Ghostwriting

by Traci Harding

‘Hello, welcome.’ He beckoned with his hand for Tani to join him. ‘You made it past security, I see.’ His eyes shot his son an accusing look.

  Tani was in a daze, seeing the handsome young bachelor from her dreams in the old man she approached. She opened the green velvet case in her hand and held it out before her, as an offering.

  ‘You recovered it!’ The way Christopher took possession of the watch reflected how much the piece meant to him. ‘You did better than those damn detectives I hired. Most well done, my dear, most well done.’

  ‘It was an accident, truly.’ Tani didn’t want to make the hired help look bad. ‘I saw Carl’s ad in the paper.’ She went for the simple explanation.

  ‘Bah!’ The old man waved off his son’s efforts. ‘The only reason he posted that ad was so he could regain possession before I did, and flog the watch off again.’

  ‘For the umpteenth time, I did not flog it off,’ Carl lashed back in his own defence.

  ‘Yes, you did!’ Christopher shot back at him. ‘This watch marked the beginning and the end of my relationship with your mother.’ He waved the piece at his son. ‘You never forgave her for dying and leaving you with me.’

  The look on Carl’s face implied that the accusation might be true, and thus Tani was swayed toward believing Christopher. Still, she quietly backed away, as this argument was none of her affair.

  ‘The most precious memento of Helen that I have.’ Christopher held the watch to his heart, momentarily appeased to hold it close. ‘And you had to take it away!’ he roared in conclusion.

  Tani was glad to have retreated some distance as Carl seemed fit to explode.

  ‘No, father, I was supposed to be your most precious memento. Me!’ he hollered in spite. ‘It is you who has never forgiven me for killing her.’

  Tani’s heart leapt into her throat, for she felt all the guilt that had been instilled in the young man. He’d truly been made to believe that he was responsible for his mother’s death.

  ‘Dear Gods!’ Tani spoke up, oblivious as to how out of place it was for her to do so. ‘Your mother died because it was her time and for no other reason.’

  ‘Tell him that.’ Carl directed her to his father, happy to have someone to back him up for a change.

  ‘As painful as it was to leave you both, Helen was gratified by death’s release. She’d done her time on this hellhole of a planet.’ Tani looked at Christopher. ‘And as pleasant as you made her time here, she dwells in a far more contented place where she still watches over you both.’ Tani’s enchanted spiel ended, and viewing the expression on the faces of both men, she was stumped as to what to say next. Thankfully, the large doors to the sitting room parted and in walked a middle-aged gentleman in a business suit.

  ‘Well, it’s a bit late for you show up, Detective Roberts,’ grumbled Christopher, holding up his prize. ‘This young lass here has already found it.’

  ‘Then you must be Tani Cavanagh, the one who purchased the fob watch a few weeks back from an antique dealer on Oxford Street?’ The detective made it known that he had been doing his job.

  ‘That’s right,’ Tani smiled, impressed.

  ‘It appears the store owner was deceived into purchasing the item from a usually credible supplier, one Prestige Jewellers —’

  ‘Which is where I took the watch to be cleaned,’ Carl pointed out.

  ‘To be flogged off,’ Christopher insisted.

  ‘Actually,’ the detective spoke up to set the story straight, ‘the watch was only in to be cleaned. Apparently a few items have gone missing from the jeweller in question, along with all their paperwork and computer records. Which is why it took so long for the store to identify missing items, and, indeed, to discover what became of your fob watch. It was only when the dealer on Oxford Street finally confessed to his oversight that we were able to piece together this much of the mystery. A new employee of Prestige Jewellers, who has been off on sick leave for a week, is now being sought for questioning.’

  ‘Well, hallelujah!’ Carl cried out. ‘Now that I have been proven innocent, I do believe I have a life to be getting on with. Thank you, Detective.’ Carl shook the man’s hand and then tipped his head to Tani. ‘And thank you, Miss Cavanagh.’ Carl turned on his heel and headed for the door. ‘I am greatly obliged to you both.’

  ‘Son!’

  His father’s use of the word startled Carl to a halt, and he did an about-face to find Christopher had risen from his chair in appeal: ‘Please stay a moment.’

  His father’s request was so humble and out of character that Carl nodded to agree.

  ‘That will be all for now, Detective.’ Christopher dismissed him. ‘And Miss Cavanagh, if you would be so kind as to wait in the next room, I would be greatly obliged.’

  In the next room a small fire was being lit by one of the house staff, who offered to fetch Tani a cup of tea.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ she decided, sinking into a comfortable seat in front of the fire. She was feeling decidedly grand at having solved her mystery, and it was now painfully clear why the return of the watch had been so important. Carl and his father might have remained out of sorts for life had the matter remained unresolved. And what had she gotten out of all this? She’d discovered a whole other side to herself, a hidden and mysterious talent that may have remained dormant all her life. And even if her gift never arose from the depths of her psyche again, at least her dreams would be her own.

  ‘Miss Cavanagh?’

  She was gently shaken from her deep and contented sleep to find both Carl and Christopher smiling down at her.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Tani raised herself from her slouched position. The quiet of the huge room and the soft crackling of the fire must have put her to sleep. Then it dawned on her that she remembered nothing of what she’d dreamt and that made Tani smile.

  ‘Sorry we kept you waiting so long.’ Christopher poured her a cup of tea. ‘It seems we are greatly in your debt, my dear, and have come to discuss the reward that Carl promised in his ad.’

  ‘Really, that’s unnecessary. I’d be happy to recoup the money I paid for it … so I can put it back in my travel fund, where it should have stayed in the first place.’

  Carl was amused by her words. ‘Lucky for us that it didn’t.’

  ‘That’s something,’ Christopher said to Tani. ‘Where were you saving to go?’

  Tani was stumped by the question. ‘I hadn’t decided … somewhere exotic.’ She took her best stab at an honest response.

  ‘In that case, when you’ve decided, you let me know,’ Christopher insisted. ‘I own an airline,’ he commented casually. ‘Carl, here, is our best pilot.’

  Unaccustomed to receiving praise from his father, Carl had to query it. ‘You never told me you thought so.’

  Christopher obviously regretted this failure. ‘There are many things I never told you … but that’s going to change,’ he stated resolutely, seeming high on life and at peace with the world.

  ‘You’re a pilot?’ Tani felt her heart melting in her chest. Finally, here was a man who fitted in with her scheme of what the future held in store.

  Carl nodded to confirm her wonder. ‘That’s why I’m still single. Women always seem to want to nest … especially once they see this place!’

  ‘Not this little black duck,’ she assured him, figuring that Carl’s choice of vocation probably had a lot to do with escaping his father. ‘If I had the money, I’d just keep travelling forever.’

  The way the two young people were smiling at each other made Christopher wonder if perhaps there wasn’t more karma behind his treasure going missing than just the airing of tension between Carl and himself. The aging father suddenly fancied that perhaps, one day, the fob watch would be returned to Tani’s possession by way of a family heirloom. The notion tickled Christopher’s fancy and he chuckled to himself, patting the timepiece that had been returned to his inside jacket pocket, next to his heart. Most well done, my dear, most well done.


  Sue

  My best friend — my editor

  Ghostwriting

  SUE WAS THREE when I met her and has been my dearest friend for the thirty-something years we have known each other since then. Every major event in my life she has witnessed, and in every endeavour and with every achievement she has been there to support me and hold my hand. She has accompanied me on many a wondrous journey both actual and imaginary. If not for her, my passion for storytelling wouldn’t have developed and may never have been realised. For ten years Sue was the only soul who knew of my talent.

  I have made a point of letting my readers know about my D in English on my School Certificate. I can’t spell, I wouldn’t read, I was dyslexic and a rebel to boot.

  Sue was the reason that I first put pen to paper, because when she went overseas, I had no one to tell my tales to and Sue had no one who could tell her stories. She rang to suggest that I try writing a story down and posting it to her. The tale was truly terrible and I didn’t write more than ten pages. Soon after, however, I wrote my first full-length manuscript, Everything We Know which became my first full-length film script (more about the films later).

  As I underwent the transformation from storyteller to story writer, so did Sue transform from eager listener to frustrated reader. After browsing over the first sentence of my second serious manuscript, she said, ‘Better get me a red pen.’

  Sue’s blood, sweat and tears are strewn throughout the pages of The Ancient Future, thanks to her battle to correct my spelling misconceptions and re-teach me the English language. She also taught me how to stick to the flow by making huge cuts to the text! The only reward for all her hard work was the good belly laughs some of my more creative spelling mistakes and Freudian slips have given her over the years. This is why The Ancient Future is dedicated to her.

  After many years of working in the arts, Sue returned to university to complete courses in Visual Art and Earth Sciences where she achieved Distinctions in both.

  Her studies have been put on hold for the moment. In December 2001 I attended the birth of Sue’s first child, a baby daughter who she named Madeleine. Now Sue has a whole new learning experience into which to channel her energies.

  Sue never dreamt of being an editor, but she’s stuck with editing my work now. One day, when Sue finishes studying and parenting, and settles on a calling in life, I hope there will be an opportunity to return all the favours that she has done for me in my lifetime. She never doubted I could make it as an author, she never doubted that I could do anything! I’ve never doubted her either.

  ‘Ghostwriting’ was first published in June 2000, in an anthology entitled Mystery, Magic, Voodoo and the Holy Grail. My agent, Selwa Anthony, gave me the title and asked me to write a tale, but the story itself had been brewing for a long time before Selwa gave me the reason to pen it.

  The idea was derived from one of my own worst fears — dying and leaving a manuscript unfinished. I imagined my restless ghost plaguing poor Sue to finish the manuscript.

  With this in mind I really had to dedicate this story to Sue, even though she was not all that inspired by it on the first read. She said it was the radical mood swings of the heroine that annoyed her, but I know it was the subtle nightmare underlining the premise of the story that bothered her most.

  Ghostwriting

  Stage One: Shock

  AMY REALLY DIDN’T want to be at this wake. The question on everybody’s lips was, ‘Is the manuscript complete?’ Amy was the only living soul who knew the answer, and as that was common knowledge, she was doing her best to fade into the background. ‘No comment’ was the standard response recommended by Olivia Clairmond’s agent and solicitors, and Amy was happy to follow their advice.

  Even as Olivia’s editor, Amy wasn’t entirely sure if the renowned author and spiritualist had finished her long-awaited novel, The Grail Seduction, before she’d unexpectedly up and died. Since finding her employer keeled over the box containing the precious manuscript, Amy hadn’t found the time to go searching for the missing summary chapter. Amy knew Olivia had been working on the conclusion, and she still felt confident of finding it amidst the paper jungle in the author’s office.

  With a glass of red wine in hand, Amy was leaning comfortably in a quiet corner, partially hidden by a large palm tree. But even this extreme measure did not conceal her from Asta Martin’s hawk-eyes.

  ‘They’re like vultures,’ commented Asta, moving to share Amy’s hiding spot. ‘I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep them in suspense.’

  Amy averted her eyes; now even Olivia’s agent was on her case. Wasn’t anybody here to actually grieve the passing of this great woman? True, Olivia had few close friends, mainly due to her constant travelling in the pursuit of knowledge. But her investigations into the nature of being and human awareness had inspired countless people the world over. Amy wasn’t too sure she believed everything Olivia put forward in her texts, but editing her work always gave Amy plenty of food for thought.

  ‘I’ll get to the search first thing in the morning, Asta, just like I promised.’

  ‘Amy, sweetie, I wasn’t having a go at you,’ Asta assured her. Taking up one of Amy’s hands and squeezing it, she smiled warmly. ‘You take all the time you need, I’ll keep the scavengers at bay.’

  Amy returned Asta’s smile with one not quite so heartfelt.

  Suddenly Amy’s eyes skipped to the door. Asta followed her gaze to discover the source of her distraction.

  A young man, dressed in comfortable, colourful clothes, stood in the doorway. His beaming smile lit up the room as he entered, and an air of happiness and goodwill accompanied him into their midst.

  ‘That’s Olivia’s son, Liam,’ Asta observed. ‘Have you met?’

  ‘Briefly, before the service.’ Amy’s sights remained fixed on the young man as her smile warmed. ‘All these years I’ve worked for Olivia, and I never knew her son was so gorgeous. I saw pictures, but …’ Amy gave a shrug, motioning to Liam with a dumbfounded look on her face. ‘You can’t capture what he has on film. It has to be experienced firsthand.’

  ‘Much like his mother,’ Asta added.

  ‘He’s not married, is he?’ Amy couldn’t resist having a snoop, and Asta was sure to know.

  A sympathetic frown wrinkled Asta’s brow. ‘Sadly, no.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I think he’s gay. Don’t quote me on that,’ Asta spoke openly once more, ‘but it’s more than likely.’

  Amy wasn’t about to take that observation as gospel. ‘Is that what Olivia told you? Or do you say that because he’s a ballet dancer?’

  ‘No.’ Asta dropped her voice to a whisper again as she spied Liam heading their way. ‘It’s just that I’ve only ever seen him accompanied by men.’ Asta gave a firm nod, before turning to address Olivia’s son.

  ‘Liam, my sweet.’ Asta took hold of both his hands, then kissed his cheek. ‘You’re putting on such a brave front.’

  ‘It’s not a front,’ he informed her honestly, the large smile never leaving his face. Liam’s piercing ice-blue eyes turned Amy’s way. ‘Here’s the woman I’ve been looking for.’

  Amy was pleasantly surprised to hear this.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to steal you away for a moment,’ he announced, taking hold of Amy’s hand.

  Amy was wondering at this point if she’d fallen asleep in the corner and was dreaming up this marvellous little development in an otherwise miserable day.

  ‘Excuse us.’ Begging their leave with a slight bow for Asta’s benefit, Liam guided Amy out from behind the plant, and the way he did this made it seem as if they were going to tango, rather than walk from a room full of mourners. ‘After you.’ He motioned for Amy to take the lead.

  Stage Two: Denial

  In the huge library of Olivia’s mansion, Amy was greeted by afternoon tea for two.

  ‘I could get you a stiff drink, if you’d prefer.’ Liam had noted Amy’s bemused expression
as he closed the door behind them.

  ‘No.’ She was quick to correct his misconception. ‘A cup of tea is exactly what I need.’ Amy, feeling herself going weak in the knees, took a seat on the lounge beside the box that contained Olivia’s manuscript. Not that Amy noticed the box. She was far more interested in this mysterious gypsy in flowing robes come to save her from this nightmare.

  Everything about Liam was so completely unexpected, even the fact that Amy found him attractive. He was, you might say, too good-looking, too confident, too fit, too open — everything Amy usually found suspect in a man — but he also radiated a kind of presence that eliminated any doubt one might have about him. Amy felt Liam was quite genuinely too good to be true.

  He must be gay, she decided, or some lucky woman would have snatched him up by now.

  Liam took a seat on the lounge opposite her and poured the tea. ‘I have something that belongs to you,’ he said, gesturing toward the box.

  ‘What?’ Amy was horrified, knowing how much the manuscript was bound to fetch. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Did you happen to look at the box on the morning you found my mother?’ Liam inquired casually, as he placed Amy’s tea in front of her on the table.

  ‘Well …’ Amy considered the question rather odd. ‘No … I was not quite myself that day, I —’

  ‘Look at it now,’ Liam urged. ‘There, on the lid.’

  In the place he indicated, Amy found her name scribbled, or at least part thereof. AMY FIN it said.

  ‘That is what Mother was writing when she died,’ Liam said. ‘The marker was still in her hand when the paramedics got here. Apparently she wanted you to have this manuscript.’

  Amy was forced to laugh. ‘I really don’t think she valued my services that much.’ When she’d recovered from the shock of the suggestion, she adopted a more serious tone. ‘You’re the one entitled to all of Olivia’s royalties. She left them to you.’