Sommersgate House (Ghosts and Reincarnation #2)(85)

Sylvie had swept up her hair and pulled it back from her face softly and whirled and twirled it in dozens upon dozens of different curls pinned to the back of her head. Rosie’s makeup was not subtle, it was dramatic and glamorous and Julia felt just like a movie star.

Gazing at herself, Julia was beginning to look forward to the evening.

“Whoops, we’re late and so are you,” Sylvie noted, glancing at her watch.

She hugged them both (to their surprise), dropped her new lipstick and compact into her jet-beaded evening bag and took out generous tips to give them both.

“No, we’re covered,” Rosie said, holding up her hands.

“Then Merry Christmas,” Julia replied and firmly pressed the notes in both their hands.

The girls packed up their things and left as Julia squirted one more spray in her cle**age, grabbed her wrap (this made from black velvet and lined in green-black satin) and threw it around her shoulders to allow it to settle in the crooks of her elbows. Then she scuttled out to see Veronika loitering in the hallway.

“I thought you’d gone home!” Julia cried.

Veronika stared, her mouth agape.

“Are you okay?” Julia asked, concerned when Veronika didn’t speak, just kept staring.

“I waited… to see…” Veronika paused then exclaimed, “You are movie star!”

Julia giggled and struck a pose. “I know, didn’t they do a great job on my hair and makeup?”

Ronnie continued to stare at her and then said firmly, “No,” she pointed at Julia, “you look just like movie star.”

Julia’s giggle died at the earnest look in the girl’s eyes, she pulled her close and hugged her.

In her ear, Julia whispered a heartfelt, “Oh Ronnie, thank you.”

It was just the boost of confidence that she needed.

Ronnie hugged her back tightly, pulled away and gave her a brief smile before disappearing toward the kitchen.

The children were at Mr. and Mrs. Kilpatrick’s for the evening; Julia rounded the door to the dining room and saw Douglas through the opposite doorway standing in the hall at the end, looking unbelievably attractive in a well-cut tuxedo. His dark, overlong hair brushed at his collar and something about the fact that he always seemed to be so impeccably turned-out, so in control of everything, yet always seemed to need a haircut was endearing to her.

If she were his wife, she could remind him to get a haircut.

That tugged at her heartstrings too but she refused to allow herself to dwell on it.

He was scowling at his watch and she was slightly surprised. She hadn’t seen his scowl in awhile or his grin or smile or his hilarious arrogance. He’d been reserved, remote, expressionless, the same old Douglas.

That thought started to drag at her budding excitement and, hiding her disappointment, she tilted her head down to adjust her glove and called out, “Sorry, sorry, I’m ready.”

The glove was tangled at the back of her arm so she stopped to give it a good tug and, once it was smoothly pulled into place, she looked up to see the old Douglas, scowl gone, he simply regarded her coolly. He showed no reaction to her transformation and she realised he had most likely spent considerable time waiting for women far more glamorous than herself.

Julia instantly deflated like she was an overblown balloon that had been pricked by a pin. She stopped in front of him and tipped her head questioningly.

“Ready?” She hoped she sounded distracted instead of disappointed.

“Not quite,” he replied and pulled a thin, black velvet box from the inside breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket.

She watched in mute stupefaction as he opened it and she glimpsed a stunning emerald cut emerald, ten times the size of her studs, set without further ornamentation and suspended from what looked like a simple platinum chain.

He pulled it out of the box without any ado and moved to stand behind her. She saw the emerald dangle before her eyes for a moment and then felt it settle heavily on her chest, resting just above her br**sts. She then felt his hands make light work of clasping it at the back of her neck, his fingers brushing her faintly there, causing a delicious, dual tremor, one that slid down her spine, the other up into her scalp.

The whole time he worked at her neck, Julia opened and closed her mouth, words tumbling into her head but her brain would not engage with her mouth to let them out. Her skin tingled where his fingers touched and the hairs raised with acute awareness down her neck, back and arms.

He came around her side and threw the box carelessly on a table in the hallway.

“Now we can go,” he stated casually, as if he hadn’t just clasped an expensive jewel around her neck, and offered her his arm.

She didn’t move to take it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking down at her and barely masking his impatience.

“The…” she stopped.

What’s wrong? She repeated his words in her head incredulously. He’d just put what was an incredibly expensive emerald around her neck, for goodness sakes!

“The necklace,” she finally explained, touching the stone lightly with the tips of her fingers. Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.

“It’s nothing, an early Christmas present,” he replied tersely, the subject obviously closed and even more obviously meaningless to him, as if he gave enormous, precious jewels to women all the time, which he probably did. “We’re late, there’ll be traffic enough as it is.”