Star Gazey

Chapter Two

He was a man calculated to impress. As he stood in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, I got a strong impression that he enjoyed theatrics, and that he knew and relished that he had startled me.

Doing some quick calculations of my own, I chose to appear unperturbed. I had met and dealt with these men before and knew what might derail a flair for the dramatic.

Lifting an eyebrow, I said calmly and flatly, "I beg your pardon?"

A slight frown crinkled the brow above his sharp blue eyes. Clearly this wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. He recovered quickly, dragging a hand through his windswept hair in a charming and practiced manner, his mouth twisting in a cheeky half smile.

"I'm sorry, miss, but you look just like a photograph that if I've seen once, I've seen a thousand times. You flat startled me, I'll admit, standing there in the door like a ghost of the past."

I wondered if that was the only reason I had startled him. He seemed a little put off to have met someone here, and his manner was just a little too breezy for the shrewdness of his expression. Suspicion prickled in my mind, and so although I was rather curious about the photograph, I chose to press on a different question first.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I would, though, like to know what, in fact, you were doing here with my shovel? I assume that that is the shovel that belongs to this shed?" I nodded towards the tool dangling from his hand.

The smallest of shadows flickered across his face. He glanced down at the shovel and back up to me in a rather intent manner, which, all of a sudden, made the hairs on my neck ripple irrationally.

It occurred to me that I may have pushed him too quickly and I felt a tiny rush of fear, before he smiled once more and the shadow was gone, and I felt silly for that fear.

"Yes, you are clever. The agents asked me to do a bit of last-minute tidying 'round the garden and I was just finishing up now. They didn't tell me you'd be here already, which is why I wasn't expecting to see you, especially looking like do you."

It seemed a reasonable enough explanation, so I let it go and moved on to my other question.

"You called me the spitting image of Clara Young. Where have you seen a photograph of my grandmother? Unless of course there was another Clara Young from Mousehole?"

He broke into a genuine, charming grin.

"Ah-ha! Well, that explains things. So you've come to see the house that your gran grew up in, have you? How pleasantly full circle, miss ... er?" He looked at me enquiringly.

"Grantham. Rose Grantham. Did you say that this was my grandmother's house? This very house is where she grew up?"

He looked surprised, then amused.

"But surely ... you didn't know? Are you telling me, Miss Grantham, that you simply happened to rent this house and that you didn't it was your family's? And as for your name, that wouldn't be 'Grantham,' as in Edward Grantham, Viscount Beresford, perchance?"

I nodded somewhat hesitantly. I supposed it wasn't worth hiding. "My grandfather. And I am as surprised as you, honestly. I knew that Gran grew up here, which is what made me decide to take the house, but she never told us more than that. She's rather reticent about her childhood, other than that she left for London when she was eighteen. I saw this house and loved it, and that is the truth."

He gave me an appraising look before putting the shovel back and stepping out of the doorway to let me pass.

"I think I can help you out there, if you'd care to come with me, Miss Grantham? I'm Mick Donnelly, by the way."