CHAPTER 16.
In the early hours of Monday morning, under a light rain, John Harvey walked Victoria to her car.
“It has been a pleasure, lady,” he said as he took her in his arms.
“Indeed, a pleasure,” she replied as she kissed his neck.
“Shall visit you next week.”
“And I shall call you soon, good bye.”
“Good bye.”
She entered her car, waved, then started the engine.
Hidden upon the roof of a house on the other side of the road, Mathew, the man in white, watched her drive away.
Fine, clear notes rang out from the harpsichord which The Count de Saint Germaine played.
He sat with the instrument, propped up with velvet cushions on a heavily padded sofa in a large lounge which was tastefully decorated in the Regency style. The lady with the dark eyes listened adoringly as he played, even though he was far from his usual standard. The bones in his arms were still sore, and his hands were cold and numb and the skin raw, but he still played better than most people could dream of. The scar across his face was a thin, white streak, and his legs were healed enough for him to walk with the aid of a cane.
Mathew walked into the room, bowed politely and stood silently for several minutes until The Count had finished playing.
“Your mission?” The Count asked him lethargically.
“You were correct, my lord,” Mathew said. “The woman in the black dress is his lover. She has left his home now, it seems that she lives far from here.”
“Very well. You must find out all you can of her, especially where she lives.”
“Yes, my lord,” Mathew bowed again and then left the room.
“Play again, my lord,” the girl said. “Play me a song to remind me of Paris.”
Just as Monday’s sun began to rise, Lloyd reached his home. It had been a very long, hard journey, and only one more obstacle lay in his path.
Along with so many other things, he had lost the keys to his house.
He knew that the ground floor windows would be locked, but the windows on the first floor were not. He stretched weary arms, then pulled himself up onto the porch. Then he crawled along the sloping porch roof and rose unsteadily to his feet. There was a large bay window facing him. He tried to pull up the window, but he could not. Cursing, he steadied himself with his left hand, and took out his flick knife with the right. He prised the knife blade under the window, between the bottom of the frame and the ledge. When it was in, he twisted the blade, forcing open a tiny gap. He slipped his left hand fingers into the gap. When he tried to lift the window he lost his balance. He wobbled, but managed to keep his footing. The window slipped down to crush his fingers. He cursed. Then he returned the knife to his pocket, and put both hands under the window. He relieved the weight from his left hand, and was able to lift the window.
After the first inch, the counterweight kicked in, and it opened freely.
He crawled through the window and landed ungracefully on the floor.
In the first piece of convenience which he had experienced in many days, the window had led to his bedroom.
He closed the window, pulled the curtains tightly shut, took off his coat, and went to sleep.
Alice came home from a lecture in the early afternoon on Monday morning. Sam had stayed over the night before, it had been a late night. In the morning she had woken at eight, after only a few hours sleep, and left him snoring in her bed. She was exhausted after university, and intended to go to sleep.
Her flat was unusually tidy when she got home, and she was grateful to Sam for cleaning it. She undressed rapidly, and got into bed. Just before she fell asleep, she noticed a small, solid object amongst the sheets. She reached down and found a mobile phone.
It was not her phone.
She turned it on, and investigated.
On Monday night, The Black Boar was quite busy. Tony and three of his men stood at the bar, five Emo lads stood outside smoking, and the usual Goth couple were sat in their corner. Molly and John worked behind the bar.
“How is Victoria?” Molly asked him during a quiet spell.
“Good.”
“Did you two have a nice weekend?”
“Yes.”
“Are you seeing her soon?”
“Yes.”
“Cagey?”
“Yes.”
“It’s okay, I don’t need to hear all the filthy details, just as long as you two are happy.”
John put down the rag he was using to wipe the bar and smiled at her.
“Things are going really well, Molly, Thanks for asking… Really rather keen on her.”
“Good.”
Just then, Lloyd walked in. He was back in his usual smart attire, had shaved off his beard, and had paid particular attention to his hair and teeth after days of neglect, but his eyes were wild and dark from exhaustion, and he lacked the usual spring to his stride.
Tony’s men edged away to make room for him at the bar, and John stepped over the meet him.
“Evening Lloyd.”
“Evening Harvey,” Lloyd forced a smile, but his voice was dry.
“How was your holiday?”
“There was an excess of hunting… In short: Not very well.”
“That bad?”
“I do not wish to talk about it, old chap. I wish to be in a familiar place, with familiar people, and have a nice drink of strawberry juice.”
“Certainly.”
Lloyd handed over the correct money and then looked around the bar.
“Harvey, could you do me a gigantic favour?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Could you dispose of that bell?” he pointed to the ‘last orders’ bell which hung above the bar.” Yes, that terrible bell there, it must never be rung, it is imperative.”
“As you wish, Lloyd.”
“Thank you.”
Lloyd took his drink with barely steady hands and retired to a quite corner.
A few moment later, the Goth girl went to the bar.
“Pint of snakebite and a pint of stout, please,” she said to John.
“Five pounds please,” he said as he poured the first drink.
“Cheers. Is Lloyd okay?” she asked.
John was surprised that she knew his name, and even more surprised that anyone would enquire about his friend. She could see that on his face.
“He looks upset… We like him,” she explained shyly. “He keeps the Chavs away.”
“He has been very busy,” John said. “He shall be alright.”
Half an hour later, Lloyd returned to be bar.
“Harvey, old chap,” Lloyd said, “I quite forgot to ask you how you are. Forgive me.”
For the second time, John was taken aback.
“Am very well, thank you Lloyd.”
“Have you been up to much in my absence?”
“Been quite busy. Met a lovely young lady called Victoria…”
For a moment Lloyd’s wolfish smile returned to his gaunt face.
“…and The Count de Sainte Germaine tried to steal The Black Boar and kill a few people…”
“That old bastard,” Lloyd snarled. “Why can’t he just die like the rest of us… It seems we have rather a lot to talk about. Would you care to come round after work?”
It had been years since Lloyd had invited John to his home. John was hoping that Victoria might call him, but he did indeed have a lot to talk about with his old friend, and she could always call his mobile phone if she wanted.
“It would be an honour Lloyd. Strawberry juice?”
“Why thank you Harvey.”
Late Tuesday morning.
Tracy had been summoned by Alice for emergence coffee. She had suggested that they meet in Italia, the most fashionable coffee shop in the city, and that was where she now sat waiting. She had not seen Alice for over a week; both had been busy with work, and Alice refused to see her when Andy was around. This annoyed Tracy a little, but she understood how difficult things could be with ex-boyfriends or, in fact, men in general. They were- in Tracy’s opinion- the inferior sex. Andy was beginning to shape up to her expectations, but he still had a lot of work to do. Sam- in Tracy’s opinion- was merely an inferior specimen.
She sipped a cappuccino, and considered finding a newspaper to read whilst she waited.
But then Alice arrived, wearing more makeup than usual and looking close to tears.
Tracy stood to embrace her friend, kissed her on both cheeks, when in Rome, and then sat down with her.
“What is the matter darling?” Tracy asked.
“I have left Sam,” Mary said.
“Why?” Tracy struggled to force back a smile of self satisfaction.
“He was cheating on me… The bastard was sleeping with Loren… The silly bitch left her phone in my bed…”
“Your bed! The bastard. How are you feeling?” Tracy took her friends hand.
“Terrible. At first I was just shocked, then angry. I called Sam straight away, he tried to deny it at first, but I had read the texts he had sent her…The fucking bastard. I feel… betrayed…”
“All men are bastards.”
“All the men we know are bastards.”
Tracy hugged her friend again.
“Fuck them, do you want a cappuccino?” Tracy asked.
“Yes please… and get them to put a flake in it, please.”
“Anything you want, darling.”
Tracy returned a few minutes later with the drink. Alice took a sip from it, then they sat in silence for a while.
“How are the vampires?” Tracy asked, trying to change the topic of conversation.
“I haven’t heard from any of them apart from John, and that was ages ago. Haven’t been bothered with it really. And I’ve been busy, with uni’, and with Sam… Things seemed to be going so well...”
Victoria woke at sunset to the sound of her windup alarm clock, stretched, and got out of bed. She looked adoringly at the lilies on her bedside table, then opened her curtains. The distant, rose red glow of the setting sun against a dark purple sky told her that it was going to be a pleasant night. She hoped to go for a walk later on, but first she had a lot of work to do.
John worked behind the bar with Olly on Tuesday night. When he got home he cooked a steak and sat reading Blake, waiting for Victoria to call. She had not called the night before, and had been glad not to have been interrupted whilst he and Lloyd had caught up, but now he missed her and hoped that she would call.
He had told Lloyd about The Count, and Lloyd had taken it all in his stride. Then he had told him about Victoria, and Lloyd had seemed genuinely pleased for him. He thought that he should tell Victoria that Lloyd was not all that bad, and arrange for them to meet the next time that she was around. Only then had Lloyd told him how a mysterious girl had robbed him and left him stranded in France, John was sure that his friend was withholding a lot of information, but did not press him on it.
It got to an hour before dawn, and still Victoria had not called.
He considered calling her, but remembered how Molly kept telling him not to act too keen, and restrained himself.
The next night he waited for an hour after he had finished work, then called her. There was no reply.
He tried again after an hour, and when there was still no reply he decided that she must be busy. He listened to the radio, but everything on it seemed to annoy him.
The night after that, he tried to call her as soon as he was home from work, and again there was no reply.
He tried again after an hour, then tried again twice. No reply. He knew that she could easily be busy with work or friends, but a nagging instinct would not let him relax. It was foolish, he told himself, he had only spent a few days with her and already he felt like he was in love. He cursed his own obsessive personality. Once he had read an occult hand book on Vampires, it stated several old pieces of folk law, one of which was that if you needed to escape from a vampire you could drop a bag of rice at the vampire’s feet, and the vampire would be compelled to stop and count the grains of rice. The instinct to hunt and the obsession to have and hold and understand went hand in hand.
He did not sleep well that day.
The next night at work passed painfully slowly. One of his favourite local bands was playing, but he could not appreciate it. Molly tried to cheer him up, but it did not work.
It was raining during the walk home, which did not improve his mood. When he stepped through his doorway, intent on calling her immediately, he found out why he had not been able to get in touch with her.
On his door mat laid a battered bunch of blood stained white lilies, held together by a necklace which he knew to belong to her.
Lloyd sat in his favourite chair, it was black and leather covered, listening to Wagner and smoking a cigar. The room was it by a dozen candles, and small fire burnt in the heath, and the rain rattled against the windows.
The nightmare of his trip to France was behind him. He had found a spare key in his house and had that copied. He had ordered a new wallet and replacements for all his cards. He had not ordered a new passport, as he had no intention of leaving the country any time soon. All the clocks and anything else with a bell on it had been removed from the house.
He was glad that John Harvey was well. They had had their differences over the years, but in the end, they would always be friends. The business with the Count had been handled respectably, and he looked forward to meeting Victoria.
He remembered his lady Marion, and reflected that in all the centuries which had passed, he had never quite found a girl to match her. He realised that he had not really tried.
He thought that it might be time to find another women. Maybe one that was not too psychotic. Maybe he could even find a nice, open minded girl, and settle down…
He was disturbed from that pleasant thought by the ringing of his doorbell.
He cautiously opened his door to find John stood out in the rain.
The first thing that he noticed was the bulges under his friend’s jacket where a sword was poorly concealed.
John was soaking wet, his eyes sore and his skin very pale.
“Need your help, Lloyd,” John said.
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