A Taste of Blood Wine

by Freda Warrington

  "It's so lovely to see you all, dears," said Elizabeth, finally taking notice of the others. "Isn't your father with you?"

  "He's stopping off to play golf at Royston with some friends," said Charlotte. "He'll be along later."

  "Fleur and Clive aren't coming, unfortunately," said Elizabeth. "Clive couldn't get away from the bank."

  Madeleine pulled a face. "What a bore. Fleur could have come without him—unless it's an excuse to carry on with her silly old painting. Never mind, we have enough turns without them. Karl and I have rehearsed a lovely duet, haven't we? And I'm accompanying Charlotte, too."

  Elizabeth's perfect eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh, so you've been persuaded to sing for once?"

  "We live in hope," said Maddy, "but there's plenty of time for her to lose her nerve."

  Karl turned to Charlotte. "You are not nervous, are you?" he said, smiling. He took her hand and held it up so her palm rested lightly over his fingers. "No, your hands are perfectly steady. You are not going to let me down."

  "I wouldn't dare!" Charlotte laughed, completely forgetting herself. Elizabeth and Madeleine looked at her as if she had grown an extra head. She stepped back hurriedly and looked at the carpet, her face hot.

  Elizabeth slid her hand casually through Karl's arm. "You must think me a frightful hostess, keeping you standing about in the hall. Come into the drawing room, we'll be much more comfortable there."

  "Thank you, Lady Reynolds," said Karl. "Don't be so formal! Call me Elizabeth." Charlotte could not account for the sudden hollowness she felt as her aunt led Karl away, with Madeleine resolutely on their heels. She suppressed the feeling, smiling as she recalled the amused look he had given her…

  Anne kissed her cheek and said, "It's nice to see you looking happier. Things looking up?"

  It was so good to be with David and Anne again. They exchanged news as a footman took their hats and coats. "How's Edward?" asked Charlotte.

  "Very well, actually," David replied. "He seems right as rain, except for the one problem."

  "He's not still calling Karl a vampire, is he?" Anne said bluntly.

  "I wouldn't put it that strong, but he's still edgy." David pushed a hand through his fair hair. "That's why I daren't invite him, as Maddy was so insistent on Karl being here. But Edward hasn't actually used the word again, which I supposed is an encouraging sign. I don't know. Father's full of praise for Karl, I can't fault his behaviour or manners, and as far as I know he hasn't laid a finger on Maddy, even though she's flaunting herself under his nose all the time. It's beginning to look as if it was all a figment of Edward's imagination."

  "Even Charli gets on with him now—don't you?" said Anne. "Well—well, slightly," said Charlotte.

  "Oh, come on, Charli, it was pretty obvious he thinks the world of you. So it looks as if we had a panic over nothing."

  Anne stood on tiptoe to kiss David's nose. "Never mind, old thing, you had to be sure."

  "Wish I could convince Edward," said David. Charlotte said, "I can't understand why I ever thought I disliked Karl. He's terribly easy to get on with." She looked at Anne and smiled. "I think I'm going to enjoy myself here."

  ***

  Pierre trod softly through the grounds of the Georgian mansion, looking up at the lighted windows. He felt like an orphan in a fairy tale, observing from a distance the enchanted life of the rich. Should he go and press his face against the glass? What a shock that would give them all, especially Karl!

  This was so delicious, knowing he had the choice of watching from the outside or walking into their midst. He had that power.

  The darkness had a silver bloom to it and the air was very soft, stirring the ivy and the wisteria in its lazy drift along the ; terrace. A pair of french windows stood open, spilling out the life of the house in a rhombus of light. He heard the velvet-deep notes of a cello threading through the clarion brightness of the piano. Recognizing Karl's touch, he smiled. How delightful it would be to appear through the windows now; how dramatic. He envisioned all those humans in that room, the air dreamy and golden with their warmth, and thirst drew demanding fingernails down his throat.

  Pierre paused, watching the curtained light.

  Do not touch the family, Kristian had ordered. But Kristian was not here. Mortals were faceless to him. How would he ever know?

  ***

  In the music room, with its floor of polished wood, white and gold decor and curtains of powder-blue velvet, Charlotte stood clutching the edge of the Blüthner piano. The women in sparkling evening dresses and feathered bandeaux, the men in evening suits, were all a shifting blur; high society people who would give generously to Elizabeth's pet charity. Appearances, all of it, Charlotte thought. David and Anne were in the front row with her father, Elizabeth firmly ensconced next to Karl. She could not look at them. She tried to pretend that they were not there, that she and Madeleine were alone at home, practising.

  Madeleine played the introduction and Charlotte began to sing. Her voice trembled a little, but she did not falter and the room fell so quiet that the clear, mournful notes seemed to echo. She sang,

  "Calm is the night;

  The streets all are silent;

  This house she dwelt in,

  She, I loved dear;

  'Tis long ago since she hath left it,

  So long, long ago

  Yet the house is here!

  Here, too, stands a man who skyward is gazing

  His hands he's wringing in woe and despair;

  Oh! horror!

  For when I mark his features,

  The moon revealeth mine own visage there!

  Oh! hateful shadow!

  Oh! pallid companion!

  Why mockest thou my grief and woe?

  The anguish all by love begotten

  On summer nights so long ago!"

  As the last note rang away, a sensation struck very clear and sharp through the haze of faces. Karl was staring at her. Even from the corner of her eye she felt the intense light of his gaze. He seemed so utterly still amid the others, like the moon shining through scudding clouds. And he watched her with the complete attention of a cat, his eyes clear and emotionless and unwavering. The look turned her hot and cold all over.

  Too melancholy. I should have chosen something else. Why is he looking at me like that? Then the moment was over. Applause and voices washed over her to break the tension.

  Charlotte found herself shaking from head to foot. She and Madeleine went back to their places, people crowded round to praise them, but the smiling faces were too close, the voices too loud. It was the old fear again. She had to escape.

  While Elizabeth was calling them in for supper, Charlotte slipped out through the french window and on to the terrace.

  She leaned on the stone balustrade, taking deep breaths of the air. The gardens lay in moon-washed gloom beneath her, tranquil and soothing. Although the air was mild for mid-autumn, her silk voile dress—printed with pale roses, inset with gold lace—gave no warmth, and gooseflesh sprang up on her bare arms.

  She heard soft, slow footsteps behind her. It was as if a cold draught had blown across her back; without looking round, she knew it was Karl. Silky material slid across her arms, wonderfully warm on her bare skin; he took his time arranging the shawl, then his hands remained on her shoulders.

  "I thought you might be cold," he said.

  "Thank you. It was so hot indoors." Without thinking, she added, "How did you escape from my aunt?"

  He laughed. "How could you tell I wanted to escape?" Then, moving to look into her eyes, "Your sister was right, you do have a beautiful voice. But that song—why did you choose it?"

  His intensity unnerved her; it was like a tidal wave rolling through her, impossible to see through or avoid. "Didn't you like it? Perhaps it was too slow and mournful, but everyone chooses happy songs; I like sad ones. It was 'The Shadow' by Schubert."

  '"Der Doppelgänger'," said Karl. "And the words are by Heine. I remember, thoug
h I have not heard it for such a long time. But the way you sang it was so haunting… "

  "I should have chosen something happy," she said.

  "No. You shouldn't be afraid to be different. Everyone loved it, and they wanted to tell you so. I didn't realise quite how much you dislike being the centre of attention."

  "I hate it," she said with a slight shiver.

  "Is that why you came outside?"

  "It was partly that." She glanced up at him. "And the way you were looking at me."

  He drew a soft breath. "Your voice, and the words… they made me aware of so many things."

  "What do you mean?" She looked sideways at him. The light from the french windows illuminated his skin, caught tiny gold highlights on his dark brows and lashes. His jewel-like eyes were intense, unblinking, seductively beautiful. Perhaps she should have felt fear but instead there was a sensation of inevitability, like falling. Thrilling danger.

  He took her hand and said, "Will you walk round the garden with me, Charlotte?"

  They walked the length of the terrace, past the orangery, and along a path that wound between arches of soft foliage. The leaves were dry and poised to fall, but the moonlight transmuted them into a mass of silver and crystal. Karl's arm was round her shoulders now; his touch felt heavenly. No desire to pull away, only to press closer to him. No need to speak. The affinity between them was too strong to be mistaken for friendship. Charlotte was caught up in a floating excitement, a blur of thoughts. When did the change begin? She did not know, but the transition seemed so natural that she felt no doubts—only wonder that she could ever have been afraid of loving him. Yes, let us walk together in the garden, deeper and deeper until the leaves cover us and no one can find us, no one judge us…

  They came to the water garden, a shrouded secret place where a pool lay beneath a tree-covered mass of rock. Karl led her on to the little bridge that spanned the pool, and they leaned side by side on the wooden rail. The water was obsidian-dark. Their shoulders were pressed together, and she felt an ache of anticipation so deep that it hurt.

  "What did you mean about the song?" she said. "You didn't explain."

  "Yes, the song, Charlotte," Karl said softly. His eyelids swept down; he was not looking at her eyes but at her mouth; and he looked sad, so sad. He slid an arm across her shoulders, fingers stroking her neck. Then he leaned towards her and kissed her, very gently, but for a very long time.

  Charlotte found herself arching towards him, strung taut with an exquisite mixture of desire and relief. Mouths joined like moist, opening roses. Strange heat pulsing inside her. The taste of him. Could there be any other moment to compare with this? A fragile burning, frost vaporising into the sun—nothing really—and yet, the ache more poignant than any fulfilment, the simple and bone-deep relief of touching, when touching had been wordlessly forbidden for so long. She pressed her palms into his shoulders, trying to feel his skin through his clothes. She couldn't let go.

  Oh, God. All this time I thought I felt nothing, that I couldn't love and didn't care… and I was so wrong… God, yes, he is beautiful. I've fallen just like everyone else. I thought nothing mattered when all the while I was in despair—the lies I told myself-—I didn't know. This can't be happening—but it is and I'm glad, so glad…

  Then Karl folded his arms around her, rested his cheek on her hair, and said, "Forgive me."

  "What for?" she said, breathless.

  "I vowed not to intrude on your life. Now I have broken the vow."

  She was too spellbound to question his words. "Karl, I hardly had a life until I met you! There's nothing to forgive, and even if there were, I'm sure I'd forgive you anything."

  "Anything?" He held her away from him, his hands clasping her arms; his eyes lynx-bright, his face shaded with sorrow. "Be careful what you promise. Some things are unforgivable."

  "What do you mean?"

  "That I am bound to hurt you. Your sister, too, though I never meant to."

  Then she felt a trickle of anxiety, a reminder that his inner life was completely unknown to her. A glimpse of hidden darkness… Why is he saying these things? Dear God, if he's going to tell me he's already married, I don't want to hear it! But his eyes were so tender… and it seemed perfect that they left the bridge and walked on slowly through the shadows of the wild garden, arms around each other. She was too euphoric with the fire of hope to believe he was capable of wrong. He must have a good reason… A cascade of emotions, paradise and torment mixed. Oh don't let this end, ever!

  After a while she asked quietly, "What did you mean—about hurting Maddy?"

  ***

  Pierre stood beneath a huge plane tree at the edge of the lawn, listening to the skeins of music flowing out, the applause following like rain pattering on dry leaves.

  He saw a young woman stepping out on the terrace; russet-brown hair that burned gold in the slightest gleam of light, violet-grey eyes radiating an irresistible innocence, like a fawn. Wasn't she the one he'd frightened half to death in Cambridge?

  Damn Kristian's rules.

  Pierre drifted forward, then drew back. Karl had joined her. They talked for a while, walked away together like lovers… Oh, this I must see! Pierre paused, meaning to follow them at a safe distance, but then another of the daughters appeared. She lacked the vulnerability of her sister, but with her self-assurance and her cropped Titian hair she was just as alluring. The glowing end of her cigarette arced through the air like a firefly.

  She came to the balustrade and called, "Karl? Are you there?"

  Smiling to himself, Pierre answered, "Here I am." He walked to the edge of the plane tree's shadow, so that she could see his form but not his face. She was uncertain, but she trotted down the terrace steps and came to him quickly enough. Oh dear, hoping for romance. Shall I tell her Karl's with her sister? I am not so cruel.

  And as she reached him, Pierre stepped out of the shadow and let the moonlight fall across his face. The girl stopped, the red cigarette end hovering in mid-air.

  "Who the hell are you?" Her eyes widened, glazed.

  "Be a little more friendly, chérie," said Pierre. He grinned, letting the white fangs slide out over his lower teeth. She looked more puzzled than afraid; only when he seized her by the shoulders did her mouth drop open with mute shock. He knew how he must look to her; the white, staring face of death. She twisted and her feet skidded from under her, but he held her firm.

  "Don't be afraid," he said, lips brushing her ear. "It's only a dream."

  How delicately pearl-pink, the contours of her throat. Untouched. Doubtful that any man had even kissed this soft skin, let alone closed his teeth on it… like this. Nor stabbed bone-sharp fangs through the virgin surface into the swollen red vessels beneath, felt the rich fluid fountaining into his mouth. Like this. Ah, this… She moaned faintly as she started to swoon, and it sounded like a moan of pleasure.

  This seemed a violation of far more than her flesh, and the feeling sharpened his rapture to an almost unbearable height. Too sweet, to feel her energy burning into him, while she went limp and heavy in his grasp.

  At last he let her down on to the ground and curved her neatly over the roots of the plane tree, a drained and broken flower. He did not want them to find her too quickly.

  He paused for a moment, regarding his handiwork with dreamy satisfaction. Then he turned away and went in search of Karl with the taste of her lingering deliciously in his mouth. Smoke, perfume and blood.

  With luck, Karl would be too taken up with his victim to realise another vampire was stalking him. Ah, there they were, walking beneath the silver birches and laburnums… Pierre kept a careful distance, but with preternatural senses he could hear them and see them through the cloud of leaves, miniaturised and very clear, painted by a brush with a single hair.

  Pierre sighed with longing. Oh, she is a beauty, Karl. How have you waited this long? Such a charming tableau, the vampire and his victim; he lean and predatory, a panther in human form. A gent
leman poet, he must be, with those brooding eyes, the shining dark auburn hair shadowing his forehead. Can't they ever see it? We're too perfect, all our mortal dross seared away. No human male could ever be that beautiful, or possess an allure so powerful that it's almost feminine. It should be a warning, like the bright colours of an animal that say, "Don't come near me, I'm poison!" But no, they never see it. They fall every time.

  And she, with her wide eyes, peeping out of that shimmering halo of hair—so vulnerable, so hopelessly trusting.

  Yet what is he doing? Talking to her?

  "What did you mean about hurting Maddy?" the girl was saying. "You know she's in love with you."

  Karl said, "She thinks she is."

  "And what—what do you feel for her?" How anxious the poor child looks. Such divine pain.

  "If you could trust your own judgement, Charlotte, you would know the answer. I am fond of her, as I am fond of your father; no more than that. But she can't see it, and I fear she will take it badly when she does. This sounds like vanity but it is not. Sometimes people see something in me that they think they can love. I wish to God it were not so!"

  She looked uncomprehending.

  Pierre thought, If only you realised how out of your depth you are!

  "Why?"

  He turned to her, clasped her hands. "Because it is for the wrong reasons. The worst of reasons. And is it any different for you, Charlotte? I can't tell. How do I look to you? Fascinating, not quite human, perhaps? Can you explain why you feel drawn to me?"

  Pierre stopped dead, one hand resting against the rough spongy bark of a sequoia. My God, he's going to tell her the truth! In a moment of astonishment and disbelief he stood there weakly, his mouth agape. Karl, you sentimental fool, please don't tell me you imagine you're in love with her!

  "I don't understand," she said.

  You don't want to, thought Pierre. But Karl only said, "I'm sorry." He held his hand to her cheek. "You are the last person I wish to hurt. If only I felt as little for you as I do for Madeleine, I would not have let this happen. I thought I was strong enough to treat you only as a friend; I was wrong."