designed in the eighteenth century for visiting royalty.’
‘crumbs...!’ Peggy gasped as she and Lois followed the girl into the large room. ‘Did any kings and queens really sleep in here?’
‘No, I believe it was more a case of having a special room available—just in case they might want to spend a night at Ratcliffe Hall,’ the assistant said, before once again consulting her clipboard. ‘And now, Miss Fraser, I’ll show you to your bedroom. We’re running a little behind time, so...’
‘Well, I...er...I’ll see you later,’ Peggy muttered, casting a nervous glance at Lois—who’d remained utterly silent since they’d entered the room—before hurrying after the assistant, who was now moving swiftly on down the corridor.
Left on her own, Lois quickly closed her eyes and counted up to ten. Unfortunately, when she opened them again, her fervent hope that she’d been hallucinating was quickly dispelled. It was not a psychedelic dream. She really was standing in the midst of what could only be described as a total nightmare.
Gazing in horrified astonishment around the enormous room, her eyes were immediately drawn to the truly massive four-poster bed, set up on a high dias. Heavily festooned with thick satin swags, tails and drapes, in a depressing shade of deep crimson edged with wide, dark gold fringing, the whole monstrous edifice was topped by tall sprays of red and gold ostrich feather plumes at each of the four corners.
‘Oh, Lord!’ she muttered helplessly, turning her head to stare with dismay at the walls, covered with the same dark red satin, on which were hung many large, sombre portraits of grim-faced men and women, all dressed in costumes of a bygone age. And the bare, dark oak boards covering the floor did little to make the huge, formal room look more comfortably, either. Even the heavy, crimson satin curtains—draped in such a way over the windows as to exclude most of the warm afternoon sun—contributed to the general atmosphere of doom and gloom.
Her heart sinking down into her boots, Lois told herself that she’d never seen such a deeply depressing room. In fact, all this place needed were several large cobwebs hanging from that awful bed and it would be a perfect setting for a horror movie!
The adjacent bathroom was no better. All her bad vibes and dark suspicions about the lack of modern plumbing were amply confirmed as she peered gingerly around the door, her eyes widening at the sight of the ancient bathtub—into which, she was convinced, three or four grown men could have fitted with ease.
Moving closer, she stared in bewilderment at a complicated-looking semi-circular steel structure, enclosing one end of the bath. At least six or seven feet high, it appeared to have many old-fashioned white china handles and knobs, labelled with words such as ‘spray’, ‘jet’ and ‘douche’. But it wasn’t until Lois noticed a large object at the top of the massive edifice—a twelve-inch-diameter circle of metal, covered in holes—that light slowly began to dawn.
‘Good heavens... it must be some kind of shower!’ she breathed, taking a step back to view the complicated, dangerous-looking contraption with a mixture of incredulity and horror.
Trailing slowly back into the gloomy bedroom, Lois gave a heavy sigh. The thought of having to spend even one night in this ghastly room—not to mention that bathroom, clearly dating from the dawn of time—was bad enough. But to have to put up with it for six weeks...? No way!
On the other hand, she really didn’t need the likely hassle involved in trying to change her room.
In the movie business there were many actresses who’d managed to get themselves a bad reputation by acting like thoroughly spoilt children. And, since most people seemed only too willing to believe the worst, she’d always done her best to avoid being known as a prima donna. Unfortunately, and however unfair it might be, she knew that if she did complain about this bedroom the word would soon get around that Lois Shelton was nothing but a pain in the butt.
Either way—you just can’t win! she told herself with another heavy sigh.
But, hey! This awful bedroom was the very least of her problems, right? She had far more important things to worry about, Lois reminded herself grimly, pacing restlessly up and down the room. Such as, what in the heck she was going to do about her utterly unexpected reunion with Ace...?
Try as she might, Lois couldn’t seem to get a firm grip on the situation. Talk about the fickle finger of fate! How was it possible that a man whom she’d only met once—on the other side of the world, for heaven’s sake!—should now turn out to be some kind of aristocrat, and the owner of this huge old house?
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