of her much older but with a young Lydia on her lap. She wanted to make the point to everyone listening that Gran was more than just the disgraced Callaway name. She was loved, and loved in return.
As she spoke she was aware of a camera flashing and she knew her words were being recorded, but she didn’t care. Maybe the article they wrote would focus less on the past and more on the person. She let her gaze drop to her notes, and paused for a moment before inviting others to come and talk about Nanette Callaway.
She expected no takers. But to her surprise the doctor got up and said a few words about his favorite patient.
Some of the older women also took a turn. Not one of them mentioned the house. They talked about Gran’s kind heart, always willing to help another, her donations to charity and her love of book club—especially the opportunity to debate the story over a glass of wine.
The priest kept the memorial moving along. After a final prayer for Gran’s soul everyone drifted outside. Lydia glanced down the road at the house. Her house.
What the hell was she going to do with a house that size?
Fix it. Or at least find out if it could be fixed.
Gran had given her the house and she was going to keep it. Whatever it took.
A tingle formed between her shoulder blades and traced down her spine as if she was being watched, but when she glanced behind her she saw no one. She hated cemeteries.
As a child she remembered looking out the front window and watching as dusk settled on the church. While most of the time it was just a building, occasionally she’d get a weird feeling like there was something or someone over there. She suppressed a shiver.
A man stepped in front of her and held out a little voice recorder. “Can I get a few words from you about Nanette Callaway?”
Lydia had no doubt he’d already recorded the whole service and was looking for something more. “She will be greatly missed.” Lydia forced a narrow smile. They weren’t the words he was after.
“Is the house now yours?”
Lydia nodded.
“What do you intend to do with it? Sell it? I hear there are plans for a bed and breakfast.”
“The will is on probate. I can’t comment.” Where was he finding this stuff?
The man nodded, but there was a glint in his eye. “Is it true Madam Callaway kept diaries?”
Her breathing stopped like she’d been kicked in the stomach. How did he know about them? “I don’t know, is it?”
He stared at her, and she stared back, daring him to say something else.
Then he clicked off the voice recorder. “The newspaper would be willing to offer you a decent sum for the first look at the diaries.” He handed over a business card.
Lydia took it without looking, her fingers closing mechanically around the card. He thought she was for sale. The money could pay for the repairs.
“Have a think about it, Ms. Callaway.” He gave her a nod and then walked away.
Oh God, what kind of story was going to be printed? She glanced down to see which paper he was part of and her stomach sunk a little further. It wasn’t even one of the respectable dailies. Would he mention the diaries in the story? Of course he would… and then anyone who’d ever been to Callaway House would start to worry.
“Lydia Callaway?” a man said behind her.
She turned, bracing for more media, but instead an older man in a dark pinstripe suit stood there. A lawyer; he had that look, like he already knew the answers. She studied him for another second. Her mother hadn’t had the guts to turn up so she’d sent her lawyer.
“Yes.”
“I’m representing Helen Turner, your mother.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to her.
Lydia glanced at it, then smiled and she hoped it looked polite. “I’m not sure what you want; you must know my grandmother’s will is being handled by her solicitor.”
“Mrs. Turner just wanted you to be clear that as long as you don’t try to make contact or mention her name she will not contest the will.”
“Don’t worry, Gran was the only mother I ever needed or wanted. The only reason Gran left her anything was because she never stopped loving her daughter.” Lydia bit her tongue before she mentioned Helen wasn’t actually a Callaway. No, she’d keep that to herself and let Helen live thinking she was a Callaway. After the way Helen had treated Gran it was the least she could do. After all, Gran had never seen fit to tell Helen the truth so she was merely doing as Gran wanted, right?
“You plan to contest the will?” The lawyer looked surprised.
Lydia had already had this discussion with her lawyer, but she had no desire to change anything Gran had put on paper. A person’s last wishes should be respected. “No. I’m happy with the split. I hope she enjoys the cash.”
God, she sounded bitter. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No. I think we have an understanding. I’m sure my client will be relieved.”
“Good.” Lydia walked away before the man could say anything else. She walked up the road and to what had been the paved path to the familiar red door. Once inside she let herself close her eyes and sag against the wood where no one could see just how much this was taking out of her.
Around her the house was silent as if it paused to remember the woman who’d saved it the first time around. If she was going to save it this time, she needed Caspian’s valuation, and she needed the will to be finalized. She needed to make plans, none of which she could do at the moment.
Caspian would be back. He’d promised. He’d been gone one day already and today was half-gone. There wasn’t much longer to wait. And if he never came back, what should she do? Report him missing? Would they think she’d killed him? The ground around the house had been torn up, which looked even more suspicious.
Her lips curved in a half-smile. How quickly she was getting used to them?
How fast had she gotten used to having Caspian in her life?
While she knew plenty about the fairy side of his life, she actually didn’t know that much about his human side. She could organize the quotes, go past his shop, and see what she could find out.
With the afternoon sketched out she peeled herself off the door and smoothed her skirt, ready to put her ideas into action. At least if she was doing something she wouldn’t be wasting time on useless worrying about what was happening to him in Annwyn. Maybe she’d look that up on the Internet too.
She’d expected the King Street antique shop to be closed, but the door was open and the lights were on. Her heart gave a lurch. He wouldn’t have come home and not rung, would he? She parked around the back and saw his car was parked there. Hadn’t he taken it to the garage after it started making noises?
A small blue bird hopped around the asphalt as if looking for crumbs. Its feathers gleamed in the sunlight. The skin on her arms popped up in gooseflesh as she got out of her car. There was something very wrong going on. For a moment she considered just going home, but if he was here she wanted to know why he hadn’t called. Lydia rolled her shoulders and walked into the shop, half hoping Caspian was there, half hoping he wasn’t— because then she’d have to ask why he’d left her hanging and worrying. Then she hated herself for thinking the worst of him and for wishing he was still being held hostage by his fairy father.
A young man with long sandy hair was behind the counter. He looked up as the bell chimed.
Her heart chose that moment to stop and fumble before finding a beat. He looked like the kind of guy found in underwear ads. All cheekbone and casually tousled hair, his pale blue eyes gave him a wildness that most men would try and hide.
Words dissolved on her tongue. “Er… is Caspian here?”
“He went away for business. Can I help?” His voice was smooth and deep and he was a few years younger than she was. What was he—straight out of college? He walked over with too much grace. And yet… there was something about him that reminded her of Caspian. She just didn’t know what it was.
She shook her head as if trying to remember why she’d come here. “He didn’t mention an assistant.”
“It’s temporary.” The young man smiled. He was far too pretty.
