Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 6. The wedding planner is satisfied and the late roses are cut

***

After all, Greg had three, four hours to recharge at best. 

Margaret arrived a half past six, and she - oh, she was indeed ready to divide and conquer. She literally crushed the poor employee's scull through the phone making him jump up off the pillow wondering what comes when he's downstairs. She was an iron lady in the shining armour of long pitch-black hair from her Indian ancestry, statement jewellery worn in slightly "too much" fashion, and the manners of Napoleon. The most important thing in her job, probably.
And she was not happy things didn't go exactly according to her plan the day before. Not happy at all.

She declared that totally clear walking along the row of her wedding army gesturing with her smartphone so it somehow resembled a whip. In a mysterious way. 

Greg desperately tried not to yawn. Or to yawn when General Margaret was not looking. Although it was his earnings on stake now, all he could think about was James and their shared night adventure. Maybe, he was just dreaming, though. And it was all his imagination - well, after the delayed makeup party. That one was real, for sure. And what followed later could be some sort of coping mechanism... and it worked.

"So if anything - any single thing! - goes out of the schedule and the newly weds, or guest, or me are something else then 'wow-that-was-the-most-incredible-wedding-ever!!' with two exclamation marks..." She looked upon the team making a wide round with the phone's cam. "...there will be consequences. Salary consequences. And next contract consequences." Then she smiled charmingly. "So. You know the schedule. Everything's in your Whats'Apps. And mails. Questions?"

After a short pause the tiny voice asked if it was out of schedule to have a broken cup on the carpet in the foyer.

"Greg, you clumsy bastard!! Was it you again?! And by the way, who is it?!" General demanded. People stepped aside leaving alone the small youngest bridesmaid Chrissy blinking lashes. Margaret's smile became trice charming.

"My dearest, what exactly are you doing here? It's employee's meeting, isn't it?!" 

"I heard somebody yelling everybody's out and fucking collect themselves downstairs. I thought it was for everybody. Maybe, it was the ghost?"

"What was the ghost?" Finally somebody got Margaret lost.

"The cup. Or another one, the gentleman who owns the house. He could be there for a cup of tea and be scared by the ghost..." 

The wedding general turned red under all her makeup and grabbed the girl by the elbow dragging her away and dismissing the meeting behind her back with the variety of really energetic gestures. Greg recognised one of the gestures was towards him and galloped after the ladies.

"Greg, dear, what a wonderful party you arranged, despite of all evening troubles! The policeman was the best actor ever, I'll totally hire him again!"

"So it was arranged, then!" Chrissy giggled. "Alice owns me twenty! Or two hundred?.. Anyway, that was great, are we going to have more ghosts and lords today, Margaret?"

"No way, my dearest, only the ceremony and partying till midnight!" She burnt Greg down to the handful of Scottish ashes with the same charming smile. "I trust everything is ready for our beautiful ladies to become the best of the best versions of themselves! And find the damn photographer, or I'll hang both of you." That was for Greg and Greg only. He just nodded. Dream was the dream and the job was the job. 

Although if the cup was there in the morning...

"Are you going to see J... lord... hm, the owner?" He whispered to Margaret. 

She leaned on the railing and patted his cheek. "Owner who? If he somehow appears and interrupts my wedding, he will be the brand new ghost of the freaking place! Make sure he knows than through your superpowers."

Greg only gasped. Maybe, he had been sleepwalking and broke the cup. 

No way to check up until evening.

***

The day was a chaos. A perfectly organised and conducted chaos. The ceremony under the autumn sun was filled up by pumpkins and heartbreaking. The Halloween photoset and video shoot were fun. A bit dram fun, but fun. Dinner and dances were crazy. Most of the guests left in specially organised transport. Most of the staff left in another specially organised transport. The core guests, including the happy couple were up to leaving in the morning to catch a flight to Thailand - there was another three weeks of partying planned there. 

Margaret was slightly satisfied. 

Greg was soberly sitting at the kitchen table chatting with kitchen staff till they left at half past midnight. His head was dull and he was honestly trying to forget the bride's face in the morning. Not during the morning photoset. Before that. When he had first realised what magic he had to do right now. 

That was really hard to wipe out of the memory.

No sign of James. Like he was a ghost himself. 

The house was getting quiet again. Greg was sitting and crunching biscuits to make at least some sound. Some living sound.

James spent the day mostly going through the documents he found in the cabinet. Which was a mess. Together with the documents, so James decided against dealing with them without his attorney and disappeared in old library for the rest of the day, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter and fireworks in the garden after the darkness fell together with fog again.

There was no sign of old James, and it now seemed it was more of a dream than a vision.

He saw Gregory looking out into the garden on his morning run and even waved to greet, but was not seen. Or taken for a ghost most probably.

Maybe he was one after all, with all this fog and stillness. Could be dead without noticing somewhere under London cab wheels and is destined to roam their family home till the end of the days.

It needed life, this old place.

There was light downstairs in the kitchen. James raised his brow, bringing a heap of late garden roses to cut stems there. Ghosts don't need light. And don't start the kettle.

"Good evening, Gregory." James put the roses on the counter making him jump. Was too into scrolling through his instagram page to notice somebody going into.

"It is just me. The other one happens to have longer hair. Would you mind helping with roses if you are still here?"

"Uh-huh. I mean, sorry, evening. Good evening. Sir." Greg secretly pinched himself and run fingers through the hair. He was extremely glad and immediately felt clumsy. And quickly pushed his phone into his jeans' back pocket. It seemed inappropriate to hang on it in James' presence. 

Roses suited him. And he totally okay with dealing with them and enjoying the process. Who the hell is putting flowers from the garden on the table?! Except Instagram gardeners, of course. But it's part of a job.

He realised he had frozen on place and rushed circling the table and leaning upon the armful of wet non-smelling flowers, so dark red they seemed almost black. "By the way, I think I've seen our, I mean, your ghost. Another lord James. Today in the morning, he was moving in the fog... pretty fast, though. But I had too much of toner to put on the canvas, and he disappeared... scared the shit out of me. Sorry. What should I do?" He dug bravely into the rose pile and immediately squeaked with his blooded finger in his mouth. 

"You must be careful, my dear Gregory. Roses have thorns. And that was me in the morning. I prefer to have my cardio al fresco."

"Um. Ok. They usually take away thorns in flower shops now. I mean...okay, don't listen to me, it was the hell of the day, just-just tell me what to do with that... last autumn gift." 

Greg pulled the index finger and examined the deep cut attentively. The drop of blood appeared again, and he turned the head to James standing right near him. 

And froze again.

There was the fog in James' eyes. And the sharp knife in his hand.

***