Page 66 of The Haunted Hotel

“No,” he says quietly. “Not today. I’m tired.”

“Okay.” I nod, not wanting to push him. “Okay.”

“Are you going back to New York soon?” Grandad asks, abruptly changing the subject. “I heard the weather’s turning and although the snow’s deep, most of the roads are being cleared.”

For the first time, the thought of leaving has me feeling unsettled. “Yes, soon,” I murmur, not feeling the relief I should. “I’m not sure when, exactly, but…”

“But?”

“I don’t want it to be like last time,” I say. “I’d like to keep in contact, maybe phone to see how you’re doing. Maybe come and visit?” I offer, holding my breath.

I mean every word. As prickly as the man is, I want to get to know him, find out what sort of man he is and what his life had been like before it imploded. I’d like to know more about the house and the family of infamous reprobates I was born into, and I’d be lying if I said the thought of seeing Ellis again wasn’t extremely appealing

Grandad looks over at his trains and a myriad of emotions flits across his wrinkled features too quickly for me to register. Eventually, he turns his gaze fully back to me.

“I think… I think I’d like that.” He hesitates. “Can I ask something of you though?”

I nod, wondering what he could possibly want.

“I don’t know how long I have left.” It’s not said with any kind of fear or sadness. It’s as if he’s just stating a fact. “I’m eighty-eight years old, Morgan. I could have another ten years, or I could die in my sleep. When I die, the house will come to you as the only living heir. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. For me, it was both. I personally don’t care what you do with the house once I’m gone, but can you make sure Ellis is okay?”

“Ellis?” I repeat.

He nods. “Don’t get me wrong. I love this house as much as I hate it, but Ellis… he wormed his way into my heart from the moment his mother brought him here. I thought I could keep some sort of distance if he continued to call me Mr Ashton-Drake rather than Cedric, or even… Grandfather.”

My eyes widen but not in jealously—surprise, yes, but there’s also a part of me that is so grateful that my grandfather had someone to love instead of being all alone, and although it doesn’t make up for the past three decades, it eases something inside me.

“You love him?” I say softly.

“I do.” He sighs. “He’s impossible not to. He’s like pure sunlight, just like your father. He’s been my family since the first moment he smiled at me. I’d leave him something in my will, but honestly, there’s nothing left to leave him. All I have are the bricks and mortar around me and a mountain of debt that just keeps growing. Promise me you’ll take care of him. I don’t mean financially. I mean just… check in with him, make sure he’s not sad or lonely.”

It’s the easiest promise I’ve ever made.

“I swear.”

He pushes himself up from his stool, his knees cracking loudly. I watch as he shuffles towards me, and I stand still like a deer caught in the headlights. I stiffen up, not sure what exactlyto expect when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in. Then I lift my arms and pat his back, not sure what to say.

We awkwardly embrace in silence, the quiet only broken by a whistle and the chug of the tiny train as it powers along the tracks. After a few more uncomfortable moments, we shift. It’s like both of us aren’t quite sure how we ended up in a hug situation and we’re not sure how to get out of it.

Damn, Mom was right; maybe I am just like him.

“So, uh, this is nice,” I say after a few more moments. “Do you maybe wanna put some pants on?”

“Nope.” He releases me, turns around, and shuffles back to his trains. “I like the breeze on my nads.”

21

Isnuggle further down into my blanket, my book forgotten in my grip as I rest my head on the pillow and turn to stare out of the window, sighing in pleasure. This is one of my favourite places to be.

I’m tired. It’s been a long day of helping John the Maid clean the stairwells and bannisters. My muscles ache and I feel like I haven’t had a day off in forever. Which, to be fair, I haven’t. Not that I mind, but sometimes it does catch up with me.

Although I’m still wearing my black trousers, white shirt, and my black waistcoat, now unbuttoned, I’ve removed my tie and the apron John the Maid loaned me, and my shiny black shoes have been replaced by the comfy pair of tan Uggs my mum gave me for Christmas. I’ve also pulled on a chunky cardigan with oversized buttons that I knitted myself. I miss knitting, but I haven’t been able to make anything new recently because I can’t afford the wool.

Still, at least reading’s free, even if this is a book I’ve read dozens of times already. But I find myself staring down at the page and reading the same paragraph over and over again. Nothing’s going in—my mind is completely someplace else tonight.

Settling into the pillows, I draw my blanket closer. It’s not really that cold, I just like to snuggle. It’s a comfort thing. Stretching out on the generously sized and well-cushioned chaise, I go back to watching the snow drift down outside the huge glass windows of the conservatory. Last summer, Rosie and I strung dozens of white fairy lights around the black iron framework in here, and to me, this room is just magical. Lying here in the soft light with the snow fall all around outside feels like I’m inside a giant snow globe.

Shifting around so I can look out the glass roof, I catch sight of a figure watching me from the doorway. I smile at Morgan leaning up against the doorframe. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, and he looks relaxed.