Page 38 of The Haunted Hotel

“You don’t have—” He breaks off and shakes his head. “This place is crazy.” He lifts the wine and opens it, making a small, inquisitive gesture with the bottle. I nod and he picks up my glass, filling it.

I take the glass from him and hum in pleasure. I don’t usually drink other than the odd glass while I’m soaking in one of the guest room bathtubs or when I’m out at the Blue Banana in Leeds and it’s two-for-one on cocktails.

“This place may seem a little odd, and I’ll admit it’s got its quirks, but I love it.” I sigh. “We all do. I just hope we can figure out a way to save it.”

“Save it?” He picks up his own glass and sips, his brows drawing down. “I can see how empty this place is. Just how bad is it?”

I shrug and offer him a smile that I don’t quite feel. “We’ll make it work.”

“Ellis,” he says, and I suppress a shiver at the sound of my name in that low, gravelly tone. “Sometimes hotels just come to the end of their lifespan, and there’s no bringing them back. Without some serious investment in this place, I’m not sure it can be saved. Not when you have no guests, no staff, and the place needs thoroughly modernising.”

“We’ll make it work,” I say with more conviction. “We have to.”

“Do you? There’s no shame in just moving on. With your years of experience here, I doubt you’d have trouble finding a position somewhere else. Any of you… except maybe Dilys, who really should be retiring.”

“You don’t understand. This is more than just a hotel. For those of us still here, it’s our home, and Mr Ashton-Drake needs us.”

He’s quiet for several long moments as he toys with the stem of his wineglass. “Speaking of my grandfather, will he be coming down to dinner?”

“No,” I say softly. “He never leaves his rooms.”

“What… ever?” His frown deepens, and I shake my head. “He’s agoraphobic?”

I ponder this for a minute. “I’m not sure if he just doesn’t want to leave his rooms or whether hecan’tleave. All I know is he’s never so much as stepped foot outside the doorway in all the years I’ve been here. From what I understand from Aggie, he hasn’t left them since 1990.”

“1990?” His eyes widen.

I nod, watching him curiously. “Why? Does that mean something to you?”

“No, I—” He stares down at his glass. “That was the year my mother took me to New York to live permanently.”

“That’s a strange coincidence.”

“Hmm.” He picks up his glass and takes a slow sip.

“So you lived here for the first few years of your life?” I ask, the curiosity burning inside me. I want to know everything about this complicated man.

“Like I said before, I don’t really remember it.”

“How old were you when you moved to the States?”

“Six.”

“Six?” I blink in surprise. I have memories of my own that go back to when I was at least two or three years old. “You really don’t remember anything about your time here?

He shakes his head and goes quiet again and I let the subject drop. After all, if he left for New York soon after his biological father’s death, maybe the trauma of that would have blocked his memories. He suddenly looks exhausted and not just physically. It’s like he carries this huge invisible weight around with him, and I find myself wishing I could help him somehow.

“Tell me what you love about this place, Ellis,” he says as he drinks his wine.

“So many things,” I say happily, feeling my chest glow with love for my home. “There’s something so wonderfully eclectic about this place. Every time you turn a corner, you find another little piece of history waiting. So many lives lived here, so many stories.”

“I suppose.”

“Why don’t you let me show you?” I offer.

“Excuse me?”

“Tomorrow. We’re most likely going to be trapped in the house for the next several days. Why don’t you let me show youaround the house and tell you all of its secrets?” I’m excited at the thought as it gathers momentum in my brain. “After all, most of it is your family history, and you said yourself you don’t really remember when you lived here. Maybe this time you can go home with good memories.”