No Such Thing As Immortality

by Sarah Tranter

  ‘I am honoured, Rowan. Thank you.’

  ‘So what do you do in your free time?’ she asked, choosing to lighten the subject matter.

  I shook my head. ‘I want to know more about you.’

  ‘Nate, I know nothing about you! I didn’t even know about your company. You know so much about me, have met most of my family … and will meet the rest of them tomorrow. May I remind you, you’ve also had the benefit of the Clare factor!’ She wrinkled her nose.

  I laughed. That was true. Any conversation with Clare always proved informative. I nodded my head in agreement and chuckled. ‘You win.’

  ‘So – go on then …’ she coaxed.

  ‘Well, I have a new project now …’ I smiled and looked at her, in a way that could leave her in no shadow of a doubt as to what I was referring. She blushed self-consciously, but nevertheless looked pleased with herself.

  ‘What else? You can’t dodge the question. If you aren’t careful, I’ll push for truth or dare …’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t think either of us would like that one … so, on that note, I will answer your question. I obviously have my business affairs, but …’ Why not? ‘I like flying.’ I grinned.

  ‘Wow! Did you take lessons?’ She seemed really impressed.

  ‘Mmmm.’ I nodded. James had shown me a trick or two.

  ‘That’s so brave of you. I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m terrified of heights, nearly as much as I’m terrified of horses. Living on the second floor was not out of choice.’

  So the only woman I had ever fallen in love with – had I just thought that? – was not only mortal, subconsciously torturing me and vegetarian – but also didn’t like heights or horses – whilst flying was my preferred method of locomotion, and riding one of my greatest pleasures!

  ‘Why are you terrified of horses?’ I asked bemused. ‘I have never heard of that before. Heights, I can possibly understand … but horses?’

  ‘I don’t know. They’re just so big … and their teeth …’ She shuddered and I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘All my friends as children dreamt of having a pony. It just never remotely appealed. They scare me. You aren’t getting out of my questions by distracting me. Proceed – please. What else do you enjoy?’

  I paused and then chuckled. ‘I ride!’ We laughed together. ‘It is something I love and …’ more intently, ‘… perhaps one day, I can change your mind about horses?’

  She shook her head and said emphatically, ‘Never.’

  Well there was a challenge. If only I got the opportunity to introduce her to Bess. ‘I also love books. I have an extensive library and read a lot.’

  ‘Oh, so do I – read a lot, that is! I don’t have the extensive library!’

  I wondered if Rowan would like my library, my favourite room at Ridings. I was aware we could probably talk for days on books, so found myself asking, ‘Can we keep the conversation about books, until I have some answers from you, please?’ She smiled and nodded. I recalled her statement as to what her friends had dreamt of. ‘So what did you dream of as a child?’

  ‘That’s easy!’ she said, although I felt her anguish. ‘Firstly, I’d dream that my mum and dad were still alive – don’t look so sad, please. And secondly … I dreamt of having a Barbie doll!’ I must have looked puzzled. ‘Did you never have Action Man, Nate?’ I was even more puzzled. ‘Jeez! What sort of childhood did you have?’

  There was no way I was going to answer that one and she was not getting away with an incomplete answer. ‘Why a Barbie doll?’ I asked, fascinated.

  ‘Because I never had one! I had these stupid little Pippa doll things …’ Her face screwed up into the most wonderful expression and she was using her hands to aid her description of something she was clearly disgusted with. ‘Smaller and cheaper versions of the Barbie doll. So it was something I always wanted. Shows how shallow a child can be!’

  I smiled. ‘So what does Rowan, the woman, dream of?’

  She paused and blushed and wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her pause continued for a long time. ‘I probably dream of the impossible,’ she mused, now looking at me meaningfully. Could she really be dreaming of me? ‘Isn’t that what a dream is? Dreams simply don’t come true … that’s what makes it a dream,’ she continued quietly.

  ‘But you can hope!’ I said, with anguish.

  ‘Oh yeah … I can hope,’ she said, meeting my eyes.

  There was a long pause before I felt able to speak. ‘I thought you may have dreamt of a cottage, with roses by the door and two point four children.’ According to Elizabeth that’s what most human women want.

  ‘I used to … with a stream at the bottom of the garden and a bluebell wood.’ She smiled wryly. ‘All that tree-hugging as a kid.’

  I smiled. But she was right about dreams. So often they were unachievable, otherwise they wouldn’t be dreams. My dream was as impossible as hers.

  On cue she asked, ‘What do you dream of?’

  ‘I do not dream,’ I replied honestly.

  ‘Oh, come on – you must dream of something,’ she insisted.

  ‘Not when I sleep. But when awake … I, too, dream the impossible.’ I smiled sadly at her.

  ‘We make a right pair, don’t we?’ She giggled. But the amusement was not there in her eyes, or in her soul.

  We then spent the rest of the performance talking about books. And there was the woman I had always sought. Intelligent, well-read, witty, and most certainly with a mind of her own. Yet to be honest, I would not have cared had Rowan been illiterate.

  As the curtain came down on the performance, I realised my little sister might be right. Could I be obsessively in love? I doubted, however, there were any words within any of the human languages of the world that could possibly describe the depths I felt for Rowan Locke …

  Chapter Eleven

  Dinner Time

  Dinner at The Ivy followed the performance; Elizabeth’s idea. It was deemed by Rowan to be even more excessive than the box and the champagne – but she was both excited and amazed we had managed to get a table. Elizabeth obviously had her contacts … although I had my suspicions that the charm had come into play.

  As we were led to our table, Rowan whispered to me, ‘I should be people-spotting, but can’t believe I’ve just been to Mama Mia!, in probably the best seats in the house, and didn’t watch it! I’ve a feeling I’ll be missing things.’

  ‘I am so sorry, Rowan. I will try not to be so intense and let you enjoy the experience.’ How could I have been so selfish?

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ she hissed, fixing me with a warning look. ‘You’re the experience, and you win hands down!’

  She quickly looked away, moaned quietly to herself, and I heard her mutter under her breath, ‘Just shut up, Rowan.’

  I smiled happily to myself.

  When we had been shown to our table, I took over from the maître d’, leading Rowan towards the seat that allowed her to see the whole room. I was going to try to be on my best behaviour and not demand her attention so completely.

  ‘I’m not sure I feel like eating.’ Rowan sighed, voicing my sentiments exactly. Her eyes were sparkling, and I suspected the bubbles from the champagne had gone to her head.

  ‘You really should, if only to absorb the champagne from earlier,’ I said mischievously.

  ‘You encouraged me to drink so much!’ She glowered.

  I smiled and nodded. I had, hadn’t I? ‘You should eat. You need to keep your strength up.’

  ‘Believe me, the last thing my body needs right now, is food!’ She immediately blushed a rich, deep, enticing blood-red, and put her hand over her mouth. She looked mortified. ‘I can’t believe I just said that!’ she squeaked. ‘I really didn’t mean to say that. I meant— Oh God, I don’t know what I meant. Around you I— Yes, I do! Of course I know what I meant. I shouldn’t eat more food because … Oh God! I’m so sorry!’

  I started to laugh. I had to rein myself in, because I wanted to laugh freely,
which I simply couldn’t do; not even alone with Rowan, let alone in a crowded restaurant. It would be like having a flashing beacon over my head, announcing a supernatural, inhuman presence.

  Rowan was too honest for her own good, and I knew, at that moment, she wanted me. It felt good; in the safety of the crowded restaurant, it felt good. I wanted her to want me, as I wanted her. It was an amazing sensation.

  ‘Shall I get you more champagne?’ I chuckled, reaching for the wine list. This could be particularly enjoyable, and prove a distraction to my not clearing my plate.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ she warned, with both her words and the look in her eyes. ‘I’m going to order some food before I make an even bigger fool of myself.’

  ‘You are not making a fool of yourself – you are a joy!’ I was getting intense again and our eyes met.

  I wasn’t sure how long the waiter stood by our table before I became aware of his presence. How could my enhanced senses be so completely, so exclusively, absorbed with this woman?

  Rowan placed her order: the goat’s cheese salad with a side portion of mashed potato. Elizabeth had advised I ask about the special of the day. On hearing it was black pudding, I made my selection, too. I would be having words with Elizabeth. After playfully checking Rowan didn’t want more champagne, I ordered a bottle of mineral water.

  ‘I am sorry about my order,’ I muttered, after the waiter had left us.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said casually. ‘I really don’t have an issue about what everyone else eats.’ Furnishing me with a grin, she added, ‘Although black pudding never quite did it for me.’ Widening her grin and her eyes sparkling, she exclaimed, ‘Let’s play favourites!’

  Favourites?

  ‘I’ll go first!’ she declared, ‘What’s your favourite smell?’ I was confused. ‘Come on, Nate. Mine is bacon sandwiches. I know I’m vegetarian, but there you go. What’s yours?’

  I started to laugh again. She was a complete dichotomy and she thought she couldn’t predict me? ‘Your favourite smell is bacon sandwiches?’ I repeated, incredulously.

  Laughing, too – such a wondrous sound – she shrugged. ‘I can’t help it – now your turn!’

  Still chuckling, I thought of my favourite smell. It was her … the blood racing through her limbs. I took a deep breath and could almost detect the alcohol in her bloodstream. Her life-force was sweet, sensual, intoxicating. Not a good place to go – not good at all – but what a question to ask a bloody vampire?

  ‘You.’

  She sighed, exasperated. ‘Nate – that’s such a cop out! You need to play this honestly. I want to find out more about you.’

  ‘We agreed to be honest and I am being honest. My favourite smell is you. Now, how about this one? Your favourite food – evidently it is not bacon sandwiches?’

  ‘Nope. But that’s a hard one. I like my food, you see.’ She smiled ruefully. I shook my head. ‘Um, savoury or sweet?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Okay … They are both comfort foods. Savoury would have to be mashed potato, which I of course ordered tonight. Sweet would have to be hot chocolate fudge cake with good vanilla ice-cream! See – I truly am a pig!’

  I shook my head and leant forward as far as the table allowed. Capturing her eyes with mine, I fixed my gaze. I spoke with a depth I felt unable to contain, ‘One day, Rowan, I am determined you will see yourself as you are. You are the most beautiful, enchanting creature I have ever come across … and I have had more opportunities than most to encounter people over the years.’

  She laughed shakily. ‘If you don’t stop talking like that, I’m going to have to force myself on you!’ She flushed deeply, immediately the words were out of her mouth, and lowered her head to her hands, whilst shaking her head.

  ‘And you think you would need to force yourself on me?’ I asked in disbelief, before coming rather more to my senses, and saying rapidly and awkwardly, ‘But this is a first date and … and it is not really …’ I let my voice trail off and attempted to ignore the smile that had appeared on Rowan’s face, although her present unhealthy sentiments were not quite so easy to ignore. What the hell did I just say?

  I was coming fast to the conclusion that this was punishment. That my falling in love with this girl, whom I would never be able to secure, was part of some bigger plan. I didn’t believe in a god. Not any more. But if there was heaven and hell, I knew exactly where a monster would go, and exactly where Rowan would go.

  ‘Your favourite period in history,’ I clumsily threw into the equation, desperate to move matters on.

  Now grinning, Rowan shook her head. ‘You are such a cheat, Nate. You don’t get to ask a question until you’ve told me your favourite food.’

  I didn’t like this game. I didn’t like this game at all. In fact—

  ‘I can see you’re struggling to answer that one, just like me!’ she declared.

  Not quite. And I refused to ever allow myself to consider Rowan as food – not only for the purposes of answering the question. But she still wasn’t going to like my answer.

  ‘Black pudding,’ I finally said. And it truly was the most palatable answer I could come up with.

  ‘Honestly? Wow … then you were really lucky it was on the menu.’

  Mmmm. ‘Are you going to answer my question now?’ It was rather necessary to move matters on.

  Our food arrived and I watched Rowan scoop a forkful of mashed potato up and then grin at me. ‘My favourite period in history? That so has to be Georgian. I love the elegance of the time. That whole Georgian/Regency period is so appealing. Have you ever been to Bath?’

  I inclined my head. Indeed, I had been in Bath regularly during the very period of history that was her favourite, and still kept a town house there on Queen Square.

  ‘It’s probably due to Jane Austen, I’m afraid – Pride and Prejudice is my favourite book.’

  Yes, Elizabeth had known what she was talking about. I was going to have to speak to her more on the subject of human women.

  ‘I just feel connected to the period somehow. I love the architecture and when I go to Bath, I just imagine I’ve gone back in time. I love it!’

  I imagined how I would have loved walking through Bath with Rowan on my arm. Perhaps she was of the wrong time, not I? If I had met Rowan in Bath when still human, would we have had the life together that was going to be denied us now? I had my prejudices then, but somehow I failed to see how Rowan would not have smashed them to pieces instantaneously.

  ‘It is my favourite architectural period, too,’ I said quietly, thinking of my town house and Ridings – which had been so extensively modernised in the Georgian period. She would like it, I was sure. But I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on that thought. On any of these thoughts. Not if I was going to keep my sanity. ‘Your favourite artist?’

  ‘God – you are such a cheat!’ Indicating she needed to fully finish what was in her mouth before she could answer properly, I decided to brave my own plate of food. As with anything other than warm, liquid blood, it would be completely tasteless and unpleasantly dry to my palate and not remotely enjoyable, but I would go through the motions. I tentatively placed some black pudding on my fork.

  ‘But that one is so easy, I’ll humour you,’ she declared, on swallowing her food. ‘Vincent van Gogh. It’s Starry Night that does it I’m afraid.’

  I promptly dropped my fork with a loud clatter. So much for not drawing attention to my efforts at food consumption. Well, there was no doubt she could see I was shocked.

  ‘I’ve surprised you? I can’t see why. I studied van Gogh for my A-levels and tried to get into his mind for a while, which was a bit scary. But Starry Night? It is such an amazing painting! Somehow he manages to express how vast the universe is, how there must be so much more out there we don’t know about. And he captures the magic of the night, drawing you into it – listen to me here. You can tell how much I love it, can’t you? I love the night, too, so perhaps that’s why it
appeals to me so much. And the moon. He has a gorgeous crescent moon – but I do love the full moon. You know when it’s really low in the sky and almost unbelievably larger than it should be? I remember seeing that first with my dad and it felt so magical. I’ve loved it ever since.’

  I swallowed hard, unable to quite believe what Rowan had proceeded to say. My Starry Night featured a full moon. And she loved the night, too? Up until meeting Rowan, nothing compared to the full moon over the lake at Ridings.

  ‘I’m sorry – I don’t half harp on sometimes. Especially around you. Talking with you is so easy. Whose yours?’

  After a long pause, during which I sat back in my chair, wiped my now food-splattered shirt with my napkin and shook my head a couple of times, I looked up, raised my eyebrows and replied, ‘Can you not guess?’

  She beamed. ‘See … I might be scared of heights, hate horses and not eat black pudding – but we do have something in common!’

  ‘Have you ever seen … any of his night scenes?’ I asked, quietly.

  ‘No! Not in the flesh – but I’d love to one day. Have you? I bet you have.’

  I nodded slowly.

  She leapt straight in with another. ‘This is a goodie – favourite horror book?’

  ‘I am not a fan of horror and do not tend to read it.’ I was still more than a little distracted by her earlier revelation. What I wouldn’t give to show her Starry Night over Saint-Remy.

  ‘I’m not a fan either, but did love Interview with a Vampire.’

  Christ Almighty! That brought me right out of my reflections.

  ‘Ah, ha. Scariest film?’ Rowan asked, wagging her fork in my direction. ‘In my younger years, I stupidly watched a few.’

  I could answer that one easily. Whilst Psycho a week or so ago would have fit the bill, later developments ensured a clear front-runner. ‘Truly, Madly, Deeply.’

  She looked confused. ‘That’s my favourite film, but it isn’t scary.’