When the moving trucks arrived, he directed the movers to the master bedroom, asking them to remove its furniture before bringing in Richard’s.
“No.” Richard placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “The guest room is mine now.”
Gabriel indicated to the movers that they should give him a minute. He turned to his father, eyebrows knitted together.
“Why don’t you want your old room?”
“The master bedroom is yours now, with Julia. She’s painted it and made it her own. I won’t undo that.”
Gabriel protested, but Richard lifted his hand to stop him.
“Grace will be with me wherever I sleep. She’ll find me in the guest room.” He clapped his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder once again before calling to the movers and directing them upstairs.
Gabriel wasn’t about to argue with his father, especially when he seemed content with his decision. And if he found his father’s remarks strange, he kept that to himself.
(But in truth, he didn’t find the remarks strange.)
That night, when the house was empty and quiet, Richard could almost imagine Grace getting into bed with him. He rolled onto his side and slept peacefully before meeting her in his dreams.
Chapter Seven
July 2011
Oxford, England
Professor Gabriel O. Emerson peered contemptuously around the modest guest room in staircase five of the Cloisters of Magdalen College. His blue eyes alighted on a pair of twin beds that were situated along the wall, and he pointed at them.
“What the hell are those?”
Julia’s eyes followed the path of his accusatory finger. “I think those are beds.”
“I can see that. We’re leaving.”
He picked up their bags and approached the door, but she stopped him.
“It’s late, Gabriel. I’m tired.”
“Exactly. Where the hell are we supposed to sleep?”
“Where do Magdalen students usually sleep? On the floor?”
He gave her a withering look. “I’m not sleeping in a ridiculous abomination of a single bed ever again. We’re checking into the Randolph.”
She rubbed her eyes with both hands. “Our reservation isn’t until two days from now. And besides, you promised.”
“Nigel promised me one of the unused don’s rooms, a room with a double bed and an en-suite.” He looked around. “Where’s the double bed? Where’s the en-suite? We’ll have to share the bathroom with God knows who else!”
“I don’t mind sharing a bathroom with the other guest room for two nights. We’ll be at the conference most of the time.”
Ignoring her husband’s irate sputtering, Julia walked to the window, which overlooked the beautiful quadrangle below. She stared longingly at the strange stone figures that were set above the archways to the right.
“You told me that C.S. Lewis was inspired by those statues when he wrote The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
“That’s what they say,” Gabriel said in a clipped voice.
She rested her forehead against the leaded glass. “Do you think his ghost ever wanders around here?”
“I doubt he’d haunt a room like this.” Gabriel sniffed. “He’s probably at the pub.”
Julia closed her eyes. It had been a long day, traveling from the hotel in London to the railway station, then to Oxford, and now here. She was so very, very tired.
He took in her subdued form from across the room.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Julianne. You know that.” His voice was gentle.
“What about when you saw Grace and Maia?”
“That was different.”
She looked at the statues wistfully before joining him at the door, wearing a defeated expression.
“Would it make you unhappy to stay at the hotel?” His eyes searched hers. “We’d have greater privacy.”
“We would, yes.” She looked away.
He glanced at the twin beds. “Sex is almost impossible in those things. There isn’t enough room.”
She smirked. “That isn’t how I remember it.”
A slow, provocative smile spread across his face, and he brought his lips within inches of hers.
“Is that a challenge, Mrs. Emerson?”
Julia regarded him for a moment. Then she seemed to shrug off her fatigue as she wrapped his silk tie around her hand, pulling his mouth to hers.
Gabriel dropped their luggage and kissed her, forgetting his irritation. Then he reached back with his foot and kicked the door shut behind them.
Chapter Eight
Some time later, Gabriel was entwined with his wife in one of the narrow beds. She breathed his name against his chest.
“You haven’t lost your skill. I found your most recent innovation extremely—satisfying.”
“Thank you.” His chest swelled. “It’s late now. Time for sleep.”
“I can’t.”
Gabriel coaxed her chin upward. “Are you worried about your paper?”
“I want to make you proud.”
“I will always be proud of you. I am proud of you.” His blue eyes lasered into hers.
“What about Professor Picton?”
“She wouldn’t invite you if she thought you weren’t ready.”