Chapter One
It was a particularly chilly and damp Saturday afternoon in September, and I was taking a momentary break from the unpacking of boxes to have a quick sandwich and a cup of tea. I'd already laid and lit the log fire and now sat, sleepy and content, in an overstuffed armchair, watching the flames dance and flicker in the grate. And listening to the wind whistling down the chimney like an irate ghost.
I'd only been living in the cottage for a few short weeks, but it felt as though I'd lived there all my life. From the moment I stepped inside at the initial viewing, it had wrapped itself around me like a second skin and I knew I'd come home at last.
It had—or so I thought at the time—been a spur-of-the-moment decision to come back to the island after so many years. But it seemed now as though fate had conspired to steer my actions.
As a child, my family had chosen the island as a holiday destination for two weeks each summer. And one year—the last as it happened—I'd seen and fallen in love with The Yellow Cottage. Coming back so many years later on a whim, I had discovered it was for sale and, to cut a long story short, I bought it.
As I sat there drinking my tea, remembering the rather strange circumstances in which the cottage had become my home, the cat came in. Not a particularly interesting event in itself, I'd agree, except this cat walked in through a solid wall.
I'd idly been wondering why he always chose that particular spot to enter from the back garden, but once I knew the answer it was obvious. I was cleaning the small snug area under the stairs a couple of days ago, having decided it would be a perfect place to use as an office.
Going through the bookshelves, I’d come across a large hardback book, and folded inside were some of the old building plans. Looking closer, I realised that the current door to the back wasn't the original. That had been bricked up and a new opening made further along. Phantom, as I'd named the cat in a particularly unimaginative moment, was using the old doorway. The same one I expect he always used when he'd lived there as a flesh and blood companion.
Phantom was a legacy from Mrs. Rose, the previous owner. She and I had met when I first came to view the cottage a few months ago, and we had chatted briefly whilst simultaneously saving a swan from 'death-by-fishing-line.' It wasn't until I returned to the cottage and Mr. Wilkes, the patiently waiting estate agent, that I found out she'd already been dead for seven months.
As it turned out, Phantom wasn't the only thing Mrs. Rose had left me. But it wasn't until the phone rang and set in motion a series of extraordinary events that I realised just how strange the rest of my life was going to be.
***
It took a minute to find the phone, entombed as it was under a pile of linen and, for some bizarre reason, three odd mittens and a teapot. But eventually I pulled it free and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Ella, it's Jerry. How are you settling in? Everything unpacked?"
I laughed. "Not exactly, Jerry. That's why I was so long answering the phone actually. I'm still knee deep in boxes and can't find a thing."
"Well, you certainly sound happy about it."
"Like the proverbial pig in muck. It's wonderful. You and Ginny really must come and visit, especially now I'm so much closer to London. You could get the train and be here in under an hour. I can't remember the last time we were all together."
"Actually, that's why I'm calling. Ginny is pining for her sister-in-law and wants you to come for lunch tomorrow. Can you make it?"
"Of course I can make it, I'd love to come. Just so long as you don't expect me to dress up. Considering how the unpacking is going I may turn up wearing my dressing gown and Wellingtons."
"Well, I doubt Ginny and I would bat an eyelid. We're used to your odd little ways—not sure how Peter would feel though." He laughed.
"Oh, very funny, you make me sound like some eccentric octogenarian. Wait a minute … who's Peter?"
"Oh, didn't I mention he was coming too?"
"Jerry, you know very well you didn't." I sighed. "Promise me you aren't matchmaking again. You know what an utter disaster your last attempt was!"
"Moi? How could you think such a thing of your dear brother?"
"You really are the most awful liar, you know. Please don't, Jerry. It makes me feel so uncomfortable, and it's not necessary. I'm perfectly happy as I am. More so since I moved here actually. If it happens then it happens, but I'm not going to force it. And I'm certainly not going to be paraded in front of your friends like a prize heifer, no matter how well-intentioned you are."
"Oh, Ella, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to upset you. I just want you to be happy. It's been a few years since John died and I don't think you've been on more than three dates the entire time. I just worry about you, that's all."
"Jerry, I'm not upset, truly, and I am happy. I know you worry, but everything really is wonderful. In fact, I've already made a new friend. Her name is Mini. She lives just up the lane and she's a potter! Can you imagine? She makes the most glorious things and looks like a film star. She's away visiting relatives at the moment, but I'd love for you and Ginny to meet her. You'll see tomorrow that I'm perfectly fine. We'll chat then, all right? I'll get the 11:00am train and should be at your door just after noon."
"I'll meet you off the train, Ella."
I smiled at his concern. It was hard to believe I was the elder of the two of us.
"Jerry, you live a fifteen-minute walk from the station. I'll be fine."
"Darling, if you're going to wander the streets of London in your dressing gown, then I need to be there to prevent you from being carted away and thrown in a padded room. I'll be there waiting. You'll recognise me by the rose in my lapel and I'll be carrying a copy of the Times."
I grinned. Jerry wrote spy thrillers and he loved the clichés.
I dropped my voice to a whisper, "What's the password?"
"Snowmen in winter are a wondrous sight, but beware the yellow one."
I laughed out loud. "Silly ass. I'll see you tomorrow," I said and hung up.
I spent the next two hours sifting through boxes in an attempt to find something suitable to wear. I would have loved to turn up in my dressing gown—the look on Jerry's face would have been priceless and he'd have appreciated the joke—but with a stranger at lunch, I thought better of it.
Eventually, I found a suitable dress, a wrap and boots. With those items set aside, I searched for and miraculously found, in less than half an hour, my jewellery case, and the ensemble was complete.
I was looking forward to seeing Jerry and Ginny again and a Sunday lunch sounded divine. I'd barely made a dent in unpacking the kitchen items since moving in. As long as I had the necessities like tea, I considered it a job well done. I just hoped that this Peter chap wasn't expecting it to be more than it was.
But as it turned out, that was to be the least of my worries.
Chapter Two
I adore train journeys. There's something soporific about the constant clickety-clack of the wheels on the track, the gentle swaying motion, and the speeding by of minute life outside the window.
My carriage was very quiet; there were only two other passengers besides myself. A gentleman with his head stuck in a newspaper and a woman with a cat in a basket on the seat beside her.
Seeing the woman with the cat reminded me of Phantom. One of the many bonuses to having a ghost for a pet was that I hadn't had to arrange for anyone to come in and feed him. As far as I could tell he didn't eat; well, not on my plane of existence anyway. He also didn't leave half-eaten presents for me on the doorstep. He didn't leave hair everywhere or cough up fur balls either, which was a blessing.
I hadn't found it at all odd when he'd walked through the wall that first time. I suppose it was because I'd almost come to expect it, especially after the stories Mr. Wilkes had told me, along with the fact that I'd had a perfectly normal conversation with a woman who had been dead for several months.
I suppose I should have felt more rattled than I did, but for some reason I didn't. It all seemed perfectly ordinary and I found I could just accept it for what it was.
What I did find curious, though, was that Phantom could choose to be solid almost at will. He'd curled up on my lap last evening and let me stroke him and he was as solid as I was. I could feel his weight on my knee and his soft fur under my fingers. I could even feel the gentle vibration in his chest as he purred contentedly, although all of this was done in complete silence. Ghost cats obviously didn't make any noise.
Then, hopping off a little while, later he took on a sort of transparent quality and disappeared through the wall into the garden. I wondered if all spirits could do that. And if they could, were we surrounded by ghosts who appeared to be just as alive as we were yet we didn't know it? I don't suppose we'd know until they decided to walk through a wall.
I hadn't told anyone about Phantom or Mrs. Rose. The only one that knew was Mr. Wilkes, and seeing as though he'd had some unexplained experiences himself, I knew he understood.
I had toyed with the idea of mentioning it to Mini, but as the friendship was new, I didn't want to ruin it by talking about spirits and have her run for the hills. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about it though.
I was still pondering the mystery of it all when the train pulled into the station.
As I walked up the platform, I could see Jerry beyond the barrier. He was wearing a rose in his lapel and carrying a copy of the Times under his arm. I couldn't believe it; I should have worn my dressing gown after all.
As I approached, I sidled up beside him facing the opposite direction and said in a most serious voice, "Snowmen in winter are a wondrous sight."
"Yes but beware the yellow one," he replied.
Unlike the carriage, the station was very busy, and we were awarded several bemused glances as we burst into raucous laughter and made our way outside.
Linking my arm through Jerry's, I said, "So … tell me about your friend Peter. What does he do and how did you meet him?"
***
By the time we reached the apartment I knew as much about Peter Clairmont as Jerry did.
He'd not known him for long, just a matter of weeks actually. They'd met via a mutual acquaintance—at a fund-raising dinner that Jerry had attended—and found they had something in common, namely Jerry's books. It turned out Peter was a fan, and not only that but he was also an aspiring writer and had picked Jerry's brains all night.
As we stepped through the apartment door, I was engulfed in a perfumed hug.
"Ella, it's wonderful to see you. It’s been far too long. I'm thrilled you could come to lunch."
Ginny, as always, was impeccably groomed. The only child of minor aristocracy, she and Jerry had fallen in love quickly and passionately, much to her father's chagrin. Jerry's books were being published by a small independent press at the time and consequently his income wasn't much. Ginny's father felt she could and should do better, but Ginny was adamant she was going to follow her heart.
For the first couple of years they lived on Ginny's trust fund and with the time and freedom to write, along with the support, belief and encouragement from his new wife, Jerry produced not one, but two best-sellers, and their future was assured. Needless to say, Ginny's father had a complete turn-about of opinion and became one of Jerry's staunchest supporters. To hear him talk now you'd think he'd been the one to launch Jerry's career.
"Ginny, how lovely to see you," I said. "It really has been too long. A Sunday lunch is just what I needed. I've barely unpacked the kitchen at the cottage."
As she took my wrap and hung it in the closet, I walked down the hallway and entered the kitchen with Jerry and Ginny on my heels.
"Oh!" I said as I spied a ball of fur curled up on a cushion. "You've got a..." I froze. It was a cat—but not just any cat—it was Phantom. What on earth was he doing here? I knew Ginny would never have a cat—she had allergies.
I realised I was mid-sentence and they were waiting to see what I would say, so I foolishly pushed on regardless, "Lovely view," then looked up to see the ugly wall of the adjacent building staring at me from the window.
I could feel the heat of the blush suffusing my neck and rising to my cheeks. Ella, you idiot, how are you going to get yourself out of this one? I was just about to open my mouth and dig the hole a little deeper, when Jerry saved the day by bursting into laughter.
"Sarcasm, Ella? You must be feeling better. I agree the view is appalling from this window but the rest are wonderful. It's a small price to pay for the location, though. Come, let's go through to the drawing-room and I'll pour us some drinks."
Following Jerry, I glanced back at Phantom, who had extricated himself from the chair and was now padding along silently behind me. If I had any doubt the others couldn't see him it was allayed when we entered the drawing room. He jumped up on to the table right in front of us, and nonchalantly walked its entire length as though he owned the place before settling on the window ledge. Neither Gerry nor Ginny flinched. They really couldn't see him.
I was just hoping that I wouldn't make more of a fool of myself than I already had when the doorman buzzed up to say their guest had arrived. It was time to meet Peter Clairmont. I could only hope Phantom would remain invisible to everyone.