Read Ghosts of Winter for Free Online Page B

model I couldn’t distinguish from above. The bell rang once more. It had to be the doorbell. I hadn’t noticed there even was a doorbell.
    I hurried over the uneven floorboards of the gallery, across the landing outside, and down the grand staircase. It struck me how the stairs and entrance hall were already beginning to feel familiar to me, as though they belonged to me. Or, at least, as though I could be at home here. That was a hopeful sign.
    I jogged across the tiled floor to the door, wishing, as I opened it, I’d thought to take care of my appearance instead of exploring the house. I’d not planned on any more visitors, and frankly, I wasn’t really in the mood for this level of social interaction. So far Winter Manor had not been quite the retreat I’d hoped it would be.
    Standing on the top step and already smiling at me as I opened the door was a woman I put to be in her early sixties, maybe a little older. Her hair, scraped back and secured with pins at the back of her head, had once been chestnut but was mostly fading to grey, and her hazel eyes were framed by a web of fine lines. She wore a purple waterproof coat which was fastened tight over a rather large bosom. She was holding a foil-wrapped package in her hands.
    “Hello there, pet,” she said. Her words were heavy with the warm accent of north-east England.
    “Hello.” I couldn’t help reflecting her smile. Difficult to resent a smiling intruder.
    “I’m Maggie Potter, pet, your neighbour.”
    “Ah, you’d better come in then,” I said, curious since I’d not noticed any nearby buildings and slightly alarmed by the prospect of a friendly neighbour. That was really more social pressure than I wanted. She came into the hallway and I closed the door behind her, glad to shut out the December air, growing colder as the day progressed.
    Maggie Potter looked around at the entrance hall, as if she expected me to have transformed the house completely in just a day. “It’s a fine place.”
    “Yes,” I replied. “I’m in awe of it actually. You said you’re my neighbour? Where do you live?”
    “Oh, we’re not close neighbours, hun, it’s about two miles to my house from yours, longer by road. But the land to the east of yours is mine too.”
    “To the east?”
    “Yes, and a little to the south too. It’s mainly pasture, for the cows.”
    “You’re a farmer?” I tried to keep the surprise out of my tone. Why shouldn’t she be a farmer, after all?
    “Well, I’m a farmer’s wife really, pet—or girlfriend, since we didn’t marry, quite a scandal we caused at the time you know—but my Jack moved on two years ago, so that leaves me as a farmer now.”
    I couldn’t tell if she meant her partner had died or left her and didn’t like to ask, so it was hard to choose an appropriate reaction. “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “Oh, don’t be. I miss him but I know he’s in a better place.” I assumed she meant heaven and not the arms of another woman. “And I enjoy running the place. It was my parents’ farm, so I’m used to it. I’m converting us to organic.”
    “You are?”
    “Yes, pet, should be certified by this time next year.”
    “Well done, that’s no small undertaking.”
    “No, but it’ll be worth it.” She paused and I was acutely aware that this conversation had really gotten ahead of itself. She clearly concurred, asking in her next breath, “So, pet, what do I call you?”
    “I’m Ros. Ros Wynne.” I held out my hand and she shook it warmly.
    “Good to meet you, Ros.”
    “How did you know I was here?”
    “Well, hun, when I heard Edith Burns had passed on, I wanted to know if we were going to have any problems with the new owners. You know a lot of the old houses and parks up here are being made into hotels and golf courses, or being demolished and built on. They’re not the sort of neighbours I want. So I contacted the lawyers and they told me she’d left the place to a family friend who would be