LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) by Ellis T. S

Author:Ellis, T. S. [Ellis, T. S.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Suspense, Fiction
Publisher: The Creative Criteria
Published: 2014-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

14. The flotation room

I FELT A little silly standing on the wooden jetty, waiting for a boat to come and pick me up. People walked by on the river bank and glanced at me. Did they think I might be considering jumping in? I tried to reassure the occasional passer-by with a slight smile, but that seemed to freak them out even more.

It was a warm evening for spring, very warm. The river had a mist rolling across its surface. When I first spotted Carl sailing towards me, I couldn’t see where the boat met the water. The mist obscured the water line.

Carl brought the boat to a halt next to the jetty and held out my hand to help me board. He was dressed in a tuxedo and looked amazing. I hadn’t known what to wear. I’d gone with a three-quarter length black dress with a halter neck. To keep me warm I wore a black and bottle-green mohair shrug.

I can’t lie, I was nervous.

On the way home from the Tate Modern I tried to understand why I’d said yes. Was it just because Carl Rask was so good looking? It was true, my body went into overdrive every time I saw him. It was hard to ignore that kind of physical reaction.

But Russell was good looking, too. I’d never had to slum it in that department. And Russell had a master’s touch in bed. But that was six months ago. Was it just my body saying enough is enough, I have needs?

Was I using Carl Rask? The man who had lost two women who had died by their own hand. And yet, I couldn’t think of him as being a victim. He gave off the appearance of strength.

Most men look good in a tuxedo, even those severely out of shape. But Carl looked incredible, helped in no small measure by his perfect posture. I knew that wasn’t much to go on. But it was also the conversations we’d had. He’d always seemed like the one in control of the situation, unlike me.

“Good evening,” Carl said.

“Good evening. How’s the exhibition looking?” I asked. “Did you sort out your disagreement with the curator.”

“Yes. We sat down for twenty minutes, talked about it, and decided I was right.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his cheeky attitude.

The boat cruised along the river. The sun was setting behind the trees on the far bank. We didn’t catch the last of the sun’s rays because the trees cut them off. Instead, a murkiness descended on our boat.

“I heard what you were talking about before I arrived,” he said.

I was slow to catch on. “When?”

“At the Tate.”

I tried to remember what it was that we were talking about. What was it? Then I remembered exactly what it was. It was his wife and girlfriend — the suicides.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was none of our business.”

“It’s very much your business. It’s everybody’s business. It comes with the job. My life is an open book. The trouble is, once people begin reading it they think they know me.

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