Page 15 of The Haunted Hotel
“I don’t like it.” She scowls and it’s adorable, like a grumpy little chipmunk.
It’s one of Rosie’s most endearing qualities, and I don’t mean making expressions like little furry animals. I mean the way she’s so protective of the people she cares about. There may not be much staff left here at the hotel, but those of us who are still around have been here for years. We’re a family, and as a family, we’re very fond of Mr Ashton-Drake, who may be a bit eccentric but is really sweet.
“Have you told Mr Ashton-Drake yet?”
“No. I went up earlier to take him his morning tea, but he’s having a nap. You know how impossible he gets when he’s tired. I’ll pop up and see him in an hour. That should be enough time.”
“Fine,” Rosie huffs. “Come on, I’ll help you take down the rest of the decorations. Can’t have you falling off any more ladders and into the arms of handsome potential con artists.” She pushes her chair back and stands. “Wait, was he handsome?”
I say dreamily, “Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Rosie shakes her head, a small affectionate smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’m going to have to tie a piece of string to you or you’ll be floating up to the ceiling like a balloon.”
“What?” I blink. “It’s not like I’m going to do anything. He’s Mr Ashton-Drake’s grandson, after all.”
“So he says,” Rosie mutters.
“It’s just that I’ve barely left the hotel in months.” I shrug. “It’s not often tall, sexy, American strangers come to stay. Can you blame me for appreciating a stunning silver fox when I see one?”
“Silver fox? Jesus, that’s like your kryptonite. Are you sure you don’t have some latent Daddy issues?”
“Don’t we all?”
“Fair point.” Rosie purses her lips and nods. “Wait, did you say he’s American?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum. “That accent.”
“Oh my god, are you in heat? Any moment now, I’m going to have to fetch the garden hose and spray you down before you combust.”
“What?” I pout. “I’m allowed to look. It’s not like I’m going to be touching. He wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”
“And why not?” She fists her hand on her hip and fixes me with a fierce look. “What’s wrong with you? You’re the kindest, sweetest, most loyal man I’ve ever known, and despite you absolutely not being my type and being my bestest friend in the whole world, even I can see you’re bloody gorgeous.”
I smile at her affectionately, and a warm feeling pools in my stomach. “I know, but I can’t imagine he’d be staying. Besides, I get the feeling he’s used to suave, sophisticated men, not hot blonde messes who trip over their own shoelaces half the time.”
“You listen to me, Ellis Sparks,” she says in a firm tone that reminds me of my mum. “You’re amazing and one day, the right man is going to come along and sweep you off your feet.”
“I hope so.” I sigh. “But right now I’d settle for someone who can give me a decent orgasm… in fact, at this point, I’d take even a half-decent one.”
“The bar seems to be set extremely low.” Rosie shakes her head again. “We’ve been so caught up in trying to save the hotelwe’ve forgotten we need to have lives too. Maybe once the snow melts, we should have a night out in Leeds or something.”
“We can’t afford that,” I remind her. “Or have you forgotten that the hotel isn’t making enough right now to pay our wages? Besides, I have a feeling it will be awhile before the snow thaws out. They’re forecasting another heavy snowfall later today.”
She shrugs. “We’ll figure something out.” She turns towards the door and lets out an abrupt shriek, stumbling back and grasping her chest as she breathes heavily, her eyes wide.
Standing in front of us both is a woman who is everything you would expect a ghost to be. Unlike Bertie and Roger, who appear in colour and almost so solid you’d think you could reach out and touch them, this woman is in shades of grey, like an old black-and-white film. Which makes perfect sense seeing as I recognise this particular deceased member of the household. Although I’ve only seen her once before, I know her name is Leona Falberg-Black and she was a silent film star back in the thirties.
Well, a wannabe film star; she didn’t exactly make it very far. Her lover, one of the Ashton-Drakes, almost bankrupted himself setting up a makeshift studio in the ballroom. He intended to launch his very own film studio with Leona as the star despite the fact she couldn’t act to save her life (pun intended), according to Bertie. However, that particular Ashton-Drake not only cut costs but also corners, especially with safety, and Leona was crushed to death when a stage light fell on her while filming the first scene of her first film.
“Oh my god, they just keep popping out of the woodwork, don’t they?” Rosie says, her eyes wide as she stares at the dead woman. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to it.”
“It’s only been a few weeks. Give it some time,” I tell her soothingly.
“I can’t believe how okay you are with the fact that the hotel is now flooded with spirits.”
“Are you kidding?” I grin. “This is epic!”
We turn back to Leona. She’s wearing a short black-fringed dress, and a long string of pearls is looped around her neck. Her dark glossy hair is cut short and sculpted against her skull in perfect waves. In fact, she looks like the human version of Betty Boop.