Penmort Castle

Chapter Two Abby’s Reason

“Are you nuts?” Jenny shrieked after Abby told her the unusual turn of events that occurred at the pub an hour before. Abby watched as her friend shook her head forcefully before shouting, “I didn’t sign up for this!”

Abby pulled her bare heels up to the edge of the couch she was sitting on and wrapped her arms around her jeans-clad legs (she’d changed out of her Ice Queen outfit upon arriving home). The whole while she did this, she kept her eyes on her irate best friend.

Jenny was probably right, she was nuts.

She had to be.

What was she thinking, agreeing to have sex with someone for money?

It wasn’t nuts, it was insane.

However, there was the not-so-insignificant fact that she was going to be two hundred thousand pounds richer.

Two hundred thousand pounds.

She still couldn’t believe it and when she thought of it she wondered what on earth Cash Fraser was thinking.

Cash Fraser, the man, the legend.

He’d become known to the human populace just over a year ago when someone leaked that he was the real man behind the story of a box-office topping action movie about a brilliant industrial spy ring breaker (who even knew there was such a job in real life) that all the big multinationals turned to and paid millions upon millions of pounds (so they could save billions) when they had a problem.

It was then that the dangerous, thrill-seeking, gorgeous Cash Fraser was uncovered.

Once he was exposed the media went nuts.

This was mainly because he looked like a movie star but also because he acted like a dangerous action man.

Uncommonly tall, dark and handsome, standing at six foot four (and she discovered this afternoon that was tall) with a lean, muscled, broad-shouldered body and a thick head of so-dark-brown-it-was-nearly-black, almost-but-not-quite curly hair he wore in a way that was far too long for any other man but looked messy and sexy on him. He had the most unbelievable black eyes she’d ever seen. They were liquid black, their colour shocking in its depth and intensity.

And he had a way about him that translated in print when some journalist described it (and she’d witnessed it firsthand) and in pictures when the paparazzi captured it. This was probably due to the fact that he was not the kind of man who wanted people to write about him and take photos of him and print them in papers and he made that pretty clear in a variety of dangerous, action man ways.

This behaviour only threw fuel on the fire.

For instance, a couple of times he made it clear by ripping a camera out of some photographer’s hands and destroying it (and, on one occasion, giving the photographer a broken nose).

He’d had some trouble with that, something about which he also didn’t care.

He had enough money to pay fines and attorneys and buy new cameras. His job, due to its rarity and danger, paid well. At least it did in the movie and if the way he dressed (the navy suit with the deep lilac, expertly-tailored shirt and expensive tie he wore that afternoon was lush) and the easy way he could spend a couple hundred thousand pounds on a pre-paid girlfriend proved this as fact.

There were probably some women out there (maybe not just some, maybe scores, maybe thousands) who’d pay Cash Fraser that amount of money for just one smile directed at them (Abby had already had two, she’d counted, and they were good).

And, Abby figured, these women would no doubt pay a whole lot more to have a shot at servicing him in his bed.

The very idea of Cash Fraser paying them wouldn’t even be considered.

And she had to face it, the bottom line was, Abby needed the money.

Further, she no longer had anything to lose. Jenny knew that. Everyone knew that. Even her neighbour, nosy, crazy, maddening “keep your cat out of my garden” Mrs. Truman knew that.

Yes, Abigail Butler had a lot to gain from this deal – two hundred thousand pounds to be exact.

At least this was what she preferred to focus on, not the fact that she’d just become a very highly paid prostitute even if it was to a good-looking, wealthy, industrial spy ring breaker who had an action movie based on his life.

Abby pushed these thoughts aside and said softly, “Jenny, calm down.”

Jenny’s dark brown eyes grew wide.

“Calm? You want me to be calm?” she asked then yelled, “You just agreed to sleep with a man for money!”

Abby let her legs go and stood, taking a quick step across her living room to get close to her friend. “Be quiet!” she snapped. “Pete’s here!”

“I don’t care!” Jenny snapped back but thankfully quieter this time. “Since you’ve apparently lost your ever-loving mind, I’m considering this a one-woman intervention. If Pete wants to join in all the better!”

Abby had known Jenny since they met as roommates their freshman year at university twenty years ago. Over the decades, even when there were sometimes thousands of miles between them, they’d stayed very, very close.

Regardless of her auburn hair, Jennifer Kane was usually pretty mellow and laid back.

Unless she was inebriated or angry, then she was pretty crazy and very loud.

Like, for instance, now.

Abby tried to use logic. “Tell me what’s changed since Kieran went to James and offered my um…” Abby hesitated then forged on, “services.”

“Well,” Jenny started, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “when I overheard James talking to Cash Fraser at that party and came up with my wild scheme to pretend you were a high-class, very discreet escort after thinking about my stubborn, silly, stupid best friend not letting me and Kieran help her, even though we can, even though we don’t mind, even though we both love her like crazy and we want to help, I thought my brilliantly stupid idea may be a good way for you to earn some quick money to get you out of a pickle. At the time I talked you and Kieran into the idea, and Kieran into approaching James, which I’ll remind you he really didn’t want to do, as in really –”

“Jenny –” Abby began with a warning in her voice that her friend was digressing to oft-gone-over ground.

“At the time,” Jenny continued, ignoring Abby’s warning, “you were just going to be a paid escort, wearing fancy clothes and eating fancy dinners and being on the arm of a hot guy. So you’d have to pretend to be his girlfriend and sleep in bed with him at a spooky castle. It was supposed to be platonic! It was supposed to be easy money! It was supposed to be a reason for us to go shopping for fancy clothes! But no…” Jenny drew out the “no” with exaggeration, “now, you’ve agreed to have sex with him while in said spooky, haunted castle where, I will remind you, over the centuries five, that is five…” she held up five fingers, “women, all of them blonde, which you also are in case you hadn’t noticed, and all of them the lovers of the man of the house, which you will be if you go through with this, God help you. And all of them were murdered by a malevolent ghost!” she finished on a shout.

Abby had heard the story of the famously homicidal ghost of Penmort Castle. Everyone had, it was lore. Though many people had claimed to see the ghost of the raven-haired woman floating around doing nasty things to guests and servants but never to family, unless that family happened to be sleeping with the man of the castle, as in, say, his wife (which it was always his wife, only on one occasion was it his mistress), no one had proof that she actually killed anyone.

Of course, all the possible witnesses were dead.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Abby told her friend.

Jenny threw up her hands, stared at the ceiling and exclaimed, “Huh!” Then her eyes moved back to Abby. “Excuse me, but weren’t you with us when we used that bizzar-o board with the magnifying glass in a plastic heart to call up the ghost of Wendy’s grandma our sophomore year? Wendy’s grandma knew Wendy had slept with Kathleen’s boyfriend Brian! Who would know that but Wendy, Brian and a being from beyond the veil? Kathleen freaked when Grandma spilled the beans. You believed in ghosts then!”

Abby had to admit, Jenny wasn’t wrong. Everyone had freaked. Though it had to be said, no one had freaked more than Kathleen that was an interesting night.

Abby tried a different tactic. “Cash Fraser isn’t the man of the house.”

“No, he isn’t, officially. What he is, is the illegitimate son of the now-dead man of the house. If things were different, if Anthony Beaumaris had married Cash’s Mum, that castle would be his. I don’t know if ghosts can tell the difference but you probably won’t have the opportunity to explain this detail before she pushes you down a stone stairwell, plunging you gruesomely to your death.”

After that dramatic statement was uttered, before Abby could get a word in, they heard a throat being cleared.

Both women turned to the door and Pete, Abby’s handyman, was standing there.

Since Abby returned to England Pete had been a fixture in her life. She liked Pete, she liked him a lot.

She still wished she didn’t see so damned much of him.

On the wrong side of fifty, Pete was stocky and medium height. He had a weathered face, a shock of dark hair peppered with grey and a gentle manner.

He’d been a trusted friend of Abby’s grandmother’s and now he was a trusted friend of hers.

“Abby love, sorry to interrupt but…” he hesitated and Abby braced for bad news.

For the last year Pete had been the bearer of many a bad tiding. The roof needed to be re-tiled. The windows needed to be replaced. The insulation needed to be ripped out and re-installed. There was mildew and damp. It never ended.

Now he was there looking at the bath for every time Abby took a shower it rained in the vestibule. This, Abby, even not being very au fait about such things, didn’t think was a good sign.

“Just sock it to me, Pete,” Abby encouraged on a pretend smile.

He shifted on his feet. “I think I’m gonna have to bring a man in.”

Abby sighed.

It was never good when Pete had to bring a man in.

“Or two,” Pete finished.

Abby’s stomach clenched, she turned and looked at Jenny, an any more questions? expression on her face.

She looked back at Pete and said, “Call them in.”

Pete looked uncomfortable. “We’re talkin’ plumber and electrician. They might be pricey, but I’m not qualified –”

“Call them in, Pete,” Abby repeated.

“You probably shouldn’t take a shower for awhile,” Pete went on.

“Okay,” Abby replied.

“Or a bath,” Pete continued.

Abby stared.

She only had one bathroom. Well, she had three. It was more to the point that she only had one working bathroom.

“No bath?” she whispered.

“Water damage to the floorboards. You fill up that roll top tub and get in it, it could go through the floor,” Pete explained.

Visions of Abby, naked and bathing, crashing through the floor of her ancestral home did not make Abby feel warm all over.

“Call in the guys, Pete,” Abby said quietly.

Pete nodded, looking about as happy about his errand as Abby was. He gave a chin lift to Jenny and backed out.

When Abby turned back to Jenny she thought her point had been made. She also thought it was time to fire up her computer and check her bank balance.

James, who Abby had met only once through Kieran who Abby had known for twelve years because he was Jenny’s husband, through Jenny, was playing Abby’s… she hesitated because the word “pimp” didn’t sound nice, so she decided to think of him as her business manager.

James was supposed to tell Cash to transfer a quarter of the agreed amount into her account. He was also supposed to give Cash her phone number so she’d be reachable by Cash. The down payment would be augmented the day they went to the castle when Abby would get another quarter of the money. The last half would be transferred at the end of the arrangement.

Fifty thousand pounds would go a long way toward paying a plumber and electrician. It would also pay off what she owed Pete, who allowed her to pay an instalment on a monthly basis but she had an ongoing and growing balance that she owed him. It would also allow her to bring current the two loans she’d had to take against the house. Not to mention the two credit cards which were maxed out. And her line of credit with the bank that was over the limit.

When she opened her mouth to make her point to Jenny, Jenny got there before her and asked softly, “I still don’t know why you don’t just sell this house.”

Abby closed her mouth and her eyes.

When she opened them again, she replied, “You do know.”

“It’s just a house,” Jenny returned.

“My mother grew up here. My grandmother grew up here. My grandmother inherited this house from her father who died before she was born. It was the only thing he was ever able to give her that would keep her safe, warm and protected. And he grew up here, as did his father and his father before him. I can’t sell it. It’s the only thing I have left of them. It’s the only thing I have at all.”

A look of pain crossed Jenny’s face before she could hide it but her next words explained it. “You have us, Kieran and me. You have friends. You have –”

Abby’s voice turned harsh in order to hide the hurt of the invisible hand that always squeezed her heart when they had this conversation, when the reminder came, yet again, of all she didn’t have.

“You don’t understand. You have Kieran. Ben’s gone, Jenny, dead.” Abby spit out the last word that she didn’t need to use, a word she didn’t need to remind her friend was attached to Abby’s husband. Jenny knew all too well and Abby watched her friend flinch. “There will never be another Ben. I’ll never have that again. Most women don’t get that kind of love even once in their life. I had it and now it’s gone and it hurts every day even after all this time it hurts every single day. Mom’s gone, Dad’s gone, Ben’s gone and now Gram’s gone. I need this house. I need the memories I have in this house. I’ll never give it up. Never. I can’t. Gram wouldn’t understand. Mom wouldn’t understand. Hell, even Ben wouldn’t understand if I let this house go. They all loved it just like I do. You don’t get it, you can’t get it and I hope to God you never do!”

Jenny started to speak but Abby shook her head.

“If I have to do something you don’t approve of to take care of myself, my life, my home, then I’m sorry. You can’t take care of all my problems. I can’t lean on you and Kieran for everything. You’ve been there every time. Mom, Dad, Ben, Gram and all the crazy, stupid stuff I’ve done in between. Now it’s high time I stepped up. I got myself in this mess, I’ll damned well get myself out.”

“Abby, please –” Jenny started.

“No,” Abby cut her off, “no, you please. Please just support me and help me. One month, then I can start over. I can get the house back in shape and get my life back on track. One month and then we can put it all behind us.” Abby put her hands on her petite friend’s neck and bent her face toward her. “I need you to support me with this, Jenny. Please.”

Jenny’s face gentled but she didn’t give up. “Abby, honey, I know how you feel about this house and I love it too. You know I do. But I think you’re focusing on this house and fixing it up and keeping it as some weird way to keep hold of your family, of Ben. I promise you, Abby, I promise, you won’t lose the memories of them if you give up this house.”

She was wrong.

Sometimes, if Abby was out somewhere and the memory of Ben decided to travel through her mind, she’d forget what he smelled like. She’d forget what it felt like to have his hands on her body, his fingers finding hers, his knee brushing hers under a table. She’d forget what his voice sounded like, his laughter, his familiar chuckle when she’d done something he considered “adorable”.

Sometimes she’d even forget what he looked like and she’d have to drop everything and rush home.

In this house, she’d remember. She’d remember him at the kitchen table drinking coffee and chatting with her grandmother or playing cards with her Mom and Dad. She’d remember him decorating the Christmas tree in the living room. She’d remember him teasing her grandmother that she had way too damn many rose bushes in the garden that Gram would ask him to prune. She’d remember hearing his laughter coming from the study mingled with her father’s as they drank whisky and tried to outdo each other telling rude jokes. She’d remember him making love to her in the same roll top tub that was now the bane of her existence when her grandmother was on holiday in Germany and they were watching the house.

Abby could never, ever sell this house.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, feeling the tears pricking her eyes.

“No,” Jenny whispered back, “I don’t.” She paused and then sighed before speaking again. “But if this is what you’ve got to do, girlfriend, then this is what you’ve got to do.”

Abby swallowed back her tears and nodded her gratitude.

“I’m just not going to tell Kieran,” Jenny finished.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Abby agreed.

Jenny’s reaction had been dramatic enough.

Kieran would probably shout the roof down and Abby had just had it re-tiled.

An hour later, with both Pete and Jenny gone, Abby sat at her grandmother’s writing desk in the living room and stared at the transaction that beamed grand and glorious from her bank statement which was displayed on the computer screen.

Abby felt relief sweep through her.

All right, so she was a very highly paid prostitute.

But at least now she could pay off that unbelievably expensive outfit she wore today that maxed out credit card number two.

Her mobile on the desk sounded.

Abby picked it up and looked at the display, fear that word of her new job as whore had leaked out to Kieran and he was going to give her what for replaced the short-lived relief she’d felt the moment before.

The display said “Unknown Caller” and since Kieran was very known, Abby slid open her phone and put it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Abby.”

Oh dear Lord, it was Cash. She knew it immediately. She’d never forget his deep, rough voice with the more-than-subtle hint of Scottish burr.

What did she say? What did she do?

“Yes,” she replied.

“James explained your terms,” he told her, his voice just as deep, just as rough and just as sexy over the phone as it was when he leaned close and calmly asked how much it would cost to fuck her.

She’d never forget that either. She’d wanted to hit him when he’d done it.

She also had the very weird desire to kiss him.

She hadn’t had the desire to kiss anyone since Ben. It had been four years, four very long years.

Then again she’d never been your normal girl next door.

Abigail Butler had always been a little weird, a little headstrong, a little crazy and, more often than she cared to admit (like today), a lot stupid.

But there was also the fact that Cash Fraser was an unbelievably handsome, shockingly sexy man.

Abby’s eyes went to the computer screen. “I see he did.”

“You have the money?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Tomorrow night. Dinner. It won’t be casual dress.”

What did he mean, “It won’t be casual dress”? Did that mean formal? Did that mean evening gown? Or did that mean a nice pair of slacks?

Hell, she couldn’t ask. He thought she was an experienced escort. That was what Kieran said when he’d talked to James and she’d even lied to Cash herself that day that she had other clients. Any experienced escort to the rich and famous would know what to wear to dinner.

“Fine. What time?” she asked, sounding even to her own ears like she knew what she was doing. It appeared she was actually good at this stuff and she didn’t know if she should take that as a positive or negative sign.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Cash told her.

“No,” Abby replied immediately, luckily sounding brisk rather than panicked, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“You aren’t going to meet me at the restaurant,” he returned in a very firm voice.

The panic deepened but Abby fought it. “I’m sorry Cash. Part of the deal is you don’t get to know where I live.”

“You live at Number Twenty-two Eton Road.”

Oh dear Lord, how did he know that?

If James told him then James wasn’t being a very good business manager. He was only supposed to give him her phone number.

Now what did she do?

Time to put her foot down. “You aren’t coming here. I’ll meet you at your house.”

“I’ll be at your place at seven,” he repeated.

The panic was now full-blown.

How would she cope with Cash Fraser and his charismatic presence forcing his way into her home? She didn’t need memories of him here, he’d ruin everything.

She forced her voice to go cold. “You’ll not come to my house.”

“Seven,” was his reply, then he disconnected.

She slid her phone shut and whispered, “Bloody hell.”