The Mammoth Book of Dracula (17 page)

Darkness, Mist & Shadow
from PS Publishing recently collected all the author’s macabre fiction in two substantial volumes, while
Basil Copper: A Life in Books
was a bio-bibliography from the same imprint.

Dracula wanders across the world, often spending long periods observing humanity...

~ * ~

I

FROM WHERE THOMPSON sat at the high terrace, the sea was a blinding incandescence below him, the sun stippling the wavetops to points of fire. Across it crawled black shadows like beetles: fishing boats returning from their afternoon catches. Thompson had been involved in a bad motor smash some weeks before and had come down to the Cote d’Azur for a month’s rest to complete his recovery. For this reason and because he had come so close to death, the beauty of the world and the merest minutia of everyday life arrested his attention as never before.

He had chosen the Magnolia because it was high up and far from the coast road and also because close friends had stayed there some while before. He had escaped the roar of traffic and the resultant fumes, but the shrill
chirring
of the cicadas at their day-long worship of the sun, and the occasional whine of a jet belonging to the French Air Force making white scratches across the blue, did not disturb him and after three days he did not even notice them.

Below him, on the lower terrace, he could see the Greek pacing with long athletic strides, his shadow stencilled on the dusty tiles as a hard, black silhouette. A tall commanding figure in an impeccable white drill suit and collar and tie, despite the heat. He had deep black hair brushed back from his broad forehead, and a sensitive, highly intelligent face, which, however, often wore an expression of intense melancholy. Thompson had first noticed him two mornings before, when he was crossing the hotel lobby to set out on one of his solitary walks.

The Greek, whose name was Karolides, was accompanied by a dazzlingly beautiful girl. The Englishman was so taken by her strange, almost ethereal beauty, that he had questioned the proprietor of the Magnolia, who had told him she was the guest’s daughter. The couple came there for a month every year and Thompson’s informant had added that the Greek was reputed to be fabulously wealthy but unlike many people who gave that impression when they came to stay, was actually a millionaire. But the girl was in delicate health and needed sunshine and sea air.

Perhaps that was the reason for his melancholy, Thompson thought. Now, as he sat on with the early dusk beginning to slant across the sea, he saw that the Greek had been joined by his daughter. Darkness comes early on that side of the Mediterranean as the sun descends behind the mountains, so that the solitary watcher was unable to make out the details of her features at this distance.

That she was beautiful, he had no doubt. Although he had only momentarily glimpsed her in the hotel lobby, she had the sort of striking looks that made men’s heads turn to stare after her. Some, possibly older men, would retain the memory of her until the end of their lives.

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 diminished 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.