His Vampyrrhic Bride (16 page)

Tom had dressed before Nicola had come into the room. A glance in the mirror revealed that the swelling had gone from his face, though his jaw still had an interesting mottle of yellow and green bruising. As Nicola headed to the door, he called to her.

‘Nicola?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thanks for looking after me.’

‘I wanted to help.’

‘That first night after I was attacked, you slept on the bed with me?’

‘Fully clothed.’ She smiled. ‘I couldn’t leave you alone after what happened. You were covered in blood. I was scared to death that you were seriously hurt.’

‘Did I say anything . . . you know . . . when I was knocked stupid?’ He was referring to the promise he’d made to marry her.

She laughed. ‘You told me a monster had rushed out of the woods to get those guys.’

‘I was convinced it was Helsvir. It looked just like the carvings at your cottage.’

‘Helsvir only exists in my mother’s head.’ Nicola’s smile vanished. ‘I wish she wasn’t so obsessed.’

‘She wants to protect you from the outside world.’

‘But I don’t need protecting. I’m an adult. I want to go out there and see what the world’s got to offer me.’

‘Come with me to Greece.’

‘What? Me work at a diving school? I don’t know one end of a snorkel from the other.’

‘I’ll teach you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I mean it. Come with me to Greece.’

Her eyes told him that she suspected he’d start laughing and admit the invitation was a joke and never in a million years would he
really
want her to go with him.
She expects me to hurt her.
The realization shocked Tom.
She’s so used to people lying to her, or even openly insulting her, that she daren’t believe for even a second that I genuinely like her.

He rose to the challenge. He’d prove his feelings towards her were genuine. ‘Nicola?’

‘What?’ She seemed wary of what he’d say next.

‘Would you like to spend the day here?’

‘Doing what?’

‘Just being together.’

She nodded at the bed. ‘You mean in there? With you?

He shook his head. ‘I was thinking of having a barbecue.’

‘I don’t know . . .’

‘Call it a thank you for looking after me.’

‘You stopped those men hurting me,’ she said.

‘Hardly. The moment I staggered out of the house I fell over.’

‘Right.’ She grinned. ‘Helsvir saved the day. Guardian beastie of the Bekk family.’

‘When I hallucinate, I hallucinate big time.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘So shall I start on the steak marinade?’

‘What about breakfast?’

He laughed. ‘I still want breakfast. I’m keen to try that home-cured bacon.’

‘Breakfast then a barbecue?’ The smile had fully returned. ‘You really are a glutton.’

He did a Tarzan style beat of his chest. ‘Fuel me up! I feel a party coming on!’

T
hey had an unspoken agreement: neither of them would mention the incident two nights ago when Tom was attacked by the four Neanderthals from the village. The sun shone down on Mull-Rigg Hall. Skies were blue. They were enjoying each other’s company too much to spoil the mood by dwelling on that ugly outbreak of violence.

Tom had eaten a large breakfast of home-cured bacon. Mrs Bekk might be eccentric (even the south-side of batty); her bacon, however, was amazingly good.

‘Most bacon I buy just ends up oozing water when it’s fried,’ he told her as they cleared away the breakfast plates. ‘Your mother’s bacon sizzles like bacon should sizzle.’

‘Are you sure you can eat steaks?’ Nicola shared his cheerful spirits. ‘That breakfast you put away was colossal.’

‘Of course I can. Besides, it’ll be hours before the steaks have soaked up the wine and all that herb stuff.’

As he brewed up more coffee she lightly rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m going to paddle in your pool again.’

‘You go paddle the life out of the thing. Enjoy yourself.’ He grinned. ‘Party time!’

‘Thank you, Tom, I’m really loving this.’

‘We’re going to enjoy today like it’s the last day of our lives.’

‘That sounds grim. The last day of our lives?’

‘Ah . . . I know a diver who’s had one near-death experience too many.’

‘Scuba-diving sounds dangerous.’

‘It’s not, as long as you don’t get careless. Anyway, whenever we went for a night out with this guy, Dave Grice was his name, he’d be enjoying himself, laughing, having a brilliant time, then suddenly Dave’d shake his head like this.’ Adopting a mournful, hangdog expression, Tom sadly shook his head in imitation of the fatalistic diver. ‘Then he’d always say these words:
it’s like I’m being given one last good time before I die. One last party spree before they nail down my coffin lid.
’

‘My God.’ She laughed with a quirky mixture of shyness and glee that appealed to Tom. He liked it when she did that. Pretty – amazingly pretty. ‘What a mournful thing to say! Is he still working as a diver?’

Tom sighed. ‘I find it hard to put into words what happened to Dave Grice.’

‘What
did
happen?’

‘Well, we were diving on a wreck . . . when all of a sudden Dave screamed out that his air valve was stuck. But that’s not the worst part . . . I still can’t believe what I saw next.’

‘He wasn’t hurt?’

‘Hurt? No, far worse. The aqualung valve stuck open, and air kept gushing into his mouthpiece, he couldn’t shut it off. I watched as he . . . No, it’s too terrible to describe.’

‘Oh . . .’

‘But as I’ve started telling you, I’ll finish.’

‘You don’t have to, Tom.’

‘Poor Dave. Anyway, the valve stuck open. The air from the aqualung kept gushing into his lungs. Of course, he got bigger and bigger until something went pop and . . .’ Tom made a colossal farting sound with his lips while pretending to watch an object zipping crazily round the kitchen.

‘Tom Westonby!’ she squealed. ‘You pig. You had me believing you!’

He doubled up with laughter.

Nicola splashed water at him from the sink. ‘You’ll suffer for that,’ she cried, laughing all the time.

‘You’ll suffer right back.’ He scooped up a cup full of dishwater.

She fled shrieking from the house. Her blonde hair fluttered in the warm summer breeze. He loved to hear her laughter. This was fun – sheer, carefree fun.

Nicola darted for the pond, flicking off her sandals, before wading out until almost knee deep. There in the crystal-clear pool she kicked her feet. Drops of spring water glittered like crystals in the sunlight. He didn’t avoid the spray.

In fact, he advanced right into the deluge, laughing all the time. This was glorious. He loved the drenching she gave him. What better way to get joyously soaked.

She stopped kicking and stood there panting. ‘You didn’t tell me what happened to Dave Grice.’

‘Oh, he’s still out there somewhere, making a living as a pro diver.’

‘Idiot.’ Playfully, she kicked more droplets over Tom. ‘You really had me believing that he’d blown up like a balloon. I’d decided to persuade you to get a job in an office where you’d be safe.’

‘An office? I’m not going into an office without a fight. I’ll be a diver until they stick me in the ground.’

‘I can believe it.’ She gave him a knowing smile. ‘You always get what you want, don’t you?’

‘I do. I most definitely do.’

T
om asked himself:
did I get my own way? Or did Nicola get hers?

Both of them were dripping wet in the garden when she kissed him on the mouth. That particular type of kiss: one that’s deep, hungry; almost a feeding movement of the mouth; one with pressure. Urgency. Need. Tom was no innocent boy. He knew what that kind of kiss signposted.

He lightly slid his fingers into the blonde hair that had been transformed into soft ringlets by the spring water. Her face was so close that he saw her smooth skin in close-up. A tiny freckle, then a glint of pale blue eye, the flash of white teeth as she broke the kiss for a moment so she could gently press the side of her face against the side of his.

‘I think it’s time that you should . . .’ She kissed him again. ‘That we should . . . OK?’

Communication had moved beyond the realm of verbal language. He understood what the kisses, gestures and those few wonderfully precious words of hers meant.

From the garden to the bedroom took no time at all. There they undressed each other.

The soft curves of her naked body made his heart pound. The excitement electrified him. Yet he didn’t rush. A full summer’s day stretched ahead in all its glory, all its warmth, all its promise of wonderful love-making.

He gently stroked her breasts and was astonished by the darkness of her nipples. He noticed a small pink scar on her forearm – an old wound inflicted by a sadistic bully from Danby-Mask? When he lightly touched the scar she took his hand and guided it downwards over the smooth skin of her stomach.

She whispered, ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’

‘The scar?’

‘That’s nothing. It’s in the past. I want you to enjoy being here with me now.’

Nicola rested her head back on the pillow. She smiled up at him. This time she waited for him to make the next significant move. As he embraced her she sighed with pleasure. If there ever was a time to preserve a sensation of physical pleasure forever this was it. Tom Westonby felt as if he’d stolen a piece of heaven all for himself.

Tom Westonby couldn’t remember having such a wonderful day equal to this one. The barbecue was perfect. The steaks sizzled to perfection. Salad added a refreshingly crisp accompaniment. He didn’t even feel the bruises on his face, or the V-cut on his lip. The attack on him by the four thugs didn’t feature at all in the conversations, or even in his own memory.

What made the day so wonderful was Nicola Bekk. Lovely, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Nicola Bekk. They’d spent the morning laughing and splashing about in the clear spring-water pond; it had more than a passing resemblance to chilled white wine.

Then, oh glory of glories, they’d spent the afternoon in bed. He couldn’t erase those images of her naked body from his mind – not that he’d want to – or those warm sensations of physical intimacy. The feel of her smooth skin, the silken parts that he loved to caress softly.

That evening, when they’d left the bedroom, they’d glided about the house as if they were floating on air. After the meal, they arranged comfortably padded loungers side-by-side beneath the apple trees and lazed an hour or so away. The sun shone through the branches. Birds wheeled round and around in a blue sky. Honeybees hummed gently and soothingly amongst sprays of bright yellow flowers.

This isn’t a bad way to spend a day
, Tom told himself.
In fact, it’s a brilliant way to spend a day. Great food, great weather, great company. Fantastic love-making.

Casually, he rolled his head to one side as he reclined there. Nicola lay with her eyes lightly closed. He found himself examining the profile of her face. When a red ladybird landed on a strand of hair he carefully removed the insect without her even noticing. Gently, he opened his hand, allowing the ladybird to fly away.
Nothing must break this magic spell of happiness.

Later in the evening they returned the barbecue to the garage, where Nicola noticed a large box full of certificates and framed photos.

‘You might want to move this box,’ she told Tom. ‘Rainwater’s leaked under the garage door; the cardboard’s wet.’

‘Ah, my parents’ Modesty Box.’

‘Pardon?’

He pulled out a framed photograph. ‘These were given to my parents as thank yous from people in Africa.’

‘When they worked for the water charity?’

‘That’s right. They dug wells and piped in clean, bug-free water.’

‘These are amazing.’ She picked out an inscribed parchment from a grateful tribal leader. ‘Why don’t they keep them in the house?’

He shook his head. ‘This is the Modesty Box. That’s what I call it, anyway. They won’t even put these photographs on the walls.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because it would be showing off. Dad doesn’t like any fuss about the fantastic stuff he does.’

‘I like the sound of him. He’s a good man.’

‘He is.’

‘So learn to be proud of him.’

‘I am proud. It’s just sometimes I wish he’d boast about what he and my mother have done. They’ve dug two hundred wells in Africa. They’ve replaced dirty, baby-killing scum with clean, life-saving water. They saved thousands of lives. That’s a brilliant achievement. It’s amazing. And here’s evidence of all that brilliant work in a box, dumped in some grubby corner of a garage.’

‘Tom, I don’t understand why your father’s modesty makes you so angry.’

‘He doesn’t brag like some guys I meet, who boast about any bit of crap that they’ve achieved, like winning three games of pool in a row, or brown-nosing their boss into giving them a two-bit nameplate for their desk. Get this: my father saves entire townships and he’d prefer not to even mention it. He’s awarded medals and certificates from presidents and kings, and he rams them away into this box like they’re a guilty secret.’

‘Try and understand him, then.’

‘I do try, but I can’t find the motor inside his head that drives him.’

‘You’re just like your father.’ Her blue eyes held his. ‘But instead of saving people in Africa you’ve a compulsion to save me.’

Tom couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d slapped him. ‘I
love
you, Nicola. I’m not trying to prove to my dad, or to myself, that I’m better at rescuing people than he is.’

‘Then slacken down.’ She smiled to defuse the tension. ‘Let’s not spoil the best day of my life.’

‘You can’t say that – it’s my line. I was thinking this is the best day of
my
life.’

‘Come on, there’s strawberries in the fridge. We’ll finish those off.’

‘OK – but “slacken down”?’ He grinned. ‘Where do you get these phrases?’

‘Ah, that’s local lingo. Slacken down. Meaning relax, don’t blow a wire.’

‘Then I’ll slacken down.’ He moved the treasure chest of photographs and prestigious awards on to a shelf where they’d be safe from the damp. ‘Maybe Dad will even let me put some of these in the house – unobtrusively, of course.’