The Ghost

by Danielle Steel

  Don't be silly. You'd have had me locked up, and been convinced that I was senile. Would you have warned me if the tables were turned? I don't think so. He smiled at what she said, and he knew it was true. If she had warned him, he would never have believed her.

  I suppose you're right. What happens now? he asked with interest. Do you suppose she'll come back again? It wasn't likely if Gladys had only seen her once in seventy years, and he was sad to think that he would never have another chance to see her.

  I have no idea. I don't know much about these tilings. I told you, I don't believe in them.

  Neither do I. But he was aching to see her, and he didn't want to admit it even to Gladys. It made him wonder about himself that he was suddenly fascinated by the ghost of a woman who'd lived in the eighteenth century. It didn't say much about his love life. And for the rest of the afternoon, they talked about Sarah and Fraii-uois, and Gladys tried to remember everything she'd ever heard about them. And finally at four o'clock, Charlie left her and drove slowly back to the chateau, thinking of Sarah. And as he drove through town he thought about calling Carole, so he stopped at a pay phone. It seemed so odd to have spent an entire Christmas without her, and he had been thinking about calling her ever since that morning. He wasn't even sure where she was, but he thought it was worth a try calling Simon's number. He was almost certain she'd be there, unless they'd gone to the country for the weekend. It was nine o'clock at night for them, and even if they'd been out with friends, he was sure that they'd be home by then, as long as they had stayed in London over Christmas.

  He stood next to the phone and thought about it for a long time, and then finally, he dialed the number. He was just about to decide that she wasn't there, when she answered on the fifth ring, and she sounded a little breathless, as though she'd run upstairs, or in from another room. It was Carole, but he stood in the snow on Christmas afternoon, freezing at the outside pay phone, and for just an instant he couldn't even answer.

  Hello? she said again, wondering who it was. She could hear the far-off tinny sound of long-distance. Maybe because of the phone he'd used, they didn't seem to have a great connection.

  Hi ' it's me. ' I just wanted to wish you merry Christmas, and ask you to come back, and if you're still in love with me' . He had to force himself not to tell her how much he missed her, and he suddenly knew that calling her had not been a great idea. Just hearing her again made him feel as though he'd been punched in the stomach. He hadn't spoken to her since he left London. How are you? He tried to sound nonchalant and failed abysmally, and even worse, he knew she could hear it.

  I'm fine. How are you? How's New York? She sounded happy and alive and busy. And here he was chasing ghosts around New England. Just hearing her made him want his old life back.

  New York is fine, I guess. There was a long pause, and then he decided to tell her. I left last week.

  To ski? She sounded relieved, at least that sounded normal. At first she thought he sounded depressed and nervous.

  Eventually. Actually, I took a six-month leave of absence.

  You what? It was so unlike him, she couldn't believe it. What happened? Even though she had left him for someone else, she still worried about him.

  It's a long story, but the office was a nightmare. They're cranking out designs from twenty years ago, and selling zillion-dollar clients tired, reworked old blueprints. I don't know how they've stayed in business this long. And their office is a snake pit. It's all about politics and turning your best friend in. I don't know how Europe got to be so different, or how we never noticed what they'd turned into. I just couldn't do it. And I was driving them crazy. I kept asking too many questions. I don't even know if I'll go back again. They told me to take six months off, and I figure that sometime in April I'll try and sort out what I'm doing. I just can't see myself putting up with that kind of bullshit.

  Are you coming back to London? She sounded shocked at what he had said, and sad for him. She knew how much he loved the firm, and how loyal he had been. It must have been a real blow to him to leave them, even for a leave of absence.

  I'm not sure yet. I have to figure out some things, like what to do with the rest of my life, for instance. I just rented a house in New England for a year. It's kind of a special deal. I might stay here for a while and then come back to London and look for an apartment.

  Where are you? She sounded confused. She didn't understand what he was doing, but the trouble was, neither did Charlie.

  I'm in Massachusetts, in a little town called Shelburne Falls, near Deerfield. She had only a vague notion of where that was. She had grown up on the West Coast, in San Francisco. It's really beautiful, and I met the most amazing woman here. He was talking about Gladys, not Sarah, and at her end, Carole looked enormously relieved. She had been waiting for this to happen. It would take a lot of the heat off of her, and change his attitude about both her and Simon. She was suddenly delighted he had called her.

  Oh, Charlie, I'm so glad. I'm happy for you. You need that. We all do.

  But he was smiling wistfully as he heard her. Yeah, I know. But don't get too worked up. She's seventy years old, she's my landlady. She owns the most beautiful little chateau. It was built in 1790 by a French count, for his mistress.

  It sounds very exotic, she said, a little confused by what he was saying to her. She wondered if he was having a nervous breakdown. What was he doing renting a chateau in New England, and walking out on his job for six months? What in hell was he doing? Are you all right, Charlie? I mean ' really '

  I think so. I'm not sure some of the time. And then at other times, I think I'm going to make it. I'll let you know what happens. And then he couldn't help himself. He had to know. There was always the slim chance that she had dumped Simon since Charlie had left London.

  How are things with you? How's Simon? Tired of him yet? Hate him? Has he gone off with someone else? Are either of you cheating? He didn't give a damn what Simon did. Charlie wanted his wife back.

  He's fine, Carole said quietly, and we're fine too. She knew exactly what Charlie was asking.

  I'm sorry to hear that, he said, looking like a kid, and she laughed. She knew exactly the expression he was wearing, and in her own way, she still loved him, but not enough to want to be married to him anymore. She was very much in love with Simon. And she still wasn't sure what had happened to them, but she knew that somewhere along the road, she had fallen out of love with her husband. And in spite of everything different he wanted to believe, Charlie knew that. It was just a question of learning to live with it for the next forty or fifty years. But at least now, he told himself with a rueful smile, he had Gladys ' and Sarah. But he would have traded them both for Carole in a minute. He tried not to think of her, of how she looked, of those long graceful legs, and the tiny waist that had always dazzled him, as they went on talking. She had just told him they were going to St. Moritz over New Year's.

  I was on my way to Vermont, when I stopped here, he explained to her. That was five days ago, and then I met the woman who owns the chateau, and ' I'll tell you about it sometime. It was too long a saga to go into, standing at an open phone in Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts. And as he listened to her at the other end, it started snowing.

  Let me know where you are, she said to him, and he frowned as soon as she said it.

  Why? What difference does it make?

  I just want to know you're all right, that's all. She was instantly sorry she'd said it.

  I'm getting a phone and a fax next week. I'll call you when I have the numbers. At least it was an excuse to call her, but she was already starting to feel uncomfortable about the conversation, and Simon had just come into the room to see where she was. They had dinner guests, and she had taken forever.

  Just fax it to my office, she said, I'll get it. But he could tell immediately that she was no longer alone, and it seemed ironic to him. A year before, she had been cheating on him with Simon, and now she was afraid to live with him and ta
lk to her husband. It wasn't that she was afraid of him, it was that she just didn't want to, and Charlie knew that.

  I'll call you sometime ' take care of yourself ' he said, feeling as though she were fading away. And she was. He could hear other people in the room now. Their guests had all come into the room where she'd been speaking. It was an informal gathering, and they had come into Simon's den after dinner to have coffee.

  You too, she sounded sad as he said good-bye, and then as an afterthought, she shouted after him, Merry Christmas ' I love you, she wanted to add, but knew she couldn't. And even if Simon hadn't been there, she knew that she could no longer say that to Charlie, he wouldn't have understood it, how she could love both men, but only want to live with Simon. Charlie was like her dearest, oldest friend now. But she knew it would have been unkind to confuse him.

  And after he'd hung up the phone, he stood staring at it for a long time, with tiny snowflakes swirling slowly around him. He wanted to hit something, or cry, or ask her again why it had happened. What was she doing there, at Simon's house, with his friends, pretending to be married to Simon? She was still his wife, for God's sake, the divorce hadn't gone through yet. But it would eventually, and he supposed he knew what would happen. He just couldn't bear to think about it. And he got back in the station wagon with a sigh, and drove slowly up into the hills, thinking of Carole.

  He was still thinking about her when he got to the clearing where he usually left the car, and he walked through the snow back to the house he had fallen in love with. It was dark, and there was no sign of life, and he wondered if the same woman he had seen was waiting for him there. He needed something, someone, someone he could love and talk to. But all he wanted as he unlocked the door was Carole. And there was no one in the house this time. Nothing stirred, there was no sound, no apparition, no feeling. The house was empty, and he sat down in one of the few chairs he had, in the dark, looking out the window into the darkness. He hadn't even bothered to put the light on. He just wanted to sit there and think about her for a while ' the woman he had loved and lost ' and then the woman he had caught a glimpse of the night before, and could only dream of.

  Chapter 6

  CHARLIE WAS UP early, and feeling energetic, the day after Christmas. He was going to town with a list of things he needed to polish the floors and to clean the marble steps and the fireplaces. And before he went out to shop, he got a ladder, and let himself into the attic. It was a large, well-lit space, with four large, round windows, and he had no problem finding his way around there. There were some boxes of old clothes and things that Gladys told him she'd stored, and then, sadly, he found some of Jimmy's things, his Navy uniforms, some toys from when he was a child, and some things of Peggy's. It tore at Charlie's heart to see them. And he suspected that Gladys kept them there so she wouldn't have to come across them.

  It took him an hour to go through everything, there were about a dozen small trunks and cardboard boxes. But he didn't find anything particularly interesting, and none of it appeared to have been Sarah's, and when he came back downstairs, he was more than a little disappointed. He wasn't sure what he had expected to find, but he had somehow hoped that over the years some of her things had gotten left there. But Gladys was far too neat and organized to overlook something as important as a box of Sarah's belongings. He wasn't even sure what he would have done with them, but he felt as though it might have brought him a little closer to her just to see them. He reminded himself that the woman had been gone for nearly two centuries, and if he wasn't careful, she might become an obsession with him. He had enough real problems in his life without believing in a ghost, let alone falling in love with her. How would he ever have explained that to Carole? But as it turned out, he didn't have to. He found none of her things, and he was sure from what Gladys had said that Sarah wasn't likely to appear to him again. In fact, in the clear light of day, two days afterward, he almost wondered if what he'd seen had been a figment of his imagination, a sign of the incredible pressure he'd been under, first with the divorce, and everything that led up to it, and then with his office when he left them. Maybe there had never been a woman there at all. Maybe he'd fallen asleep, and only dreamed it.

  But when he stopped at the hardware store that afternoon in Shelburne Falls, he couldn't resist going to the historical society right next to it. It was a narrow shingled house that had been donated to the town years before, and housed an extensive library about local history, and a small museum. Charlie wanted to see if there were any books available about Francois or Sarah. But as he stepped inside, he was in no way prepared for the reception he got there. The woman at the desk had her back to him, and when she turned and looked at him, in spite of a face that looked like a cameo, she had eyes full of sorrow and hatred. And her response to his Good afternoon was curt almost to the point of rudeness. She looked as though she was furious at him for coming in at all, and it was obvious that she didn't want him to disturb her.

  I'm sony, he apologized with a warm smile, but nothing in her eyes or face responded. He wondered if maybe she'd had a rotten Christmas, or a rotten life, but actually, he decided as he looked at her, maybe she was just a rotten person. She was a very pretty girl. She had big green eyes, and dark auburn hair, and creamy skin that went with it. She was tall and thin and her features were very delicate, and he saw, as she put her hands on the desk in front of her, that she had long, graceful fingers. But everything about her told him not to come near her. I was looking for some books on Sarah Ferguson and Francois de Pellerin, if you have anything. I'm not quite sure of the dates, but I think they lived here at the end of the eighteenth century, and she must have been around for a bit longer. I think whatever I'd want is somewhere around 1790. Are you familiar with them? he asked innocently, and she stunned him again by almost snarling at him, as she jotted down the names of two books on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

  You'll find them over there. She pointed coldly at a rack of books across the room, just behind him. I'm busy right now. If you can't find them, let me know. He was really annoyed at her attitude, and it was surprisingly unlike everyone else he'd met in either Shelburne Falls or Deerfield. Everyone else seemed anxious to make him feel at home, and they'd been excited to hear he'd rented the chateau. But not this woman. She was like the kind of people he'd encountered on the subway in New York, on the rare times he'd taken it, but even they had been more pleasant.

  Is something wrong? he couldn't resist asking her. It seemed impossible that she would be that disagreeable without a reason.

  Why? She looked at him with eyes like green ice. In fact they were just a shade more yellow than emeralds, and he wondered what she would look like if she were smiling.

  You seem upset, he said gently, his own warm, brown eyes like melted chocolate looked into her cold ones.

  I'm not. I'm just busy. She turned away from him again then, and he found the two books, and leafed through them. He was planning to take them home with him, and he was curious to see if there were any drawings of either of diem, but his breath caught as he flipped through the pages of the second book, and found one. There was no question of who he had seen. The likeness was extraordinary, even the look in her eyes, the shape of her lips, the way she had seemed about to smile, or speak, or laugh at him. It was the same girl with the long black hair and huge blue eyes. It was the very same woman as the one he'd seen ' it was Sarah.

  And as she turned to look at him again, the young woman at the historical society saw his look of amazement. Is she a relative? she asked, intrigued by his obvious fascination. And she felt only slightly guilty for being so short with him. But it was unusual for anyone to come in, except now and then in tourist season. Most of the time the historical society was just used as a reference library, and Francesca Vironnet had taken the job of curator and librarian because she knew she would have very little contact with people, and would have plenty of time to herself, to work on her thesis. She had earned an art history degree in
France years before, and another in Italy, and she could have taught, but in recent times, she had far preferred books to people. She was proud of the historical society, kept good track of the books they kept there, repaired them when necessary, and zealously guarded the antiques that were on the second floor in the rooms designated as a museum. It was really only in summer that people came to see them.

  She looked annoyed when she glanced up, and saw that Charlie was watching her with interest. She was uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and he was surprised she had even bothered to ask him a question. She seemed anything but friendly.

  No, I've heard about Sarah and Fran+oois from friends, he explained. They must have been interesting people. He pretended not to notice her standoffish expression.

  There are a lot of myths and legends about them, she said cautiously, trying not to appear intrigued by him. He looked intelligent and sophisticated, more like the Europeans she knew, but she resisted any impulse to get to know him. I suspect most of them aren't true. They seem to have grown larger than life in the last two centuries. They were probably very ordinary, although there's no way to prove it. It seemed a depressing outlook to him, and he hated the idea of reducing them to the size of mere mortals again. He much preferred the great passion to which Gladys had referred, the touching love story, and the courage to flaunt the mores of the times out of love for each other. He wondered what had happened to this girl to make her so angry and unpleasant. But paradoxically, in spite of her sour face and angry eyes, she was almost a beauty. Was there anything else? she asked Charlie then, as though he were a nuisance. It was obvious that she was anxious for him to leave and end their conversation. And then she told him that she was closing early.

  Do you have anything else about them? Even some old books where they're mentioned? he asked stubbornly, he wasn't going to be rushed out the door just because she hated people. He had read her correctly. She loved the books and furniture and artifacts she was responsible for, and their history. But books and furniture would never hurt her.