The Glass Guardian by Linda Gillard

Author:Linda Gillard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal romance, scotland, haunted house, island, literary fiction, ghost story, haunted, contemporary romance, gothic romance, heroine in her forties, isle of skye, war 1914 1918, highlander hero, ghost hero
Publisher: Linda Gillard

Chapter Twelve

Now I was upright, I realised how hung over I was. Craving caffeine, I stumbled downstairs and found the kitchen in a chaotic state. The work surfaces were littered with dirty pans and empty wine bottles and the air reeked of stale booze and bacon fat. A bunch of wilted chrysanthemums, still in their paper wrapping, sat on the worktop. (Tom’s exhaustive knowledge of Tigh-na-Linne didn’t appear to extend to the storage of vases.) I picked up the flowers and, scattering petals like confetti, dumped them in the bin.

I put the kettle on and went to the fridge for milk. There wasn’t any. Furious at my domestic incompetence, unable to face black coffee or the clear up, I switched off the kettle, drank a glass of water and fled to the sitting room, which was just as depressing and smelled worse - of spilled brandy and burned wool.

I kneeled down to examine the damaged Persian rug. Admittedly, it wasn’t in the first flush of youth and showed signs of wear, but a black hole was another matter. I wouldn’t be able to forget how the hole got there, so I rolled up the rug and put it out in the hall, registering as I did so that Tom had at least had the sense to put the fireguard in front of the fire before leaving. Or perhaps that had been Hector?...

I’d managed not to think about Hector for several minutes, but now memories came crowding in, one after another in relentless succession. My response to each one was the same. A single word. Impossible. Whatever I thought about and in whatever way, my response was simply, “Impossible”.

A ghost had saved me from a nasty assault.

Tom had been injured by a jealous and vengeful ghost.

I’d had a sexual encounter (of a lengthy and most enjoyable kind) with a ghost.

A ghost appeared to have fallen in love with me.

I appeared to have fallen in love with a ghost.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I was slightly inclined toward the latter because even if the extraordinary events of last night had actually happened, there could, of course, be no future in a romantic relationship with a ghost. Any kind of relationship with a ghost. What was it the poet had said?...

.

‘It was begotten by Despair,

Upon Impossibility.’

.

The memory of Hector sitting at the piano, quoting those words from Janet’s song cycle brought me to the brink of tears, but still I held out. Drawing curtains, opening windows, plumping cushions, pulling dead leaves off houseplants, I kept busy and didn’t dissolve until I found myself sitting by the phone, hoping it would ring, hoping it would be Hector.

When the phone did ring I jumped off my chair and my pathetic snivelling became a wail. I clapped my hands over my ears and ran to the sofa where I curled up in a ball and waited for the noise to stop. When it didn’t, I started to think perhaps it was Hector, though

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