The Ghost

by Danielle Steel

  How sad for her, Charlie said quietly. They were so real to him, but he had also been thinking of Mrs. Palmer, of how lonely she must have been ever since her husband died.

  But at least she had Charlie now, to distract her. She had friends in Shelburne Falls, lots of them. But Charlie was someone new, and very special.

  Tell me, are you still going skiing, Charles? she asked, as they ate apple pie with homemade vanilla ice cream. This time, he hadn't cooked for her, he had been too busy settling into his house all afternoon, and everything had been ready when he arrived wearing a dark suit, and a tie. Mrs. Palmer was wearing a black silk dress her husband had bought her twenty years before in Boston, and the pearls he had given to her at their wedding. And Charlie thought she looked lovely. He was grateful to be with her. This Christmas together provided him with the family he no longer had, and he did the same for her. They were well met and well matched, and happy to be together. And in the excitement of moving in, he realized that he'd forgotten all about going skiing.

  Maybe over the New Year, he said vaguely, and she smiled at him. He looked so much happier and more at ease than he had when he'd arrived. He seemed younger now, and a little more carefree. He had lost some of that anguished, tortured expression that he had worn for the past year, although she couldn't have known that. It seems such a pity to leave now, he said, looking distracted. Vermont was a long way from Shelburne Falls, and going there seemed a lot less appealing. He didn't want to leave his new friend or his house yet.

  Why don't you go to Charlemont? It's only twenty minutes from here. I'm not sure if the skiing is quite as good, but you could try it. And you can always go to Vermont a little later. When the thrill of the house wore off, and he felt less compelled to be there. She understood completely.

  That's a great idea, he agreed. Maybe I'll go in a few days. It was so convenient. He even had ski terrain twenty minutes from his doorstep. He had truly found the perfect location.

  They talked again for a long time that night. It was a difficult time for both of them, and neither of them wanted to let go, and be left alone with their private sorrows and demons. There had been too much grief in both their lives, particularly hers, to make either of them want to spend Christmas Eve alone. And Charlie didn't leave her until he was sure she was ready to go to bed. He kissed her gently on the cheek, and thanked her for dinner, and then he let himself out, while Glynnis wagged her tail and watched him.

  He crunched briefly through the fresh snow. It was knee-high even on the road, and over his head in some of the drifts along the road to Deerfield. It was even higher in places near his chateau. And he loved seeing it. The world looked so pure and so idyllic with everything blanketed in smooth white cotton. And as he drove home he saw hares darting through the snow, and a deer watching him from the side of the road. It was as though all the people had disappeared, and all that was left were the animals, and the stars, and the angels.

  He reached the road to his chateau easily, and left the car where he knew he could still get it out the next day, and walked the rest of the way in, just as he had with all of his supplies, and the men he'd hired had done with the few pieces of furniture he had borrowed from her. But he didn't mind the inconvenience. It made the house seem even more remote, and the place where he was even more special.

  He was humming to himself as he walked in that night, and he felt more at peace than he had in a long time. It was amazing how fate or life or God had provided for him, and found a place where he could heal and think and be. Charles knew without a moment's doubt that this house was just what he needed. And as he turned the brass key in the lock and walked in, he felt the same happiness and ease that he had felt here right from the beginning. It was as though there had once been so much joy there that it had lasted for two centuries, and he could still feel it. There was nothing eerie, or odd, or even remotely spooky about it. Even late at night, it seemed filled with light and love and sunshine. And he knew with total certainty that it wasn't just the colors of the walls, or the size of the rooms, or the view, it was the aura he felt there. If there were spirits there, they were obviously extremely happy ones, he thought to himself as he walked slowly upstairs, thinking about Mrs. Palmer. He was already incredibly fond of her, and wished he could do something special for her. He was thinking about doing a painting, perhaps of the valley from the vantage point of his bedroom. And as he thought about it, he walked into his room, and turned the light on. And as he did, he gave an enormous start. There was a woman standing there, looking at him. She was wearing a white gown, she held a hand out to him, and she was smiling. She looked as though she were about to say something to him, and then she walked away and disappeared behind the curtains. She had long, jet-black hair, and skin so fair it looked like ivory, and he had noticed that her eyes were distinctly blue. He had noticed every detail about her, and there was no question in his mind about who she was or how she'd gotten there. This was no ghost. This was a woman who had gotten into his house, probably to play a trick on him, and he wanted to know where she'd gone, and where she came from.

  Hello! He spoke clearly into the room, waiting for her to come out from behind the curtain where he had just seen her. But when she didn't, he realized she was embarrassed to do so. And she should have been. It was a foolish trick to play, particularly on Christmas. Hello! he said louder this time. Who are you? And with that, he strode across the room, and pulled the curtain back with one long, swift motion. But there was no one there. There was not a sound. And the window was open. He was sure he'd left it closed, in case it snowed again while he was out, but he also realized that he could have been mistaken, and he might have forgotten to close it.

  He moved along to the next curtain then. There was something very odd about what was happening. He knew she had to be somewhere in the room, and he was vaguely aware of how beautiful she had been. But that was not the point now. He didn't want the locals playing with him, or letting themselves into his house through the French windows. He could only imagine that that was how she had entered. The windows were very old, and despite the two-hundred-year-old locks, if you pushed them hard enough, they opened. Everything in the house was original, all the fixtures, all the hardware, even the glass in the windows had been handblown and you could see the irregularities and the fluid marks in them. The only things that had been changed in the past two centuries were the electricity and the plumbing, and even that was not very recent. Gladys had last had it seen to in the early fifties. And Charlie had already promised her he would check it for her. The last thing they wanted was an electrical fire, which could destroy the house after she and all her ancestors had been so careful to preserve it. But that was not on his mind now. The only thing he was interested in was the woman he had seen in his bedroom. He checked all the curtains then, and the bathroom, and the closets, but she was nowhere, and yet when he walked around the room, he could feel that he was not alone. It was almost as though she were watching him. He knew she was there, but he just couldn't find where she was hiding.

  What are you doing here? he asked, sounding annoyed, and he heard a rustle of silk just behind him. He turned swiftly then, ready to confront her. but he saw nothing, and then he felt an odd sense of peace come over him, as though she had introduced herself to him, or he had recognized her. Suddenly, he knew exactly who he had seen in his room, and he no longer believed she had come in through the French windows.

  Sarah? he said, in a whisper, feeling suddenly very foolish. What if it wasn't her? If there was truly a live human being watching him, waiting to report to her friends what a fool he'd been, and yet he no longer believed that. He could feel her. And he stood silently, his eyes sweeping the room, but he saw nothing. He stood there for a long time, immobile, and yet he never had the sense that she had left him. He could still feel her standing near him. But there was no sound, no movement, and the woman in the white gown was gone. And yet he had seen her so clearly. She had looked right into his eyes, and smil
ed at him, as though she were welcoming him to her bedroom. And he already knew from Gladys that he had instinctively chosen the room she had shared with Fran+oois, it was the room in which she had lain with him, and where Gladys said she had borne their children.

  He wanted to say her name again, but he didn't dare, and it almost felt as though she knew what he was thinking. He felt no hostile presence there, and he wasn't afraid of her. All he wanted was for her to appear again, so he could see her more clearly. But what he had seen was already etched in his memory, and he knew he would never forget her.

  He went to the bathroom finally, and undressed. He had bought new pajamas for himself because it was cold in the house at night, and he came out wearing them. The heating system worked well and there were fireplaces everywhere, but he didn't always want to use them. And he was hoping that when he came back into the room, he would see her again, but he didn't. And after a few minutes of glancing around the room, he carefully turned the light off, and got into bed. He hadn't bothered to pull down the shades because the morning light never bothered him, and as he lay in his bed, the room was filled with moonlight.

  And as mad as it seemed, and he would have hated to have to explain it to anyone, he could still feel her near him. He was aware of no other presence in the room, only her, but he was absolutely certain it was Sarah. Sarah Ferguson de Pellerin. The name sounded so elegant and so noble, just as she had looked when he saw her. She was a rare beauty. And then, as he lay there, thinking of her, he laughed at himself, and the sound filled the room as he chuckled. His life had certainly changed in the past year. He had spent Christmas Eve with a woman about to turn seventy, and the rest of the night with the ghost of a woman who had been dead for a hundred and sixty years, and had been in her prime two centuries before. It was certainly a change from spending Christmas with his wife in London. And he knew that if he told anyone, they would be absolutely certain he had lost his marbles. But he was just as sure he hadn't.

  And as he lay there, thinking of her, remembering what he'd just seen, and those eyes that had looked at him so clearly, he whispered her name again in the darkness, but there was no answer as he listened. He wasn't sure what he expected of her, some sound, some sign. He had never heard of spirits talking to anyone, and yet she had looked as though she were about to say something. She seemed to be welcoming him, and she had been smiling. And this time, he spoke clearly in the darkness.

  Merry Christmas, he said in the silent room that had once been hers and Francois's ' but there was no answer, only the gentle feeling of her presence. And in a little while, Charlie was sound asleep in the moonlight.

  Chapter 5

  WHEN CHARLIE AWOKE on Christmas Day, the vision of Sarah he'd seen the night before seemed more than ever like a dream to him, and he decided instantly that he wasn't going to tell anyone about it. At the very least, he would have been accused of drinking. And yet he knew how real it seemed, how certain he had been that she'd been in the room with him. He'd been absolutely sure of her presence, and he had seen her so clearly. So much so that he'd been convinced it was one of his neighbors, but it surely wasn't. He even went out to check the snow around the house, and there were no tracks there other than his own, going in and out. Unless she'd flown in by helicopter, and come down through the chimney like Santa Claus, he had had no visitors the night before. Whoever and whatever he'd seen in his bedroom on Christmas Eve had definitely not been human. And yet, in his entire life, he had never believed in spirits. For him, it was a serious dilemma. He didn't know what to think, and in the clear light of day, it seemed more than a little crazy. He didn't even think he wanted to tell Gladys. In fact, by the time he was dressed and ready to visit her, he was certain he wasn't going to say anything about it. And as he walked across the fresh snow, he kept his eye out for tracks again, but there were none other than his own, and as he got into his car, he felt the box with the pearl earrings safely stashed in his pocket.

  And when he got to her house, Gladys Palmer was delighted to see him. She had just come home from church, and Charlie had even thought of going with her, but in the end he had decided not to. He had told her the night before not to wait for him, and after she gave him a warm hug, she scolded him for not coming.

  I'm such a heathen, I'd probably scare all the angels away.

  I doubt that. I think God must be used to heathens. If we were all angels, it would be very boring. He smiled at her, and a few minutes later, he handed her the present, and she opened it very carefully, smoothing the ribbon with her hands, and then opening the paper as delicately as possible so as not to destroy it. He always wondered why people did that. What were they planning to do with all the saved ribbon and paper? They never seemed to use it. But she put it aside as his grandmother had done when he was young, and opened the box with great caution, as though a lion might be in it, or a mouse, and she gave a little shout when she saw them. She loved the pearl earrings he'd bought her, and her eyes filled with tears as she thanked him. She said that Roland had bought a pair for her much like them long since, and she had been heartbroken five years before when she lost them. These were almost identical, only they were slightly nicer, and she said so.

  What a dear boy you are, Charles, she said with deep feeling. I don't deserve you. You really are my Christmas gift, aren't you? She didn't even want to think now about how much lonelier she'd be next year, without him. She couldn't imagine him staying in Shelburne Falls forever. But she was grateful for his presence in her life now, his sudden appearance and unexpected arrival. He was like an answer to her prayers. I shall wear them every day, forever. I promise. They were hardly worth the fuss she made, but he was pleased that she liked them. And then she startled him, by giving him a book of poetry that had been her husband's. She gave him that and a warm muffler she'd bought for him in Deerfield. She had noticed that he didn't have one, and he was touched by both her gifts, particularly by the poetry. And there was still an inscription in it from her to Roland, dated Christmas, 1957. It seemed a long time ago, as he thought of it, but not nearly as long as the time when Sarah had lived, and then he thought about telling her what he had seen the night before, but he was almost afraid to. And as Gladys looked at him, over the tea she'd made for him, she sensed something.

  Is everything all right? At the house, I mean? It was as though she knew, or expected him to see her. Her eyes were looking deep into his, and he was trying to look casual as he set his cup down, but his hands were shaking.

  Everything's fine. It's cozy and warm, everything works, even the heating and the plumbing. I had lots of hot water this morning, he said, still thinking about the night before, but not saying anything as she eyed him sharply. And then she floored him with her next question.

  You've seen her, haven't you? Her eyes were deep and sharp as she watched him, and he felt a gentle tremor.

  Seen who? He looked vague, and helped himself to an oatmeal cookie while Glynnis watched him with envy, and he slipped her a little morsel. I haven't seen anyone, he said innocently, but Gladys knew instinctively he was lying, and she smiled and shook her finger at him.

  Oh, yes, you have. I knew you would. But I didn't want to scare you. She's beautiful, isn't she? He was about to deny it again, but he couldn't as he looked at her. He valued their friendship too much, and he wanted to know so much more about Sarah.

  You've seen her then? He looked awestruck, and it was actually a relief to be able to talk to her about it. It was like a dark secret between them, except that there had been nothing dark about Sarah. She was all air and light and springtime.

  I've only seen her once, Gladys admitted to him, as she sat back in her chair with a wistful look. I was fourteen, and I've never forgotten it. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and she stood looking at me for the longest time, in the salon, and then she smiled and disappeared into the garden. I ran outside to look for her, and I never found her. I never told anyone either, except Jimmy, and I don't think he ever belie
ved me. He just thought it was a ghost story, until Kathleen saw her in their bedroom. But it terrified her, and she wouldn't stay in the house again. It's odd how she appears to people there, as though she wants to welcome us to her home. The odd thing was that as young as I was when it happened to me, I was never frightened. All I wanted was to see her again, and I was devastated when I didn't. He knew exactly how she had felt, as he nodded. After the initial shock of seeing her, all he wanted was for her to return and appear to him again. He had waited for her until he fell asleep in his bedroom.

  I thought it was a neighbor playing a prank on me. I was sure of it, and I went around the room rustling all the curtains. That's where she was when I last saw her. I even went out into the snow this morning and looked for someone's footprints, but there was nothing. And then I realized what had happened. I wasn't even going to tell you about it, and I probably wouldn't have if you hadn't pressed me. I don't believe in those things, he said soberly, but there was no other way to explain it.

  I had a feeling she'd come to you, because you're so receptive to her, and so interested in her story. And to tell you the truth, I don't really believe in those things either. There are lots of stories around here about goblins and ghosts and people who practiced witchcraft. I've always been absolutely sure it was all nonsense ' but not Sarah ' somehow, I have the strongest feeling that she's different. She seemed so real to me when I saw her ' I still remember it as though it had been yesterday. She looked pensive as she said it.

  She seemed real to me too, he said with a thoughtful look. I was so sure it was a real woman. I wasn't even frightened to see someone in my house, just annoyed that they would do a thing like that. I really thought it was a joke of some kind. I wish I'd understood who she was right from the beginning. And then he looked reproachfully at Gladys Palmer. You should have warned me. But she only laughed at him and shook her head, wearing the new pearl earrings she was so proud of.