Tom was not sure he wanted to share another meal with Sue in the morning. He didn’t really mind Sanders taking her side, and was pretty sure he, Tom, hadn’t actually offended her. No, it was that very last bit—finishing their tea and making moves for going their separate ways—that had made him not want to see her again.
Sanders, who, as far as Tom could recall from previous conversations, knew only that Danny had been killed in a military training accident, had asked if Tom wanted to talk about it when he came to bed.
Sanders had already been sitting up in bed, reading, but set his paper book aside with a marker when Tom climbed in.
Tom only shook his head, saying nothing when Sanders then asked if he was okay. Tom curled up against him, head on his chest, shivering though he should not have felt cold in the August night with the windows open.
Sanders kissed his temple, ran his fingers repeatedly through Tom’s hair, and said nothing more.
After some minutes, Sanders reached to turn out the bedside lamp. Then the cat appeared on the bed as if beamed there. Tom had shut the door since they had a guest, not even having thought to check London’s location first.
She tiptoed up Tom’s side to Sanders, finding a warm spot on his shoulder, purr starting as she rested herself against Tom’s head. She tried to groom her own limbs, though with little space to work, lapsing over into Tom’s hair with her bristly tongue in the process.
Tom reached up to rest a hand on the cat’s tiny, silky form, never saying anything back to Sanders, who only held onto him. He didn’t want to talk about Danny. He didn’t want to hear about Danny. He really, really didn’t want a stranger telling him that what happened to Danny was not his fault. Because that was just a bald-faced lie.
And Sue had been growing on him. Before...
London purred and kneaded his hair with her rubber pads, occasional claws pricking his scalp.
He meant to talk to Sanders about Sue. Tell him things she’d said about Lee and Tom himself. He had never even asked Sanders about his work day. Something Tom took a serious interest in because of his own work. They had scarcely exchanged a word since the night before.
By then, though, he could think of nothing he wanted to say to anyone living.
The cat was silent, curled up for sleep against one head and one shoulder, before Sanders finally shifted his own position down a few inches to be more comfortable and said, “I love you, Tom.”
Which had made Tom feel terrible—more terrible—for not speaking to him on top of his own churning mind.
He had found a receptive hand with his own, lacing their fingers together, and squeezed.
Now, coming down to breakfast the next morning, Tom did not want to see Sue again for a while, though could think of no civilized way around it. Sanders had to leave for work, already dressed and first to the table. Sue was here to do them a favor and it was Tom’s job to look after her for today. Sanders was taking a long weekend so they could all stay home for a while, but not long enough to include Thursday.
Maybe she wouldn’t bring it up again. Or maybe—as Tom joined Sanders at the table and Francesca brought him ginger tea—she just wouldn’t come to breakfast.
There was, in fact, no sign of Sue.
Perfect. She’d had a long journey yesterday, coming all the way from London by train at the crack of dawn, then Paris to Geneva. Plenty to earn a late morning.
Tom had assumed the day before, when she’d asked for an east-facing bedroom if they had one, that she was an early riser. Maybe not.
Sanders pushed aside his tablet and morning news when Tom sat down, which made Tom tense.
It was not like Sanders. Possibly if Tom started a conversation Sanders would set The Financial Times aside out of manners rather than interest. But Tom joining him in silence and Sanders taking the initiative to forgo this time for headlines was out of character.
Sanders said nothing however, because Francesca was already back with his breakfast plate—two freshly made crêpes wrapped around a scramble of egg, ham, red bell pepper, mushroom, and feta cheese.
The chef informing Tom that she had fresh avocados additionally improved his mood after the discovery that Sue was absent. His crêpes would include copious amounts of avocado, no bell pepper, and everything else a bit of an afterthought to the avocado. Francesca’s crêpes and omelets were Tom’s two favorite breakfasts and either involving avocado was like a benediction.
Before Sanders could get back to whatever he had been about to say to Tom, Tom asked, “I don’t suppose you’ll be home early?”
Sanders glanced up from his knife and fork. “Late, as a matter of fact. I have quite a bit to deal with if I’m not going to be back until Tuesday. Have you asked Sue if she has any concept on how long something like this may take? Clearing out a house, if that’s the right word?”
“We never talked about it. It is weird how everything has stopped though, isn’t it? Just when we’ve got someone in...”
“Exactly what I was thinking last night. Worst case, I hope she enjoys herself and we have a little pleasant company for the weekend.”
Tom had thought much the same until she pulled that Danny attack on him last night. And apologizing about it. Like she knew it would mess him up. Like a doctor saying, Sorry, I know it’s not comfortable to take the limb off without anesthetic, but we’re really in a hurry today.
“Tom,” Sanders started.
Tom felt his own tension return.
London jumped into his lap.
Tom pushed back his chair. “Sorry, leopard. Forgot to feed her.” Explaining to Sanders as he fled the table with the kitten in his arms.
Sanders just watched him go.
Tom was returning alone from the laundry room, feeling somewhat bolstered by a chat with his pet, when the side door flew open right in front of him. He jumped straight up and back, tripping and grabbing a window frame to keep from falling.
Sue breezed inside like a summer morning, all in greens and yellows and earth tones today, though still the purple footwear.
Tom let out a breath while his heart pounded.
“Tom—” Her eyes danced to see him there, smiling like she had been searching for him all morning. “What’s wrong?”
“You startled me. I didn’t realize you were up.”
“Up?” She laughed. “It’s almost eight in the morning. It’s been light for hours.”
“Sure.”
“Sanders hasn’t left yet, has he? I was hoping to see you both for breakfast, but I know he has to go to work.”
“No, yeah...” Tom jerked his head vaguely toward the breakfast room and Sue started off.
With her back turned, Tom pressed a hand against his own chest, trying to get his breath back.
Francesca was setting the second batch of crêpes at Tom’s place and Sue was pulling out a chair by the time Tom entered the room after her.
“I love your boots,” Francesca told Sue, who beamed at her.
“Thank you. Amanda gave me these boots. They’re my favorites and I had to wear them here for the good vibes.”
“I’d say they’ve got them.” Francesca smiled back. “Care for crêpes?”
“Absolutely. Whatever Sanders has in his.”
“Coming right up.”
She sat across from Tom, as the night before, and Tom glared at his own plate to avoid looking at her while he started with his avocado breakfast.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” Sue asked.
Both of them now. Did he have to keep a smile on his face at all times around these two?
“Just ... why him? Don’t trust my taste?”
“I can see from here he has red pepper in his and I love peppers. But, mostly, you’re American. I don’t know what your tastes might be like. So, yes, I don’t trust your taste. Not until I know you better. I’ll take a chance with Sanders first.”
“Fair, I guess. We do eat a lot of McDonald’s, so what’s that say about a country? Then again, based on a look around London, you all eat nearly as much American garbage as Americans do.”
“I think we like to claim moral superiority because we didn’t invent it,” Sue said.
Tom laughed, snorting into the bite on his fork, and started to feel better for the first time since dinner. “You’ve got me there.”
“Really, though,” Sue went on, “people are people. I don’t believe too much in ‘them’ and ‘us’. We’re all linked energies sharing one enormous existence. Earth’s citizens at the end of the day, aren’t we? Sometimes we just have a bit more fun about it if we get our favorite red pepper—or avocado?—in our breakfasts.”
“Here’s to individualism.” Tom smiled.
He noticed Sanders glance at him as he finished up his own breakfast, but he knew the look had nothing to do with the conversation. Sanders was still wondering about him. Wanting to talk to him. It would have to wait.
“Sanders, while you’re both still here—” Sue had also noticed his nearly empty plate. Her gaze flicked to Tom and she hesitated.
Tom felt his stomach sink. Just when he’d thought they had moved on.
“I’m sorry,” she started again, confirming his fears. “I’m not even sure who it is. Has one or both of your mums passed?”
Sanders glanced to Tom, then shook his head.
Sue frowned, eyes unfocused, seeming to look back in on something. “I don’t understand then... Was there someone else? Was one of you raised by a grandmother or ... anyone else who has now passed who was a mother figure?”
“No.” Tom wanted to go on eating, but he felt ready to run from the table.
“I had a nanny who died some years ago,” Sanders said. “An older woman.”
“Did she have anything to do with getting you prepared for university?”
Sanders again shook his head. “She retired when I was still a child.”
Sue bit her lip, her inward look deepening.
Sanders, watching her with his own brows drawn, folded his napkin onto the table and glanced at his watch.
Francesca returned with Sue’s plate. Sue’s eyes widened at sight of her, ignoring her breakfast but looking up as the chef set it before her.
“Francesca. Was your mum named Angela or Anna, or something A?”
Francesca stepped back and stared at her. Her eyes flicked to Sanders, who was waiting to hear what she would say. Tom was almost cringing in his seat. Why couldn’t she bring these things up privately to people?
“Angel,” Francesca said after a pause. “Everyone used to call her Angel.”
“It’s you.” Sue’s smile was back. “I’m a medium. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Yes, Tom told me about why you were here. And ... you ... how do you know my mum’s nickname?”
“I got the A and N from her. Was there a sendoff she missed? Was she helping you get ready for school? Something academic?”
Francesca pressed her lips together. “She ... helped me study to get in. She died a few days before I started culinary school. I almost didn’t go.”
“Ah...” Sue shut her eyes. “Because you didn’t think you could get through it without her. You were giving up, even though it was her dream too. And you wanted to go on, for her, but you didn’t think you could do it. You asked her for help, didn’t you?”
Francesca just looked at her, tears dropping off her lower lashes.
“She guided you to the box. There’s a jewelry box—no ... a music box? That she had when she was a girl? With bumblebees inside?”
Francesca covered her own mouth with one hand.
“She’s there with you when you open it. When you play it. She knows you’re thinking of her and she’s still there loving you. She led you to that box so you wouldn’t give up on yourself, on her being there to see you through. She’s so, so proud of you.” Sue stood up to hug her. “So proud of what you got through.”
“I almost didn’t go,” Francesca whispered against her hair. “But I felt like she was still pushing me, that she knew I could finish.”
“She was. She is. Always.”
Sue held on for a long time, then grabbed her linen napkin from the table, wiped her own eyes with a corner, and passed it to Francesca, both of them laughing a little at the giant tissue.
“Thank you,” Francesca said.
When she finally retreated and Sue returned to start her breakfast, neither Tom nor Sanders had moved.
Sue looked up. “Sanders?”
Sanders leaned quickly away.
“Would you please pass that pepper grinder?”
He looked at it as if having trouble recognizing it, then handed it over.
“This is the most wonderful breakfast also. Thank you both so much for having me here. I do hope I can help.”
Tom and Sanders glanced at one another.
“Yes, of course,” Sanders murmured, standing and grabbing his tablet. “If you will please excuse me. I have a business dinner tonight so ... Tom, perhaps you would like to take Sue out to Geneva for a meal?”
A hint for him to give Francesca the rest of the day off?
Tom wished he also had one off.
“Sure. Want to start the sightseeing part?” Tom asked her.
“I would love to,” Sue said. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy your day.” Sanders started off. “And ... good luck on the ... house.”
* * *
Much to Tom’s relief, they didn’t do anything about ghosts—which Sue called spirits—all morning.
She did turn her interest to the matter, but it was in the form of him explaining what had been going on and walking her through the manor.
There was only one moment when she did anything at all out of line with any normal guest on a normal tour. At the small bedroom in the northeast side of the house, she started to step inside, apparently got a violent chill, and retreated.
“Cold in there,” she said, though the temperature was exactly the same as in the rest of the house. They went on down the hall and, only in glancing back did Tom notice it was the same room London would never enter.
They returned to the great hall, then, following Sue’s lead, out to dazzling morning sun of the back veranda.
“You have a pool,” Sue said, startling Tom, who expected a ghostly discussion.
“Just a little one, but long enough to get exercise if you don’t mind incessant turns. You’re welcome to it.”
“And you have a fire pit. Do you ever build a bonfire?”
“I’m not sure we have enough wood for that. There’s Nicolas though.” Tom lifted his hand to wave. “If you want a bonfire, we’ll ask him about stocking up today before he’s off for the weekend.”
“Would you?” She turned to Tom. “That would be lovely. I’ve rarely seen such a perfect place for ... everything. You live in the world’s garden at the foot of great mountains, with a pool, a stream coming right past off the peaks, the most perfect air in the world, and now a bonfire.” She tilted her face back to the sun, eyes shut as she inhaled the high-altitude air. “I could live here all my life.”
“Go ahead. We’ve got plenty of room.”
Sue laughed and started away toward the stream, calling back to ask if he would show her the grounds.
Tom had assumed she’d been studying them all morning. Maybe she had just been meditating out here.
Nicolas was approaching so Tom stopped with him to explain about the firewood. The old man’s English was shaky, but this was an easy one, pointing to the fire pit, and lifting his arms to mime a mammoth shape.
“Beaucoup bois.” Tom tried. “Bois? S’il vous plaît?”
The groundskeeper touched his cap and nodded.
Tom hurried after Sue. Much as he felt reservations about conversations alone with her—around other people maybe worse though—he also could not allow her to wander off. He felt unaccountably protective. There was a lot out here in the Alps, even a stone’s throw from the back door, to be cautious about. The wolves and jackals were no threat, but bad footing and rockslides, ibex and bears, not to mention weather that could change in a snap. All these bore consideration. Even the simplest trails out here were no place for hiking in a skirt and suede boots.
“Uh, Sue?” He caught up to her along the stream. “How far are you wanting to go?”
“Until the mysteries of nature reveal themselves.”
“Uh...”
Sue laughed. “Only around the house. Come on. Tell me about it. When was it built?”
“You think the ghosts are outside?”
“Oh, no. I think they’re attached to the house. But there’s always a reason. Anyway, they’re not talking to me. I think it’s thrown them off, someone new showing up. Or maybe you said or did something to keep them quiet? You have spirits around you, and Francesca’s mom was coming through strong, but I didn’t get anyone from the house.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay.” She looked back at him, climbing the rocky path along the stream. “I just want to know the place for now. Tonight, we’ll get out some candles and music and see if we can’t entice them. Many spirits need encouragement to come out and talk. They’re not used to attention. We can make the most perfect habitats for them here. I brought everything.”
Tom certainly believed that. “But can’t you just send them away?”
“Send them away?”
“Why do you have to talk to them?”
“Every soul deserves a voice.”
“But your ceremonies, or whatever you do, you can just tell them—ask them nicely—to please go away, can’t you? That’s all we want.”
Sue stopped, gazing back at him as he climbed after her. “Don’t you want to open a discussion?”
Tom paused, shielding his eyes as he squinted up at her, having forgotten sunglasses, or anything else he might normally have for a hike.
“Would you think me horrible if I said no?” Tom asked. “We didn’t move here to start a family. We just want them to leave us alone.”
Sue regarded him sadly. “There’s always a reason a spirit gets in touch. Always.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to bring up Danny again. Indeed, her eyes flickered and he was sure she also thought of Danny. But she turned away.
“Think about it,” she said. “Don’t slam the door just because you’re scared.”
“But you can, can’t you? You can ask it to go away? Leave us alone?”
“Yes.” She did not look around. “I can. If that’s really what both of you want to try.”