by Kirsty Ferry
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I have some business to attend to. I will find a telephone and call my contacts to see what is happening. There were some issues I needed resolving at home.’
Clara nodded. ‘Of course, darling,’ she said. ‘If there are any...issues...I can help you resolve, do let me know.’ She leaned in towards him and whispered in his ear. ‘I do love a good kill.’
‘You are my first recourse to action,’ he whispered back. ‘I will return shortly, I promise.’ She kissed him again and pushed the door open to the boutique, disappearing inside. Guy walked a little way along the road and ducked up a side street in case she came out and looked for him. He had no calls to make, of course, no issues at home to resolve; he just needed an excuse to leave London as soon as possible. Then he would go back to the estate, collect the dagger and travel up north. This way, if it all worked to plan, Sir Guy Montgomery would be the invincible one.
1964
‘Do you wanna know a secret...’ The Beatles thrummed out of the radio and Christine lay back on the grass, taking a long drag from a cigarette.
‘It’s nice here, isn’t it?’ she asked, looking sidelong at the young man lounging beside her. It was his vehicle. One of those VW bus things that were so popular. The van had a sort of bed in it that converted from a seat. The blankets were pretty messed up now, that was why they had come outside into the salty air, catching some welcome daylight before the sun dropped into the North Sea in a great, big fiery orange ball.
‘Yes. It is very nice,’ he agreed. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘I haven’t seen much of the Island today. Would you be so kind as to take me for a tour? Later on, maybe, when it’s darker. And there are fewer people about.’
‘When the tide turns, you mean?’ asked Christine.
‘I mean exactly that. I hear there is a very pleasant Priory here.’
‘Oh, that,’ said Christine, stubbing the cigarette out on the ground next to her. ‘Yes, I suppose. Not much to see though. Just some old ruins.’
‘Sometimes old ruins are very exciting,’ said her companion.
‘Old ruins? You are a bit strange!’ said Christine. ‘The pub is better. I know the barmaid. Not hard – I know bloody everyone on this island,’ she laughed at her own joke. ‘What I mean,’ she continued, rolling onto her side and trailing her forefinger down his chest, ‘is that I can get a bottle of wine from her. Cheap, like. Or maybe two bottles. Or beer. Would you like beer? Then we can take it down the beach and light a fire. Or maybe just take it in your van. We can drink it...and just enjoy ourselves. You know?’ At twenty, Christine was just on the brink of womanhood. She knew she would have to settle down soon. Probably end up marrying one of the fishermen on the island. Probably spend the rest of her days here, raising kids and cooking meals and pandering to tourists. Her mam and dad owned a B&B. She’d probably inherit that. Her older brother had buggered off down south and her little sister was determined to follow him as soon as she finished school. Christine had always been the sensible one; the one they expected to stay here. So this was her little rebellion. Well, one of her little rebellions. She liked the tourists that came to the Island. She always gave them a warm welcome – well, the good looking blokes at least. She looked at the chap she was with tonight. He was something else. Posh, like. Proper posh - like London posh... For Christ’s sake, he called himself Montgomery! How bloody posh was that?
‘Thank you,’ smiled Montgomery. ‘I think I’ll pass on the beer and the wine this time. Not really my thing. But I would love for you to take me to the Priory - only if you want to. I have to leave tomorrow, so if you won’t accompany me, I’m afraid I’ll just have to go myself. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be fine.’
Christine scowled. That was the worst of these tourists, she thought. They never stayed very long. This one was really nice as well. A gentleman. She sighed. The Priory it was, then. If only so she got to spend a wee bit longer with him. She’d get a couple of bottles anyway – bring them to his van with a few sausages and a loaf of her mam’s bread. They could eat and drink later, after the bloody Priory. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll come over later. About nine-ish? I have to help with the dinners, but we’ll be done by then.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s crab again anyway. You’d think they’d get sick of it.’
‘Will the tide have turned by nine?’ Montgomery asked. He rolled onto his side, smiling lazily at her. Christine’s heart did a little flip. Now, how could she resist that smile? His hand caught hers and he lifted it to his mouth. He gave it a little kiss and pulled her towards him. ‘You won’t tell anyone where you’re taking me, will you?’ he asked.
‘God, no!’ stuttered Christine. Her heart was beating crazily. This bloke knew exactly which buttons to press. ‘Whatever you want to do, that’s fine. I’ll do it...whoops,’ she giggled. ‘That sounded bad didn’t it?’
‘Not at all,’ murmured Montgomery, peppering her hand and the inside of her wrist with tiny kisses.
‘Oh Lord!’ said Christine. Her arm was tingling like buggery. It was all she could do not to leap on him there and then; she felt the colour rise in her cheeks.
‘Will you remember me when you leave here?’ breathed Christine. She edged closer to him and got to her knees. She planted herself in front of him and looked down at him.
‘I’m sure I will remember you,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s make sure I do.’ He eased himself up and pulled her to her feet. He stood back to let her in the VW and followed her inside it; then he slid the door to and it closed with a soft click.
***
Christine snuck out of the B&B at quarter to nine. She nipped across the road to the pub and, sure enough, her friend slipped her a couple of bottles of wine.
‘Enjoy yourself,’ winked Ellen. ‘Don’t need me to tell you that, though, do you? If you can’t be good, be careful and all that.’
Christine rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Cheers Ellen. Like you wouldn’t do the same!’ she said.
‘I so would,’ laughed Ellen, ‘if I could get a bloody night off!’
‘I’ll be thinking of you,’ said Christine. She waved the bottles at her friend. ‘While I’m drinking these.’
‘Get out!’ cried Ellen, giving her a gentle push. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Christine laughed and hurried out of the pub, padding down the lane towards the field where Montgomery was. The tide had turned and the Island was cut off from everything now. She could just make out Montgomery’s van, and saw him pacing in front of it. She sped up and ran the last few yards, stumbling on the grassy tussocks in the field. He turned sharply as she approached him and he stood waiting for her.
‘Hello!’ she gasped a little breathlessly. ‘I’ve brought some wine after all. Oh and some sausages. Just thought you might be hungry after the walk...’
The man sighed. ‘I told you not to bother,’ he said. ‘I won’t be having any of it.’
‘Oh,’ Christine said, deflated. ‘I thought...’
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Put them in the van.’ He slid the door open and Christine laid the bottles down next to the packet of sausages just inside the door. She straightened up.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked as he slammed the door shut. The sound echoed around the field.
‘It’s not an issue,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just a little on edge, that’s all. You haven’t told anyone where we are going, have you?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘no, I haven’t.’ She heard him take a deep breath and saw him smile in the dusk.
‘Good. I want this to be special. A private moment for us. After all, it’s possibly our last night together.’
‘Oh don’t!’ she whined. ‘I don’t want to think about tomorrow!’
‘You don’t have to,’ he said. ‘Come with me. Let’s forget our little disagreement and have a nice wander to the Priory.’
Christine relaxed a lit
tle and took the arm he held out to her. He allowed her to lead him towards the Priory.
Once, he asked if they could stay off the main road. ‘I don’t want anyone spoiling our last night,’ he told her. ‘Is it possible to go a different way?’
‘Oh – well, yes. We can take a shortcut, if you like,’ said Christine. It was rather sweet of him to squeeze her hand so tightly and whisper, ‘thank you my darling,’ when they turned off onto a tiny lane. She slowed the pace right down. Maybe he wanted some privacy with her? She felt herself blushing in the cool night air at the thought and was pleased that it was too dark for him to see her properly.
Nevertheless, he laughed softly. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘I can tell you’re blushing.’ He brought his lips close to her cheek and kissed her softly.
‘Oh Lord,’ she muttered. It was all she could do to stop herself dragging him off into the bushes.
He laughed at her again and pulled away. ‘Are we far, my darling?’ he asked.
‘No, it’s just around the corner. See? You can just make out the arch through those trees.’
Montgomery exhaled. ‘At last,’ he said. They rounded the corner and stopped outside the Priory. ‘I’m going in,’ he said, leaving go of her arm. ‘It’s something I just have to do on my own. Please forgive me. I shall collect you in a few moments...’
‘Ah. You’re doing a pilgrimage thing,’ said Christine. She wrinkled her nose up. She was used to tourists coming here and doing that sort of thing. Last year, though, a couple of people had been drowned – stupid people who didn’t take notice of the tide tables. Come to think of it, last year hadn’t been very good at all. Ellen’s brother had headed down south for the work, like Christine’s brother. He’d been nice, had Frank. He’d more or less promised Christine he’d marry her, but he had a new life now and didn’t keep in touch with anybody much.
‘A pilgrimage?’ asked Montgomery, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Well, I suppose you could say that. I shan’t be long.’ He turned to Christine and inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’ He melted away into the Priory ruins and Christine sat down on a rock to wait for him.
***
Christine didn’t know how long she had been there, but she was starting to get pretty cold. She stood up on her tiptoes to see if she could see any movement in the Priory ruins. Ridiculous, really; it was far too dark now to see anything.
‘Sod this,’ she said out loud, and began to pick her way through the fallen stones at the edge of the Priory. It was eerie in the ruins at night. The arch loomed over everything, blacker even than the sky. Christine shivered. ‘Hello?’ she called out. Her voice wavered in the darkness. There was a strange sense of...something...at the Priory. She didn’t quite know what it was. It just felt different. ‘Montgomery?’ she tried. His name sounded odd. She realised it was the first time she had actually used it. It was dead posh and felt wrong somehow. She called again, trying to make her voice stronger. ‘Montgomery? Are you there? I’m sorry – I know you might be pilgrimage-ing or whatever it is, but it’s been ages. You said you wouldn’t be long?’ Nothing. She made her way through the nave to the eastern end and her foot slipped off a paving slab. ‘Ouch!’ she cried. She stood for a moment rubbing her ankle; the silence felt suffocating. ‘Hello?’
Then she saw him. He was hunched up by the wall, sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs and staring at the ground.
‘Thank God! Are you all right?’ she asked, kneeling down. She put her hand on his shoulder and he flinched.
‘Yes. You’re right. Thank God,’ he said. He put his hand up and grabbed Christine’s. She jumped. His grasp was freezing cold and so strong it hurt. ‘Thank God for what He has shown me tonight. I have to change things. I have to make them better. I shouldn’t have done it to her.’ he stared at Christine, as if seeing her properly for the first time. ‘At least I didn’t hurt you. I shouldn’t have done it to her, though, it was wrong. I see that now. She was wild. She’s still wild. God help me. What have I done?’ He took his hand away from hers and covered his face with both hands.
‘Bloody Hell,’ said Christine. She started to rub his back, like she used to do with her little sister when she was upset. ‘Are you OK?’ Her voice tailed off. It felt weird comforting him. She hardly knew him. She took her hand away from his back.
The man moved his hands from his face and stared into the distance. ‘She’s going to come back, you know. I was meant to come here and find this. He’s helped me,’ said Montgomery. Christine thought he meant God had helped him, but then she realised that Montgomery was pointing at something she couldn’t quite see. He seemed to be focussed on a patch of the wall by the piscina; there seemed to be some sort of dark shadow standing there. Christine blinked and whatever it was disappeared.
‘I think we should go,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit strange in here tonight. I don’t like it much.’ She looked over her shoulder, as if she were expecting a procession of monks to walk down the nave. ‘No. I don’t like it. Are you coming?’
The man shook his head. ‘No. Not just yet. I’ll come when I’m ready.’ He picked something off the ground and turned it in his hands. It was difficult to see, but Christine thought it was a small bottle. ‘I have to be careful. I can’t let this break. It will destroy me. I need to keep it safe. I can’t take the chance.’
Oh Lord, it’s the drink! She thought. Her dad had told her about people who couldn’t handle it. They came to the Island and drank the mead and wondered why it sent them crazy. It was powerful stuff, that mead. Montgomery was obviously the same. He’d come here, had a bit too much in the Priory there, and was regretting it. No wonder he hadn’t wanted the wine she’d brought. He must have been trying to stay off it, he’d failed and now he wasn’t making a lot of sense.
‘Um. Well, look, I’ll tell you what,’ said Christine. ‘I’ll head back to your van and wait for you there shall I?’ Then she thought again. If he was as mad as this, what would he be like when he’d had the rest of that mead? People like that couldn’t resist the drink, could they? ‘No. Actually I won’t. I’ll go home, and if you’re still here tomorrow, I’ll come and see you, yes? Let you sleep it off...I mean, let you have some rest.’
‘I intend staying here a while longer,’ said Montgomery. ‘There are a lot of things I need to atone for. I think that is the best solution. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow. Goodbye, Christine. Thank you for bringing me here.’
‘Um– that’s fine. No problem,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘Bye, then.’ She hovered uncertainly for a moment, then realised she wasn’t going to get anything else out of him. She turned and ran back through the nave, back out of the Priory and onto the lane. She looked around her. There was definitely a weird feeling about this place tonight and too many things she didn’t fully understand. She remembered the image of the dark shadow by the piscina and decided to go back home on the road, rather than down the back lanes. She had never felt so pleased to be heading home. Before too long, she could see the lights of the B&B spilling out onto the garden and she began to run towards it. She pushed open the door, and saw one or two people in the communal area, flicking through books, chatting, or cradling cups of tea. Life... lovely, glorious, understandable Island life.
Her mam was in the kitchen and looked up as she came in. ‘Had a good night, love?’ she asked her.
Christine smiled. There was no getting anything past her mam, really. ‘I’ve had better,’ she said, ‘but I’m home. So that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’
‘It is, love, it is,’ smiled her mam. ‘Fancy a cuppa? Kettle’s just boiled.’
***
The next morning, half-reluctantly, Christine wandered down to the fields. She discovered that the field was empty and the grass was flattened and muddy where the VW had been. No other trace of the man remained. She breathed out a little sigh of relief. If she was really, totally honest, she was quite pleased that he had disappeared; and she had no desire to ever meet him again.
Present Day
Guy sat in the lounge at the B&B and picked up the newspaper again. He had created a monster over a century ago, and only since the 1960s had he felt some responsibility for Veva’s actions. So far, he had never managed to predict where she would attack. Her preferred hunting grounds had always appeared to be England, but once he’d started his research, he had a feeling that she must have lived in Paris at some point. He often wondered if it was her, whenever there had been a spate of unexplained deaths or suicides. Veva had been clever, though; from initially attacking groups of people, she had altered her method and now seemed to pick off men, one by one. That was, he had to admit, more calculating and, it had to be said, less suspicious to the outside world. He had sat down recently and worked out a pattern, spreading a map across the floor and plotting what he thought were her movements.
He blamed the ‘sixties' for his guilt. People said if you could remember the sixties, you weren’t there. He had been there. He remembered everything. He remembered this island and the girl he had met here. She would never know how lucky she had been. Guy remembered the Priory and the feeling that had swept through his body like a physical pain as he recalled his past life. It was a legend in his society that the Holy Water was there. He already had the dagger, and he had decided, all those years ago, to find the water. It made sense, he told himself, to destroy them both. Then his kind would be safe and he would become the legend. But he had never imagined how this place would make him feel. He had left his estate, and disappeared, buying a VW bus and keeping moving until the likes of Clara stopped looking for him. He had, as they say, re-invented himself.
Guy regretted many things; but he especially regretted Veva. He had never changed anyone since and despite what he was, he couldn’t risk a creature like that walking the earth again and much of it was born of a fear that he would be annihilated by something of his own creation. He had watched the statistics crop up in little clusters, moving north from London and heading towards the coast. He had a feeling that she was around here somewhere. These recent drownings off the coast of Lindisfarne were too neat. She had perhaps found a perfect way to cover her tracks – people came here to escape from real life, maybe even just as tourists, like that backpacker who had died recently. So Guy had taken a room on the Island, specifically looking for a Bed and Breakfast that might be owned by the girl who had taken him to the Priory over forty years ago. He wanted to repay her somehow. It had shocked him to see her now – in his mind, she would always be twenty. But she seemed happy and he was glad. He could never quite get used to how people aged. That was something he did not have to concern himself with. And he knew Veva would still be young and beautiful and very, very dangerous.
