Page 24 of The Haunted Hotel

Affection that disappears the moment his eyes lock on me. His jaw juts out stubbornly and those dark eyes narrow. “You came back, then.”

“I–”

Whatever I was going to say trails away as the door opens further and he shuffles out. My gaze drops past the checked shirt and buttoned-up sweater vest he’s wearing to his very bare legs. I blink slowly, sure this is an hallucination brought on by stress and jet lag, because he’s only wearing a pair of white briefs. Well, I say briefs, but they’re huge. His shirt is tucked into the waistband of them, which practically goes all the way up tohis armpits, and they fit a bit saggy and have a Y seam in front, although I’m trying really hard not to look at that. His skinny legs are smooth, other than a few tufts of white hair, and he has very knobby knees. On his feet are red tartan slippers and grey socks pulled up to the middle of his calves.

“Where are your pants?” I blurt out in shock.

His scowl deepens. “Right here.” He snaps the waistband.

“He means your trousers, Mr Ashton-Drake,” Ellis supplies helpfully. “The Americans call them pants.”

“I know what he means,” my grandfather grumbles and shuffles across the floor towards his piano. “My balls needed some air, damn trousers were too tight.”

My brows rise so high I wouldn’t be surprised to discover they’d disappeared into my hairline.

“I thought you said he’d be happy to see me?” I whisper harshly.

“That is his happy face,” Ellis replies.

“What do you want?” my grandfather says as he settles himself on the piano stool and lifts the lid.

“I… uh.” I take a step closer to him as I try to figure out what I want to say, but my mind is completely blank.

He starts playing a piece I’m not familiar with, which isn’t surprising since I’m not really into classical music. Classic rock, maybe. But despite my lack of knowledge, I’m grudgingly impressed at the level he plays. His gnarled fingers fly over the keys, producing a mournful, melancholy melody.

“Oh dear,” Ellis murmurs and then sighs, seemingly recognising the music. “He’s in one of those moods.”

“If he’s got nothing to say, take him away,” my grandfather orders without so much as glancing in our direction. “I’ve got better things to do with my time than watch him stand there and gawp at me like a fish.”

“Now just wait a minute.” My temper snaps, and I step closer to him. “I’ve travelled thousands of miles to be here. The least you can do is have a civil conversation with me.”

He abruptly stops playing and slams the lid of the piano closed. The sound ricochets across the room like a gunshot. He turns his head to glare at me.

“No one asked you to,” he snaps back, mirroring my tone. “So why don’t you go back to wherever it is you’ve been for the last thirty-something years?”

“Now, just a minute,” I reply hotly.

“No, I’m tired. Go away,” he says stubbornly and shuffles back across the room, disappearing through the doorway before I can utter another word.

I flinch as the door slams loudly, then grit my teeth. Lifting my hand to pinch the bridge of my nose, I try to wrestle my temper back under control.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.”

7

“Right, is everyone here?”

“Why is it so dark?” Edwina’s prim, disembodied voice cuts through the blackness.

“Mmmmhhsfpt nnnfph,” a muffled voice adds.

“What was that?” Skid growls.

There’s a shuffling sound and then Roger’s seductive purr joins in. “I said you were crushing me. I have no objections if you want to get up close and personal, but your studded sleeves are digging into me, so you’ll have to lose the leather jacket first. Maybe the trousers too.”

“Mr Palmer!” Edwina’s scandalised tone exclaims so loudly my ears pop.

“What?” Roger says innocently.