"Oui, Monsieur Browning, it is good to see you again." Margeaux took his hand and shook it. It was a gesture that was reserved for new acquaintances, those who weren't certain how to greet her and who, therefore, opted for the safety of a traditional handshake.
Niceties over, Mr Browning took a seat. Margeaux sat on the sofa opposite him, one arm draped casually across the back of the chair, her legs crossed. In her cream silk blouse and linen trousers, she exuded the air of old Hollywood glamour. It was impossible to tell if she was sixteen or thirty eight.
Mr Browning was less composed, shuffling through papers from his briefcase, before coming across the document that he needed.
"It wasn't as difficult as I thought it might be. A few telephone calls to the right people and you can get information on just about anyone."
Margeaux smiled sweetly. "Merci, Monsieur Browning. Your efforts are appreciated all the same."
She lifted the sheet of yellow paper from his hand and studied it. There was little written on it - the short line of an address in England and a telephone number. Charles Ferrers kept his contact information closely guarded but in the technological world of the modern era, almost anyone could be traced one way or another.
Mr Browning shifted his weight in the ornate, brocade chair. "Is there anything else that I can do for you, Madame?"
Margeaux dropped the paper on to the glass table in front of her and flashed him a grin.
"Oui, Cherie. There is indeed."
She lurched across the table, wrapped her legs around him and sank her teeth into his neck. Mr Browning left the salon twenty minutes later, inexplicably light-headed and a little enamoured with Margeaux. He couldn't understand why anyone feared Madame Renard. Vampire or not, he thought; she really was rather lovely.
14
Once home I managed to fill a solid hour of my time by going through the property pages of the newspapers. My red Sharpie pen performed well under my enthusiastic circling and scribbling. Mickey text me to tell me he’d landed in Derry and that he was on his way home, which made me sad and happy at the same time. I kept myself occupied and idled away another hour going through online property listings and auction sites.
Many of the houses that were listed were out of our price range if we wanted to pay cash. The family business had around a hundred grand in its bank account. I didn’t want to deplete it completely which meant most of the listings were automatically a no-no. Others were fine if we took out a small buy to let mortgage which seemed like the most common sense option, but would rule out those selling at auction which required a quick sale.
Still there were a few properties coming up for auction which, if we were lucky, we might be able to get for thirty grand if bidding went in our favour. Smaller flats in pretty poor condition, but worth considering.
I decided that it was best not to rush into anything, that I'd investigate mortgages for the future, but check out the auctions and see what went on there and what end prices really looked like. If I saw an opportunity to pick up a cash bargain, then great. Mum was giving me free reign, but I was determined not to overspend or let her down. My heart raced at the prospect of handing over a big pile of cash for a house I’d never even been in. The feeling wasn’t good.
In the spirit of getting on with my life, until a vampire told me otherwise, I decided I'd have an early night. Tomorrow is another day, I told myself, onward and upward, Sophie.
With all doors and windows locked, and checked three times for good measure, I carried Charlie-Cat up to bed and sank into the comfort of the duvet. It retained an air of Mickey's musky odour and deodorant, which my nose drank in as if it were the smell of roses. Even if nightmares woke me screaming again, nothing was going to take away that first feeling of comfort.
I had breakfast with Mickey the next day, not in person but via video chat on my laptop. He reclined on his bed, speaking in hushed tones while I slurped tea and munched marmite on toast at the dining table. His mother was glad he had returned but hadn't asked many questions about me, but I wasn't offended; having lost her other son I'm sure she had more important things than me to worry about.
"So what you up to today, pet?" Mickey asked.
"I'm going to pop into Cardiff to some house auctions,” I said. “I’m not sure if I'll buy anything but it will be good to get a feel for what's out there at least.”
“Cardiff? You thinking of branching out?”
“I think we'll make more money renting places out in Cardiff so it's sensible to take a peek at what's on the market. I might bid, I don't know. I've never done it before and I might get carried away!"
"You? Never! You are the most practical, sensible person I know. You're so level-headed, you're horizontal."
"Charming you are, aren't you?" I poked my marmite coated tongue at him.
"Ick!" Mickey shook his shoulders in a faux quiver. I replied with a smile as sweet as a sundae but with a glace cherry of sarcasm on top.
"So what else you up to?" he asked.
"Gym perhaps. If a trail of vampires is going to be hot on my ass, I'm going to be in prime, peak, Terminator-fighting physical condition. Sarah Connor is going to have nothing on me."
Mickey grimaced.
"Sorry,” I said. “I know I shouldn't make light, but honestly, everything is going to be okay."
Mickey slammed down a mug of something onto the chest of drawers next to his bed. "Look," he said, “I'd feel a whole lot better if you admitted that there could be a real threat to you."
"Hey, my name is Sophie Morgan,” I said, squirming. “It's been three weeks since my last vampire." I wrinkled my nose and smiled.
"For fucks' sake Sophie, why do you have to bottle everything up? You can't just decide that there're no more vampires and that everything is going to be okay. We tried that and what happened? Sean got bloody murdered."
And there it was, the inevitable blame which I was sure was lurking in the dark recesses of his subconscious. The thought that had been scratching at the back of his mind all this time - that it was entirely my fault. I had been responsible for his brother's death; it was me, all me.
Tears pooled in my eyes as I watched Mickey's face turn from frustration to horror - the shock and disbelief at what he'd said catapulting him from his languid position. He sat bolt upright, laptop in his hands, exclaiming apologies.
I closed the lid of the laptop before he could see the first tear hit my cheek. I didn't blame him for what he had said. I was a fool to have thought that we could pretend that his grief wasn't my doing. Mickey was better off without me. Perhaps I was vampire fodder but he didn't need to feel any more grief. I'm toxic, I thought as I ignored the chirruping noise from my laptop. This is for your own good, I told his picture as it flashed up on my phone.
I ignored all fifteen calls and messages that lit up my devices in the hour that followed. Once he had given up, I sat quietly at the dining table and cursed the day I had ever gone to Antwerp. I cursed my friend Tracy for persuading me to go. I cursed vampires. I cursed the world. I even cursed my father because, if he had been around, maybe I would be better at this relationship stuff. Hell, where did that come from? I asked myself.
Charlie watched on from the vantage point of the fruit bowl. He had squeezed himself in the wooden bowl, between the now bruised bananas and the passed its best bunch of grapes. He stared at me with the bemused look of a creature that had no problems other than having to wash its own arse.
Pull yourself together Sophie, I told myself; if vampires want you then you can't outrun them and you can't hide from them, all you can do is protect yourself and those around you. You can’t heal Mickey’s pain either, he needs to work through it on his own, and it’s not up to you to fix everything. Get off your backside, take a shower, stick on your boots and get on with it.
Charlie's despondent stare told me that he thought I should buck up and get on with it too. I decided, for the sake of sanity and the bank balance, to side with the cat.
/> As it turns out, denial turned out to be an efficient distraction to my relationship/vampire woes.
The property auction was at a hotel on the outskirts of Cardiff, nestled between the motorway and an upmarket supermarket. There were maybe forty people there by the time I arrived, which may not sound like many, but the room was small and seats were few and far between.
"Do you come here often?" the guy stood next to me asked. His elbow was making a brazen attempt to befriend mine.
I tried to shuffle in the other direction, but was hedged off at the pass by an overweight buyer with a beard and a wax jacket that looked like it cost more than my month's allowance. His clipboard was filled with annotated property listings. A calculator and highlighters in his breast pocket told me he was a seasoned pro.
"Excuse me, could you just move across a bit?” I asked him. “I'm a little pressed for space here.”
He grunted, not welcoming my interruption to the proceedings, and moved all of three inches to his right. Great.
Elbow grazer smiled at me. "So?" he asked.
"So what?" After the morning I'd had, I was in no mood for light conversation or cheesy pick-up lines - especially ones which reminded me squarely of Mickey.
"Do you come here often?"
"Look, mate," I replied, trying to sound like the grown up that I felt like some of the time, "I'm only here to take a gander at some of the houses, see what it's all about and what not."
"Jesus," he said, eyes wide, "I was only asking." He returned his gaze to the auctioneer at the cloth-covered table at the front of the room. "I'm not coming here again if this is what people are like." He seemed to be talking to himself.
Great, super spiffy great, marvellous, I thought. Yes, Sophie Morgan because everyone is so interested in you aren't they? Men, vampires, you name it. How many more people are you going to insult today, eh?
A man at the front with the gavel finished outlining the instructions for the event, which I missed, and proceeded announcing the first lot. While the crowd flicked rapidly through the pages of the auction brochures and printouts, I leaned in to elbow grazer and apologised. "Sorry, bad day. This is my first auction too, well since I was a kid. I'm not sure if I'll make a purchase, most of these are out of my price range. I’m not too sure what it’s all about, truth be told."
"Yeah, it’s my first time too,” he said leaning into me. "To be honest, I'm not especially that into the property thing. I rent out my grandfather's old place, but that's it. I've got a bit of extra cash from it and thought it might be worth getting another place. I've not done this before though."
"Oh right, I was thinking the same," I said.
Wax jacket man glowered at us. I lowered my voice, which made me sound a bit like how I'd imagine a telephone sex line worker to talk. "My mum and I own a few in Bethel but we're thinking of branching out."
The guy in the wax jacket glared at me again, joined by a harassed-looking woman in a plaid shirt that pulled at her bust. "Sssh," she chastised, pressing her finger to her lips.
I mouthed a sorry and elbow guy and I kept silent for the duration of the auction. It lasted about three quarters of an hour, with around fifty percent of the listings being snapped up. Needless to say, they were the ones that started in my price range, but quickly exceeded it.
I rolled up my bundle of newspaper clippings and printed property details and shoved them into my bag. As I wrestled with the fastenings, I heard elbow man say something. I stood up quickly, hitting my head into his elbow with a whack. Ouch, I thought.
"Oh god, I'm sorry," he said. "Are you alright?"
"Uhuh," I replied, rubbing my head. Apart from the initial shock, there didn’t seem to be any major damage. No blood. No lump.
"Hey, I wouldn't normally ask... "He sounded nervous. This was not a good sign, I thought. "But I wondered if you had a number I could call you on."
"Oh right, um.” My forehead furrowed. “Sorry, what’s your name? I must have missed it."
"Darren."
"Darren. You seem nice and everything, but I don't think that's a good idea."
"Oh God no, no I'm not asking you out,” he replied, putting up his hands in a kind of ‘stop’ gesture. “I’m sure you're lovely and everything, but you said that you let properties, you have a few you said?"
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Way to go Sophie, I told myself. Yeah, you really are all that, aren't you? What the hell is getting into you lately?
“Oh yes, yes I do,” I replied, smiling awkwardly. “So you want my number because…?"
"Some advice if that's okay with you. I know we've only just met and I don't want to overstep or anything. I've got the one house but I'm not sure about the mechanics of how to make a business of it, it's all a bit informal, and I'm probably forgetting to do lots of things. But yeah, it would be good to have someone to call for some tips or a sanity check."
"Absolutely!" I beamed with over-enthusiasm and relief. "I've got a card here somewhere.” I rustled about in the depths of my bag. "Yeah, no, wait, hang on… ah… here it is."
I produced a slightly crumbled card from the back of my purse. I had a box printed online just before Christmas but hadn't had the opportunity to use them yet. Nor had I opportunity or the wherewithal to buy a business card holder.
"Thanks," he said, without commenting but clearly noticing the dog-eared corner. "So it's okay if I call you sometime?"
"Sure." I zipped up my bag again and slung it over my shoulder.
"Well, it's been good to meet you..." He read the card. “Sophie Morgan.”
"And you Darren."
"Thomas."
"I thought you said it was Darren?"
"Yes, Darren Thomas."
"Oh. Well, nice to meet you too."
"Here let me give you my business card too. I'm freelance but if you need any work doing, give me a call. Mates rates in return for the favour."
I took the card and shoved it my jacket pocket. I smiled the kind of smile that signals that a conversation is over and left him to ferreting around in his own bag and bits of paper.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the machine in the foyer on the way out and took a passing glance at the impeccable business card - beautiful font, stylised design and vibrant colours. DARREN THOMAS, GRAPHIC DESIGNER, it read. I popped it in my purse, along with the change from the vending machine and the couple of my own business cards that hid there. I studied them properly for the first time and realised how naff they truly appeared, plain white card, black, boring, Arial font. I had never thought it was possible, but my lacklustre stationary made me feel utterly depressed. I slung the water in my bag and moped my way back to the car.
15
After twenty three minutes - Kurt had counted out the time in head – Kasper unlocked the door and called him in.
“Kurt! Kurt! You can come in now. I am sorry if I frightened you. It’s safe now. I am more… settled."
Kurt was prepared to take the gamble. The creature in the room was still his brother, after all. He clambered to his feet, braced himself and turned the handle to the sitting room.
The room was intact, except for the chair which Kasper had been occupying. The vampire sat in the defeated armchair, his hands clasped on his trembling knees, fingers entwined.
Kasper nodded at the table. A freshly poured glass of whiskey sat upon it. “I thought you might need it,” he said.
Kurt's guts twisted. Kasper was so much younger and smaller than him - lean, pale, and pretty enough to be mistaken for a girl in the right light. He had been a beautiful young man and made an even more striking vampire. It had seemed to enhance him, but Kurt couldn't quite put his finger on how. He had missed his brother and hated that their reunion should be like this. It didn't seem fair.
But Kurt was also afraid, and not just for him, but for Julie and for her daughter. He had witnessed Julie see her teenage daughter grow up and go to university, her grief at her parents passing and her joy at Sophie’s
return to Bethesda. Kurt had always kept a distance, but he had felt part of her life somehow, an uninvited but silent observer. He would not allow Kasper to hurt her.
"I'm sorry, about before," Kasper said.
"I look at you and you are just as you were when you left. Ironically, it's easy to forget that you have changed so much, that you are now..."
“A vampire? One of the undead? Kindred?” A crooked smile crossed Kasper’s face but quickly dissipated. "Our meeting is not what I would have wished, not like this."
"And not with me beating you with a blunt instrument."
"No, quite," Kasper replied. “I must admit that I didn’t expect for you to be here. I didn’t expect you to be at Julie’s either. You have feelings for her though? You wanted to protect her?
Kurt rubbed his head. "All this time, and you are still that insightful little boy who could read me better than I could read my books.”
“I couldn't have been able to read you that well Kurt; I couldn't tell that you were in love with her."
“In love with her? Kasper, I swear I have never done anything to act on my feelings for her, never.”
“So, you are in love with her?”
“Kasper. I admit that my feelings for Julie are, tender. She was never interested in me; she only ever had eyes for you. When I came here, it seemed like fate. I have wanted to reintroduce myself to her, but I’ve kept my distance. The right time never seemed to arrive.”
"So you are not even friends? You haven’t met her? You haven’t made any attempt to see if she was well, that she was in need of anything?”
Kurt dropped his chin into his neck, his eyes locked on the swirling pattern of the ornate rug beneath his feet. “Things are more complicated than you think."
"You mean the fact that I have a child?"
Kurt's head snapped sharply up. Heat flashed his cheeks, his throat retreated into his stomach. The glass dropped in his hand, crystal cushioned by the pile covering the floorboards. "Sophie?"
Sophie Morgan (Book 2): Death in the Family Page 13