Uprising (29 page)

‘Salvation lies at the feet of the Virgin,’ Joel said, reading from the page and knocking back another glass of wine. He was outdrinking her three to one and getting progressively more bright-eyed as the level in the first bottle dropped rapidly.

Alex sipped from her glass. ‘Was your grandfather Catholic?’

‘He was raised C of E, as far as I know. I don’t recall him ever having talked about going to church, though.’

‘Because what if he wasn’t just talking metaphysics here? What if he was talking about his own literal salvation? As in, the only thing that he believed could save him?’

‘You’re saying he was referring to the location of the cross?’

She nodded. ‘X marks the spot.’

‘At the feet of the Virgin. How many Virgin Marys must there be here in Venice?’

‘A few thousand,’ she said. ‘Maybe more than a few. The Mother of Christ isn’t exactly a rarity in these parts.’

‘That’s a lot of possible Xs marking a lot of possible spots.’

They talked on, throwing ideas back and forth, getting nowhere fast. Joel shoved his empty plate to one side and concentrated harder on the wine. The first bottle was empty now, and he was making inroads into the second, slumping gradually down into his armchair and slurring his words a little.

‘What about this “Anchi 666”?’ he complained. ‘It’s driving me crazy. The Antichrist? Damien?’

‘My Bible knowledge is a little rusty,’ Alex said, ‘but what I think the Book of Revelation says is that the number six hundred threescore and six is “the number of a man” who’s also the biblical Beast – the Devil’s envoy, his representative on Earth. Does it mean vampires?’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t say for sure. In ancient times, a lot of people thought vampires were an incarnation of Satanic evil.’

‘Evil is the right word,’ Joel muttered, and slipped a little further down in his chair.

Alex didn’t reply.

‘But where does this get us?’ he groaned. He was really slurring now, and having trouble keeping his eyes open. Alex moved over to his chair and put her hand to his lips.

‘Shh. Tomorrow. You’re tired.’

He nodded sleepily, and closed his eyes. She kneeled by his chair and studied his face as he fell asleep.

Within minutes he’d drifted far away. It was as though she’d been left alone in the room. A strange emptiness came over her, and an impulse made her reach out suddenly and stroke his cheek.

‘William,’ she murmured softly.

He stirred and his eyelids gave a flicker, then he went still again. She ran her fingers through his hair. She wanted to kiss him…She didn’t know what she wanted. It felt strange and confusing to be here with this man.

After a few minutes, she stood up. Putting an arm gently under his shoulders and the other under his legs, she scooped him up out of the armchair without waking him and carried him easily through the door of his bedroom. She laid him down on the four-poster and covered him gently with a blanket.

She should have left him then, but instead she stayed with him, sitting on the edge of the bed as he slept. From time to time his brows twitched and he shook his head from side to side and muttered softly to himself as troubled dreams played in his mind. She stroked his hair and whispered soothingly to him, and the frown would melt away from his face so that he looked almost like a child.

What it was that made it so hard to leave his side, she didn’t understand. Time passed and in her own thoughts she was seeing herself as she’d been a long, long time ago. Happy, carefree, in love. She remembered the good times.

Then the bad memories returned, the way they always did. Cradling her dying lover in her arms as his blood soaked into her clothes and the life ebbed out of him drop by drop. Knowing there was nothing to be done but to hold him tight and count the precious moments that were going to be their last together.

‘Don’t go,’ she’d pleaded through her tears. He’d seemed to focus for a moment, and whispered his last promise to her.

‘I’ll come back to you, my love.’ Then the light in his eyes had faded to a glassy stare. And that was it. He was gone.

Sitting here now in this dark room after so many years had gone by and so very much had happened, Alex wanted to cry. But to cry was one thing she could not do.

Joel’s eyes opened in the darkness. ‘What time is it?’ he murmured, half unconscious.

‘It’s late,’ she whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘I was dreaming.’

‘I know.’

‘I dreamed you carried me in here.’

She chuckled. ‘That’s crazy.’

‘It felt so real.’

‘Just dreams,’ she said. A strand of hair fell across his eye. She brushed it away.

‘How long have you been sitting here?’ he asked softly, with a smile.

‘I’ll go now.’

He put out his hand to catch her arm as she got up to leave. ‘Stay,’ he said. She could so easily have broken his grip, but didn’t.

What are you doing, Alex?

She let him pull her down towards him, slowly closer until she could feel his warm breath on her lips. His eyes were shining in the moonlight from the window. Then, when the kiss came, there was no going back from it, for either of them.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The Dorchester Bar, London

10.17 p.m.

Slumped on a stool at the end of the curved bar, Kirsty Fletcher drained the last of her gin and tonic and ordered another. She glanced at her watch. More than three-quarters of an hour since her boyfriend Steve had been due to turn up. He was making a habit of that. And just under six hours since she’d walked out of her audition feeling utterly deflated and demoralised. The feeling hadn’t gone away. Steve had suggested the Dorchester as a treat, to help drown her sorrows together.

Cheers, Steve,
she thought bitterly as she took the first gulp of her second G and T. She followed that up with a bigger one, and before she knew it the ice was clinking against an empty glass. At about twenty quid a sip, she couldn’t hang about here all night. There was a bottle of cheap wine in the fridge back home in her little Hammersmith flat; she’d take it to bed, turn on a movie and put the rest of the day out of its misery. Sounded like a good plan.

It was the ripple of whispers from the group of women sitting at the table behind her that made her look round at the entrance.

‘Who’s he?’ the skinny blonde said
sotto voce
behind her hand to the brunette next to her. Kirsty followed their gaze towards the man who had just walked into the bar. He was tall and almost impossibly elegant, but without a hint of affectation. Maybe in his early forties, he was built like a tennis champion and walked with the easy grace of an athlete. His hair was thick and dark, and the eyes beneath the sleek brows were the most vivid blue she’d ever seen. She swallowed.

Ohmygod…he’s coming this way.

He walked the length of the bar, pulled up a stool two seats away from where she was sitting, and peeled off the long leather coat he was wearing to reveal a beautifully tailored suit. When he ordered a glass of champagne, his voice seemed to trickle like warm liquid over her.

Suddenly she was thinking about hanging around. Just a little longer. She fingered her empty glass. That was when the man turned and gave her a smile that sent a frisson through her whole body.

‘I’ve always hated drinking alone,’ he said. His tone was gentle and warm. Kirsty could feel the envious looks of the women at the table.

She nodded.

‘Care to join me?’ he asked.

She said that she would. He ordered a bottle of champagne, introduced himself as Gabriel. When he asked her what she did, she blushed and said she was an actress.

‘Not a very successful one,’ she added, and told him about the few bit roles she’d had, mainly TV, and her failed audition that afternoon. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ she explained. ‘Feeling rather sorry for myself.’

He gave her that shattering smile again. ‘I believe in synchronicity, Kirsty.’ He took out his card and slipped it into her hand.

‘Topaz Productions?’ She looked up at him, blinking.

‘I’m an executive producer,’ he said. ‘And the funny thing is, we’re just about to go into production with a film project I’ve been developing, and the lead actress just dropped out.’ He told her the name. It was a famous one. ‘But I must tell you, I never considered her quite right for the part. I was looking for someone like you.’

The champagne just seemed to be slipping down. Kirsty was getting heady. It didn’t seem to affect Gabriel. He ordered another bottle. ‘It’s exquisite, is it not?’

‘I like the way you talk,’ she said. ‘You’re not like other men.’

‘Maybe I’m old fashioned,’ he said.

‘I like it. Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.’

He smiled. ‘All over.’

‘Tell me more about the film.’

‘Do you have a little time?’

She thought about Steve. Screw him. ‘Plenty,’ she said.

He paid the bill, leaving the half-empty bottle without a second glance, and she followed him out of the Dorchester. The night was cool and fresh, and the moon was full over London. He walked her towards a car that was lower and sleeker than any sports car she’d ever seen before.

‘Wow. What kind of car is this?’

‘It’s the fastest car in the world,’ he told her as he opened the gull-wing door for her. The driver’s seat was in the middle, like a racing car. Kirsty climbed a little uncertainly into the passenger seat positioned just behind and to the side. The car felt very low down. Gabriel settled in behind the wheel, flashed another brilliant smile and started up the engine with a rasping roar.

In what seemed like no time at all, they were hurtling down the motorway heading out of the city.

‘Henley?’ she said when he told her where he lived. ‘That’s in Oxfordshire.’

‘It won’t take us long in this,’ he said. As the car accelerated and Kirsty felt herself pressed back in her seat, she watched the surreal climb of the speedometer. 150…180…190. She blinked, laughed, dizzy from the champagne.

‘Do you know how fast you’re going?’

‘I can go faster, if you wish.’

‘Aren’t you worried about the police?’

He turned. ‘Should I be?’

‘What if they stop us?’

‘Then I shall simply kill them,’ he shrugged casually.

She laughed again. ‘You’re such a joker, Gabriel.’ He obviously had enough money to bribe his way out of any kind of trouble, she thought.

‘I never joke,’ he replied.

As he’d promised, it wasn’t long before they were speeding through the country lanes of south Oxfordshire. He pulled up at the high gates of what looked to Kirsty like a huge estate. The gates opened automatically, and the car rumbled on through them and up a long, winding driveway.

She was babbling with excitement as they pulled up outside the house. ‘This is where you li
ve?’

‘Not all of the time. I have homes in several places.’ He killed the engine, climbed out and opened her door for her, taking her hand to lead her across the gravel.

‘I’ve had too much to drink,’ she giggled. As he led her inside the grand hallway, she asked him, ‘Do you live here alone?’

‘Some of my family also reside here. My sister Lillith is here at the moment. You may meet her.’

Kirsty’s head was spinning with more than champagne as he ushered her through the house.

‘This is the library,’ he said. She looked around her at the enormous oak-panelled room, the ornate coved ceiling, the towering bookcases filled with antique leather-bound volumes, the gleaming grand piano in the corner. A fire was crackling brightly in a marble fireplace.

‘Would you care for another drink?’ he asked.

‘Why not?’
What the hell.
She thought about Steve again, and smiled to herself. Sweet revenge.

Gabriel graciously excused himself. Alone in the library, she went over to one of the bookcases and ran her fingers across the polished wood. She opened one of the glass doors and selected a book at random. Carefully flipping open the cover, she saw it was Milton’s
Paradise Lost.
She wondered how old it was.

‘Very old indeed,’ said Gabriel’s voice, making her jump.

‘You startled me.’

He smiled. ‘It was unintentional. I apologise.’ He was carrying a heavy silver tray with a bottle of Krug and two slim flutes.

‘This is more champagne than I’ve ever had before,’ she said. She sipped her drink as Gabriel walked over to the piano. His hands descended delicately on the keys, and he began to play.

‘That’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

‘Composed by someone I once knew. His name was Frederick. Frederick Chopin.’

Kirsty frowned. ‘Isn’t he, like, dead? As in, dead a long time?’

Gabriel made no reply. He went on playing, and the powerful, melancholic music filled the room. As she listened, Kirsty wandered back over to the bookcase and found one by someone she recognised, Jane Austen. She opened it carefully and saw it was signed by the author.

‘This is an amazing collection of books, Gabriel,’ she said. ‘Some of these must be terribly rare.’

He abruptly stopped playing and stood up. Picked his glass off the piano and sipped it as he walked over to her. ‘Just little things I’ve acquired on my travels,’ he said. He reached past her and slipped a book off a shelf. ‘Like this one. Turgenev. First edition. It’s extremely valuable.’ He weighed the book in his hand, then flung it in the fire. It burst open and curled and blackened as the flames devoured it.

She stared at him.

‘Just words,’ he said. ‘The truth is, Kirsty, I have little love for human culture. It amuses me for a while, but ultimately I find it vacuous and oafish.’ He stepped closer to her and touched the skin of her shoulder. ‘So soft,’ he said. ‘I could have a coat made out of you.’

‘You’re crazy,’ she giggled. He leaned in slowly to kiss her. She felt the cool press of his lips on hers, and responded. She was breathless by the time he broke the embrace.

‘Do you have a husband, a boyfriend?’

‘Never mind him,’ she breathed.