Lewis’s ghost form went still at this news.
“She’s a real-life hero,” Myrtle announced. “She’s going to find a way. I know she is. I could tell by her voice. Everyone is going to help her. Everyone but Jack, that is,” Myrtle told him then suggested brightly, “I think we should appear in front of Jack!”
Lewis rolled his ghost eyes to the ceiling then back to his sister.
“I keep telling you, no. You’re always wanting to appear in front of Jack. You wanted to appear in front of Gareth too.”
“I liked Jack’s father,” Myrtle sulked. “I don’t know why you won’t ever let us –”
“I don’t either,” Lewis explained for the millionth time. “We just can’t. I don’t know why, I just feel it. We can’t. Something will happen, something bad.” He floated closer to his sister. “Please, Myrtle, just listen to me and don’t do anything silly. If Belle wants to try, we can help her. But you have to promise me you won’t appear in front of Jack.”
Myrtle looked sullen a moment then she nodded jerkily.
“Promise me, Myrtle,” Lewis pressed.
“Lewis –”
“Say it out loud.”
She crossed her arms on her chest then said waspishly, “I promise.”
If Lewis could breathe, he’d have let out a breath.
The rules were, if you promised out loud, you couldn’t break the promise, both of them new that by heart.
Myrtle floated away in full pout.
Lewis looked out the window and decided not for the first time and, he reckoned, not for the last, that he hated storms.
Especially thunderstorms.
Then he looked at the spot where his then new ghost self had watched through the pouring rain and booming thunder, the bad man throw his struggling, screaming, crying mother over the cliff.
His thoughts were not on his mother but the woman who reminded Lewis of her.
Belle was a real-life hero.
This was good news for Lewis knew (though Myrtle didn’t and he hadn’t told her in all their hundreds of years together, though he didn’t know why, just like he didn’t know why they couldn’t appear in front of the masters, he just knew) that his mother, too, had saved a child from drowning in the sea.
It was one of the reasons why she was much loved in the village.
Therefore, Lewis had real hope.
And so he hoped like nothing else he’d ever hoped in his life (or his death), that the sweet, quiet, beautiful Belle could actually, truly, really help them finally go home.
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner at the Cottage
Belle
The next morning, Belle watched Jack close her shop door behind them before she hurried to the alarm panel and put in the code.
After she was done, she turned and jumped when she saw he was close.
He didn’t put his hands to her jaw this time. Instead, he took her hand and led her to the stairway at the back of her tiny store which led up to her workroom and away from the prying eyes of the media people peering through her window.
He didn’t lead her all the way up, just halfway so only their legs were visible. There, he stopped, turning her to face him on the stairs.
“I have to go to work, love,” he told her when he’d tilted his head down to look at her.
Belle nodded.
She was beginning to read the signs. He put on a suit when he “went to work”. He wore jeans when he worked from the castle.
“Are you going to London?” she asked stupidly, because to ask was to get an answer and she didn’t want an answer.
“No, I’m flying to –”
He didn’t finish.
Of its own accord, her hand shot up and covered his mouth and before she even thought to stop herself, she blurted, “Nope, no, I don’t want to know.”
She saw his eyes smiling at her though she didn’t know if his mouth was and his fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her hand away.
“All right, we won’t talk about my work. We’ll talk about yours,” he started, eyes still smiling. “Is Belinda coming in today?”
Belle nodded.
“Don’t open the shop until she gets here. Send Nola or Carol down to help her. You stay up in the workshop,” he commanded then continued issuing orders. “I’ll phone or text you to let you know when to expect your new assistant but I don’t want you coming down until she gets here.”
She found herself half pleased, half annoyed that he was telling her what to do in a way that said, quite clearly, he expected her to do it.
“You’re very dictatorial, did anyone ever tell you that?” she asked, letting the half annoyed part take control.
“Occupational hazard,” he replied, eyes back to smiling.
Belle looked down at the steps and muttered, “I bet you were a bossy kid, too.”
Her head came up when she heard him roar with laughter and she couldn’t be angry at him anymore because he looked way too darned handsome when he laughed.
Which, incidentally and contradictorily, she also found annoying.
His face had gentled after he laughed and she screwed up the courage to ask, “Are you going to be home for dinner?”
She watched his face shift from gentle to tender at her question and her heart started beating faster.
“Yes, poppet, though not early enough to come and collect you.”
Belle looked to his ear then to the knot in his tie then with a great deal of effort, she forced her eyes to his and said, “No, um…” She hesitated then rushed on, “I was wondering if we could have dinner together.”
“Of course,” he replied.
“No,” she said quickly before she lost her nerve. “What I mean is, can I make dinner for you? Just you and me at my cottage.”
Something changed about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it but whatever it was filled the very air. It made it smooth, silky, thick, like velvet trailing across her skin.
“I’d like that,” he said softly.
Belle nodded again then swallowed before she went on, “My cottage is a short walk from here. You just –”
“I know where you live, Belle,” he cut in, surprising her with this news. “Do you have enough to do here to wait for me to come and collect you?”
She nodded yet again. “I always have enough to do.”
He moved into her space and said, “I’ll let you know when I’m close.”
“Okay,” she whispered, liking the idea of knowing when Jack was close but not as much as liking it when he was close.