"Are you sure it's open?" Darci asked, her previous questions forgotten as she tried to see into the darkened interior through one of the windows.
"It's open." Will beamed reassuringly, holding the door. "After you, Miss Madison."
Despite appearances from the outside, the restaurant was indeed open. Dark wood and ambient lighting made the room feel intimate despite its size. It seemed a venue for secret liaisons, one that wouldn't have been out of place in a mystery or a film noir. A few groups were already there, some eating and others relaxing on soft sofas, chatting over a cup of coffee. Will placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her to a quiet table in the corner. He held out a chair for her, which baffled her for a second until she realised what it was he was doing. As she moved to sit down in the proffered seat, he tucked it in under her in an easy, fluid motion. She picked up the menu and perused it slowly, her stomach gurgling in happy anticipation as the smell of warm bread and burning wood drifted towards them from the kitchen. The rustic, hearty smells hinted at what was to come.
After a short verbal scuffle over who should pay, which she lost, Will went up to place their orders. She glanced idly around the restaurant, casually surveying the other diners. She'd nearly finished with her people-watching when a man caught her eye. He sat in the corner opposite them, his chair angled in such a way that he appeared to be facing her. An untouched glass of beer stood on the table in front of him. His eyes were cast down, scanning a newspaper that lay in his lap, although she could have sworn those eyes had been focused on her only moments before. Her attention was diverted, the figure forgotten, when Will returned to the table and placed a glass of red wine in front of her.
"I took the liberty of choosing a wine for you. I hope you don't mind."
"No, that's fine, thank you." Darci eyed the wine suspiciously. Will was certainly charming, and he had been quite the gentleman so far, but she didn't really know him and she had no intention of getting drunk and leaving herself vulnerable. Better safe than sorry, as her father had always told her.
Still, she didn't wish to be rude so she picked up the glass and took a sip. It was the single most delicious wine she had ever tasted, full-bodied with a smooth finish, a feast of flavours in her mouth. "What is this?" she asked, gesturing to the glass.
"A 2007 Penfolds Bin 707 Cabernet Sauvignon. I trust it meets with your approval."
"W… well, yes, it's amazing." Darci found herself stammering. She would not consider herself a wine buff by any means, but living so close to the Barossa, with all its award winning vineyards, it was hard to avoid learning something, and one thing she did know was that this was not a cheap wine. She was too embarrassed to bring up the cost. She just hoped he wasn't expecting more in return for his outlay than she was willing to give.
"The lasagne?" asked the waiter, approaching their table.
"For the lady," Will said.
The waiter placed the dish in front of her. "Parmesan? Black pepper?" he offered, brandishing an enormous pepper grinder, its proportions bordering on the ridiculous.
"Neither, thank you," Darci answered, holding up her hand to ward off the monster.
"Very well then. Buon appetito." The ding of a bell rang out, and the waiter darted off to answer its call.
"What did you order?" she asked Will as he gestured for her to start.
"Oh, nothing; I ate earlier. But please, don't let my abstinence stop you from enjoying your meal."
Chapter 4
The waiter came over and unobtrusively whisked Darci's empty plate away. She reached for her drink, still half full from her second glass of wine. A faint, pink lipstick stain clung to the rim. It would have been rude not to drink it, she told herself as she took another sip. In this subdued lighting the deep red took on an almost black hue, although the taste was still heavenly.
Will had asked her lots of questions during the meal about her music, her other interests, her likes and dislikes. He had been deeply interested in everything she had to say and so she had found herself talking and talking. It was only now, as their meal drew to a close, that Darci realised he now knew her entire life story while she still knew very little about him.
"What is it you do, Will? As a job I mean."
"To be honest, I don't work. Well, that's to say, I don't have to. I do sometimes write art reviews, but that's only for my own amusement and not from necessity." He paused, scratching at his neck with manicured nails as he looked down at the table.
"I didn't mean to embarrass you," Darci said, reaching out tentatively to touch his hand.
"Sorry? Oh, no, it's quite all right. In fact, I wanted to ask you something. I have tickets for a photography exhibition next month, on the eighteenth. The photographer is a friend of sorts, and he asked me to review the show for him. I wondered if you'd like to join me. If you're free, that is."
"I'd love to." Darci paused and wet her lips. "Will I see you before then?"
"Of course, if you want to. Perhaps you have some performances in the meantime?"
"Yes, hang on a sec." Darci yanked her handbag onto her lap and groped around for a pen. Pulling one of the clean paper napkins towards her, she scribbled furiously in her curled, soft handwriting. She noted down all of her performances for the coming weekends and ended with her phone number before handing the napkin to Will.
Will's eyes scanned the information and then he looked up at her and smiled. "Thanks. Looks like I'll be seeing you again on…" He checked the napkin. "…Wednesday." He folded the napkin and slipped it into his pocket. "This has been a most pleasant lunch, but I must leave you for now as I have some errands to run. Can I drop you off somewhere on the way?" Will stood up and tucked his chair back under the table.
"No thanks, I'll catch the bus. A bit of a walk might help clear my head after all that wine." Darci grabbed her bags and followed him to the door.
"Until Wednesday then, Miss Madison." Will took her hand and kissed it softly, his lips cool against her wine-warmed skin.
"Until then. Oh, and thanks for lunch."
"My pleasure." Will stepped outside and held the door for her.
As Darci stepped out onto the sun-drenched pavement, she suddenly recalled the strange man in the corner and glanced back inside. He still sat there, reading the paper as before. He appeared harmless enough, and Darci was unsure what it was about him that made her uneasy. Maybe it was the fact he still had not touched his drink, which remained neglected in the centre of the table. You're being silly, she told herself with a sad shake of her head as she let the door swing closed behind her.
* * * *
After she and Will had parted ways, Darci made her way back towards the city centre. The walk proved pleasant, the heat of the Australian sun negated by a soft, refreshing breeze that ruffled her loose hair, cooling her neck. As she had hoped, the walk woke her, and she was no longer feeling the inebriating, sleep-inducing effects of the wine.
Soon she was back on North Terrace and approaching the nearest bus stop. She didn't have to wait long before the bus arrived. Unfortunately, it was one of the older buses without air conditioning and the atmosphere inside was stifling. The sun glared through the glass, heating the vehicle like a greenhouse. She grabbed one of the few remaining window seats and wrenched the sliding panel open. The breeze that wafted against her face through the gap brought some relief, and she settled back into her seat for the journey home.
She got off at her stop and ducked into the shops to buy some bread. Luckily, there were still a few of her favourite flour-topped loaves left at the little private bakery she frequented, and she picked up two. She exchanged a few friendly words with the owner as she paid and then set off homewards.
As she walked, she mulled over her lunch with Will. She liked him; the way her heart had pounded the entire time she had been with him told her that much. It had been a while since her last relationship, and Will's attentions thrilled her, tying her stomach in knots. But now that she was no longer in h
is presence, she began to feel more hesitant. Who was he? Why was he interested in her? She had always dreamed of meeting a rich, handsome man with impeccable manners. Don't all girls? But that was a dream, a fairytale. Will seemed altogether too perfect, and the more she considered it, the more she thought that he must be hiding something that marred the ideal image he presented, something to turn the prince back into a frog.
Gradually the steady tapping of footsteps behind her worked its way into her consciousness. She glanced back over her shoulder. A man walked a few metres behind her. His head hung forward, obscured by a baseball cap sporting the slogan "Get into Beef!", and he'd stuffed his hands firmly into the pockets of his ill-fitting jeans.
His manner was by no means threatening, and it was broad daylight, but Darci's heart began to thump against her chest and every muscle in her body tightened, poised to run. She looked ahead again and continued walking, picking up the pace slightly as she crossed the road and entered her street.
The noise of dual footfalls continued, his landing more heavily seconds after her own. He was still following. She forced herself to look straight ahead and not turn around. The footsteps were getting neither louder nor quicker, so he clearly wasn't trying to catch up with her.
Her breathing was fast and ragged by the time she entered the driveway to the block of units where she lived. She opened her handbag, trembling fingers fumbling for her keys as she approached her front door. Once the key had turned in the lock and the door was half opened, she allowed herself a look back.
The man was crossing in front of the driveway, but he stayed on the pavement and did not enter. He lifted his head and turned to look in her direction. For a moment, she thought she recognised him as the man from the restaurant, but he lowered his head again and passed out of sight behind the brush fence before she could be certain.
Don't be silly, she told herself. It's just a guy out walking who meant no harm, and even if it was the same guy, it's merely a coincidence. She repeated this mantra until she'd convinced herself. Even so, she found herself double-checking the locks on her doors and windows that night before she went to bed.
Chapter 5
Darci sat in the passenger seat of Will's car, her lips pursed to stop herself from laughing out loud. Given his penchant for designer suits, she had been fully expecting to see him pull up in a yellow Jag or a red mid-life-crisis Porsche. It had therefore come as a bit of a surprise when a ten-year-old midnight blue Ford Focus, one of the earliest models, had rolled into her driveway.
The car was perfectly presentable, but it was a far cry from what she had been anticipating, and she had been close to hysterical laughter from the moment Will had held the passenger door open for her. She thought she had been hiding her amusement well until Will finally spoke.
"What's the matter, Darci? You look like you're about to either laugh or burst into tears."
"It's just the car," she said, managing to bite back her need to giggle once and for all. "It's not what I was expecting."
"Well, I prefer to keep a low profile when I'm out and about, and this car is guaranteed not to draw too much attention."
Darci didn't bother asking what he meant. She had grown used to his cryptic comments and figured they were simply a personality quirk. It was hard to believe that over a month had passed since their first meeting. He had attended every one of her concerts since then and she had slipped easily into the routine of meeting him afterwards. It seemed so natural to her now that she couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been there waiting for her at the stage door.
It was as if she had known him forever, and yet, it seemed that he was holding back. Their relationship hadn't progressed beyond gentle, chaste kisses, and he grew silent if she prompted him to talk about his past.
What happened to him in the past? What is he afraid of? Darci turned and looked at him, studying his profile in the waning light. His pale face was staring ahead at the road, but the slight furrow of his brow told Darci that his mind was elsewhere.
As if he felt her gaze, he turned and glanced at her. The frown disappeared and was replaced with a smile, but it never reached his eyes.
"What's on your mind?" she asked.
"Oh nothing—just random thought… Ah, here we are!"
Darci noticed the relief in his voice, but her attention was distracted from any further questions as they pulled up outside a large townhouse. She climbed out and shut the car door, looking around to get her bearings. She had been too busy repressing her laughter during the drive to notice their route, but she now realised they were back in North Adelaide. Whoever this photographer friend of Will's was, he was clearly reasonably well off to live in this part of town. And if he was that wealthy, why would he exhibit his work in his home instead of hiring a gallery?
Will guided her towards the imposing doorway and rang the bell. While they waited, Darci bent down to inhale the scent of the last of the summer roses lining the path on either side. The aroma hung in the air like a twilight perfume, and the bright crimson flowers mingled with others whose petals were of such a deep shade of red that they looked almost black as the last glimmer of daylight faded.
The door opened, and Will stood aside for her to enter first. The light within was even gloomier than the dusk she had just left behind outside. The hallway was lit, but only very dimly, casting deep shadows along the walls, adding to the sense of darkness rather than alleviating it. Something about the house made Darci pause—an unwillingness to step into that gloom, a faint memory of a long-forgotten childhood fear that told her dark things lurked in the shadows. But she felt Will's presence behind her and she pushed aside her irrational fears and stepped forward.
Once they were both inside, the door was shut, making the darkness even more complete, a statement of finality: abandon hope all ye who enter here. The girl who had let them in brushed past, beckoning for them to follow her. As she moved below the light, which hung high above their heads, Darci was able to see her more clearly.
She appeared to be young, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Darci could think of no word to describe her other than waif. The girl was as thin as a stick insect, an anaemic stick insect at that. The scarlet dress she wore highlighted her porcelain skin. The fabric hung awkwardly, loose and limp, and her shoulder blades protruded at sharp angles. It looked as if she would break at the slightest touch. She led them up the stairs and guided them towards an open door.
"Please wait, he'll be here soon." She spoke in a voice so small and frail Darci had to struggle to hear her.
With her message delivered, the girl drifted from the room. Her feet, which Darci now noticed were bare, hardly made a sound on the polished floorboards. She could well have been mistaken for a ghost.
"Is that girl your friend's daughter?" Darci asked, turning towards Will.
"No, she's—"
"She's my assistant." The voice was smooth and sensual, the words softly spoken, yet the sound filled the room completely, leaving a vague, uneasy echo.
Darci looked towards the door to see a young man enter. If someone had told her he was a model, she would not have been the least bit surprised. He might also have just stepped off a film set, given that his clothes were outdated to the extreme. He was actually wearing a frock coat and a decorative one at that. As he walked towards them, the brocading glimmered like real gold against the black material, and she caught the occasional flash of what looked like pearl buttons. With his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and tied with a piece of scarlet ribbon that matched his loose shirt, he looked like he belonged in Interview with the Vampire or Dangerous Liaisons. Maybe both.
"Will," he said, opening his arms in greeting. "It was good of you to come." He turned and looked Darci up and down. "And who is this pretty friend of yours?"
"Stefan, this is Darci Madison, a talented young soprano and a new acquaintance of mine; Darci, this is Stefan Koske, the photographer."
"Charmed," Stefan said with an elaborate bow that l
eft Darci unsure if he was being serious or facetious.
"Are you expecting many guests tonight, Mr Koske?" Darci asked.
"Please call me Stefan, and yes, I believe around fifty people will attend, though they will not be here for hours yet. My exhibitions generally open at midnight, but I agreed that Will could come earlier for a preview. Speaking of which, shall we begin?"
Darci watched as he walked back towards the doorway. She now noticed the room for the first time. Frames lined every wall, draped in red satin, and above each was a small light, the little bulbs around the glass making the room look like an elongated dressing room mirror. A large chaise lounge stood in the centre, appearing oddly out of place since the rest of the floor was bare.
Stefan must have turned on a switch because the lights slowly flickered to life, displaying the images beneath. With the main lights in the room so low, it was like looking at a series of film stills in a darkened cinema. Intrigued, she moved closer to the photographs.
At first she wasn't sure what she was seeing. The background of each image was dark, close to pitch black. In the foreground of each was a pale, gaunt figure, its skin a stark white against the darkness behind them, its mouth parted and eyes wide, looking upwards. They reminded Darci of Baroque paintings showing saints caught up in a religious fervour. The only colour used was red, splashes of it here and there. It was only after staring at the first image for a few moments that Darci realised it was blood. The theme of the images then fell into place. Each of the people in the shots was dying—their bodies growing pale as the blood, their life force, drained from them. But they weren't sad or distressed; they looked elated, their bodies twisted as if writhing in sexual pleasure. It was then she noticed the other link between them all. In each photograph, behind the dying figure, another stood in the background, barely visible because he was clad all in black and blended with the surroundings. She realised then that the eyes of the dying were not looking to heaven, but rather looking back towards the mysterious figure.
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