“I liked her,” he sighed, “that is all.”
He really pisses me off sometimes. But I kept my cool and advised him against concerning himself in my affairs.
“Do yourself a favour, Gerald, and don’t become attached to anything I Keep. Find your own and allow yourself to feel for it if you must.”
“I have not had one I truly cared for in centuries,” he said, “but you are right. I do need another. I’ve been looking actually. I’ve joined Tinder – you really should give it a whirl old man, it is like having your meals delivered to you – like online shopping, marvellous.”
“Until the police put together their social media history and realise all these women have something in common - you were the last thing they saw.”
“Not at all,” he chuckled, “I’m not eating them. I’m interviewing them.”
“For God’s sake, what do you mean?”
“I need to find myself a different type; the last one became so tiresome after such a short period of time. This time I’ve decided to head down-market a bit, get a playful one that I can teach to enjoy the finer things in life – find one that will enjoy a short, high life.”
“She will taste appalling. McDonalds and cheap liquor.”
“No. I shall train a new epicurean.”
“That’s the spirit. Have your fun, then get rid of it and get a new one. You know, Gerald, she was quite happy right before I killed her, Celeste, I kept her very contented. And as the bard once wrote:
How oft, when men are at the point of death,
Have they been merry! Which their keepers call
A lightning before death.
Gerald wasn’t in the mood.
“Don’t quote the bard to me, that waste of space, drunkard. You knew him as well as I did. And yes, you kept her happy, but still, Celeste…”
“Goodbye, Gerald.”
“Wait. How long do you intend staying in that godforsaken vault you call a family estate?”
“I usually stay a month. Put up the deceased wife’s portrait, solidify myself as the new Lord of the Manor, go to a few parties, maybe even sit in Parliament if I feel like it, then disappear before the mould and rot set in.”
“I honestly don’t know how you get away with it.”
“Because people are idiots and memories are short.”
He snorted then and hung up – I think that is why I like Gerald, he doesn’t take anything too seriously, including me. But the conversation did get me to thinking that I might have to stay a little longer this time. Although in the past it has been easy to convince the locals that I am the prodigal son returned to claim his heritage, technology is catching up with me. Soon I imagine I will not be able to convince subsequent generations of the truth of the revolving door of dead wives and only sons who look remarkably like their late fathers.
But it has worked so far, hundreds of years, hundreds.
If I’m honest, I grow tired of it too, but this could just be my surroundings already depressing me. Maybe I’m just hungry, perhaps time for a brunette?
I wonder what colour hair the landscape designer will have? She arrives tomorrow night for our first meeting. She comes highly recommended - has a pedigree any show dog would be proud of.
Unfortunately, brunette or no, I won’t be able to sup on her, not if I can help it; she is too well connected, very expensive, and apparently prodigiously talented, and I obviously need a fucking landscape redesigned more than a quick sip at present.
No, there will be no eating the landscape designer.
Perhaps I should introduce her to Gerald.
I close the book and move my laundry from the washing machine to the dryer, shaking my head. This vampire character has a sense of humour; I can’t help but laugh as I read.
But I have to put the book aside now and study. I have a sauce to make this afternoon, and I need to decide whether I will use chicken or fish stock. I’m leaning towards fish, because if I buy a whole fish I can use the fillets to make paupiettes de sole à làneth – and I’ve wanted to try the dill sauce that goes with that for a while.
