Really, the journals were love letters; true and detailed accounts of everything he thought and did, and all for a woman who would never read them.
I’d read them though, two at least, a cook from the US who had never received a love letter in her life – but apparently, I was going to pay the ultimate price for doing so.
“Your husband is a prick now,” I murmur to Constance’s silent gravestone, “and that is all that matters.”
Turning, I head along the path through the forest that will lead me out of the grand estate and back to Ereston village, where Daniel said he would meet me and give me a lift to London. I deliberately ignore the gargoyles over the gateway, and the ominous prediction carved beneath them.
7
“So you plan to stay in London for a while before heading back to the States?” he shouts to me, the wind blowing his hair around his face as we roar along the road from Ereston to London with the top down on his small, dark green convertible. A 1967 Ferrari he tells me, a classic, but a car is a car as far as I’m concerned.
“No,” I shout back, trying to catch my locks as they whip my face, stinging painfully; reminding me I need to find a hairdresser the moment I settle, “I’m going to Paris.”
“Well, why didn’t you say?” Daniel laughs, “I’m heading that way myself to progress some business for Father, I can take you all the way if you like.”
“Really?” I smile in genuine relief and thanks, “that would be fantastic.”
“Where are you staying?” he smiles back, taking his eyes off the road briefly to meet mine, “we could go out to dinner tonight to celebrate our escape from that dreary house and its droll butler.”
I giggle and shake my head.
“I’m so sorry you got caught up in that,” I smirk as I continue shaking my head, staring at the road ahead, “if you had listened to me and not followed me into the library ...”
“What, and miss out on all that danger and intrigue?” he snorts, “not bloody likely. Most fun I’ve had in ages, being hauled up by that silly old man and outed for a trespasser – he’s probably waited his whole life to catch someone doing just that.”
“Probably,” I muse, my light-hearted feeling rapidly disintegrating.
‘Because who else would be stupid enough to trespass in a vampire’s lair? Perhaps I shouldn’t spend too much time with Daniel. I wouldn’t want him to wind up like Blake.’
“Ah, I don’t know about dinner,” I turn to him now, frowning, “I need to save my pennies and find a job. I want to stay for a while and look around France while I can.” I don’t add, ‘while I’m still breathing.’
“Well, alright then,” he nods, still smiling, “but I wasn’t going to have you pay for your meal, you strange American woman. When an English gentleman invites a lady to dinner, he pays. And you haven’t answered my question, do you have somewhere to stay?”
I smile and shake my head.
“I was going to look for a youth hostel when we get there.”
“Absolutely not,” he laughs, “no one who has been a partner in crime with Daniel Parker Esquire can stay in a crummy youth hostel. My family has an apartment there, empty and on the market for far too long, that’s actually why I’m heading over, to give the auction house a gee-up. You would be most welcome, very welcome indeed, to stay there as long as you like.”
I shake my head in wonder at the way rich people think.
“Daniel, I couldn’t possibly,” I start.
“Look, I’ll only be there the one night,” he turns to me and laughs, “and there are four bedrooms. I’m not planning on attempting to seduce you or anything – unless you’d like me to try and seduce you?” he adds, winking.
I burst out laughing.
“No. Thank you for the kind offer, Sir, but I’ve just come out of a bad break-up, I have no plans to be seduced.”
As I say this, I think about Blake. I guess you could call it a bad break up when your ex is broken into pieces and scattered around your apartment.
“Good,” Daniel snorts, “because I’m not very good at it.”
We both burst out laughing.
It’s only a few minutes later that we enter the next small village and pull up to get fuel. As we stop I point out the private train line and bemoan the fact it is not available to the public.
“Maybe we should be thankful it isn’t,” he laughs, “it runs directly to Ereston Estate. There are many rumours surrounding that line. Some say the early Lord Montague put it in so people wouldn’t know who visited the estateand never returned,” he adds the last in a creepy vaudeville voice. “Townsfolk used to say they saw faces out the windows of the inbound trains, but never saw a face on the outbound line. Probably all superstitious bunkum, but I know people even to this day who wouldn’t accept an invitation aboard that line for all the tea in China.”
