Page 44 of The Pearl (The Godwicks 3)

She gestured with her hand at the fireplace, the bed, the wingback chair.

“In the dream, I was in a beautifully decorated room,” she continued. “Like a lady’s morning salon. There was a breakfast table with a pink and white chintz tea set on it and a…”

She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge her memories.

“A small roll top desk, antique. A red sofa and a fireplace with a white mantel. Lord Malcolm was there, and I knew him. I knew who he was the way you know who people are in dreams. He was standing in front of the fireplace looking up at something. When he saw me in the doorway, he smiled and invited me in. I went to stand beside him and there was an empty frame on the wall, a large gilt frame, right above the mantel. Like this.”

She waved her hand to show the painting ofThe Psyche Mirrorstill hanging over her bedroom fireplace.

“That’s what we were looking at, this empty frame,” she said. “I asked him whose painting was going into the frame. He smiled and said, ‘Yours.’ Then I woke up.”

“‘Yours’? So a painting of you?” Arthur asked.

She nodded. “I think. Or a painting I’d painted. But I hadn’t painted in years.”

“What color were the walls?”

“White,” she said. “White…wallpaper, I think. Green vines and red and pink roses. Why?”

Traditionally, the Earl of Godwicks’ portraits hung over the fireplace in the sitting room, while the Countesses’ portraits hung over the fireplace in the morning room. His mother’s portrait was there now, but…no. There’d never been white wallpaper there. He knew that for a fact. His mother was always complaining about the ancient red wallpaper and how shabby it looked, how it had been there since King Edward’s reign.

“My mother has a roll top desk in the morning room and a chintz tea set,” Arthur said. “But the walls are some sort of red damask wallpaper.”

“It was only a dream,” Regan said, trying to sound dismissive and failing. “But it’s stayed with me like no other dream ever has. And when Charlie brought me Malcolm’s portrait and I saw it the first time, I was shocked his suit matched what I’d seen in my dream. Like he’d stepped right out of the frame.”

“Let’s say it was real,” Arthur said. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, my great-grandfather did sell his soul and now it’s bound to his paintingá laDorian Gray. Why would he come to you in a dream?”

“He lived here at The Pearl, in this suite. I’m sleeping in his bed. Maybe he’s taken a liking to me.” She was mocking him again. “And, if you think about it, Lord Malcolm and I are on the same side,” she said. “He wanted revenge against the Godwicks, too.”

Was that all their arrangement was, atonement for some perceived slight? Now wasn’t the time nor the place to pry it out of her, but the acrimony she felt for the Godwicks was fueled by more than a single unpaid hotel bill.

He decided to keep things light for the moment. “You weren’t complaining about the Godwicks when you were coming on my tongue an hour ago.”

She smiled. He was relieved to see it. “What are we going to tell ourselves?” Regan asked. “Shall we start believing in haunted paintings that can throw scarves across rooms and knock books off shelves? Or are we going to tell ourselves a book just fell of its own accord and landed on this painting, that it’s all a big coincidence?”

“I think we’re better off sticking to your original theory—that someone was in the suite. Someone saw us together, saw the necklace. Someone who’s trying to scare us.”

“And they, what? Jumped off the terrace?”

He could think of a half dozen different scenarios, none of which would comfort her. None of which he himself believed.

“God,” she said, exhaling hard. She stared at Lord Malcolm. “When I was talking to the painting, I was only joking. Never thought for one second...I was only trying to goad you.”

“Whatever’s going on,” he said, “I don’t want you to sleep here tonight. Not alone, anyway. I’ll stay if you won’t go.”

“You’re not in charge.”

“I am if and when you put yourself in danger.”

A small smile flitted across her mouth. “You can stay,” she said softly. “But you’ll sleep on the floor. You’re still a Godwick, after all.”

* * *

Arthur madeone more sweep of the suite, kitchen knife in hand, and found no one. Then again, he didn’t know all the hiding places in the penthouse. Ceiling tiles? False fronts? Bookcases that spun to reveal secret rooms? Highly doubtful. This wasn’t a hotel in a horror film.

He returned to the bedroom and Regan gave him one blanket but no pillow. Fine. He didn’t need a pillow. He lay the blanket down and folded it in half, making a pseudo-sleeping bag. He took off his jeans but kept on his pants and t-shirt. Regan locked the bedroom door, and Arthur lodged a chair in front of it.

She set the book on the mantel. “There,” she said. “If it falls off, it’ll fall on you. You can wake up and fight the ghost. Let me sleep through it.”

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