The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1)

by Tamara Thorne

  She stood on unsteady legs, uncertain whether she wanted to follow him or bring the interview to an end. Mr. Manning smiled. It was a nice addition to his handsome features and it convinced Belinda to stay.

  “Come with me.” Turning to Mrs. Heller, he said, “I believe there are some carpets in the dining hall that could use your attention.”

  As she left the room, Belinda saw the other woman’s onyx eyes blaze. “I’ll inform housekeeping,” she said in an even clipped tone.

  At the foot of the vast staircase, Mr. Manning stepped aside and motioned Belinda forward. “After you, Miss Moorland.”

  She placed a still-trembling hand on the elaborate ebony baluster, and started up the steps. Midway, her heel caught and she found herself fighting for balance. A firm hand gripped her waist from behind. “Steady,” said Mr. Manning. “We don’t need any accidents straight away, do we?” For the first time, she detected a mild British accent.

  She smiled despite her embarrassment. “Thank you.”

  They arrived at the main landing and it was such a different sight - had such a different feel - that she forgot to move.

  Mr. Manning cleared his throat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She stepped onto the landing, onto plush blue carpeting. The walls were still white, but a creamier, more welcoming shade. The single side table at the middle of the landing held a ruby vase filled with yellow and blue flowers and the paintings on the walls were modern. Her eyes landed on one. “Rafuse,” she said. “Poppies.”

  “Poppies,” he repeated. “Yes. Not the famous print, though. Do you see the difference?”

  She studied the brilliant red flowers. “There’s one less poppy.”

  His smile betrayed his pleasure. “Yes. It’s an original. He gave me a special deal.”

  “It’s lovely. My favorite.” She’d had a copy of Poppies on her dorm wall for a time. She glanced at him, saw the delight in his eyes, and felt a little tummy-flip.

  “It brims with life. I like to keep the landing’s art appropriate for all tastes. My clients occasionally enter this way. They don’t always find the business entrance on the side.”

  “Business?”

  “Yes. The second floor of the east wing is given over to my business.” He pointed in the other direction. “My personal office is the second door down on the left. West wing. Shall we?”

  He began walking and she picked up the scent of his cologne. It spoke of the ocean and the forested cliffs above. She’d never smelled anything quite like it and something about it excited her. Maybe it’s because he’s wearing it.

  “What’s-”

  “Yes?”

  She realized it wasn’t appropriate to ask the brand of his cologne during a job interview. “Never mind,” she said.

  “Here we are. Allow me.” He reached past her and punched a code into the little keypad above the knob. The lock snicked and he pushed the door open.

  The office was roomy and bright. Near the door was a blue couch several shades lighter than the carpeting. Next to it was a low glass side table holding a flowered enamel bowl full of chocolate kisses. On the far side of the door, barely noticeable against the creamy wall, was an air hockey game.

  The room’s centerpiece, a big wooden desk, was clean of line and stained in a warm golden shade. A big leather desk chair lurked behind it and two comfortable-looking guest chairs fronted it. A bookcase filled the wall beyond the massive furniture and a happy-looking rubber plant, at least six feet tall, stood in the nearby corner beneath its own grow lamp. To the side, brilliant tropical fish swam lazily in a long aquarium.

  The air, moving gently, smelled fresh and held a hint of his earthy cologne.

  “Have a seat.” He moved behind his desk and sat down while she took a chair facing him. A little fear returned, but not too much.

  “Where are my manners?” Mr. Manning said. “Would you care for a cup of tea or coffee? Or perhaps a Kiss?”

  “Uh, I-” Her cheeks flushed.

  “Chocolate, Miss Moorland. A chocolate Kiss. Over there, on the table.” He pointed at the enamel bowl.

  “Oh, no, no thank you. But thank you.” God I sound like an idiot!

  “I’m sorry about Mrs. Heller,” he was saying. “Rest assured, she is not the head of this household. That is my position.”

  “I understand. If I qualify for this job, would I be working under her?”

  He sat back and studied her. “No, you would work directly for me, though you would have to interact with her occasionally. Mrs. Heller is simply my administrative assistant; she’s in charge of payroll and other administrative duties involved in running such a large home as Ravencrest. She administers our employee insurance plans, pays the bills, and checks over expense and credit accounts for me. Outside contractors. Things like that. I assure you, she is good at what she does.”

  “I’m sure.” Administrative assistant? She’s his secretary?

  Mr. Manning was still, his eyes never leaving Belinda’s face. She felt herself melt a little as he studied her and wondered how she appeared to him. She was glad she’d stopped by home to freshen up. After several moments, she became uncomfortable and shifted in her seat.

  “I’m sorry for staring,” said Mr. Manning. “It’s just that you look familiar to me. Have we met somewhere before?”

  As if he runs in the same circles as I do. His was a face a woman wouldn’t forget. “I don’t think so.”

  He watched her a few more moments, his brows furrowing. “Oh well,” he said. “Did you meet my man, Grant Phister?”

  “Oh, yes. I really liked him.”

  “He’s the chief of the household and grounds staff. So … let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Belinda nodded, straightening in her chair.

  “I see all employment résumés before Mrs. Heller, so I already know you’re qualified. Still, could you refresh my memory on a few points? Who is your current employer?”

  “I’m a waitress at Lizzie’s Cafe in Bakerton. I’m looking for more suitable work.”

  Mr. Manning nodded. “How long have you worked there?”

  “Since I graduated, six months ago.”

  “And your education is in …?”

  “Elementary education.” Belinda smiled. “And theater.”

  “Yes. I remember now.” Mr. Manning sat back in his chair and steepled his graceful, well-groomed fingers.

  She smiled. “I also teach piano on the side. Or I try to.”

  “You’re a very ambitious young woman. And not afraid of work. I admire that.” His wry smile brought Belinda’s gaze to his lips. They were full, but not too full. They looked soft, kissable. Belinda averted her eyes … and her thoughts. What’s gotten into me?

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I would prefer to have my children schooled at home. Do you feel you can handle their primary education? Cynthia is nine. Thad is six.”

  “The first and fourth grades. Absolutely. I wonder though, in addition to teaching them, would I be allowed to interact - to play with them - I mean, to take them to zoos and parks, and things like that?”

  Mr. Manning looked pleased. “Yes.” His eyes betrayed pride. “They’re my world. Their mother would have wanted them educated by someone who would take a personal interest in them.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I’ve had no luck with that so far. Their last governess was rather too strict.”

  “I hope you’ll consider me.” She controlled the eagerness in her voice. “This sounds like the perfect position.”

  Mr. Manning sat back in his chair and Belinda couldn’t help noticing the muscles of his chest pressing against his pale blue shirt. He works out. She swallowed hard.

  “I’ll be honest, Miss Moorland …”

  The sentence hung in the air. Anxiety coursed through her. “Yes?”

  “I think you’re a fine fit. If I were to offer you the position, would you accept?”

  “Yes.”

  “How soon might you
start?”

  Belinda, barely able to contain her glee, blurted, “Immediately!”

  Mr. Manning looked amused and she wondered what he was thinking. “Immediately? As in right now?”

  She felt her own smile falter as reality set in. She thought of Billy, her boss at Lizzie’s. The good thing about working for such a lecherous bastard was that she didn’t owe him a thing. But what about the apartment? What about Randi?

  “Well,” she said, trying to find the right words. “I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I hadn’t planned to start so soon. See, I really want this job - very much - but I am renting an apartment with a friend of mine …” She thought of Randi and shuddered. “She’d be very upset if I broke the lease.”

  “How much longer do you have on it?”

  “Another two months. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect-” She almost said she didn’t expect to be hired, but thought better of it.

  Mr. Manning’s eyes twinkled.

  God, those eyes.

  “How about I make you an offer you can’t refuse?” His devilish grin lent even more beauty to his chiseled features. “What if I were to pay you two months’ wages upfront and you pay off your lease out of that?”

  Belinda blinked at him. “Really? You’re serious? Why would you do that?” Maybe he has kids from hell and they killed the last governess.

  “I get the impression your roommate is a bit difficult. Am I correct?”

  Belinda’s jaw almost dropped. “How- how do you know that?”

  “Just the way you spoke about her. I know I’m no fan of drama and I suspect you aren’t either.” He paused. “You can move in tonight and begin tomorrow, if that suits you. But the choice is yours. We can wait through the formality of two weeks or longer, if you prefer.”

  Move in tonight? Really? Belinda felt unsettled by the suddenness of it all. “If I take your money to do that, I’m obligated to stay in your employ for at least two months.” She thought of Mrs. Heller. “What if you - or I - decide we aren’t a good fit?”

  “Good point, Miss Moorland, though I don’t expect that to happen. Do you?”

  “No.” She blushed. “I mean, it’s unlikely.”

  “We’ll draw up a brief contract stipulating that if either of us wishes to void our agreement, we can, and you won’t have to pay back the advance. I’m willing to bet on you. Are you willing to bet on me?”

  “I am.” She blushed harder. Am I ever.

  “Did you drive here?”

  “No, I took a cab. I don’t own a car.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’ll have Walter - my chauffeur - take you in the limo to pick up whatever you need. Tomorrow you can get the rest.”

  “A limo? That will fit everything I own. In one trip.”

  He nodded and Belinda watched his neck muscles flex. “And how much do you need for your two months of rent?”

  She did the math and gave him a figure.

  “I’ll make out a check to your landlord and mail it off tomorrow, and you can let your roommate know tonight.” He gazed at her a long moment. “Are you certain we haven’t met before?”

  “I’m positive,” said Belinda.

  Mr. Manning stood. “I’ll send for the chauffeur.”

  Moving Night

  Belinda watched as Walter Hardwicke placed her last bag in the trunk of the black limo. It had been a long afternoon because, as it turned out, Randi had the day off and had complained the whole time.

  “I can’t believe you're doing this.” Randi Tucker stood at the edge of the sidewalk, a hand on her plump hip. “What about your job at Lizzie’s?”

  “It’s already been taken care of,” Belinda replied. She turned and looked at Randi. “I don’t owe him anything. He’s a scuzzball.”

  “What you do mean?” Randi’s voice shrilled.

  “He was trying to blackmail me into having sex with him. He’s lucky I called him at all.”

  Randi gaped. “Well … What are you going to tell your mother? Have you even thought about that? She won’t approve.”

  Belinda tried not to roll her eyes. “I haven’t told her anything yet. And I’m twenty-three years old. It doesn’t matter if she approves or not.”

  Randi’s mouth flattened into an angry slash. Their mothers had been life-long best friends, a relationship Momma seemed to think should be perpetuated by their daughters. Belinda knew she needed to take this job. It was time to grow up, to stop trying to please Momma. This apartment was no more than an extension of her room at home, anyway. Her mother still checked up on her as if she were a child; she even called Randi to get updates. It was ridiculous.

  “You don’t even know this man!” Randi’s voice echoed off the apartment buildings lining the narrow street. “Who’s to say he’s not some kind of scammer? Or a pervert!”

  Belinda, who’d been bending to get into the limo, froze. “A pervert?” she asked. “Whyever would you even think such a thing?” Pervert? That’s rich coming from you, Randene Tucker.

  If Randi read her thoughts, she showed no sign. “Well, if his check doesn’t come, or if it bounces, I am holding you fully responsible!” She stormed off, her thick thighs and gelatinous hips rollicking with the fury of her stride.

  “Goodbye, Randi.” Belinda got into the back seat, and Mr. Hardwicke pulled out. And good riddance.

  As they made their way back to Ravencrest, Walter Hardwicke was silent. He was a handsome man, she supposed, if you liked them greasy, hulking, and hairy. His aftershave was strangely acrid, like wood smoke and black licorice. His teeth were large, unnaturally white, and his smile was a grimace. The man made her uneasy and as they pulled into Ravencrest, she sighed with relief.

  Once there, Hardwicke, along with a well-tanned, muscular young man with blond hair, brought her few bags into the mansion. Between the three of them, they got it all in a single trip, a fact that depressed Belinda. She hadn’t realized just how little she owned.

  Inside, Grant Phister directed the chauffeur and his helper to Belinda’s new room on the second floor of the family wing. “I’m so glad you’re joining our little household,” said Grant, his kind eyes reassuring her. “Let me get those for you.” He took both bags from Belinda.

  “I’m glad too, Grant.” And she was. She’d never made such a rash decision before. It was frightening, and it was nice to know someone was on her side. Amazing how much life can change in twenty-four hours.

  “You’ll like your room,” said Grant, as she followed him up the stairs. “Mr. Manning has asked me to inform you that the children have been put to bed, but you may meet them first thing before school tomorrow morning.”

  Belinda hadn’t realized it was so late.

  “After you see your room, you’re welcome to come down to the kitchen and I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m not very hungry, so I think I’ll pass on that tonight, but I appreciate the offer.”

  Grant turned down the long hallway. “Very well, but there’s bread, cheese and an assortment of deli meats in the kitchen if you change your mind.”

  “Thank you.” She followed him down the blue carpet, past Mr. Manning’s office and a few other closed doors and passages, finally turning onto a new hallway. “The family bedrooms are along here.” Modern brass wall sconces illuminated shiny hardwood floors and pale walls that held small flocks of framed photographs between built-in linen closets and cabinets.

  Grant cleared his throat. “Behind these doors are bathrooms, game rooms, a TV room - we have a full theater, too.” He paused at a door on the left. “This is Thad’s room.” He pointed to a door on the opposite side of the wide corridor. “And that is Cynthia’s.” He walked another fifteen feet before pausing to point to the end of the hall, at a closed set of double doors, light shining softly beneath them. “That is Mr. Manning’s suite.” He moved ten feet more then stopped and put his hand on a bronze knob. “And this is your room.” He turned the latch, flipped a light switch and stepped bac
k. “After you.” He held the door.

  She stopped two feet inside the room and turned to Grant. “It’s beautiful. All this is for me? This is bigger than my entire apartment!”

  “Yes. All for you. There are your bags, safe and sound, by the door to your bathroom. Now, go on, explore.”

  The carpet was thick, a clear pale moss green, and the walls were a lighter shade of the same color. Tall windows lined the south side of the room, providing a view of the estate’s side gardens - or at least they would in the morning. The bedspread was light lavender trimmed in pale green. Tiebacks on the matching draperies revealed gauzy white sheers fluttering in the faint wind from the open windows. She caught a whiff of night blooming jasmine on the breeze.

  The closet was a wall of mirrors that ran nearly the length of the room. She saw herself reflected over and over. She couldn’t imagine filling it up.

  She walked to a writing desk centered beneath the windows. It was simple, elegant pale oak, not so different from the color of wood in Mr. Manning’s office. It was a proper desk, too, with smooth lines and plenty of drawers. A blue shell and wisteria Tiffany lamp rested on the desktop, waiting for her. She opened the pencil drawer and saw pens, paperclips, a roll of stamps, and everything else she might need.

  Turning to the far wall, which was lined with paintings, mostly of flowers, she saw a vanity with a seat, two chests of drawers, and an armoire. She glanced at Grant, who had a Mona Lisa smile on his face. “I’ll never have enough clothes to even fill one of these chests, let alone that closet!”

  “Open the armoire,” he told her.

  She did. It held a large flat screen television and accessories. “I feel like I’m living in a dream.” She paused, her gaze falling on a portrait above one of the chests of drawers.

  The young woman in the painting seemed to be staring at her with big eyes the color of the forest. She stood near a windswept cliff, her dark hair shining in the moonlight. High cheeks and full lips gave her both dignity and innocence. She wore a lavender gown, empire-waisted, and in one hand, held a matching shawl that waved in the wind.