Spinning round, she was startled to find George a step or two behind her. Recovering quickly, she thrust the photograph at him.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” she asked, then carried on talking without awaiting a response. “That’s William. Of course, it all makes sense now. That must have been taken after he came back home from London, when he knew about what had happened to Jane. It’s why he looks so haunted. So sad. He must have been knocking the picture over to try and tell me who he is. You know…” Emily moved to stand beside George so they could look at the photograph together, “…you never did tell me what happened to him, in the end.”
They both looked at the photograph for some seconds before George spoke again.
“Let’s go and sit down for a minute.”
Rather than opening the curtains Emily had whisked shut in her panic, they moved to the other end of the room and settled on the sofa in the nook there. Putting the photograph down on the seat between them, George’s face then took on a serious expression.
“There’s no easy way to say it, Emily. But according to papers found in here, William took his own life. His diaries back this up, as the poor guy was in a real bad way towards the end. He just couldn’t get past losing Jane. He struggled to move on, and in the end he came to the conclusion that he literally couldn’t live without her. Then his entries just stopped.”
Emily had suspected as much, but tears still welled up in her eyes once more as George related the sorry story.
“It’s such a tragic story,” she said, her voice cracking. “Today, William would have been diagnosed with depression and given help. But back then…he felt helpless.”
George took her hand and squeezed it. “I know, it’s terrible. But perhaps we can help William now.”
“Wh—what do you mean?” She’d absentmindedly started stroking her thumb across the warm skin of George’s hand and he looked down their clasped hands, an amused expression on his face. When she realized what she was doing, Emily tried to pull away, horrified, but George held on tight and gave her a smile that made a shiver run up her spine—in a good way. Her emotions swung from being sad about William to eager for the comfort that George provided, and not just in the hand holding sense.
“Well, if the old saying is true, that ghosts only hang around if they’ve got unfinished business, then maybe we can find out what William’s is and help him pass over. And,” he said, squeezing her hand again, “I think you’re the key. There’s a reason he’s appeared to you and nobody else for ages. We just need to work out what it is.”
“Umm, okay,” Emily said, her brain processing what George had said. She knew he was right, but how would they find out how they could help William? “So, what do we do now?”
“I don’t have the answers, Emily, but I do know where we can start. You remember that box I told you about earlier? There may be something in there.”
Gently disentangling their hands, George stood up and indicated Emily should follow him. He walked over to the wall on their left, and crouched down in front of one of the wire fronted bookshelves. Opening the door, he carefully pulled out several boxes one at a time and placed them on the floor beside him. When they were all there, George stood up and looked across the room at the desk Emily had been using. Seeing it was full of all her cleaning paraphernalia, not to mention the few books she still hadn’t replaced on the first shelf, he simply sat on the floor, cross-legged. Reaching over to flip open the lid of each box in turn, George found the one he was looking for, and pulled it towards him.
Chapter Three
Emily had been standing nearby, ready to start moving boxes around if necessary. But when it became apparent that George’s chosen workplace was going to be right there on the floor, she raised her eyebrows in surprise, then moved and sat down beside him. He turned to smile at her, and indicated the box he was about to start rummaging through.
“This is the one,” he said. “Now let’s see what we can find out.”
He pushed the box to his left a little, so Emily could also reach inside and start examining the contents. Before she started, she gave voice to something that had been bugging her. “Why does he only haunt the library, do you think? He was born here, so he’s got links to the whole property and grounds. He could appear anywhere, but chooses the library to make his appearances.”
George pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled it. Emily tried not to watch, to wish she could nibble his bottom lip as they kissed. Then he shrugged. “I dunno. Some ghost fanatic types say that spirits are tied to things that belonged to them, but that includes all sorts of stuff in this place. On top of all the papers and diaries in here, there’s his old bedroom and everything in it, and much more, probably. What I’ve read so far hasn’t given me a clue, unfortunately.”
“I guess we’ll never find out. Never mind. I just wondered.” She paused, still thoughtful. Then took a deep breath and steeled herself to carry on. “Okay.” She carefully lifted a pile of papers, letters and photographs from the box and placed them on the rug in front of her. “Here goes nothing.”
The two of them worked in silence for a little while, reading through various documents about and belonging to the Elliott family, and looking at photographs. Every item plucked at Emily’s heartstrings as she learned more and more about a tragic love story and two lives that had been lost. After a while, she came across a particularly interesting photo. A lovely one. When she saw George looking at her quizzically, she realized she must have made a noise.
“Sorry,” she said, “but just look at this.”
She handed him the worn black and white image. It depicted a family; mother, father and young teenage boy. They all looked happy. There was nothing written on the back of the photograph, but having seen the other picture of William, Emily recognized the boy and knew it was the Elliott family.
George studied the photo for some minutes, then passed it back to Emily. “They look happy. It’s a shame that the war had to come along and rip their family apart.”
“Hmm,” Emily replied, unable to think of anything more eloquent to say. Then she had a thought. “What happened to William’s parents after…you know. They must have been devastated.”
“I guess so. He was their only child. There are no firsthand accounts—neither of them kept diaries—but the records say they sold the house a few months after William’s death and immigrated to Australia. They left the majority of the contents of the house behind. It seems they were keen to move on and put their dark times behind them, doing what their son couldn’t.”
Emily was quiet for a while then, her face taking on a thoughtful expression. “They’d be dead too, by now, wouldn’t they?”
George nodded. “Unless they’ve managed to live into their hundreds, then yes. We can only hope they managed to find peace when they left England.”
There wasn’t anything Emily could really say to that, and the pair of them fell silent once more. The photograph was placed on a pile and they continued looking through the other contents of the box. Not long afterwards, it was George’s turn to make a discovery.
His sharp intake of breath had Emily’s head snapping in his direction. “What is it?”
“Umm…I think you’d better look at this. Shit.” He passed her an envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Elliott. Inside were a letter and a photograph, which Emily pulled out. After looking at the photograph, though, she felt the color drain from her face and quickly forgot all about the letter. She simply stared at the image in her hand. It was like looking at a photograph of herself in old fashioned clothes. Her heart pounded.
After giving her a few minutes for it to sink in, George spoke softly. “That’s Jane. The letter was from William to his parents. He was just about to go off to Europe, so there was no time for him to bring her up here to meet his mother and father. So he sent them a letter to tell them about her and their intention to marry after the war, and included the photo to show them how beautiful she was. I think,�
�� he continued, “we’ve solved the mystery of why he haunts this particular room. He wants to stay close to this photograph of the love of his life. He just can’t let go, poor guy. And it also explains why he’s appeared to you. It seems he thinks you’re her. Jane.”
Emily finally tore her gaze away from the photograph of Jane—almost her double—and looked at George. “I guess so. But what do we do now?”
“I’m no Ghostbuster,” George replied, gently taking the photograph of Jane out of Emily’s hand and replacing it in the envelope along with William’s letter, “but I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Let’s put this stuff away and go back to my office. I don’t know about you, but I could really do with another cup of tea.”
A little over half an hour later and they’d figured out their plan. They walked back towards the library together, hand in hand. This time, though, it had been a deliberate thing. As they’d left George’s office once more, Emily had reached for him, suddenly desperate for the comfort and security he afforded. George had looked down at where their skin touched, startled, then at Emily’s worried-looking expression, and given her a warm smile.
“You’re going to be just fine,” he said, “and besides, I’ll be close by. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
Emily did her best to believe George’s words. Deep down, she knew they were true. But for some reason she just couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding. Right now, she just wanted to get this over with. With that thought in mind, she picked up her pace, forcing George to do the same.
Once they reached the end of the corridor which led into the library, they stopped just outside the doors. Emily pulled out of George’s grasp, sucking in a deep breath, as if to steel herself. Suddenly, he moved in front of her, put his hands on either side of her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then he replaced his lips with his forehead, and looked down into Emily’s startled eyes. A huge part of her wanted to cup his face and pull his lips to hers and see where things went, but she knew she had to get this William thing done. It was the right thing to do. He deserved to be released from his miserable existence, to be freed.
“I’ll be just here,” George said, quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Then he pulled away abruptly and stood to one side, leaving her path to the library clear. Telling herself that the sooner she went in, the sooner she could come out, Emily walked in. She picked up the photograph of William that they’d left on the sofa and moved across the room, returning it to its rightful place on the shelf. Then she made her way back to the desk she’d abandoned earlier that evening and sat down.
Then, knowing the longer she left it, the more difficult it would be, Emily spoke. “William? Are you here?”
She paused, scarcely daring to breathe. Nothing happened.
“It’s all right, William. I know it was you earlier. I just panicked, that’s all. I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to communicate with me. Will you communicate with me now?”
As she fell silent once more, the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck stood up again. This time, she was prepared for the slam of the photograph and she didn’t jump when it came. She turned her head towards the source of the noise and spoke again.
“Hello, William. I’m glad you’re back. I’d like to talk to you. I hope that’s okay.”
At first, Emily noticed nothing. But after a couple of beats, she spotted the ladder moving slightly, as though a weight had been put on it. Somehow, Emily knew that William had sat down on one of the steps and was listening to her.
“Thank you, William.” Now it was time to give the hardest part of her loosely planned speech. She took a deep breath and spoke loudly, projecting fake confidence into her voice. “I guess you already know that I was looking through some of your family’s belongings earlier?” She deliberately didn’t mention George, not wanting to risk antagonizing the spirit, considering how strongly he clearly still felt about Jane. He’d probably see it as a betrayal, and who knew what a pissed off spirit could do? “Well I found lots of interesting things, including a letter you sent to your parents before you went to fight in the war. It had a photograph with it. Of a girl. Of Jane. I was quite surprised to see the photo. She looks just like me. The resemblance is uncanny, actually. I suspect there may be a family link there, which means I’ve got more digging to do. But that’s all it is, William. A link.”
She spoke gently now, a part of her knowing she was going to hurt William’s feelings and wanting to do it as pleasantly as she possibly could. “I’m not Jane. You know that, don’t you William? Deep down, you know I’m not really her, don’t you? My name is Emily Stone and I was born in 1978. Many years after the war you fought in.”
She paused, hunching down in the chair slightly, as if expecting something to come flying at her head. Nothing did. She pressed on.
“You remember, don’t you, William? Jane died in London during the war. She was killed during a German raid. I understand it affected you terribly. It was a tragedy, and so was what happened to you. But do you know what I think? I think you can be with her again. You just need to let go. Let go of this place…of me. Jane will be waiting for you on the other side. I’m sure of it. Just reach out and find her.”
Emily suddenly realized that she had no idea if her plan was working. With William’s photograph already flat on its back, he couldn’t use that to communicate. But surely if he could move that and the ladder, he could move anything?
“Can you do that, William? Can you go and find Jane? If you can…” she paused, thinking of a signal he could possibly give. Then her gaze alighted on one of the cleaning brushes on the desk in front of her. “If you can, William, move this brush for me, won’t you?”
For a moment, Emily thought nothing would happen. Then suddenly she sensed someone standing close by her. A few seconds passed. Then the brush rolled gently across the desk until it hit one of the books, and stopped.
Emily raised her eyebrows, a sense of relief flooding into her. “Well done, William. You’re doing the right thing. Jane will be so happy to see you.” Then, as a tear rolled down her face, she whispered, “be happy.” Her heart pounded and she felt sad and happy all at once.
A noise from the direction of the ladder drew her attention. Emily turned to look, and what she saw made her gasp. Standing up, she moved a couple of paces across the room towards the shelf, then stopped.
“George,” she said, loudly enough for him to hear, “come look at this.”
The security guard walked into the room, peering around, before looking at Emily enquiringly. She pointed towards the photograph.
“He stood it up. He rolled the brush, like I asked. Then he stood the photo up of his own accord. I think he’s gone. For good. He’s gone to find her. They’ll be together now.”
George crossed the room toward Emily, then they moved together to stand in front of the photograph, looking at it. What they saw inside the frame made them turn to look at one another in disbelief. Turning back to the shelf, Emily picked up the photo and examined it closely, with George doing the same over her shoulder. It was the same photograph…but not.
Almost everything was identical; William’s position, his clothes, his haircut. But his facial expression was so altered that he looked like a completely different person. Gone was the haunted look, the pain in his eyes. He wasn’t smiling—it just wasn’t the done thing in those days—but he still looked much happier. At peace, was the phrase Emily decided she was looking for. She smiled. She hoped he was, anyway. Hoped he’d found Jane, wherever they were.
George reached over and took the photo out of Emily’s hand and put it back on the shelf. Turning to face her, he said, “You look tired. Let’s get this place sorted out ready for tomorrow and then get you on your way.”
“But I’ve hardly done anything—”
George cut her off. “Tomorrow evening I’ll come and help you. I’ll have to go round and do my checks every now and again, but I can be here with you most of
the time. You’ll get caught up in no time. And no one will ever know.”
Holding her hands up, Emily admitted defeat. It would be nice to have his company, as well as his help. Though it wouldn’t do anything to help her take her mind off how much she wanted to get naked and horizontal with him. “Okay. As long as you’re sure. I’ll work you hard, you know. You’ll be begging for mercy.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emily wanted to grab them and put them back in again. George raised his eyebrows, and she felt heat rushing to her cheeks.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” he said, grinning widely. “Because I think it sounds rather fun.”
She’d totally written off anything happening between them because of their working relationship, but as they stood there in the now silent and ghost-free library, the spark flared up again and burned hotter than it had before. There was no mistaking the flirtatious intent in his words, and Emily could think of no better way to erase the weird and traumatic events of the evening than with him.
Smiling back at George, Emily said, “Well in that case, why wait until tomorrow?” She glanced at her watch. “Why don’t we have some fun now? Does Mrs. Thompson ever come back once she’s left?”
“No, never. I think she has her dinner then gets tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa and reads romance novels until she goes to sleep. Bless her.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with cocoa and romance novels.”
He held his hands up placatingly. “Of course not. Now get up those ladders. I’ll pass you the books and then we can put this desk to better use.” He followed up with a saucy wink that sent heat rushing through Emily’s body.
Timeless Desire Page 3
