Vampire Lover

‘Oh.’ Clare was incredulous. ‘Doing what? You’re not an actor?’ But he could be, she thought; he had the looks for it, and, even more, the charisma; she could imagine how dynamic he would look on film.

‘I did some acting, many years ago—I was an extra once. But I wanted to be on the other side of the camera. I’ve worked at a number of jobs in the industry—stills photographer, cameraman, set designer. My ambition was to be a director, and I finally got there, but I’m out of a job at the moment, and wanted to get away, which is why I’m back in Britain.’

‘And you picked Greenhowe because you remembered it better than Scotland?’ she worked out, and he nodded.

‘I had very happy memories of Greenhowe; summers on the beach, walks across the moors. A travel agent booked me into Jimmy Storr’s hotel, so here I am.’ He dusted his hands with a handkerchief, grimacing. ‘This whole house is filthy.’ He leaned against the wall, those dark eyes cool and steady. ‘Well, let’s talk business, Miss Summer. The price is ridiculous, considering the state of the house, as I’m sure you realise. I shall have to spend a fortune renovating it before I can move in. I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to pay, and you can talk to the owner and let Helen know his decision. I won’t bargain. I’m making one offer and that’s it. If he turns it down, I won’t want to discuss the matter any further.’

Clare watched him calmly, nodding.

He named the price he was prepared to pay. It was far less than she had hoped and her blue eyes hardened.

‘Well, of course I’ll put your offer to my client,’ she said flatly. ‘But I doubt if he will be ready to agree to such a low amount.’

‘How long has the house been on the market? Some years, isn’t it? Empty houses deteriorate quickly; this one is falling to bits. In another two years the roof will go, kids will smash the windows, the garden will be completely wild, and then it won’t take long to become a total ruin.’

He was right, but Clare wasn’t admitting it. ‘I’ll talk to my client,’ she said in a cold, remote voice, and turned to walk back down the stairs and out of the house, with Denzil Black behind her.

The storm was deepening outside, the wind howling around the house like a wolf. There was a crash of thunder and a white zigzag of lightning split the sky, then the chandelier lights flickered and went out, plunging the whole house into darkness. Clare was halfway down the wide, elaborately carved staircase, and she stopped dead, blind in the unexpected blackness.

Denzil Black was right behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped about ten feet into the air. ‘Have you got a torch?’

‘In the car,’ she told him, her voice a mere thread of sound.

He sighed. ‘Never mind, I can see in the dark. Give me your hand.’ His fingers slid down her shoulder to her arm, down her arm to entwine around her hand; Clare would have liked to pull away—he had the strangest effect on her—but she didn’t like being here alone with him in the dark, she urgently needed to get out of this house, so she let him lead her down the stairs.

When they got to the car Helen was standing beside it and ran towards them, flung herself at Denzil Black, close to hysteria. ‘All the lights went out! There was a terrible flash of lightning...didn’t you see it? The storm’s right overhead; I was afraid it would hit the car, then I saw this flash...and the lights all went out. I called and called—didn’t you hear me? How could you leave me out here all by myself in the dark, all this time?’

‘You shouldn’t get so upset!’ soothed Denzil Black, his head bent over hers. ‘I can hear your heart beating like a drum!’ He lowered his head, Clare thought she saw him kissing Helen’s neck and hurriedly looked away, very flushed. They might remember she was there! She didn’t want to be an audience for their lovemaking!

Helen gave a long, ragged sigh, winding her arms around him. ‘Oh, Denzil...’

‘Shh...you’re safe now,’ he soothed. ‘We’ll drop Miss Summer off and then I’ll take you home. Get back into the car now. You’ll feel better when you’re warmer.’

Languidly, Helen obeyed, settling down into her seat without another word. As Clare got back into the car she noticed that Helen had her eyes shut and was apparently half asleep.

As they drove away from Dark Tarn Denzil Black asked, ‘Where do you live, Miss Summer?’

‘Just around the corner from the office, in York Square. You probably know it; it’s a Georgian square behind the Town Hall.’

‘I know. Very handsome houses; they’ve been well preserved, too. Has your family lived there long?’

‘My father was born in the house; I’ve lived there all my life. It’s a warm, family house; we love it.’

‘But you’re planning to move out, all the same, when your cottage is fit for occupation?’

‘There are quite a lot of us,’ Clare unwillingly explained. Why did he ask so many questions? ‘I’d like to have more room to myself.’

‘You have a lot of brothers and sisters?’

‘Two brothers and a sister,’ she said. ‘And there are only four bedrooms between all of us. Dad has one to himself, so do my brothers, because Robin is a student, and needs somewhere private to study, and so my little brother, Jamie, has the tiny boxroom to himself, and I share a bedroom with my sister.’

‘How old is she?’

Helen stirred resentfully. ‘Do stop asking her questions, Denzil! You sound like a TV chat show host!’

He laughed, but Clare saw his long hands tighten on the wheel, the knuckles briefly showing white, and suspected he hadn’t liked being pulled up by Helen in that way.

For a while he drove in silence, then they reached town and began to navigate a way through the one-way-street system until they came to York Square. The early nineteenth-century houses ran on each side of the square with well-cared-for gardens in the centre, set back behind green-painted Victorian railings. It gave the square a feel of the country, especially in summer, when the trees and bushes were in full leaf, and there was a scent of flowers on the air.

‘Which house?’ Denzil Black asked and Clare leaned forward to point.

‘That one, by the street-lamp, with the holly trees in the garden.’

He parked under the street-light, and Clare politely thanked him. ‘I’ll let Helen know my client’s decision as soon as possible,’ she promised. ‘Goodnight, Helen.’

Helen sleepily murmured, ‘Night.’

Denzil Black got out of the car and came round to open Clare’s door. ‘Thanks,’ she said, avoiding his hand as he tried to help her out. ‘Goodnight, Mr Black.’

Before she could walk away, the front door of the house opened and in the yellow light from the hallway a girl was outlined, her face framed in a cloud of long, smooth silvery fair hair.

‘Who’s that?’ Denzil Black’s voice had altered. Clare shot a look up at him and frowned, not answering.

There was a long silence, while the girl began walking towards them.

‘Is that your sister?’ asked Denzil Black slowly, and Clare answered him in a chilly voice.

‘Yes.’ She wished Lucy hadn’t come out just now. Clare was intensely protective towards her sister, and she was also deeply intuitive; her intuition told her now that it wouldn’t be a good idea for Lucy to meet Denzil Black.

‘Goodnight, Mr Black,’ Clare said, willing him to get back into the car and drive away.

He didn’t. He stood there, watching Lucy stroll down the garden path towards them, his face intent. Clare gritted her teeth. She would have loved to know what he was thinking.

As Lucy came into the circle of lamplight at the gate she paused, smiling, her oval face taking on a shimmering quality. She wasn’t wearing make-up, and yet her skin was perfect, smooth and clear.

She and Clare shared the same colouring, yet there was an immense difference between them. Clare knew that she herself was very attractive, and men always liked the look of her, but Lucy was, quite simply, beautiful.

More than that, she had a mysterious radiance which was partly due to her very fair skin, the long, flowing golden hair framing her face, her eyes, which were a deeper blue than Clare’s, and partly to a childlike nature.

Perhaps because her family had always spoilt her, Lucy had never quite, it seemed to Clare, grown up, yet she was so lovable that it didn’t matter. Lucy was kind-hearted, loving, generous. Clare had always worried over her, afraid that some day someone would hurt Lucy. It had been a great relief to her when Lucy got engaged to someone who, she knew, would never make her little sister unhappy.

‘What a fabulous car!’ Lucy said as soon as she was within earshot. ‘It’s a Lamborghini, isn’t it?’ She gave Denzil Black a fascinated look. ‘Is it yours? Hello, I’m Lucy, Clare’s sister. We haven’t met before, have we?’

‘I’d remember if we had,’ he said, his jet pupils glittering as he took the hand Lucy held out to him. He bent and kissed it and Lucy gave a startled gasp, then laughed.

‘You aren’t French, are you?’

He laughed. ‘I had a French grandmother—does that count?’