<br><br><center>![9c43edf987772e71bd02fbd1d98d72aa.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmUT7p1TVu6pD1QsKXwTab2Wte2iMQm7m87MwWrGcLsWHm/9c43edf987772e71bd02fbd1d98d72aa.jpg)</center>

<br><br><center>*Infatuation's just another word for not seeing clearly. 
When you start to love a person- that's when they become real*
― Jodi Picoult</center>

<br><br>It was an odd assignment for an investigative reporter—to spy on a man's wife who suddenly begin speaking fluently in a foreign language and disappearing into thin air.

This form of freelancing  wasn't exactly typical of my usual paranormal  investigations—and frankly, seemed more suited to the work of an exorcist.

But on the other hand, it was a cut above shadowing a cheating spouse, and it paid well, so that was some consolation.

<br><br>A couple of days later an invitation to a cocktail party at the Pendleton estate came in the mail. I was a little apprehensive, but decided to reserve judgment until I met Tara and saw for myself what the assignment might entail.

At eight, on the Friday night, I was standing outside the Pendleton estate on Lakeshore Road. Pendleton’s home was a stately Victorian manse, of a type I forgot existed—a relic of a bygone time.

I was captivated by the baronial style of the architecture—it seemed more a castle than a manse. I wandered through the downstairs rooms, champagne flute in hand, entranced by the ambience.

<br><br>"Zach—there you are!” I turned to see Pendleton dressed in a tux and on his arm a beautiful woman I thought too young to be his wife.

“I’d like to introduce Tara, my wife. I’m sure she needs no introduction to you, however, since she reads your articles all the time.”

Tara smiled graciously and extended her hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mr. Newson.”

“Oh, please, call me Zach,” I smiled back.

<br><br>“I see you’ve been admiring the place,” Pendleton chuckled, “it’s unique in terms of the local real estate.”

“It’s breathtaking,” I enthused.

“Well then, you’ll have to be given a tour.”

Pendleton turned to his young wife, “Darling, would you mind showing Zach around?”

“I’d be glad to act as guide,” she beamed.

<br><br>She gave me such a dazzling smile my stomach flipped and I could barely catch my breath. Before I could reflect on what was happening, she took my hand and led me away.

I was in a dream and had no desire to awaken.

We ascended the huge circular staircase and went through some French doors out onto a balcony. The Moon was up and leaving a silvery track on the lake.

The cool spring air brought me back to my senses.

<br><br>“It must be magical living here,” I whispered, staring out at the black waters radiant with stars.

“The lake belongs to everyone,” she replied. “I don’t really feel comfortable in the house—it’s strange, but I feel I don't feel at home.”

<br><br>I was taken aback by her directness—I wasn’t anticipating that. I suppose I should have been more discreet and reserved, but she had opened a door, and I decided to see what other secrets were on the other side.

“When you say you don’t belong, I assume you mean you feel overwhelmed living in such a huge house.”

She sighed, and stared up at the stars. “It’s partly that, I suppose, but sometimes I feel this house is haunted. Can you feel that too?”

“Haunted? No, I don’t think so—at least, I don’t feel it right now. Mind you, I’ve been distracted by the house’s beauty ever since I arrived, so I may not be as sensitive to subtler vibes.”

<br><br>I stared into her eyes—truth was, I was distracted by her beauty, and seemingly oblivious to everything else.

“Would you be willing to come back, Zach, when all the people are gone—come back when the house is quiet, and tell me what you observe?”

“Yes, of course, if it will settle your mind about the place.”

She touched my arm. “It would settle my mind.”

“Well then, it’s decided,” I laughed, “Just pick a day and a time.”

“How does tomorrow at ten sound? We could have breakfast on the patio and then you could wander the house and grounds and see if you feel what I feel.”

I was trembling like a schoolboy inside—giddy at the thought of being with her.

“Tomorrow at ten will be fine,” I managed to say.

 

<br><br>The next morning the maid admitted me and led me back through the house to a shaded flagstone patio where a table was set and Tara was waiting.

She looked even lovelier than the night before. Her long chestnut hair was swept up and caught into a loose pony, with one disheveled braid loosened and allowed to cascade down the right side of her face.

The effect was disarming—she looked elegant, yet vulnerable.

<br><br>She stood to greet me, giving me a chaste hug, while allowing her lips to lightly brush my cheek.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she whispered.

I smiled and shakily took a seat opposite her, trying to conceal my trembling hands, by placing them in my lap.

The maid poured coffee, and we engaged in polite chitchat while she set out two elegant plates of Artichoke-Scrambled Eggs Benedict.

<br><br>“This is not my usual breakfast,” I laughed.

“It’s not mine either,” she said, and I caught a suggestion it meant more than that—or maybe I was looking for a deeper significance—and that bothered me as well.

But face it, I was here on assignment, and she was another man’s wife. End of story—or was it? I was feeling totally off balance.

I decided to come to the point.

<br><br>“Well, how do you suggest we go about discerning if there are spirits in the house?”

She paused, fork in hand, her brow furrowed in thought. “I always sense them when I’m alone—just sort of browsing around—cutting flowers or sitting down by the lake.”

“Good! Then, I think you should keep to your usual routines and I’ll browse as well and see what I observe.”

“How long should we give it?” she asked, eyes dancing.

“Oh, I’d say, give it until noon. We’ll meet back here and compare notes.”

“Fair enough,” she smiled.

<br><br>I had to force myself to separate from her and begin exploring the rooms of the house.

But my so-called investigation was a ruse—I was mainly preoccupied with Tara herself and excited to be able to surreptitiously observe her whenever I could.

<br> <br> <center>© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved.</center>

<br> <br> <center>Image credit: https://goo.gl/images/T6FULP </center>