Free The Ghost Hunters by Neil Spring

sharp with interest. ‘And Mr Schneider hasn’t been properly tested yet.’ He released a startling laugh. ‘But he will be, oh yes. Just you wait! My letter requesting his participation in a series of seances here, under this roof, is already with his family awaiting a reply.’
    As I followed Price into his private study he looked at me shrewdly and said, ‘Now, you remember this room, of course.’ His eyes narrowed, tracking me warily as I moved towards his desk where I glimpsed an open letter. At the top of the page were the words ‘
Concerning B—— Rectory
’, but before I could read any more, Price had quickly covered the note with his hand. ‘Take a seat please, Miss Grey.’
    I did so, feeling somewhat nervous as he took the chair opposite me and rolled a cigarette.
    ‘You gave up an initially promising career in glamour modelling. Why was that?’
    That was odd. I didn’t recall telling him about my previous vocation. And he was looking at me differently, sitting as motionless as a cat, drawing smoke into his lungs.
    I thought about his question for a moment. I was trying to decide how much to tell him, about Paris and my relationship with Peter Lewin.
    Price repeated his question in a heavy tone. ‘Was it stability you craved?’
    ‘Partly,’ I said eventually. ‘Times are changing. I want to be part of new ideas that help us see the world differently. I want to be a part of something special.’
    ‘And you think that working for me will be … special?’
    ‘It will certainly be different.’
    ‘What made you decide to come back?’
    Picturing Mother’s melancholy face, I explained that I was intrigued to know how and why humans can be tricked into believing what is not there. ‘Life is precious, Mr Price. It’s the living we need to look out for, not the dead. Working here, helping you combat fraud, will help me do that.’ My eyes looked past him and fell on an expensive-looking camera set on a tripod at the back of the room. ‘Besides, I might learn something.’
    He was smiling at me. ‘The idea of working here doesn’t scare you?’
    I thought of the war years, when the German Zeppelins had appeared in the skies above London like huge glowing cigars, and the battle planes that sometimes came during the day. At my school we were told to shelter under our desks.
    ‘No, Mr Price. It takes a lot to scare me.’
    ‘But you must worry, surely, about what people will think.’
    ‘Why?’ I leaned forward. ‘Why should I worry?’
    He shrugged. ‘You bright young things are more concerned with having a good time – dancing, enjoying the company of young men – than pursuing a career.’
    It was a sweeping generalisation and one to which I could feel myself wanting to react. I remembered what Amy had said: ‘
Sarah, working for him, you’ll be about as fashionable as a horse and buggy
.’
    ‘I’m not concerned with what people think, Mr Price. I think those on the side of truth owe you a great deal of gratitude. Your work is exceptionally original. It has nobility.’
    ‘You think so?’ he asked softly.
    ‘Yes. But then,’ I reflected, ‘I suppose we can never be sure of anything, can we?’
    ‘No,’ Price said curtly. ‘Not anything. Not anyone.’
    He smiled and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. For some reason it was suddenly important to me that he didn’t see me as a workaholic. So I told him that I often visited jazz clubs. It was only when I mentioned my love of cinema that his face lifted with genuine delight. ‘What a splendid interest for us to have in common,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘I plan, one day, to form a National Film Library if I can secure the appropriate backers. You could help me with that.’
    I have to say, the idea sounded thrilling and only served to forge a greater unity between us. Then he lowered his voice suddenly, as though he had just remembered why I was there. ‘Now, to business. Tell me this: how do you view the