Wendy Holden Boxed Set by Wendy Holden

Author:Wendy Holden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2014-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Steering the Jaguar with the top of one fingernail, Samantha slashed frantically at the earphone as she swept along.

“Prestige Property Services? Get me Sir Hadley Bonsanquet. Now.” The stuck-up old poof had some serious explaining to do. Such as why she had to find out from Ghosts of the Area that he’d sold her a turkey, not to mention a white lady, a haunted cat, and the three bloody musketeers battling it out on the staircase. Oh, and a black ball of hate into the bargain.

“What do you mean he’s not fucking in?” Samantha yelled at the speaker. “When will he be back? Tomorrow?” Pause. “September, you hope?…In six months’ fucking time? Lengthy period of rest following complete nervous breakdown?” Samantha’s eyeballs rolled with fury. “I’ll give him nervous bloody breakdown,” she yelled. So loudly was the blood pounding in her ears that she couldn’t quite catch what the receptionist said, but it sounded suspiciously like “You already have done.” Samantha stabbed the end of call button with such force it broke her nail.

Black ball of hate…Samantha’s face twisted with loathing. What she wouldn’t give to take that black ball of hate and stick it straight between Sir Hadley’s beef curtains. And as for Lady bloody St. Felix, who had not answered her phone all day, Samantha itched to plunge an entire block of Sabatiers between those erect and rigid shoulder blades.

Rounding a vicious bend, she ground the gears and her teeth simultaneously. By no means the least of her difficulties was deciding what she was angriest about. The fact that she was about to have the shit haunted out of her? The fact that ghosts probably spirited away thousands from the value of the house? The fact that Guy might find out? Samantha shuddered at the prospect. He’d be thrilled, no doubt about it. He’d been banging on about the house giving him the creeps for weeks, and the news that the place was riddled with spooks would be just the excuse he needed for insisting that they abandon Eight Mile Bottom and go straight back to South Kensington. Which was, of course, completely out of the question now that the party, and with it her social domination of the village, looked set for glittering success.

The party. A shocking thought suddenly struck Samantha. The guests. How many of them knew the house was riddled with the undead? Lots of invitees had not yet replied—was this because The Bottoms had roughly the reputation of the Bates Motel? Terror pounded in her temples as she imagined the black ball of hate bouncing in the big silver bowl and spattering everyone with champagne cocktail mixture. Or, worse, emerging unheralded from the depths of one of the Oxford’s pristine oak-topped lavatory pans. Samantha clutched the soft leather of the wheel in despair and, heedless of the fact that she was speeding into a blind bend, wailed aloud in horror.

“Shit. Fucking shit.” As the figure of a girl shot into the center of her windshield, Samantha slammed her foot on the brakes.

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