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purchased since he’d been in residence. Perhaps he planned to turn the place into a B&B – an opportunity to stay in a dead movie star’s home – that would bring the punters flooding in for sure. The turret, Cynthia Hart’s bedroom, was located at the end of the corridor. As she approached it, Ruby could feel powerful waves of anguish rushing towards her.
    “Stop!” she shouted. Cash did so immediately.
    “Cynthia, it appears, is one very unhappy lady. And when a spirit is unhappy, that’s when they can be dangerous. You can’t come in with me. You’ll have to wait downstairs.”
    “Dangerous?” said Cash. “Are you serious? In that case, I’m definitely coming in with you. You can’t go in alone.”
    His sense of chivalry made her smile.
    “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ve taken steps to protect myself. I need to establish a psychic connection with Cynthia and it will be easier to do so if I don’t have you to worry about.”
    When she saw him about to protest further, she insisted “Cash, please, I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing it for long enough. Seriously, you can’t come in with me.”
    “Okay,” said Cash at last, “but I’m not going downstairs. I’ll wait here for you, on the landing. Within shouting distance.”
    Conceding, Ruby smiled at him again before entering Cynthia’s domain.

Chapter Five
     
    Who is she? What does she want? How dare she enter unbidden?
    From the safety of the shadows in which she dwelt, Cynthia Hart stared at the intruder. It was not the man this time, that pathetic, little man who insisted he lived here now, that he was Sally’s nephew, even though she knew damn well Sally didn’t have a nephew, but a girl – young and presentable but not glamorous at all, with brown hair piled on top of her head in a most unkempt manner. Jeans she had on, jeans, boots and a jumper – a dreadful way to dress. No celebration of her femininity at all.
    Out! Cynthia screamed. Get out!
    “No,” the girl replied calmly, startling her.
    She could hear her! The man couldn’t. Sally hadn’t, despite her repeated attempts to gain her maid’s attention. But this girl could. Instead of being relieved, however, Cynthia became angrier still. She had refused her. How dare she? Who did she think she was?
    Aggression causing her lip to curl, she prepared to rush at the intruder, just as she had rushed at the man, to beat her back, to rid the room of her, to reclaim her sanctuary, but she was stopped in her tracks. The girl was speaking again.
    “I’m Ruby Davis. I believe you’ve already met my friend, Theo. We want to help you.”
    Theo? Did she mean that ludicrous old woman who had violated her privacy too, when was it, a day ago, two days? She didn’t know. Time was so hard to grasp suddenly.
    “Cynthia. It is Cynthia isn’t it?”
    Of course it’s Cynthia! This is my house. You are not welcome in it.
    “Cynthia, I repeat, I mean no harm. I just want to help. Please, allow us to help you.”
    Help? How can you help? A chit of a girl! Nobody can help. Nobody.
    Get out! She screamed again and then, more in despair than anger, Get out.
    ***
    When feeling threatened, Cynthia did as she always did; she retreated into the comfort of memories, her last memory in particular – the party of course. It had been glorious, every detail planned meticulously; the champagne, vintage Laurent-Perrier, served in crystal glasses, the big band playing not the rock ‘n’ roll tunes so favoured of late, but beautiful songs from the 1920s, 30s and 40s – ‘Blue Moon’, ‘Embraceable You’, ‘Sunrise Serenade’ – reinforcing the sophistication of the occasion.
    Despite so many beauties, all eyes in the room had been on her, as Lytton had promised so long ago. Not a man in the room could tear his gaze away, or a woman, their naked adoration breathing life into her limbs. How she had danced that night! Her feet had barely touched the ground. Would-be suitors fighting amongst