I’d reconciled my mission while sipping my pink zinfandel and awaiting my meal. After all, I might deliver the weapon to the Hunters, but it could be years, centuries even before they caught the ancient and dispensed with him – they’d been hunting the creature for that long already.
So, really, I’d decided, I wasn’t signing a death warrant for my Nicholas, merely evening out the playing field. Coming to this conclusion had made me feel much more settled on the whole venture.
But for now, just in case things all went awry, I intended to have a wonderful meal in a Michelin starred restaurant. The only problem is, I can’t use my credit cards, too easily traceable. Ever since leaving Rennes I had relied on a wad of cash I’d withdrawn the day before I saved Margarita. Now though, it had dwindled significantly, so much so that I only had enough to get me to Ereston manor and back to London. Which meant, fallback plan, I would have to eat for free, as I once did, in one of the world’s best restaurants.
I smile as my meal arrives. Tonight, I am Lady Harriet, the daughter of an Earl and his wife who are celebrating their anniversary here tonight, according to the newspaper, and I have arrived early from abroad to surprise them. As usual, the staff had not blinked an eye to a well-dressed, well-spoken and confident young woman who seemed to be well-used to fine dining.
It was almost too easy.
If I’m honest, I still feel a naughty and guilty thrill doing this, even though I’ve promised myself it will be the last time – I’d promised that before, though, hadn’t I?
‘Maybe I’m not anything like Granny Nicolette. Maybe I am not good. Or maybe, just a little bit bad.But really,’I frown,‘isn’t everyone? Isn’t it just that there are degrees of bad? If so, I’m nowhere near as bad as a vampire…’
The waiter places the dish before me and pours me another wine, and I put aside my guilty thoughts and almost sigh in contentment as the aroma wafts up to my nostrils. I’d ordered quickly, aiming to eat before the happy couple arrived, and then leave due to an ‘unexpected’ phone call.
I’d already consumed ‘brandade de morue’ for starters, a delicious salt cod brandade, and now I was tucking into ‘gigot d`agneau brais? aux c?pes’ - a braised leg of lamb with mushrooms, served with a glass of red Bordeaux.
For dessert, I am very much looking forward to an old favourite, almond blancmange – after all, a high dairy diet was always a good idea, given what lurked in the dark.
While eating, I pull out my phone and begin to read Nicholas’ latest journal entries. I had saved them until tonight to read; today having been filled with organising travel arrangements, seeing off Margarita and researching my restaurant mark. Now, sighing, I smile as I see his familiar handwriting.
New Entry
I haven’t written for days.Each one seems to blend into the next for me now; all is shallow and pointless.
Last night I dined upon a fashion designer from Kensington, so very prim and proper, such a snob. She approached me at her launch after-party, an invitation the like of which I rarely respond to, but what can I say, I was hungry.
And so was she apparently, for a Lord to act as her patron, no doubt; they are all the same. In many respects, she was exactly like Celeste, my last Kept, so avaricious. How I tire of such women.
I saw her note me from across the room. She almost looked amusingly like a lean and hungry predator herself with her perfect platinum bob and her black fitted pants and off-the-shoulder black silk wrap – a kind of haute couture panther.
But she had no idea who, or what, she was hunting.
I noticed as she got closer that she wore a very delicate long gold chain, and on the end hung a tiny golden feather.
It was more interesting than the sum of her.
“Are you here with your wife?” she asked, artlessly.
I knew, as well as she did, that every invitation to this little party would have been carefully considered and have held an objective. There were royals a-plenty surrounding me, along with social media stars, movie stars, and of course, the landed gentry. Obviously, I was part of the latter, invited purely because I was titled, rich, and single.
Her gauche question almost made me walk away, but it had been close to two weeks since I fed, and I grew weak. If I must leave this country to hunt Elsbeth, I will need all the strength I can muster, and so, feed I must, no matter how unpalatable the dish.
“I’m afraid I’m alone,” I drawled, leaning forward and raising the thin, gold chain she wore with one finger, ostensibly to study the fine golden feather more closely, but allowing me to very lightly, brush against her skin.
“This is lovely,” I murmured, looking up into her eyes.
I heard her heart race, saw her cheeks flush – it was all so easy.
Later, depositing her body in the Thames, I wiped my lips on my handkerchief, pocketed her necklace, and turned my back on her as she floated away in the slow current.
I’m not sure why I took the necklace, I rarely do anything like this. But it was very pretty, and something about it made me want to ensure it didn’t end up on the bottom of the river, along with its former owner or, God forbid, locked away forever in a casket.
I notice the beauty and fragility of many little things now. It saddens me that all must end in loss and decay, and angers me anew over what I have lost.
When I entered my car, I handed the necklace to my driver and told him to post it to the little village hairdresser who had done such a lovely job on my Josephine’s hair. The girl had been quite saddened when she arrived last fortnight to find her client had decamped. She sent her best wishes and said she would miss their chats – she was earnest in her words, and I appreciated that.
I assured her I would let her know when Josephine returned, pain lancing through as I uttered the words. She left looking downhearted – the trinket might help alleviate that.
