M/M books with a pinch of history, a swirl of mystery, and a cupful of romance...
When the Ghosts Galore TV crew come to film at artist Adam’s very haunted house, he thinks he can take the money and let the ghosts do the rest. But things soon start to go wrong. The crew use dodgy tricks; producer Carl refuses to believe in Greystones Hall’s ghosts; and dotty medium Stella accidentally awakens a malevolent spirit who dislikes Adam’s art.
When both Carl and Stella disappear Adam turns to the show’s historian Guy - who has a secret of his own - for help. Together they must solve a centuries-old mystery involving lost paintings, a priest hole, and a death that might have caused all the negative energy in the house. But that’s not all the pair discover, on a night of adventure that also brings unexpected romance...
In which artist Adam struggles with his tax return and receives an important telephone call...
Adam was in the library staring at his tax return when the phone rang. It was a task he loathed, and put off every minute that he could. Figures danced before his eyes; repairs and heating and maintenance warring with a meagre allowance from his grandfather’s trust fund and a few injections of cash from the sale of some of his art. Time after time, the bills and invoices won. Running a place like Greystones didn’t come cheap. And he was no magician when it came to accounts.
His eyes strayed to the nearest window—a Gothic affair with a pointed top—and the view of the garden it gave. He could be out there now, painting the early tulips or the new shoots on the larch, not stuck indoors on a rare and beautiful day. But there’d been a letter in the post yesterday, with an official-looking header and some threatening red ink. It was, all too probably, the tax return or bust.
He scribbled some numbers on a bit of scrap paper and blanched. Was that even possible? Oh, hang on, he’d got the decimal point in the wrong place. Well, that helped. A bit. ‛Why we chose to live in a draughty, falling-down-round-our-ears place like this instead of a nice, easy to maintain modern house...’ He glanced at the portrait of his grandfather that hung in pride of place over the mantelpiece. The eyes were as kind as ever, but there seemed to be a rueful expression on the old man’s face. An expression that said Not much I could do about that. Which was true, since Gramps had inherited Greystones Hall from his father, and his father’s father before that, all the way back to some improbable date not long after the Normans had first marched into the local area. And he had to admit it was a wonderful place to live. Just... an extravagance he could barely afford.
More jottings. More staring into space. Space that became books, since the library was stuffed with them. Everything from archaic journals bound in red calf to flashy novels, and even a biography or two. He’d been reading one earlier, about Johnny Depp, who was pictured on the cover with a pony-tail and full Caribbean-pirate face paint. Adam was a sucker for paint, of any variety. He was a sucker for pony-tails. He was a sucker, if he was honest, for Johnny Depp. Just think if the man was here now, with a cutlass and a blunderbuss and that secretly-amused smirk. He could keep Adam company, regale him with rum and tales of derring-do and the high seas. Hell, he could even fill in this blasted tax return...
The phone shrilled, jerking him back to reality. And a glimmer of hope, that it might be a friend he could chat to for a while to put off the horrors of household finance. Although with his luck it was more likely to be double-glazing, or someone telling him his nearest and dearest had just been involved in a horrific accident. Bastards. His eyes strayed to Gramps’s portrait again, even as he lifted the receiver of the old-fashioned, land-line phone that kept Greystones connected to the outside world. ‛Hello?’
‛Mr Price? Adam Price? This is Angelica from Angelic Productions, the makers of the hit TV show Ghosts Galore. I don't know if you've heard of us?’
Not salesmen or ambulance chasers, then. But equally, not a mate. Still, the interruption wasn’t exactly an unwelcome one. He leaned back in his chair. ‛Um, I’m not sure...’
‛Oh good,’ said the voice, which was female, deep, and thoroughly in control. ‛In that case I don’t need to explain. Shall I say we’ll see you on the twenty-seventh?’
‛Erm, yes. I mean no.’ Adam tried, somewhat desperately, to collect his scattered thoughts. Had the woman just said ghosts? The transition from Johnny Depp to the otherworld was not a happy one. ‛What d’you mean, see me?’
The voice gained an edge of impatience. ‛I mean we’ll be coming out to film on the twenty-seventh.’
He wound the archaic phone cord round one finger, then unwound it again. ‛Right. Er, film what, precisely?’
‛I see I shall have to explain after all. Mr Price, the Ghosts Galore crew spends the weekend at a haunted property and films the results. The programme goes out on the Paranormal Channel at 9 pm on Mondays and Thursdays and our ratings are excellent.’ The impatience was turning to the hurt of an abandoned dog and Adam, kind-hearted to a fault, hurried to appease.
‛I’m sure they are. Ghost stories are always popul–’
‛We have it on the very best authority,’ the voice continued as though it hadn’t even heard, ‛that your property, Greystones Hall, is one of the most haunted houses in England. Isn’t that right, Mr Price?’
‛Er, well, I suppose...’ Adam chewed the edge of a finger nail, and mentally cursed an old school friend who’d written something about the house for a national magazine. She’d had his best interests at heart, or so she said. What she hadn’t thought to mention was strange phone calls from angels and hordes of television people coming to film the place.
‛Splendid. We’d like to come and film your ghosts on the weekend of the twenty-seventh to the twenty-ninth next month. If that’s all right with you.’
The voice didn’t leave much room for negotiation, but Adam baulked at the idea of allowing his beautiful peaceful home to be overrun by cameras and clipboards and people yelling ‘cut’. ‛I’m really not sure that’s...’
‛We will pay, of course,’ the voice added.
Adam closed his mouth again.
"Oh my, this was a hoot! A truly fun and intense read, especially when the naughty Spirit shows up." - Maureen on Goodreads
"...one of those charming, offbeat, feel-good books I'll enjoy reading again and again." - Ellie Thomas, author of the Twelve Letters series
"A somewhat scatterbrained main character and his not so alive grandfather. Loved them both." - Amazon-Kunde on Amazon
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While you're here, why not check out some of Fiona's other books, including paranormal romances
December Roses and Trench Warfare, and vampire romance Echoes of Blood.
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