Page 6 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

He pulled a face. ‘You must be joking! This is my idea of hell really, but he’s gone through all his other mates, and I was the only one left.’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, I had holiday owing, plus I needed to get away for a few days to give my parents some space, so I figured, why not?’

I wondered why his parents needed space but felt it would be insensitive to ask.

Maybe they were going through a bad patch in their marriage?

Although Jack didn’t sound too worried. He had a twinkle in his eye and such a cheerful manner that I couldn’t imagine anything getting him down.

He was so relaxing to be around. And he had the most gorgeous smile…

‘I suppose,’ I said regretfully, ‘we ought to be making a move. They’ll be closing the bar in the minute.’

‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been trying to pretend I haven’t seen the pleading looks they’ve been giving us, cos the truth is, I really don’t want to say goodnight.’

My breath caught in my throat. The way he was looking at me…

‘Well,’ I said, trying not to sound too awkward or embarrassed, ‘we don’t have to say goodnight. Do we?’

I don’t know what came over me that night. I really wasn’t the sort of person to have a one-night stand, and I’d never done so before, but somehow, with Jack it was different.

We ended up in his hotel room, slightly the worse for wear with the bit of whisky and several beers we’d consumed, but nowhere near drunk enough to be unsure of what we were doing.

Jack had been responsible enough to visit the gents and get a packet of condoms from the machine before we went upstairs, and he was very careful to check – multiple times – that this was what I really wanted.

By the time we’d taken each other’s clothes off and tumbled into bed I was desperate for him to stop asking if I was sure and just get on with it.

Thankfully, my obvious passion finally reassured him that he’d no reason to worry, and he spent the next hour or so making very sure I had no cause to regret my impetuous behaviour.

‘I don’t make a habit of this, you know,’ I said later, as we lay looking up at the ceiling, both of us a bit stunned by the unexpected events of the evening.

‘Neither do I. I’ve never had a one-night stand before,’ he admitted, sounding a bit ashamed of the fact.

‘Neither have I,’ I assured him. ‘It’s sort of exciting, isn’t it? But I guess what happens in Scotland stays in Scotland, so no harm done.’

He turned over to face me, propping himself up on one elbow, so I did the same, and we gazed at each other a bit bashfully.

‘Does it have to stay in Scotland, though?’ he asked. ‘Couldn’t we keep in touch? Maybe meet up again.’

‘I hardly know you,’ I pointed out. ‘You hardly know me. We might not even like each other.’

‘Only one way to find out,’ he said reasonably.

I shrugged. ‘I guess… What do you do, anyway? I mean, I presume you have a job.’

‘I do. I’m a fireman.’

As I gasped in admiration, he added hastily, ‘Don’t get any ideas!

Not that sort of fireman. I work with heritage steam engines.

It’s my job to keep the hungry beast fed, among other things.

I’ve been working there ever since I left school ten years ago, but soon I’ll achieve my ambition to be a train driver. ’

He sounded so proud of the fact that I laughed. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously,’ he said, a bit huffily. ‘And what’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing at all. I don’t think I’ve met any sort of fireman before, and I’ve certainly not met a train driver. Do you like working with steam engines then?’

‘Love it,’ he said. ‘I never wanted to do anything else. My dad drove steam engines, too, and it was sort of understood that I’d follow him into the profession.’

‘You’re not one of those people who collects toy trains and has model railways running all through your house, are you?’ I asked worriedly.

He hesitated, which didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.

‘Not through the house, no,’ he said slowly.

‘Oh, lord. Meaning what?’

‘Well, we do have a model train station at home,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s just part of a larger model village.’

‘You have a model village?’ Was he having me on?

‘Yeah. In the paddock attached to our garden.’

My eyes widened. ‘Blimey, get you. A paddock. Are you rich then?’

He laughed. ‘Not at all. It’s not our house. We rent it.’

‘Who’s we?’ I asked. ‘Oh, of course. You still live with your mum and dad.’

‘For now. Pretty soon it will just be me. My parents are relocating to the Isle of Wight.’

‘Random.’

‘Not really. Dad retired last year and he always promised Mum they’d move there one day.

She’s from the island, you see. She still has family there and has always wanted to go back, so they made a deal they’d do so as soon as he stopped working.

That’s why I’ve come here out of the way.

They’re in the middle of packing and wanted me out from under their feet while they go through all their belongings.

’ He shrugged. ‘To be honest, it’s going to be weird living in Rowan Vale by myself, but they’ve bought somewhere and – are you okay? ’

The shock must have shown on my face. ‘Rowan Vale?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Do you know it?’

‘Erm, think so. I haven’t been there but isn’t it that tourist village in the Cotswolds? The one that’s like a living museum?’

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘It’s won awards. You ought to see it!’

‘Rowan Vale… Yes, I’ve seen photos of it. It looks amazing. I’ve always wanted to visit there.’

He sat up, looking quite proud. ‘Maybe you could visit one day.’ He reached out and brushed back my wavy, red hair, which I suspected was even more of a tangled mess than usual, given my recent exertions.

‘So, what do you think about staying in touch? I know we live quite some distance apart, but we could speak on the phone. See how it goes.’

I sat up, too, and hugged my knees, thinking.

I’d only just met this man, and okay, he looked and seemed to be lovely, and we’d certainly had a great time together.

And there must be something special about him for me to go to bed with him the night I met him.

I’d never done anything like that before.

There had to be a reason. But – Rowan Vale…

I saw the hopeful look in his dark eyes and pushed away the warning voice in my head. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Great! I’ll give you my number. Well, later.’ He pulled me to him and kissed me, igniting all sorts of passions that completely drove thoughts of exchanging phone numbers out of my mind for a satisfyingly lengthy amount of time.

But we had swapped numbers the following morning, and for months afterwards we’d chatted regularly on the phone, as Jack settled into life without his parents around and I tackled a succession of temping jobs.

On numerous occasions, Jack travelled up to Lancashire to spend the weekend at the flat I shared with Jenni and another girl.

Nine months after our initial meeting, we even managed a package holiday in Spain, where we had a fabulous time, the bond between us deepening even more as we shared a hotel room for an entire fortnight and swam, sunbathed, went sightseeing and shopping together.

But I’d somehow managed to find an excuse not to visit him at Honeywell House, until one day he told me that his parents were returning to the village for a visit and would love to meet this mysterious woman their son had been dating all this time.

I couldn’t think of a way out of it, and so a whole year after our fateful meeting in Scotland, I finally visited him at his home in Rowan Vale.

And I never left.