Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place (Ghosts of London Book 1) by Saint Nic

Author:Saint,Nic
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Puss in Print Publications
Published: 2016-09-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

When Harry heard the door open, she fully expected to find Darian on the mat. Instead, she found a distinguished woman of middle age with curly platinum hair, expertly made up face and piercing green eyes, who studied her with interest. “Hi there,” the woman said, once she’d drunk her fill. She had the air of the theatrical as she swept into the apartment, her long black Vera Wang dress swishing about her legs and descending to a pair of silver Jimmy Choo slingbacks.

“Hi there back,” Harry said, darting curious glances at Constable Fret, who stood behind this surprise guest, gesturing frantically. Unfortunately Harry could make heads nor tails of her sign language. Probably some sort of secret Scotland Yard code, she gathered.

The woman, apparently satisfied with her inspection, extended a perfectly manicured hand, gold bangles dangling from her wrist, and when Harry shook it hesitantly, said, “I’m Emmanuella. Darian’s mother. I live next door and I’ve been asked to look after you.”

This bit of news surprised Harry somewhat. Somehow she’d suspected Darian had a mother, in an abstract sort of way, but coming face to face with her she looked nothing like she’d expected. The woman looked more like a mature fashion model than the motherly type she’d associated with the policeman.

Emmanuella had waltzed right in, not even waiting to be invited. But then of course she was probably more at home at her son’s apartment than Harry.

“Well, well, well,” she said as she emerged from Harry’s temporary lodgings. “I see that my son has put you up in the guest bedroom.” She gave Harry a smirk. “About as cozy as a convent cell, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is a bit… spartan,” she admitted.

“As is the entire place, in fact,” Emmanuella said critically, surveying her son’s habitat with motherly scrutiny. “I keep telling him to have a decorator come in and redo the place. Right now it looks like something from American Psycho.”

Harry had to laugh at that, as it mirrored her own thoughts exactly. “It reminded me personally of Fifty Shades of Grey,” she said.

The woman eyed her closely. “I see we share the same sense of humor. Very well, why don’t we set you up next door? I’m sure you’ll find it much cozier over there than in this sterile bachelor’s pad.”

“Next door?” she asked, confused. “You mean…”

“I mean in my apartment.” She started to walk away, her high heels clicking on the black tile floor. “Pick up your things,” she commanded, “and follow me, darling. I’m saving you from this hellhole.”

She hesitated. “But won’t Darian…”

Emmanuella turned around sharply. “Won’t Darian what?”

“Won’t your son mind? He gave me strict orders not to set foot from his apartment.”

The woman waved a deprecating hand. “Don’t you worry about him. Darian is used to giving orders that nobody heeds. He’s been trying to boss people around ever since he was little and he has yet to succeed. No,” she said, crooking a finger at her, “you’re staying at my place and that’s the end of it.

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