Dance Until Dawn (6 page)

Will came back in at exactly that moment, looking devastatingly handsome in black jeans and a dark-red shirt. I pushed that thought out of my head immediately. No man had the right to look that sexy. He handed me a silver-backed hairbrush and I looked at him in amazement. How had he known?

‘I have been around a very long time,’ he said, answering my thoughts. ‘I think I know when a lady needs a hairbrush.’

I took the brush and began to ease it through my tangled hair, when, without warning, he took the brush back from me, my nerveless fingers giving no resistance.

‘Permit me.’

He brushed my hair back from my face, watching me all the time. Gradually he brushed out all of the tangles, easing the brush through the full length of my hair. Finally, putting the brush down, he ran his hands through the silky thickness of it, his gaze lingering on my face. Oh this man was good. Centuries of practice, I supposed.

‘So beautiful,’ he murmured, almost to himself. ‘I hope you never tie it up.’

‘Only for work.’ I realised I’d replied almost without thinking.

His long black eyelashes lowered over his eyes seductively, just for a moment, but it was enough to make my body clench again. Just what the hell was happening to me? I bent down and pulled on my trainers, using the action to cover my confusion. I was more at ease when we were arguing, and it seemed suddenly odd to be having a near normal conversation with the man who’d murdered me. Brought me over.
Sired
me. Whatever.

‘What’s through there?’ I asked, motioning toward the opposite door.

‘Maybe some night you will find out.’

14 February

Elinor is in my bath as I write, and the urge to just go in and claim her is overwhelming. To think of her just two rooms away, naked, is tantamount to torture. But I have vowed not to rush her in any way. She is not like any of the other women I have met in the last fifty years or so, and she is certainly not like other vampire women. For this, I am grateful, and my intention is to keep her thus. She has retained a certain innocence and vulnerability, and must therefore be protected. The thought of any man taking advantage of her fills me with feelings I had thought long dead, buried along with my human existence.

One of the advantages of being immortal is that there is no need for haste, and I am prepared to bide my time. Elinor needs to be made aware that physical entertainment is not my main criteria, although one day it will be most welcome and, I have no doubt, enjoyable. There are other factors to consider and resolve first.

We are about to take a walk and I rejoice at the progress that has been made.

Hampstead

Will led the way downstairs to a far door in the first wine cellar, which he unlocked and waved me through. I found myself in a walled garden, and stood entranced for a moment, to revel in the sounds and smells of the dark winter night.

Old flagstones covered the entire garden floor area, and a huge ornate stone urn stood majestically in the centre. A profusion of dark ivy tumbled over the sides of the urn, which gave the appearance of a living fountain created by foliage. The high brick walls that surrounded the secluded garden were also cloaked in a similar glossy ivy. The effect was tranquil and beautiful.

A heady fragrance wafted across to me on the night air, and I looked around to find the source. I spotted a bushy, trailing plant that clung tenaciously to the far wall. An abundance of white, star-shaped flowers gleamed against the glossy leaves.

‘Night-flowering winter jasmine.’ Will’s voice came from my left, and I jumped, having forgotten for a moment he was there.

I continued to look around, noticing a lovely stone bench, on which I could easily imagine Will whiling away the night hours, doing whatever it is old vampires do in their spare time.

The night sky drew my gaze upwards, and I stared at the twinkling stars. I breathed in the cold air and my body tingled. I felt revitalised. My head seemed unusually clear, too, and a surge of something akin to happiness flooded through me. I felt almost free – that is, except for my handsome prison officer, of course. I didn’t think I’d be getting rid of
him
any time soon.

Will watched me quietly, smoking a cigarette. ‘How do you feel now?’

‘Better.’ My tone still sounded resentful.

His gaze travelled over me and lingered on my hair. ‘Your hair looks like spun gold in this light.’

I turned away from him to look back at the house, without acknowledging his rather poetic compliment. I’ve never been very good at accepting compliments graciously and I didn’t feel exactly gracious towards him anyway.

‘Is this your house?’ I looked back at the large, square building silhouetted behind us. It certainly looked big.

He didn’t reply at first.

‘Does it matter?’ he said at last.

‘It might matter if someone else came in during the day.’

‘It has been my house for many years.’

I wondered how many exactly. Just how old was he? As old as the house?
Older?

He strode over to the wall, and pressed a combination of numbers on a very modern key pad, which, I presumed, unlocked the heavy oak door. He held the door open for me, with a strange old-fashioned flourish, and I wondered for the umpteenth time which century he was from. Strange how I’d gone from disbelieving every word he uttered to some kind of acceptance. Must have something to do with drinking blood. My stomach roiled again at the memory. Dear God, I hoped I didn’t have to do that every night.

We went through the opening and out onto the pavement outside. The door swung shut behind us with a heavy
thud
and
click
. I wondered how Will’s ‘burglar’ had ever thought he could break in here. It was like Fort Knox.

‘He had the audacity to attempt a break-in through my front door,’ Will’s deep voice interrupted my thoughts. Again.

‘I don’t remember coming here.’

‘You were unconscious.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Your strength went long before the dawn. You collapsed in the cab.’

‘When you kidnapped me I suppose.’

He didn’t comment.

‘Shall we go to Hampstead?’
Ah, changing the subject again
. Hampstead? So we were still in North London. I’d had a feeling that we were miles out of town, but I was so pleased to discover we weren’t. For some reason, I felt less vulnerable in my own city. Perhaps a part of me still thought I could make a run for it back to Crouch End. At least I knew the way. Maybe I could turn into a bat and fly there.

We walked in silence for about fifteen minutes, and as we neared Highgate Tube Station I was momentarily surprised when Will turned in. I was even more surprised when he bought two tickets from the machine. He raised an eyebrow at my expression.

‘Problem?’

‘Couldn’t we just walk to Hampstead? It’s not far and it would be much quicker than messing around on tubes.’

‘It is and it would,’ he agreed, ‘but I thought you might like to do something more normal.’

‘So we buy Travelcards?’ Must tell him about Oyster Cards at some point.

‘Yes.’

We swiped our tickets, and passed through the barriers. For one fleeting moment, I felt as though I was on my way to the theatre. Then I remembered I could never go back there, and a wave of desolation and sadness washed over me.

Sadness – because I would never again dance on a stage. I had always known that a professional dancer’s working life was criminally short, but I was only twenty-five. Well, I had been only twenty-five. Guess I’d never be twenty-six or even thirty now, which was a kind of bonus.

My eyes flicked around the small tube station, taking in the familiar red and blue London Underground logo, the film posters peeling from the walls, and a few people walking toward the platforms. An ordinary, everyday scene. Suddenly the disorientation and grief for what had been my life hit me with devastating finality. I looked down in an effort to control the tears I felt brimming in my eyes, and tried to swallow the ache in my throat. I felt Will’s hands on my shoulders, which forced me to stop walking. He put his forefinger under my chin, and raised my face up to his. His expression was impassive as usual, but his eyes were full of concern.

‘I realise this must be painful and difficult for you. I just want to prove there are many wonderful things you can still see and do, but if you want to return to the house … if it is too soon for you … ?’ He stopped, his eyes searching my face for a response. A traitorous tear escaped, and trailed its dismal way down my cheek. Will trapped the tear with his finger, and put it in his mouth. ‘What do you think?’

‘I do want to go out. It’s just … ’

‘It is just that the first time is the most difficult,’ finished Will. ‘Is it not the case with a lot of things?’ His eyes took on a wicked glint and my heart felt a little lighter in spite of everything.

He put a proprietary hand underneath my elbow and guided me down to the platform. My first instinct was to shake him off, but the weird feeling made me feel really afraid, and to be honest, his touch felt kind of reassuring. We took the first available tube to Camden Town, where we changed to get a Hampstead train. I hadn’t been on the Underground for a while – I usually preferred to take a bus wherever possible, or walk. I’m not too good at being underground, although I felt that wasn’t a fact worth sharing. So … I’m scared of the dark, claustrophobic when underground and in small spaces, and not too keen on drinking blood. Way to go for a vampire.

I couldn’t ever recall the trains being quite so loud, and jumped violently as a tube roared into the station. Will covered my ears with his hands, as if he had known the noise would cause me pain.

Mercifully, our journey was short and I felt relieved when we got out at Hampstead. We were the only two people in the lift going up to street level. Will leaned back against the lift wall, while his vivid eyes travelled languidly down my body and then back up to my face.

‘We have very acute hearing,’ he said. ‘That is why your ears hurt on the tube. You will get used to it.’

‘The hurting or the hearing?’

He made no reply, just continued to watch me with a slight smile on his face.

How weird was everything tonight? I wished more memories of my life would emerge. The flashbacks I’d experienced so far had only added to the turmoil inside my head.

The lift doors opened and we stepped out. Several people looked our way, most of them female, who stared unashamedly at Will, although he didn’t appear to notice.

‘Very stealthy, with the undercover bit.’

He turned to look at me then, and his eyes gleamed with fiery green sparks. ‘Is there a point you wish to make?’

‘Well we can hardly mingle, and pass for human, with half of North London lusting after you.’

‘Sarcasm does not become you.’ He led the way out of the station.

‘Oh I think it suits me pretty well.’

Will turned right, and began to stride up Heath Street at such a speed that I had to run to catch up with him. For some reason I felt I’d scored a point – petty, I know.

Hampstead had always been a favourite haunt of mine, and now it seemed that I would be haunting
it
.
Fancy that
. Its houses and apartments were astronomically expensive, and it did tend to veer towards the pretentious sometimes, yet still managed to retain a wealth of old-world charm. Hampstead had really captured my imagination from my very first visit. I loved it here. Somewhat misguidedly, I’d even thought I might actually live in Hampstead one day. Unfortunately, when I checked out a few estate agents in the vicinity, it didn’t take too long to discover that the paltry salary of a dancer wouldn’t come anywhere near to buying a litter-bin in the area, let alone an apartment.

A lot of Hampstead’s inhabitants were actors, writers, and well-known artists, including an infamous talk show host and his glamorous script writer wife, with a few millionaires thrown in for good measure. Famous authors seem to have migrated to Hampstead in their droves over the years, as many a blue plaque gracing an old house proclaimed. The most famous by far was the nineteenth-century poet John Keats. Although he only lived in Hampstead for a relatively short time, he managed to gain both a blue plaque and the dubious honour of having his house turned into a museum.

But it was such a wonderful place to visit – both in good weather and bad. The good weather always drew people out for long walks on the vast expanse of the Heath, and to Kenwood House for open-air concerts and firework displays. There’s always something going on in Hampstead.

During the winter and bad weather, the plethora of good restaurants and lively bars still attracted plenty of people, not forgetting the ever-popular Everyman Theatre.

I’d always felt that Hampstead looked like a beautiful rural town that had been dropped into North London by mistake. Although a hundred years ago it would have been a country town – maybe even a village. I remembered from somewhere that it had been a spa town in the seventeenth century, a fact proven by the existence of an old pub called
The Flask
, where people had travelled many miles to get their flasks filled with Hampstead’s healthy spa water. Where I had actually
obtained
that particular piece of information still eluded me. My capacity for hoarding trivial information had clearly returned to full strength. But I still longed for the more important memories to return … like where the hell I’d met Mr Spooky Will Whatever-His-Other-Name-Is.

A lot of my favourite shops graced Hampstead’s elegant High Street, and also some of my favourite cafes. I had no idea whether or not vampires ate proper food, but I somehow doubted they could. I felt convinced that eating in restaurants and cafes would now become another part of my past.

I looked in at a shop window as we passed on our way uphill, and came to an abrupt halt in front of its gleaming surface.

No reflections.

No me, and no Will. Just as he’d said the other night.
Nothing
.

I remembered my dream of a few nights ago, if it
had
been a dream. Just what the hell was going on with my head? I rubbed at the shop window with the sleeve of my sweatshirt and in my mind’s eye I saw the bathroom mirror back in my flat.

I rubbed at the bathroom mirror. All I could see reflected in it was the bathroom.

Not myself.

What the—?

I rubbed at the mirror again, making the sleeve of my top sodden from the steam, and I pressed my fingertips against the now shiny surface.

Nothing.

No me.

Tentatively, I ran my hands over my face. Everything was where it should be. I could feel my nose, cheeks, mouth
 …
I looked down at my body and it looked perfectly normal to me. It was definitely there. Okay
 …
whatever I’d eaten after the show last night – if I could remember what the hell I had eaten last night – was never going to be on my menu again.

What was it with my dreams at the moment? Perhaps I should just never eat again, and then I’d have pleasant dreams. I’d be really skinny too.

I went back into my bedroom, and looked around at yet more confusion. The duvet and the pillows had gone from my bed. Only the bare mattress remained to mock me. When had I done that? Why?

A strange compulsion made me go to the window and look down to the street below. As I looked, a tall dark-haired man looked back up at me. His eyes reflected the light from the nearby street lamp, and his eerie gaze went through my body like a lightning bolt. Gasping, I clutched at the windowsill. I shut my eyes tightly, and when I opened them again, he was gone.

I returned to the present, and discovered I was very close to the shop window, with my fingertips still pressed to its cold surface. I shivered and turned to find Will watching me.

‘You were outside my flat … ’

‘So your memory is beginning to return?’ Will looked pleased.

‘I couldn’t see myself in the bathroom mirror … ’

‘No shadows, no reflections.’

‘I’m not sure I can cope … ’

‘You will get used to it in time, I assure you.’

‘Well, at least I won’t have any more fat days.’

He raised a dark brow.

I was making an effort to regain some sense of proportion. Inside I was screaming – screaming so loud, and so hard, that I knew I’d never stop. I’d never be able to put makeup on again, or dry my hair in front of a mirror – even supposing I could get hold of something as trivial as a hair dryer. How would I ever know if I looked presentable enough to go out? What the hell did I look like now?

Will regarded me seriously for a moment, then said gallantly, ‘I very much doubt you ever had any “fat days”, whatever they are.’