The Mammoth Book of Dracula - [Anthology]

by Edited By Stephen Jones

  The hotel was not overfull, even though it was the height of the season, and the sprinkling of elderly diners who assembled for the evening meal would not distract him from the contemplation of the Greek financier and his daughter, Thompson thought. For he understood from the proprietor that the couple often stayed in for the evening meal, though they were sometimes out on various expeditions during the day.

  Thompson did not really know why he was taking such an interest in this couple. That they were striking and sophisticated people, used to wealth and wide travel was obvious, but there was something beyond mere idle curiosity in Thompson’s case. Perhaps it was an invalid’s preoccupation with events from a distant and contemplative viewpoint. For Thompson’s gruelling background of medical research had given him little opportunity for leisure until now. Time seemed to stretch endlessly before him and he was beginning to enjoy his enforced idleness, now that more interesting people were starting to swim within his vision.

  Now, their muffled conversation drifted up to him in snatches from time to time, blended with the soft susurrance of the sea, so that he was unable to make out anything other than fragmentary phrases in Greek and English. The forms of the pair, who had drawn close together, were dark now, blended into the gloom of the encroaching night, the only distinct thing about the tableau being the red glow of a cigar which Karolides had lit, which carried to the silent watcher an even richer aroma than the suffocating perfume of tropical plants.

  A purple dusk was hovering in the gulf below, somewhere between sea and sky, and a solitary bird was trilling his own version of “The Last Post” before relapsing into silence. Presently, the pair went in and the night seemed cold and chilly, now that it was no longer warmed by their presence. There was a steely glint to the hazy sea and far out, the dim lights of vessels passing and re-passing on their mysterious errands. Thompson shivered suddenly, though it had nothing to do with the slight breeze which had suddenly sprung up. Presently he too went in to his solitary dinner.

  ~ * ~

  II

  Thompson saw nothing of his fellow guests the following morning, for he breakfasted late and it was past ten o’clock before he quit the table. He took the hotel bus the short trip into town and did various errands. He called in at the post office, where there were several letters awaiting him, none of any importance; went to Thomas Cook; and drank an aperitif at a cafe terrace, in a shady corner overlooking the sea, where he never ceased to marvel at the passing parade of grotesque human beings that aimlessly meandered to and fro along the Grand Cor niche.

  Later in the afternoon he would swim, but for the moment he was content to idle away an hour or two in such trivial pursuits. He passed the interval before lunch in investigating the cool interiors of two elegant bookshops and then walked back up the dusty road that wound among luxurious villas, until he reached the hotel. Guy, the dark-haired waiter who usually served his lunch, brought Thompson a Cinzano with ice and lemon on the lower terrace before he went to his room to freshen up.

  He ate lunch in his usual corner of the dining room, oblivious of the animated hubbub about him, and after a reasonable interval strolled back down the hill to the town, where he changed into bathing trunks and enjoyed a leisurely swim out to a tethered raft about half a mile from shore. The freshness of the sea and the salt air did his tired limbs good and he lay spread-eagled on the raft for what must have been two or three hours. No one came near him, for most of the other swimmers, who included many young children, kept to the shallows close in shore.

  Once or twice sailing boats and larger yachts passed quite close to him, and just before he quit the raft for his return swim, a blonde girl, who was sunning herself on the stern of a rather palatial vessel, switched on her portable radio, and the nostalgic voice of Charles Trenet singing “La Mer” came drifting across the water, making an appropriate background to his return to the beach.

  He took the bus back this time, as he was feeling rather tired after his exertions and once again climbed up to the high terrace for the tranquil hour before dinner which he had come to enjoy. But on this occasion there were some loudmouthed English tourists at an adjoining table so he came down early. As he was passing into the dining room he was faintly surprised to be accosted by the tall, commanding figure of Karolides.

  “Mr Thompson, is it not?”

  The Greek, once more immaculate in white tropical drill, paused with amusement, noting the faint flicker that passed across his fellow guest’s face.

  “Oh, I admit I looked you up in the hotel register. You seemed rather lonely in your corner by yourself last night, so I wondered whether you would care to join us for dinner this evening.”

  “That is extremely kind of you”, Thompson stammered. “If you’re sure I wouldn’t be an intrusion ...”

  The other put a hand on his shoulder in a sudden intimate gesture.

  “Not at all. We’d love to have you. Ravenna is easily bored, I’m afraid, and there are so few guests here of a suitable age.”

  He indicated the elderly diners in the background with a wry gesture, and the amusement in his eyes prompted a hesitant laugh from Thompson.

  “Of course. It’s very kind of you. If you’re sure ...”

  “Certainly, Mr Thompson. Come along.”

  The Greek glided effortlessly between the restaurant tables so that Thompson had difficulty in keeping up with him. As they approached the corner where the girl was sitting he saw that she was even more beautiful than he had imagined. Her face was a perfectly round oval and she had the most extraordinary eyes he had ever seen; a deep emerald green which seemed to have unclouded depths in them, so that Thompson felt almost embarrassed to look into them. But he noticed also that though she could not have been more than twenty-six or twenty-eight, and her complexion was smooth and perfect, yet there was a pallor which should not have been there.

  “This is Ravenna.”

  The girl acknowledged the Englishman’s presence with a slight inclination of the head. Her dark hair was cut short and immaculately coiffed, and she wore gold earrings of a conch-like shell pattern which set off her beauty in a way the guest had not seen on any other woman. The table was in a railed-off enclosure that was banked with flowers. The maitre d’hotel and a wine waiter were hovering in attendance and the latter hurried forward to draw out the chair for the Greek. Thompson’s speculations were cut short by Karolides indicating to him the vacant chair which one of the waiters had immediately pulled up and, almost before he was seated, an extra dinner service was being put in position on the white linen tablecloth.

  He had hardly time to settle himself, when Karolides announced, “You will be our guest, of course.”

  He waved away the Englishman’s protests.

  “Think nothing of it. A great pleasure to have you with us.”

  He spoke perfect English, and Thompson guessed that he had mastered a number of languages, which would obviously be necessary in his dealings with the international world of commerce.

  “Mr Thompson is a distinguished man of science, my dear. But now he is recuperating from a bad motor accident. It is up to us to help entertain him and rescue him from the boredom endemic to the lot of one who is passing a solitary sojourn in a Riviera hotel. Is it not so, Mr Thompson?”

  Karolides smiled and the distinction of his countenance and the beauty of his daughter erased the momentary irritation Thompson had again felt at being introduced in such a manner. He wondered how his host had got the information. But his slight embarrassment passed as the girl again inclined her head and said in a low, musical voice, “I am so sorry to hear that. I do hope you will soon be better.”

  Thompson mumbled some banal expression of thanks and was relieved when Karolides started studying the menu and there was a sudden flurry of waiters around the table. During the transmission of the orders and the decanting of the wine, the guest again had the opportunity of studying the couple. His first impression of the girl was reinforced rather than diminish
ed as the meal progressed. As might have been expected the food and the wine were of the finest quality and, perhaps slightly under the influence of the latter, Thompson found his stiffness relaxing and soon he was completely under the spell of the pair. Karolides spoke eruditely and entertainingly about a wide variety of topics; firstly regarding his worldwide business interests and particularly his Greek shipping fleet.

  From there he advanced to literature and the arts in general and Thompson then realized that the reason his host’s name was familiar was because he had donated wings to hospitals in Greece, Great Britain and America and had also given prodigious sums to art foundations and a great many charities.

  Ravenna too was well read and steeped in the classics as well as modern authors; and she seemed equally informed on a wide range of interests in the arts, including painting, ballet and music. As the meal progressed, Thompson lost his reserve and started to open his heart a little more freely. As a scientist he had never had enough time for the gentler pursuits which occupied much of the leisure hours of the wider world, and when he was able to converse on an equal level with Karolides on some obscure literary point he felt his spirits lifting and the Greek seemed equally appreciative of his guest’s background and taste.

  When the evening was over Thompson felt as though he had known this couple all his life. A naturally reserved man, he was drawn out by the brilliant conversation of this pair and especially through Karolides, was led into another world; one where money was no object. But this was no mere vulgar matter of acquisition but the accumulation of funds for specific purposes; although he was too courteous and tactful to mention it, his host had done much to alleviate suffering and poverty in the world with the great outpouring of his wealth; this Thompson already knew from a quick study of the financial pages of national newspapers.

  The girl too, with her own interest in art and culture, made a deep impression on him, as might have been expected. He did wonder why, with all the assets at their disposal, the couple did not stay at one of the big international hotels that were scattered along the coast, but assumed that natural modesty and the discretion already displayed by the couple were the reasons behind it. After all, it was fairly obvious that they would be recognized at one of the great palaces and would probably run into friends in the international set. He remembered too, that the girl’s health had not been good. Then he dismissed the question from his mind; after all, it was none of his business.

  When they parted at the entrance to the dining room, Karolides laid his smooth, manicured hand on his guest’s shoulder in a discreet gesture of affection.

  “Consider us your friends”, he said in a deep, resonant voice.

  Thompson saw that the girl’s eyes were fixed on him with a particular brilliance and he could not resist their appeal. He mumbled his thanks and made his way somewhat awkwardly up the fine marble staircase with the wrought-iron balustrade that led to the guests’ rooms, instead of taking the small, creaky lift. When he sought his bed he lay awake for a long time, listening to the distant murmur of the sea. He felt a little feverish, but his somewhat overheated state owed nothing to the wine.

  ~ * ~

  III

  Thompson was up early the next morning, bathing and shaving himself quickly and was downstairs for breakfast by half-past eight. When he entered the dining room he felt slight disappointment, mingled with relief, to find it occupied merely by a sprinkling of middle-aged ladies toying with their coffee and croissants. Disappointment at not seeing Ravenna; relief that he might not have to make small talk in the presence of her father, when he wanted to take a walk with her alone and find out more about her.

  The illness of which he had heard also intrigued him; as a scientist as well as a medical man, for he had several doctorates, he was professionally concerned as well as in a friendly capacity. But there had been a pallor in her features which he had noted and which was not normal in such a young and vivacious woman, though it had not been obvious the night before. Possibly the wine and the warmth of the summer night had temporarily dispelled it.

  He was just going out when he saw, through the wide windows facing the sea, Karolides and Ravenna passing along the front of the building where they got into a big open touring car parked in the driveway. As they disappeared down the steep, winding road that led to the Corniche and the open sea, he had a sudden stab of disappointment. It was absurd, of course, as he barely knew the couple, but there was something about the girl that captivated him. He had been too busy in his career ever to contemplate marriage and now that he was approaching forty, and had narrowly escaped death a short time before, he was conscious that there were a great many things in life that he had missed. A wife, for one thing.

  Most men regarded matrimony or at least, carnal love, as one of the most important things in life, if not the most important, and he had smiled rather superciliously when listening to colleagues’ stories of frustrated hopes or amorous adventures. Now things were different, and he had a glimmer of hope that Ravenna might find him attractive. It was utterly absurd, of course, because she and her father lived a jet-set life; travelling the world in great luxury; and obviously me girl would attract many men. In fact, she might already be engaged to be married. He had never thought of that. He bit his lip with frustration, mumbled some banality to the restaurant manager and went out into the blinding sunlight and set off to walk down to the town, which was slowly composing itself from out of the morning haze.

  He wandered idly about the shops, keeping mostly in the shade, avoiding the tourists and holidaymakers who thronged the beaches fringing the Corniche. He ate a frugal lunch at a small restaurant in a side street where fans in the ceiling distributed cooled air from small vents. As he went out and back toward the beach, he was arrested by the sight of Karolides’s big green touring car, parked outside a bar. As he approached, the couple came out of a gown shop a little farther down, the girl laden with expensive-looking parcels. Their smiles were open and welcoming.

  “Just the person we wanted to see,” said the Greek, after they had shaken hands.

  “I have to attend to business here in town, but Ravenna wants to go swimming. Would you be kind enough to accompany her?”

  Thompson was caught unawares.

  “Certainly,” he said hesitantly. “But I have no costume.”

  Karolides smiled again.

  “That can soon be taken care of. I own a small club out on the point there. They will supply you with a costume and towels. Ravenna is a member, of course, so you will have no difficulty. And I will come by with the car and pick you up at six o’clock, yes.”

  Thompson felt the girl’s hand on his elbow and he joined her in the back seat, while Karolides drove swiftly but well along the Corniche. Presently they came to a place where a calanque, a sort of creek, joined the sea. Here, on the headland was a dazzling white building, flanked by ornamental trees and bushes that threw welcome shade. There were terraces, striped parasols, men and girls engaged in idle chatter and, somewhere an orchestra was playing, or, Thompson mused, perhaps it was a radio.

  There were waves and shouted invitations from the people on the terrace as Karolides drew the big machine to a halt, but he smilingly shook his head. Thompson and the girl got out, their shadows dark and clear-etched in the dust.

  “Until six o’clock, then,” and Karolides expertly reversed and drove smoothly away along the coast road. Thompson followed the girl, who had not uttered a word during the drive, waiting while she spoke to one or two people at tables and then they were in the cool interior of the club where a discreet manager summoned a white-coated attendant who led them to locker rooms for men and women and left them.

  “Ten minutes,” Ravenna said in a low voice.

  “I’ll be on the terrace,” Thompson said.

  He was turning toward the door labelled HOMMES when he found the attendant at his elbow. He thrust a plastic case in his hand which bore the printed figure 6 on its cover. Once inside the cubicle,
Thompson found scarlet trunks, toilet things, a comb, soap and brush, and three huge towels. When he had hung his clothes in a grey steel locker and fixed the key by its cord on to the elasticized waistband of his trunks, he surveyed himself in the mirror.

  He felt the sight he presented would probably not disgrace the girl, but he was a little worried about the scars on his legs—souvenirs of his accident—although he knew they would fade to thin white lines within a few weeks. He went outside into the blinding sunshine and sat down in a cane chair to await Ravenna. The sea looked green and cool and inviting, and there were metal steps with cork inserts that led down from the promenade into the gentle undulations of the water.

  He turned as a shadow fell across the tiling. He was prepared for the sight of an exceptional woman, but he was so struck by the bronzed apparition that bent over his chair that he let out an involuntary gasp of admiration. The white bikini made a striking contrast to her brown skin which, however, gradually faded out toward the throat, leaving her face clear and free from the ravages of the southern sun. But the pallor he had previously noted had receded, and the smiling young woman pretended not to see his embarrassment and laughingly told him to follow her.