he appeared to. If the ghost had his way, he would never see Mark Vereker again.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning Lara slipped into a tank top and a pair of tattered cut-off jeans. The outfit was as atrocious as the one she’d worn the day before, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t likely to get another surprise visit today--in any case, not from anyone in the historical society. After the send-off she’d given Mark Vereker yesterday neither he nor his colleagues would ever drop in again.

  The phone rang, startling her. The first thought she had was of Mark, but only because he’d been on her mind. She walked to the nightstand where she kept the phone and waited for the second ring before she picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi!” a woman’s voice greeted her.

  “Oh, hi, Diane.” She let her body relax. Of course it wasn’t Mark.

  “Listen--I’m on my way to work,” her friend blurted, “so I can only talk for a minute, but I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  Privately, Lara looked toward heaven. She braced herself for one of Diane’s blind-date recommendations. “What sort of proposition?”

  “How about a week in Cape Hatteras in a beautiful house on the beach?” Despite her hurry, Di spared a second for a dramatic pause. “Jerry’s brother and his wife rented the place with another family, but now the other people have backed out. We’re heading down next Sunday, but there’s still an extra bedroom available. We wondered if you’d want to come.”

  A vacation on her own with two couples didn’t sound ideal to her. “Thanks, but, as you know, I’ve earmarked all of my time and money this summer for art and renovations on the house.”

  “A week isn’t much time to spare, and you won’t need to spend a dime on accommodations. Jerry and I will treat you. If you don’t come, we’ll be paying for half of the house rental anyway.”

  “That’s very generous, but--”

  “Not really. I’ll enjoy myself more with you there. The guys will probably be out fishing a lot of the time. I’ll need you around to keep me company.”

  Lara knew the men would be on hand enough of the time to make her very conscious of being the only single one there. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d really rather get some work done here. You’ll have your sister-in-law to hang out with.”

  “Well...I don’t want to twist your arm.” Di hesitated. “You sound kind of down today. Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m just ticked off because of an encounter I had with some guy yesterday.”

  “Really?” Her friend’s tone perked up immediately. “What guy? A good-looking one?”

  “Well, yes, but that doesn’t matter.”

  Lara gave her an abridged account of what had happened. She ended it complaining, “The nerve of him nitpicking over my paint rags and practically forbidding me to go through with my plans! I almost felt like Ron was back in the house, ordering me around.”

  Di took a moment to absorb the story. In a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the guy was rude, but are you sure he doesn’t have a point--about the National Registry, I mean? Maybe there are other ways to improve your studio without knocking out that wall.”

  Lara sighed, acknowledging an issue she’d been avoiding thinking about since Mark had brought it up. “I may have to consider that, but you know how much this project means to me. Anyway, I’d better let you go. Aren’t you supposed to be in the store by ten?”

  “Yes, and they’re not going to be thrilled when I ask them for a last-minute vacation, either. I’ll talk to you before we leave for Hatteras.”

  They made their good-byes quick. Lara hung up and sat on the bed, thinking about the point Di had made. She suspected that part of the reason she’d been so mad at Mark was because some of his arguments made sense, as much as she didn’t like them. But to give up on expanding the studio seemed out of the question. If she only redecorated, the space would still be inadequate. Besides, the new studio sort of symbolized her new start in life.

  Unsure what to think, she settled for deferring her final decision. Without the grant she couldn’t afford to do the work yet, anyway.

  She went downstairs to get started painting before eating breakfast. Remembering the secret room, she stopped outside the studio door. She wished she still didn’t know it was there. Pitch black and unnaturally cold, the place gave her the creeps. She didn’t like that her house had kept a secret from her all these years--more than one secret, actually. That letter stuck in the parlor window had made her feel funny, too.

  Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to let irrational fears keep her from getting any work done. If she wanted to be independent she couldn’t very well cower in her own house.

  Swallowing her fear, she stepped inside the studio. Her gaze automatically shot to the secret entrance. After Mark had left she’d been too uncomfortable to go near the bookcase and try to move it back into place.

  She drifted slowly toward the rear of the room, trying not to let her gaze stray to the opening. Unfortunately that didn’t stop her from feeling the chilly draft seeping out again.

  Backtracking a few feet, she stared at the black gap and bit her lip. Despite herself she couldn’t help believing that something scary lurked in there.

  She took a deep breath and crept closer to the entrance. Instead of looking inside, she gave the bookcase the hardest shove she could and reduced the opening by about half. After a few seconds of recovery she pushed again, this time closing up most of the hole.

  On her third try, the case caught on the jamb. Though she struggled to force it completely shut, her feet slid out from under her. The heavy door wouldn’t budge.

  Breathing hard with the effort, she took a step backward and rubbed
her arms. “Damn, it’s cold in there. I don’t like that.”

  A sudden pounding noise made her jump.

  She clapped one hand over her heart and closed her eyes. Someone was at the front door again.

  Letting out her breath, she hurried through to the parlor, more eager than usual to receive company. Today she would gladly do without the seclusion she normally enjoyed.

  When she opened the door she found herself face-to-face with Mark Vereker. Dressed in casual pants and a polo shirt, he looked more at ease than he had the day before--and even more handsome, too.

  “Hello, Lara.” He gave her one of his halfhearted smiles.

  For a split second she wondered if he was here to tell her he’d changed his mind about the studio wall. Then she remembered how arrogant he’d been about his views, and she came back to her senses.

  She leaned against the door and crossed her arms over her chest. “Forget something yesterday?”

  “I deserve that cool greeting,” he said without missing a beat. Despite her annoyance with him, his chocolate-drop eyes appealed to her. The steadiness of his gaze made him look the picture of sincerity.

  “As a matter of fact, I did forget something.” He kept his focus glued on her. “Diplomacy. I came by to apologize.”

  A softness in his tone made her think he meant what he said, but she didn’t quite trust her judgment. As much as she’d tried to build independence in the last six months, part of her still longed for attention from a man. Her ex-husband had rarely given her much. On top of that, she couldn’t deny she was attracted to Mark, despite his lack of “diplomacy.” If she didn’t watch herself, she might find herself forgiving him.

  She frowned. “I hope you haven’t come to try to tell me again what I can and can’t do with my house.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. What I want is to try to undo the damage I did yesterday. I can’t pretend that you and I are in agreement, Lara, but I don’t want you to think I’m a complete jerk.”

  “And why should you care what I think?”