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e working fine. Why don’t you put them on the tree and I’ll start with the glass baubles.” She picked up the one from the rug that she’d liked the best. Mr and Mrs Claus dressed in red suits. “I think we should do some filming tonight. I’ve prepared the script and it might be more atmospheric if we do it at night.”
“I thought you wanted to prepare the food for Christmas day.”
“You mean we wanted to prepare the food for Christmas day,” she corrected him quickly. No way was the Christmas dinner disaster being left to her. “We can peel the veg tonight. But as long as we prepare and put the turkey in the oven first thing tomorrow morning, we should manage everything else fine. I’ve already sorted out dessert.”
She lifted another few glass baubles. “It’s not as if we have anything else to do, is there?”
It was childish. It was ridiculous. But Andrew understood the barb perfectly. He smiled sweetly at her as he finished stringing the lights. “Why don’t you go and freshen up then, I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stairs in an hour.”
Chapter Eight
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Boy, she scrubbed up well. He’d always thought that about Juliette but as she stood in front of him now with her freshly washed blonde curls and her curvy red suit and heels, she was a knockout. Her makeup was a little more defined than usual and her full lips covered in a matching red lipstick. He didn’t even want to consider where she could leave those lipstick imprints.
It was as if the gloves were off and he was free to finally admire Juliette Connolly in all her glory. Before, she’d been off limits. She’d been someone else’s girlfriend. Now, she was a free agent, and so was he. If only he didn’t have the shackles of this house weighing him down.
He shouldn’t have moved earlier. He’d obviously offended her. And that hadn’t been his intention. But her words had resonated with him in a way he hadn’t expected. If they were back in London, he would feel free to act on the attraction between them.
But here things were different.
He seemed to have left all logic at the front door before he entered Garnock Hall. He should have come back before this. And he should have come alone.
Being back here was throwing up a whole host of emotions that he should have dealt with years before. He’d made too many excuses not to come back. Work. Life. Love. His mother’s illness. And now, when he’d finally run out of excuses, there was Juliette.
A couple of days ago this had seemed a perfect solution to an untenable situation. He didn’t care about the contract clause. If filming another episode was what it took to give injured Bailey’s parents some breathing space, then so be it.
Any decent human being would do the same. His brain had thought this would be an easy, and almost practical solution. Maybe not for Juliette, but certainly for him.
But he hadn’t expected to feel like this.
He hadn’t expected to see a different childhood memory with every step he took. Games on the stairs. Hide and seek throughout the rooms. The green chair in the drawing room that his mother sat in, on the day of Douglas’s funeral. The smell of the tree in the house. Memories of happy Christmases filled with family. And now Juliette.
On top of the overwhelming sensations of being back in the house, there was the whole Juliette effect. That’s what he’d started to call it in his brain. Even now some kind of strawberry smell was winding its way across the room towards him. It must be her shampoo.
She was moving up and down the stairs as he tried to adjust the light so it was suitable for filming, the sway of her hips in that slim skirt stopping him from concentrating on the things he should be concentrating on.
On one hand – the sooner he got this filming over with, the better. On the other? It would be a long, frosty night in a house with a woman he’d inadvertently offended.
His father would have been disappointed in him. His mother would have been horrified. Douglas would have laughed.
He finally focused and fixed the lights. There. Capturing her perfectly. Her curvy red figure, glossy hair and full red lips. “Ready, Juliette?”
She gave him a little nod and he gave the three, two, one countdown with his fingers.
Her professional face fell into place and she switched on her presenter charm as she stood at the top of the stairs.
“For years there have been rumours of Garnock Hall being haunted. There have been reports of cold drafts, slamming doors, objects moving from place to place, and lots of suggestions of feeling a ‘presence’ in the building. But no one actually knows who is doing the haunting. I’ve spent some time going through the family records and come up with the three most likely suspects.” She turned and held out her hands. “So, Garnock Hall. Are you ready to reveal your secrets?” She shot her trademark killer smile at the camera.
He’d watched Juliette through his camera for the last few years, but all of a sudden her perfect smile was doing things to his pulse. She stood in front of the portrait at the top of the stairs.
“This portrait is over 200 years old and shows us Elizabeth Campbell, the wife of Robert Campbell who lived in Garnock Hall. The first thing you notice about this portrait is how sad she looks. According to records in Garnock Hall, she was twenty-eight when this was painted and already had two sons to Robert Campbell. Household records also show us that she lost another three children – two girls and a boy.”
Juliette moved away from the portrait and stood at the top of the stairs as he continued to film. The colour of her suit lit up her face from the sombre surroundings. He was half-convinced that Juliette’s wardrobe was the reason most women watched the show.
But it was her delivery that captured his attention. She’d done her research well. She didn’t need cue cards or prompts. Everything flowed from her lips as if she were a tour guide for the house and had done this job for years.
He shifted the camera slightly. Lighting had proved to be a problem in Garnock Hall. He hadn’t really considered it beforehand, as everywhere else they went they had the proper equipment with them. He’d had to wire up two spotlights, one at the top of the stairs and one midway to try and project enough light for filming. Even then, it was still dark. But to be honest, it added to the atmosphere of the shots. She’d been right to suggest they film at night.
“Elizabeth had been forced to marry Robert Campbell as part of a family dispute. The relationship between the two of them was known to be strained. In 1804, Robert Campbell’s cousin came to stay at the house. Rumour has it that Elizabeth and Hugh Campbell got on very well.” Juliette lowered her voice and nodded towards the camera. “Some might even say, their relationship was a little inappropriate.”
“On the 17th of October, 1804 a furious fight erupted between husband and wife. Elizabeth had lost a baby only a few weeks before and was described by the family doctor as being overwrought. In the 1800s woman had no legal position in society. They were literally ‘owned’ by their husbands. If they were wealthy before marriage, they were stripped of their wealth and it was given to their husband. They had no right to vote, or to a proper career. Women were expected to bear children and keep house. It appears that Elizabeth Campbell wanted more from her life. It is reported that she argued furiously with her husband at the top of these stairs over his spending of her inheritance – on, allegedly – a prostitute. During the argument, she,” Juliette said, lifting her fingers and gesturing, “‘fell’ down the stairs.” The light flickered above her head for a second and her foot momentarily stumbled on the stairs. Her eyes shot up and gave Andrew a look. But Juliette, always the professional, continued, “The family doctor pronounced her dead later that night.”
Her face remained serious. She should have been an actress. She had a real sense of drama.
“Cut,” Andrew shouted.
She frowned. “Darn it. We’ll need to do that again.”
He shook his head. “No way. That was perfect. We couldn’t have planned that better if we’d tried. The fact the light flickered and you stumbled
on the stairs will have the audience on the edge of their seat. They’ll think it was deliberate. I’ll bet that even back at the office, they won’t believe it wasn’t deliberate.”
The momentary flicker of annoyance disappeared from her face. “You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. Do you need some time to prepare for the next segment?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m ready now.” She looked down into the wide hall. “Do you need to move the lights again?”
“No. The lighting’s better in the main hall. We can start when you’re ready.”
She walked down the few steps in front of her. He couldn’t help it. He could only stare at her swaying hips in the well-fitted skirt. He could almost hear the voices of all his single friends echoing in his ear.
This was crazy. He had to keep things professional. This might be his home but they were here to work – no matter what the time of year.
If only that suit didn’t highlight her curves quite so much…or her red lipstick didn’t emphasise the cupid’s bow of her lips.
She shifted on her heels. “Eh, Andrew? Are you ready?”
“What? Yes, yes of course.” He positioned the camera on his shoulder and gave her the countdown.
“Our second potential haunters are two brothers. The portrait in the main hall shows Angus and John Campbell – part of the original Campbell Clan, the Highland Regiment and the Jacobite rising. Their history dates from around 1750. Details are sketchy. But what isn’t sketchy are these.” Juliette pointed to the wood-panelled wall with deep gouges. “As the brothers chased each other through the house, no wall was left unscathed. Not even this portrait of them.” She moved closer to the oil painting, showing the two brothers in full battle dress, complete with kilts, swords and axes. For a portrait that was so old the red colour remained vibrant. As did the stern expressions on the brothers’ faces. She pointed to the slash mark on the portrait. “Unofficial reports say that the brothers were fighting over a woman. But we can’t find anything to verify this. Unfortunately both brothers died a few days after the fight from their wounds. In modern day terms, it’s likely they developed infections in their wounds and died from septicaemia.” Juliette walked through the house. “It’s suggested that they might be haunting the house due to reports of doors being thrown open one after the other.” She turned to the camera and raised her eyebrows, “What do you think?”
