Higher and higher they went, until they reached the fourth floor.
“Fourth floor?” Claudia murmured. “I thought there were only three.”
“This is the attic,” Marta nodded, pushing a large timber door open. It gave a little harrumphing creak in response to being interrupted, begrudgingly opening for them to enter an enormous room.
“The attic?” Every ghost story her father had ever read her as a child danced to life in her mind. “An attic!” She moved amongst the pieces of furniture covered by huge white sheets, glancing at the paintings that were propped one on top of the other against a wall. She moved to the windows that overlooked the river on this side and then turned to Marta.
“It’s amazing. It’s huge! What a surprise!”
“Wait for it.” Marta grinned, picking her way through the carefully arranged storage space as though she knew exactly where she was going. And, Claudia supposed, she did.
“Ah. Here we are.” Marta paused beside a timber box, lifting it with an expression of strain, so that Claudia hastened across the floor and took one side of it.
“What is it?” She asked, but something deep inside of her already knew.
Marta placed the box down in a clear spot on the floor and unlatched the lid. Claudia held her breath.
Sure enough, the moment it popped open a layer of delicate glass Christmas baubles appeared, detailed with silver paint and gold ribbons. Claudia made a noise of amazement and crouched down, her fingers picking one up reverently.
“Oh, they’re so beautiful.”
“They belonged to Mrs Chastain’s mother.”
“Heirlooms,” Claudia expelled the word on a rushed sigh. “Real heirlooms.”
“Oh, yes,” Marta nodded sagely. “These were hung on every tree until we lost her.” Marta’s eyes held a hint of speculation when they met Claudia’s. “It’ll be good to see them back in place.”
“Do you think… Stavros will mind?”
“Mind?” Marta shook her head. “Why would he mind?”
Good point. And did Claudia really care if he did? Something like mutiny fired in her blood.
“I’m not sure,” she smiled. “Oh, you’ve made my day!”
*
Stavros stared at the contracts for the tenth time in as many minutes and finally gave up. The words were just swimming in front of his eyes. Terms that made no sense despite the fact he’d dictated that they be drafted, his focus was completely distracted. It was late in the afternoon and he’d done his level best to avoid his house guest all day.
Finally, though, hunger and curiosity conspired to draw him out of his office.
He moved downstairs and paused at the bottom landing, a frown on his handsome face. What was that noise?
Christmas carols? He didn’t even know he owned any speakers or iPod docking stations here at Barnwell. How had Claudia managed to source music? Was it Mariah Carey? He recognized the song but couldn’t place the artist.
He moved towards the music on autopilot and froze outside the conservatory. Claudia was singing.
Claudia, his ward, was singing Christmas carols with a voice that was every bit as beautiful as her mother’s had been.
She was singing Christmas carols in his conservatory, standing on top of a step ladder, placing his grandmother’s ornaments on a tree that smelled like a pine dream.
What the hell?
She moved to a different song, “I’ll be home for Christmas,” and reached higher, so that her shirt separated from her jeans revealing an inch of pale, smooth skin. His eyes devoured her, and he stepped back, so that he was more concealed by the door frame, so that he could watch her longer.
She stepped one leg off the ladder for balance and reached around the tree, her tongue poking out, and she almost lost her footing.
“Woah, woops!” She laughed to herself, shaking her head so that her hair bounced around her shoulders like a silk scarf.