Dark Heart Rising (2 page)

A chill went through me as I recalled the events of nearly a year before. When Gabriel’s son Raphael had come to Earth, masquerading as a mortal boy called Evan, to avenge Gabriel’s fate. Evan had drawn me in, fooled me into wanting him, making me confused about my feelings for Luca. But if it hadn’t been for Luca, Evan would have killed my entire family. Luca and his sister Dalya had saved us all. Had I been naïve to think then that everything would be OK? That Luca and I could be together? When we had returned to Nissilum, I realised that nothing had changed. If anything Luca’s family were more firmly resolved than ever. And Luca had chosen them over me.

Granny’s hand stayed where it was, but her fingers gave me a little squeeze, bringing me out of my sad trance. ‘You’re sensitive. Just like your mother,’ she said softly.

I frowned. Not really wanting to be anything like my mother at that particular moment. I loved Mum, of course. But I wasn’t her.

‘Right then,’ Grandma said briskly, getting out her purse. ‘Let’s try and cheer you up a little.’ She tucked a ten pound note underneath her cup and saucer. ‘The Pompidou first, I think. Then some shopping down the Ille de la Cite.’ She winked at me. ‘And I know it’s getting chilly, but we can’t leave Paris without having one of the glorious ice creams on the Left Bank. Your grandfather asked me to marry him over a blackberry scoop in October 1963.’

I couldn’t help smiling. ‘That is actually quite romantic.’

‘Come on.’ Grandma wrapped her scarf round her neck. ‘I can’t promise romance, but let’s go and have some fun.’

It was evening, and after a heavy day’s shopping and sightseeing, we were inside Notre Dame, which was heaving with tourists. Grandma studied the little guide, while I stared at the hordes of German students crowding around the entrance to the chapel.

‘I think I might go and light a candle …’ Grandma said, frowning at the throng in front of us. ‘I may be some time.’ She gave me a wan smile and set off, waving her bag about imperiously. I grinned as the students parted to let the elegant older lady through. As she reached the entrance she turned to raise an eyebrow at me. ‘I’ll see you outside,’ she mouthed.

In front of the church I settled myself on one side of the steps and, taking out my camera, looked through the photographs I’d taken over the last days. Lots of my grandmother: in a comical French beret, asleep after lunch the day we’d arrived, buying herself a Chanel handbag in the Galleries Lafayette. And there was me, in a café, smiling like the Mona Lisa, one hand tucked under my chin.

‘You don’t like the church?’ A deep voice behind me made me jump.

I turned to see a tall, black-haired boy, dressed beatnik style in a close-fitting reefer jacket and striped T, skinny jeans and skinny legs.
Not fair that boys have thinner legs than girls
, I thought, while trying not to look as though I was looking at all.

The boy was obviously assessing whether I was simple. He bent down, crouching on his long thin legs, and spoke again.

‘The church,’ he said slowly, annunciating each syllable. ‘You’re not a believer?’

‘I … I’m not sure,’ I said, equally slowly. His eyes were the darkest brown I’d ever seen. Almost black. ‘I think it’s a beautiful church. I just needed some air.’

The boy moved seamlessly to sit next to me.

‘I am Soren,’ he said, holding out a pale hand.

‘Jane.’ I hesitated before doing the same. His skin felt smooth and marble cold. ‘Are you French?’ I couldn’t quite place his accent.

He smiled, and it transformed his severe features. His teeth were perfect. His eyes deep set but almond shaped.

‘I am from Hungary,’ he said after a pause, looking intently at me. ‘But I am studying here. Art.’

He smiled again and I felt the effect more this time. My insides contracted a little. He was attractive. If I had been interested I would have said stunning.

‘And you?’

‘Oh, I’m just here for a few days … with my grandmother,’ I said, feeling lame. I waited for Soren to decide he’d picked the wrong girl to talk to, but he didn’t move – in fact he seemed to be smiling more.

‘And you are English,’ he said, nodding. ‘I thought so. You have that air about you.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘I mean … English girls are always the most interesting.’ Though his expression was assured I thought I saw his face colouring slightly. ‘I am not saying this very well.’ He shook his head. ‘By interesting I mean—’

‘It’s OK. I’ll take that as a compliment.’ I smiled broadly. ‘Really. Interesting is good.’

‘It is!’ He met my smile with real warmth. ‘Clever girl for knowing that.’

I overlooked the somewhat patronising comment. ‘So, art. That’s pretty interesting. Where are you studying?’

‘At the Sorbonne,’ Soren said simply. ‘I am very lucky. I have a great life in Paris. It is a wonderful city.’ He studied my face. ‘Full of creativity … and romance.’ He grinned then, almost bashfully. ‘But I am sometimes lonely. I have had to work hard at my English, and my French’ – he waved a hand theatrically – ‘it is getting there.’

‘It’s very good.’ I found myself feeling shy under his gaze. ‘I’m sure you’ve got lots of friends …’

Soren shrugged. ‘Not so many. I am … what you’d say … a “loner”.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I am not good with the small talk.’

Well, that made two of us.

‘Oh. Yeah.’ I smiled down at my feet. ‘Me neither.’

Heels clambering down the steps disturbed us.

‘There you are.’ Grandma Ellen was a little breathless. She looked curiously at Soren.

‘Granny … this is Soren,’ I said, glancing at him. ‘Soren, this is my grandmother.’ I saw her face turn thoughtful. ‘Did you light a candle?’ I asked her.

My grandmother lowered herself to sit on the step next to me. ‘I did. For your grandfather.’ She turned to look wistfully in front of her. ‘He loved it here.’

I reached out and squeezed her arm. Beside me I felt Soren shift awkwardly.

‘Well, it was great to meet you, Soren,’ I said, turning to him. ‘We’d better be going—’

‘No need to go now,’ Grandma cut in smoothly. ‘Not you at any rate.’ She beamed at Soren. ‘I’m feeling a little tired … and could do with some time alone. Why don’t the two of you stay here and I’ll wander back to the hotel?’

‘I’m sure Soren has better things to do,’ I said, embarrassed.

Soren didn’t hesitate. ‘Nothing better, I assure you.’

I didn’t look at him but I could feel his eyes on me.

‘That’s settled then.’ My grandmother got to her feet. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, darling.’ She nodded at Soren. ‘I’m sure you’ll see Jane back to her hotel, won’t you, dear?’

‘Grandma,’ I said, through faintly gritted teeth, ‘I can find my own way back to the hotel.’

‘Of course.’ Soren rose to stand, took Grandma’s hand and expertly kissed it. ‘It goes without saying.’

Grandma raised an eyebrow, and I could see she was impressed.

‘Wonderful,’ she murmured, kissing me warmly on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, Jane.’

I watched her, sailing down the steps, and smiled in spite of myself. She was matchmaking. She’d totally misconstrued the situation, but her heart was in the right place. A hopeless romantic. She wasn’t to know there was no room for Soren – or any other boy – in my heart. There was only one boy taking up that place.

Luca.

L
uca pressed his soft lips to mine, his arms around me. We lay, basking in pure happiness. It was all going to be OK. I didn’t know how, but I couldn’t imagine that anyone would force us apart. Not now, not after everything.

Luca stroked my cheek. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he said.

‘I’m trying not to think,’ I said. ‘I just want to savour this. I never want us to move from here.’ I looked up at him. ‘Can’t we just stay here?’

He smiled, kissing my nose. ‘I don’t think we can. But we’ll have many moments like this.’

I drew closer in to him, inhaling his familiar smell.

‘Come on.’ Luca gently pulled away. ‘Once I explain to my parents … once they know how much we feel for each other … they will love you as much as I do. He stood and pulled me to my feet. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’ He put one arm around me and we began the journey to his parent’s house.

As we approached, a sudden gust of wind seemed to slice through me. I hesitated, not really knowing why.

‘Jane,’ Luca whispered, his arm tightening around me, ‘we have to do this.’

Inside the house was quiet. Eeerily quiet. Luca felt it too. He frowned.

‘Luca,’ came a strong female voice, ‘where have you been?’

Luca glanced at me. ‘Did Lowe not tell you?’ he asked, cautiously.

‘He told me.’ Her voice was icy.

‘Everything? He told you everything?’ Luca sounded wary.

Lowe,
I thought. I knew it had been too good to be true. That compliant act.

Luca led me through to the kitchen, where Henora sat at the table, her face a picture of hard disapproval.

‘Henora.’ Luca stood proudly in front of his mother, one hand gripping mine. ‘Don’t judge me. I can’t pretend to be someone … the one you want me to be.’ He paused and glanced to me at his side, his grip strengthening further. ‘I love Jane. I don’t want to be punished for loving someone.’ He stopped speaking, a little breathless, and held Henora’s gaze.

I wanted more than anything to run then. Just turn and not have to watch him go through this. When I found the courage to look at Henora, I expected anger, disappointment at least, in her expression. But what I saw now was a calm sort of smile and kindness in her eyes. She sighed.

‘Luca.’ She held out her hand and drew him closer to her. ‘I … I understand. I even have sympathy, believe it or not. But it’s too late.’ And then she looked past him to me, standing quietly in the doorway. ‘It is all decided now.’

Luca’s head jerked. He turned and frowned at me, confused.

‘What do you mean,’ he said slowly, ‘decided?’

Henora sighed again, more deeply. ‘Lila … she is Hanni’s daughter. I have talked of her, remember? From the east?’

Luca shrugged. ‘What—?’ he began.

‘Ulfred and I have been in discussion with Hanni and Elsa,’ she went on, determinedly not making eye contact with her son, ‘about Lila’s future.’

‘Her future,’ Luca murmured. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Hanni is bringing Lila to us in a week, Luca.’ This time Henora stared hard at him, unblinking. ‘To begin preparations for your wedding.’

For a few seconds, a heavy doom-laden silence hung between us all. I could hear Luca breathing deeply in and out in front of me, as though calming himself. After what seemed a lifetime, he spoke.

‘I will not marry Lila,’ he said quietly, but in a voice charged with anger.

‘Oh you will.’ Henora’s tone was imperious and final. ‘You will do exactly as you’re told.’

Behind Luca, I saw my arm reaching out, my fingertips trying to grasp hold of his shirt, fumbling and missing. I felt a ball of pure frustrated misery coming up from my stomach.

‘Luca!’ I wailed, but heard no sound coming from my mouth. I felt him slipping away from me, his whole body tense.

And when he turned to me, all I saw was a kind of deadness in his eyes.

‘It is decided,’ he said bleakly. ‘There is nothing I can do.’

I sat upright in bed, my T-shirt sticking to my back. In front of me, I saw a shaft of dull light through the gap in the curtains. I put my hand to my throat, nausea and pain surfacing.

I concentrated on breathing slowly. Trying to calm down. It was a dream. This time it was only a dream. But the memory of that awful moment made my insides curl up.

I got out of bed and walked robotically to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I pulled the damp T-shirt over my head and studied my flushed, puffy face in the mirror above the sink, my hair messy and tangled, as though I had been thrashing against my pillow all night.

I stood underneath the nearly scalding water until my fingers puckered and my skin began to sting. Finally I stepped out and dried myself, dressed and teased the tangles out of my hair. Glancing at the clock by my bed, I saw it was early. Eight o’clock. Grandma would still be asleep. Tying my hair in a messy bun, I collapsed back on the unmade bed, focussing on the light hanging from the ceiling.

The phone beside my bed rang out. Frowning, I rolled over and picked up the receiver. I hadn’t ordered room service …

‘Hello?’ I said tentatively, my voice hoarse.

‘It is Soren.’ There was a pause. ‘I am sorry it so early to call.’

I sat up. ‘What do you want?’

‘I would like to take you to breakfast,’ he said in his deep, accented voice. ‘On your last day … I thought this would be nice. To say goodbye.’