Page 36 of The Haunted Hotel
“Um.” My mouth twitches and I shrug.
“Please,” he says softly. “Maybe you can tell me more about the hotel. I spent the first few years of my life here, but I don’t have any memory of it, and my mother… well, she didn’t like to talk about her time here.”
I suddenly feel myself shoved forward into the chair opposite Morgan and my seat scooted in by an unseen force, tucking me against the table like I’m a small child. Looking around suspiciously, my gaze lands on Bertie and Roger—or rather, their heads. They’re about two rows over and ducked down behind one of the tables. All I can see are their grinning faces and hair.
I frown, wondering why they’re bothering to hide. After all, I already know about the house ghosts, and I’m pretty sure Morgan can’t see them if they choose not to show themselves to him.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Morgan smiles and it’s a real smile, even if it’s a small one. I’m so enamoured of that smile I almost miss him pushing his untouched plate in front of me. “You have this. I’ll go to the kitchen and ask for another one.”
“Oh no,” I say in horror. “You don’t have to do that. That’s my job.”
“Not tonight, it’s not,” Morgan says decisively and stands. “I’m guessing the kitchen is through those doors?”
“No need,” a familiar voice rings out before I can respond, and when I turn, I see Rosie making her way to the table with a second serving. “Here we go.”
“How did...” I trail off as Morgan takes his seat once more and Rosie sets another dish of stew on the table.
“Bertie said…” she trails off and shoots Morgan a look. “You know what, never mind.”
“Who’s Bertie?” Morgan asks as he picks up his fork. “Is he a member of staff? Another guest?”
“She, uh, well, you know, she’s just part of the hotel, been around forever,” Rosie hedges. “Anyway, I need to get back to the kitchen to help Aggie. Enjoy your meals. Dilys is just bringing the wine.”
She heads back to the kitchen before either of us can say anything.
“Is she always like that?”
“Not always.” I sigh. “It’s been a strange few weeks. Everyone’s adjusting.”
“After that guy’s death?” Morgan scoops up his mouthful of stew and groans obscenely, making my dick take notice.
“I, uh.” It takes my brain an alarmingly long time to focus on the question he asked because I’m too busy staring at those beautiful lips of his and wondering what he tastes like. “Oh, you mean Professor Plume. Well actually, that wasn’t his name. He was an actor. His name was actually Bartholomew Briggs. I think he was from Croydon.” I shake my head and pick up my own spoon, humming in happiness as I taste Aggie’s stew. “He said he was a method actor and insisted on remaining in character the whole time he was here, so I suppose we just got used to calling him Professor Plume.”
Morgan takes another mouthful and hums in pleasure, looking around the dining room thoughtfully as he swallows. “I have to admit, I don’t really know what to think about this place. The papers have certainly dragged it through the mud lately. I thought the parts that reached me in the States were badenough, but I’ve been online and I’ve seen what the British press have been saying. It wasn’t exactly complimentary.”
I sigh. “They have been a bit overzealous, especially since the murder mystery weekend, but I can’t control what they print, so I choose to ignore it and concentrate on what’s really important.”
“That’s disgustingly well-adjusted of you.” His eyes glitter with amusement, which makes me grin at him.
“The hotel has always been kind of infamous, even before it was a hotel. There have been countless deaths and accidents here over the centuries.” I continue eating, smiling as Morgan pours me a glass of water.
“Anyone would think the place is cursed or something.”
“Definitelyor something,” I mutter. “It’s just unlucky.”
“I guess that’s one word for it.”
“Tell me about your life in New York,” I say eagerly. “I’ve never left the UK. New York has always seemed so exciting. I was obsessed with that old TV show,Fame, when I was a kid.”
“Old?” He gives an indignant reply, and I chuckle.
“I used to cartwheel down the corridors here wearing sweatbands, a leotard, and leg warmers. Although I was asked to confine my enthusiasm to the ballroom when I accidentally took out a hundred-year-old Royal Doulton Shepherdess figurine with my very impressive high kick.”
Morgan snorts as he raises the spoon to his mouth and quickly picks up his napkin to wipe his mouth.
“After that, I holed up in the ballroom and practised the audition scene fromFlashdance,” I grin. “Never did quite get the hang of the breakdancing part. I almost ended up with a concussion.”
“How old were you?” Morgan’s mouth twitches.