Haunting Greg - Book 1, The Porth Kerensa Series

Chapter Two

Connie Evans sat behind the desk that she used as her reception area and gazed thoughtfully at the tall American man who stood in the guest lounge staring out at to sea. She wondered if he was thinking of home, all the way across that vast angry ocean. The handsome author from the States had been staying at her B&B for six weeks now and he showed no signs of leaving. He called it an open ended vacation, which told her had no immediate plans for the future. Of course she had recognised him straight away, he was an award winning journalist and successful world famous author. She even owned a few of his books, although she had not told him that. She watched him rake a tanned hand through his dark brown hair and she sighed. Idly she wished she were twenty years younger, she'd do her best to take the shadows from his eyes if she wasn't old enough to be his mother.

   Perhaps he sensed her watching him for he swung around and fixed his piercing blue eyes on her. Slowly the smile followed and his eyes crinkled and warmed.

   "You OK, Connie?" He asked as she smiled back at him.

   "I'm fine, Greg, I'm used to this weather. You should have waited until the summer for your vacation. It's not good for you being cooped up with an old bird like me."

   He laughed and perched on the arm of one of the sofas. "I was thinking that people will expect me home sometime, but I really don't want to leave this beautiful place."

   "It doesn't compare to New York, surely?" She grinned.

   "New York has nothing on this place. I love the beauty here and the history blows me away."

   "If you want history and you're at a loose end today there's an auction going on at the salesrooms near Newquay this afternoon. They cleared out the old manor house in Kerensa Woods and are auctioning everything off."

   "What old manor house?"

   "Creepy old house, just on the outskirts of the village," Connie said, shivering. "It's been empty for years and people say it's haunted."

   "I don't believe in ghosts." Greg laughed.

   "Neither do I," Connie said, with a forced smile. "But that house is disturbing. If you wander north up the beach you can see it up on the cliff. You can't get close though, it's a private beach there. Generally, people avoid the place. I can't imagine they'll find a buyer for it anytime soon."

   "It must be well hidden in that wood, I've never even seen a glimpse of a house on the road out of the village." 

   "There's a private road off the main road. It's much easier to con a viewing out of the estate agent though."

   He smiled. "It's not a con if I like the place and put in an offer."

   Connie shuddered. "You'd have to pay me to live there. Seriously though, are you contemplating buying a house over here?"

   "I wouldn't say no if the right place came up, Connie. I'd love to run a hotel for writers, somewhere for them to relax and write in peace and quiet. I can't think of a better place than here to unwind. Maybe the manor house will be the very place."

   "I'm sure there's much nicer houses, but who am I to argue." She laughed and handed him the phone directory. "It's in there under Mason's Estate Agents. I'm sure they'll be pleased to hear from you."

    Ten minutes later she watched him dash out the door to his car to pick up the estate agent for his viewing of 'Penwith Chy'.

    "What an odd man," Connie whispered, to herself. But then it was well known those artistic types were weird.