Ashes to Ashes by Lillian Stewart Carl

Author:Lillian Stewart Carl
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Fictionwise, Inc.
Published: 2010-12-03T01:09:26.637000+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

How blissful to spend a couple of hours not worrying, not thinking, just feeling the glorious music of Handel, Beethoven, and Vaughan Williams. Rebecca had hardly even noticed Eric holding her hand. It was almost painful to stand up and register the auditorium and the departing crowd.

In the lobby they encountered Benjamin Birkenhead, Eric’s boss, and his wife. Rebecca made a quick mental inventory of her appearance. She was presentable. Eric said, “Let me introduce Rebecca Reid. She’s been cataloging the artifacts out at Dun Iain.”

“Ah,” boomed Birkenhead. “The lady historian. Isn’t she a pretty little thing, though? How do you find them, Eric?”

He did have a pocket watch and dangling fobs. And the massive belly to display them. Next to him, his wife resembled a bird searching for insects on a hippo. She looked from Eric to Rebecca and back as if Rebecca were applying for a position at the firm.

“Nice to meet you,” Rebecca said tightly. So there were real historians and then there were lady historians. And her job description included being an attractive artifact herself. She wished she had a run in her stockings or lipstick on her teeth.

Safely in the parking lot, Eric whispered, “Never mind old Ben. He’s— well— unreconstructed.”

“How can you tell?” Rebecca returned.

He laughed, unlocked her door, bowed her into the car. She lay back against the seat, feeling almost drunk with music. But the accompanying melancholy wasn’t exactly pleasant; it was the same yearning she felt when seeing a distant airplane, or when hearing the music of the Highland pipes. Yes, sex could assuage that longing, temporarily. Ray, in his own correct manner, had proved that. Eric could probably prove it, too. But the yearning, it seemed, was chronic.

Eric’s condo was several floors up a high rise. A wall of glass in the living room revealed a breathtaking view of downtown Columbus, the lights of the city reflecting in a gauzy glow off the lowering sky. He relieved her not only of her coat but of her shoes, and she gave him the will and the letter before stowing her purse beneath the coatrack.

“The Bright Corporation,” he said, inspecting the letter first. “They’ve already contacted Ben. Very tidy offer they’ve made for Dun Iain. I’ll advise the Dennisons— assuming I find them— to accept it. Only corporations and governments can afford to keep estates any more.”

“Just as long as they keep it, not tear it down.”

“That’ll depend, won’t it?” He unfolded the will. “Yes, this is a version of the others. See, these bequests to his ‘family’ were in every one. And he always meant for the historical artifacts to go back to Scotland.”

“I’m not surprised,” Rebecca said. Living among the haunted objects would get to anyone. It had certainly gotten to two people living there.

For all Eric’s continental airs, she thought, Michael was the European. And while he could be polite, he was not smooth. He bristled like a porcupine. He’d been pleased she was leaving tonight. What was

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