way to start the day.”
“Have you eaten anything yet?”
“Never have breakfast. Messes with my system.”
Grace laughed, slipping her hand into his.
“And whisky doesn’t?”
“Oh yes, whisky does but it’s a far more pleasant way to mess up your system.”
“Come on you, I’m gonna make us both something to eat. If you keep drinking that stuff on an empty stomach you’ll never be fit to open this pub today.”
Smiling to herself she set about clearing up the kitchen and making some toast. He was still a nice old man, even if he had just scared the life out of her.
********
Back in her room at the ‘Cavalier Hotel’, Grace stood at the window and stared out at the street below her. What had happened that morning in Harry’s pub had frightened her beyond anything she could ever have imagined. She turned and looked at the portrait of Robert Hamilton. A dark shadow appeared to have crossed his face. His lips looked thinner and the muscles of his wide jaw appeared to have tensed. None of this made any sense to Grace. She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. Was she in the middle of some terrible nightmare? It all felt real enough.
She cast her mind back to the day she had arrived in York. Less than a week ago, she had stood on the platform at York station wondering what her new life would hold. Now she had a job, a comfortable hotel room and at least two new friends - both of whom believed in the ghost of Robert Hamilton. Did she believe in it? Grace still couldn’t be sure. She had certainly grown to know the man, more intimately than she should, thanks in no small part to her recent dreams. In truth she was falling hopelessly in love with this man. Real or imagined, Robert Hamilton was stealing her heart and there wasn’t a damn thing Grace could do about it.
A sense of urgency fell over her as she went about her final preparations for bed and the morning. She glanced curiously over at the portrait.
“Will you fill my dreams tonight, Mr Hamilton?”
A tiny flutter of expectation ran through her but sanity prevailed and the feeling was quashed. The dreams were idyllic, beautiful and in them she felt loved and safe. But, she reminded herself, they were only dreams. Her emotions were still too raw, her heart too tender to meddle in this nonsense. This man was not real. He was dead. Grace had seen his grave and it was as real as the snow that fell outside her bedroom window.
Sleep beckoned but she refused to give in to it in case he should come to her again. She screamed with the need for him but, in the same breath, was beyond terrified of him.
********
His presence once more filled the room as sleep claimed her mind.
Dare she trust him? Her heart leapt at the thought. She sensed him behind her, moments before she felt his strong arms wrap around her waist. His chest was rising and falling against her back, his breath warm and soft against her ear. She gasped as pleasure rippled through her body at the feel of his touch.
“Why do you haunt me, Robert?” she whispered to the darkness.
“You are the one that haunts my dreams.”
“I’m frightened, Robert. I don’t understand.”
“No my love, nor do I.”
She had to resist, had to stop this. She fought to end the dream. Her mind clawed to break free, pulling at a thin thread of light that broke through the darkness. But he held her, trembling against him until the light of dawn rose around them.
“You bloody man!” she shouted, lifting the pillow beside her and hurling it at the portrait. It missed and hit the wall, knocking the kettle off the desk as it bounced and fell to the floor. She swung out of bed and grabbed the kettle base that was now hanging from its cable in the wall. She lifted her eyes up to the portrait; sure she had noticed a brief smile. “I swear Robert Hamilton, this isn’t funny. I advise you to wipe that smile off your face now.”
Defeated, she sank onto the bed,
“Have you eaten anything yet?”
“Never have breakfast. Messes with my system.”
Grace laughed, slipping her hand into his.
“And whisky doesn’t?”
“Oh yes, whisky does but it’s a far more pleasant way to mess up your system.”
“Come on you, I’m gonna make us both something to eat. If you keep drinking that stuff on an empty stomach you’ll never be fit to open this pub today.”
Smiling to herself she set about clearing up the kitchen and making some toast. He was still a nice old man, even if he had just scared the life out of her.
********
Back in her room at the ‘Cavalier Hotel’, Grace stood at the window and stared out at the street below her. What had happened that morning in Harry’s pub had frightened her beyond anything she could ever have imagined. She turned and looked at the portrait of Robert Hamilton. A dark shadow appeared to have crossed his face. His lips looked thinner and the muscles of his wide jaw appeared to have tensed. None of this made any sense to Grace. She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. Was she in the middle of some terrible nightmare? It all felt real enough.
She cast her mind back to the day she had arrived in York. Less than a week ago, she had stood on the platform at York station wondering what her new life would hold. Now she had a job, a comfortable hotel room and at least two new friends - both of whom believed in the ghost of Robert Hamilton. Did she believe in it? Grace still couldn’t be sure. She had certainly grown to know the man, more intimately than she should, thanks in no small part to her recent dreams. In truth she was falling hopelessly in love with this man. Real or imagined, Robert Hamilton was stealing her heart and there wasn’t a damn thing Grace could do about it.
A sense of urgency fell over her as she went about her final preparations for bed and the morning. She glanced curiously over at the portrait.
“Will you fill my dreams tonight, Mr Hamilton?”
A tiny flutter of expectation ran through her but sanity prevailed and the feeling was quashed. The dreams were idyllic, beautiful and in them she felt loved and safe. But, she reminded herself, they were only dreams. Her emotions were still too raw, her heart too tender to meddle in this nonsense. This man was not real. He was dead. Grace had seen his grave and it was as real as the snow that fell outside her bedroom window.
Sleep beckoned but she refused to give in to it in case he should come to her again. She screamed with the need for him but, in the same breath, was beyond terrified of him.
********
His presence once more filled the room as sleep claimed her mind.
Dare she trust him? Her heart leapt at the thought. She sensed him behind her, moments before she felt his strong arms wrap around her waist. His chest was rising and falling against her back, his breath warm and soft against her ear. She gasped as pleasure rippled through her body at the feel of his touch.
“Why do you haunt me, Robert?” she whispered to the darkness.
“You are the one that haunts my dreams.”
“I’m frightened, Robert. I don’t understand.”
“No my love, nor do I.”
She had to resist, had to stop this. She fought to end the dream. Her mind clawed to break free, pulling at a thin thread of light that broke through the darkness. But he held her, trembling against him until the light of dawn rose around them.
“You bloody man!” she shouted, lifting the pillow beside her and hurling it at the portrait. It missed and hit the wall, knocking the kettle off the desk as it bounced and fell to the floor. She swung out of bed and grabbed the kettle base that was now hanging from its cable in the wall. She lifted her eyes up to the portrait; sure she had noticed a brief smile. “I swear Robert Hamilton, this isn’t funny. I advise you to wipe that smile off your face now.”
Defeated, she sank onto the bed,
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