He typed something on his laptop. “This was more of a living room?”
“Yeah, Gran used it for watching TV, said it was more comfortable than the parlor.” The more time Lydia spent in the house the more she began to realize just how badly Gran had let the house go. Most of the rooms needed repainting. The garden out back was overrun, and the outside of the house was in serious need of attention, and she suspected the roof had a leak since the half-story attic smelled of mold. She hadn’t been game to go in and examine the damage yet as there’d been something scuttling in the dark and she suspected it was something more substantial than the ghost.
Maybe a quick sale was all she could hope for, and then Callaway House would be gone forever. While she could feel the weight of her name lifting, she couldn’t let go of the rope. If the house became a bed and breakfast, all she’d have left of Gran would be a few pieces of furniture. It wasn’t enough. She wanted the house and all the memories it held. Callaways had lived here for over one hundred and fifty years. Gran had done everything to keep it in the family, and Lydia didn’t want to be the one to fail.
“Aside from the two paintings and the crystal vase there’s not much in here.” Caspian’s voice broke into her thoughts. She didn’t have to decide yet.
“The vase was a gift, she never told me who from.” But her eyes had always lit up when she spoke about it.
Caspian glanced at it again and smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. “Shall we move on? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your evenings.”
Lydia nodded, then shook her head. This was much better than working late at the office. “I’m still sorting through the personal items in her bedroom. I never thought it would be so hard to pack everything. How do you deal with it?”
“I don’t. I assess and move on. I don’t like doing deceased estates because the emotions are so raw. Not everyone appreciates what I have to do.” He shrugged but looked uncomfortable discussing it.
“I appreciate the way you’re doing it. I’d expected someone to come in and be all obsessed with its unusual history.” Maybe that would have been easier; then she would have been able to brush him off instead of wanting to know more about him.
“The sex, drugs, and rock and roll?”
It didn’t sound scandalous when Caspian said it, yet she still felt like she had to defend the house as best she could. “There was no rock and roll.”
Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t some rock star have their wedding here and then get divorced three months later in the eighties?”
“Not everything you read on the Internet is true… it was almost four months later.” And that had been the end of the wedding location according to Gran.
“Just sex and drugs then.” He was smiling.
She couldn’t stop her lips from curving in response. Was he flirting with her? She took a risk to see how far he’d go. “Mostly sex.”
He nodded, but he was watching her as if he was trying to work out what to say next. Had she just killed the conversation? A flutter of nerves caught in her chest as she waited for him to respond.
“I read the dinner parties were something special.”
Lydia let out the breath she’d been holding. “Well, I guess when you get a whole bunch of powerful men and their mistresses in one room things are going to happen. That’s old though. Later it was more hippie. No mistresses, just people boarding here and partying.”
“Is the ghost a myth too?”
“That depends on who you talk to. Gran believed something was here, but I’ve never seen anything, just lots of odd bumps.” There was definitely something here; however, she wasn’t about to confess her belief in the ghost to Caspian. Not yet. Besides, it would be more fun if he realized for himself that they weren’t alone in the house. And if he didn’t? Well, he wouldn’t be the first person to logic away the ghost. But that crawling sensation that someone was watching when she was alone, or the creak on the floorboard that sounded like steps in the middle of the night—she couldn’t explain them away.
“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” he said with a smile.
She looked at Caspian again. There was an air about him as if he was from another time and place, like he didn’t quite fit. Like her. But instead of pressing forward she retreated. “Let’s do the parlor. All the best parties started there, or so I was told.”
She turned away but was sure she could feel his gaze lingering on her back as he followed her into the parlor.
There was dust on the shelves and on the chandelier. The two loveseats looked faded and threadbare. As a child it had seemed magical, now it just looked old.
Caspian scanned the shelves, walking the length of the room. “Do you have a list of the books? Are any first editions?”
“I don’t know… is it important?” There were maybe a hundred old books and plenty of other little ornaments; china dancing ladies, ivory animals, and trinkets from overseas. On the table was an empty brandy decanter and glasses.
He nodded.
“I think some of these belonged to Gran’s father-in-law.” She’d kept them because it made the place look better, like they could all read and were educated. “I’ll start listing the books.”
He glanced at the bookcase behind the desk. “Maybe it could be sold as a bulk lot?”
“Do you think I should sell?” She meant the house, not just the contents of the parlor.
“Do you want to?” He put the laptop on the desk, his fingers tracing lightly over the surface. She’d noticed that about him—he touched an object if only for a second before photographing and documenting. He was tactile even though his job seemed cold and impersonal.
“I thought I did. I had an offer this morning from someone wanting to turn the house into a bed and breakfast.”
Caspian looked over his shoulder. “Because Charleston doesn’t have enough historic escapes for visitors?”
“I can’t afford the repairs without taking out a mortgage that will be bigger than I can repay.” She blew the dust off a book and opened up the first page. Shouldn’t he be telling her to sell? Wasn’t that his job, to make people part with precious things in exchange for money? She sniffed and blamed the dust, not the sudden lump in her throat. “Do you want it?”
He looked at her, then the chandelier and the rest of the room. “If I had that kind of capital, I’d buy it and pretend to live like a lord.” He closed his eyes and took a breath as if he could imagine the parties the way she once had. As he opened his eyes, he shook his head. “The divorce cleaned me out.”
One eyebrow rose. Divorced. That was the first personal detail he’d revealed about himself, and it was enough to make her want to know more. She bit her tongue on the more nosy questions like what was his ex-wife like and how long were they married and what had happened. Instead she went for the gentle question that would hopefully lead to more. “Recent?”
“Recent enough. It was amicable, she kept the house, and I kept the shop and started over.”
Meaning he’d walked away, because he’d done the wrong thing? She frowned. How could she ask that without putting her foot in it? But it was important to know.
He continued without looking at her. “At the time it felt like the right thing.” He started tapping on the keyboard. “In hindsight I was overly generous.”
Lydia took the opening. “Guilty conscience?”
“Betrayed heart.” He looked over his shoulder and fixed her with those icy green eyes. “I caught her cheating.”
“Ouch.” But he’d wanted her to know that, and that gave her hope that maybe they were at least looking at the same book, even if they weren’t on the same page.
“Not quite what I said.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide the hurt.
“No kids?”
“Fortunately no.” He turned and leaned against the edge of the desk. “You know this would be quicker without the twenty questions.”
