(#Twenty-three: Return) Wuthering Nights: Inspired by Wuthering Heights

Chapter Twenty-three

Return

     The car was sleek and black. Heath loved it above the others. He’d made so much money these last few years, more than he could ever need or want and he was surprised it hadn’t made him happy.

    ‘There is nothing in the world that will make up for a lack of real friends and family,’ Greta said to him once, when he was a child. He knew it to be true as he slumped into his bath, took his plasma capsules and washed them down with red wine. He’d wolfed down a roasted pheasant when he returned from his meeting with Kate, his mind reeling.

    The previous week, Harrison was asleep in a heap at the table when a knock on the door woke him. Most of the staff had left by the time Heath arrived at Hareton Hall. He was surprised he’d left for America without telling his sister about the house. 

   ‘What are you doing here?’ Harrison slurred, surprised when Heath hovered at the doorstep.

   ‘Come in,’ Greta said, ‘I was just leaving.’

    Heath smiled quietly. Harrison could not prevent his entry now that he’d been formally invited in.  

    ‘I gave you six weeks to get out, Harrison. You can either stay on and look after the stables or take your stuff and leave.’

   ‘How dare you? I haven’t told my wife or Hinton…’

    Unbeknownst to them, Harrison had been gambling in a disreputable part of the West End most evenings. Heath and some of his work colleagues had seen him going from one establishment to another until Heath himself had challenged him to a game of poker where the wager on the house had been set in front of at least a dozen witnesses. Still, Heath reasoned, he hadn’t forced him to sign the legal documents. Harrison had done that of his own accord.

   ‘Well, you’d better tell them soon. I just came to drop off some belongings and pick up my suit…’

    ‘You mean my father’s?’

    ‘He was my father too.’

     ‘Adopted,’ Harrison added slyly.

      ‘Yes, and the only father I have known…a quality you would know nothing about. I have no idea how you could possibly imagine I’d be your…blood relation. Oh, that’s right, you knew I wasn’t. Thank you for finally ruining our happiness. You never heard such a conversation as you detailed to me in that note…did you?’

     ‘Of course not, mother wanted to leave. She knew father had not had an affair with your mother. It was not his way. He was honourable.’

     Heath moved quickly this time. Though Harrison was tough he was amazed at the strength in Heath’s hands as he had him in a headlock on the kitchen table.  Then he moved closer and Heath (although drunk by midday as usual) swore he saw fangs emerge from the man’s mouth and moaned and screamed for mercy as Heath threw him, using all the strength he had to resist savaging him, onto the footpath by the scruff of his neck, like an animal.

     When Harrison relayed the story to his psychiatrist days later, the doctor recommended stronger medication.

      Harrison had been so shocked, he could barely speak. When he did, it was more of a whisper as Heath detailed the terms of his ownership…

      ‘You’ll come to a bad end charity case… even with all your new money.’

       Heath threw Harrison’s suitcase on the landing outside the door.

      ‘That’s just the kind of statement I’d expect from a daylight drunk. You have a wife and a child to support. Maybe you should start thinking about how you’re going to do that after going through father’s millions. Face it Harrison, this day was always going to come…’

    ‘Am I really supposed to believe that you did all this because you lost Kate?’  Harrison bawled.

   ‘I’m serving you notice, Harrison. Either accept my offer to stay on as groom until you find a job, something that goes above and beyond what is legally expected of me - and you,  Frances and Hinton can have the cottage - or leave. You have two hours to decide.’

    Heath brushed past him as he walked to his car.

    Harrison banged his fist on the window as Heath placed the keys in the ignition.

    ‘You really are something, aren’t you, Heath Spencer. I did you a favour when I kept you away from Kate, when I insinuated the truth of your dubious heritage.’

   ‘You mean, made it up. Yes, something I’m eternally grateful for. You know nothing about my history, as you put it, but the thought of having you as a blood relation made my stomach turn. I got tested. Kate and I share no biological relation but we have always been of like mind. Perhaps that is stronger than biology. All you did Harrison, was spend enough energy to keep Kate and me apart… for a while, but not forever.’

    ‘She’s married to someone else.’

    ‘Not for long. Get your stuff and take it to the guest house. You’re lucky Hinton’s so young or I’d show no mercy and throw you out on the street.’

   Harrison pitched a rock at Heath’s car but the alcohol had damaged his balance and it missed, smashing a window of the house instead.

   ‘You nearly hit me,’ Heath said, rolling down the window. ‘I’ll add that to your debts, shall I?’ 

    Harrison slumped to the gravel.

    ‘It’s mid-afternoon Harrison,’ Heath said. ‘Get yourself sobered up.’

    ‘You…you clean yourself up!’ Harrison bawled.

     Heath heard the older man screaming at him as he drove off in his sleek sports car. Harrison wobbled out of the house with a shot gun that he was too drunk to point in the right direction. Threats hardly bothered Heath.  He’d proved himself impervious to bullets. Heath considered feeling bad for Harrison as he drove off, but he couldn’t. The years of cruelty Harrison had inflicted on him as a child made pity impossible. Now the captive would become the captor. He did not worry for his own soul or for Kate’s anymore. Their fates were linked, he was sure of it.

(#Twenty-four: Dinner Party) Wuthering Nights inspired by Wuthering Heights

Chapter Twenty-four

Dinner Party

    Heath stayed in Hampstead that night, at the pub he later bought.

    I had the dated receipt amongst his letters. Harrison had agreed to leave The Hall the next day. He’d delivered a note to Heath at the pub and was taking the family on a trip, with what remained of his assets. They would arrange to have their belongings collected. Heath was officially the owner of Hareton Hall and Harrison had finally woken up sober.

    In any case, Heath did not wish to return to his home that night. He’d always liked the old pub overlooking the grounds of Hampstead Heath and had a notion, with his new found wealth, to buy it. 

     He pulled a Savile Row suit, newly tailored, from the wardrobe. Heath needed to look his best tonight.  He showered, combed his hair, drank some Magenta and cleaned his teeth. There were few things that interested him less than fashion but he was determined to make an effort for this dinner party. He felt good to go as he grabbed his room key and walked down the stairs to his car.

     Heath arrived at The Grange soon after to find it lit up magnificently. The Georgian house was as fine as Kenwood House but The Grange, being tucked behind a veil of trees, was more secure and not open to the public. It was the palace Heath and Kate had grown up alongside, but Heath thought, with some minor alterations, Hareton Hall would be grander. 

    The invitation was for a dinner party of sorts. Kate, Hunt, Annabelle and himself were to be the only guests.

     Heath was the last to arrive.

     Annabelle had spent hours getting ready that night. She wore a long, blue, figure hugging dress that reached to her ankles. To match her sparkling designer heels, she wore an expensive diamond necklace that had been handed down through generations of Hunts.

     The round dining room table was set grandly as though they were entertaining a guest of honour rather than an old friend. The chandeliers were on full power and candles were lit in rows on the wall, highlighting the minimalist design. The interiors had been recently renovated. It was a house that had always haunted Heath and compelled Kate.

    When Heath rang the doorbell, expecting the butler or housekeeper to greet him, he was surprised that Kate opened the door herself and invited him in. She stood there, in a red velvet jacket, black jeans and fresh boots. Her hair hung in ringlets down her back and she looked like a girl who’d just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. Kate’s stomach was flat and there was not a hint of her pregnancy, although she realised she should probably have warned Heath about Katarina, since there were family photographs all over the lounge room.

     ‘Being richer suits you,’ Heath said, pushing past her and making his way into the hallway.

     Kate looked at Heath and smiled, ignoring his insinuation. The girl greeted him like an old friend, a little too warmly to be a favourite brother and a little too enthusiastically for Hunt’s liking.  

     Edmund Hunt, seated in the drawing room, was finalizing his applications to law school and reading over the notes he’d written. He had been warned by Kate to be civil. His marriage, still in its early days, was fragile. Their child, Katarina, lay sleeping upstairs. Kate had not mentioned her to Heath but her photographs were dotted all over the drawing room. Edmund Hunt, desperate to please his wife, was on his best behaviour. Hunt was aware that of the two of them, he was the one who loved more.

     Edmund still couldn’t believe Kate had agreed to marry him.  He knew banning her from seeing Heath at this point would never work. Trying to convince Kate the man was beneath her would also be hopeless. Kate, although raised with generations of old money, had never really set aside her obsession with Heath. Hunt was aware that his money and class would never be enough to compete with Kate’s childhood obsession. In Hunt’s view, possession was nine tenths of the law and Kate was his now. Their soon to be born child made him sure of this.

     Annabelle had dressed formally for the occasion, Kate noticed. Whilst it had recently been no surprise to see her in jeans and an old, paint-splattered shirt, her sister-in-law was dressed to kill. Belle had also spent the afternoon at the hairdresser’s having her blonde hair foiled and waved in the latest celebrity style.

     Kate worried about her, and not for the reasons Annabelle suspected. Jealousy was not an emotion Kate felt easily and certainly not in the direction of Annabelle. But she suspected, or really had always known that Annabelle remained infatuated with Heath. His contempt for all her sister-in-law stood for (inherited wealth, class distinction, the divide between him and Kate) would run deeper and extend to contempt for Annabelle.

     Heath’s pallor seemed tanned; his clothes were tailored and expensive. Annabelle had done some research and informed Kate that he owned companies all over town. Kate had barely listened. She was unimpressed by the way Heath had brought Harrison low, even though she knew how much Harrison deserved it.

     Heath was dressed in a formal suit under a pure cashmere overcoat. Only Kate knew the scarf he wore was her own. To Annabelle, who was sitting in the bay window seat - the same place Kate had sat in when she was recovering after the skiing incident, waiting or rather pining for Heath - this would not register.

    Heath thought Kate looked like a movie star as he hovered in the hall. He tried to ignore her as he casually glanced at the photographs on the walls. Annabelle shone in the background, but he paid her scant attention in that moment. When his eyes had finished glancing at Kate’s infant daughter (she looked to be about one in the photograph), Heath glanced back at Kate, then Annabelle.

      Kate withdrew to the kitchen as Annabelle raced up to Heath, enthusiastically. Heath stood formally in the hallway.

     ‘Hello Annabelle.’

     ‘Hello Heath,’ Annabelle replied happily. ‘May I take your coat?’

       Normally, the butler would have done this, but Annabelle had been quick to the mark after Greta wished them all good night and given the staff the night off. Annabelle took Heath’s scarf and placed it on the hall table not far from Katarina’s baby picture which Heath appeared not to notice.

       When Annabelle reached over to take Heath’s coat, he turned around quicker than she anticipated. To her surprise and delight, just as she was going to greet him with the customary European air kiss on both cheeks, he kissed her on the mouth instead. Heath showed no expression as Annabelle blushed again and stumbled to the coat rack feeling as light as air.

     The visitor smiled warmly. ‘You are looking lovely tonight, Annabelle,’ he said. Annabelle was excited to hear her name spoken in his velvet voice. ‘It’s been too long. I haven’t seen you in years,’ he added.

    Annabelle smiled shyly and blushed at the warm greeting and unexpected compliment she had received.

    ‘We thought you had forgotten us,’ Annabelle said, pretending to be slightly put out as they walked through to the drawing room.

    ‘Not exactly, I work in finance now. My work took me… to America.’

    ‘I read about you in the paper today: financial wiz kid and all that. They posted a lot of details in the article. Apparently you are the most sought after bachelor in England. You should have stayed in touch...’ Annabelle beamed.

   ‘Well, the important thing is I’m back in touch now,’ he said, staring directly into her eyes.   

    Annabelle continued, ‘and then I read all about how much money you donate to charity…’

   ‘For tax purposes,’ Heath added modestly.

    Annabelle ignored his response and whispered, ‘I always knew you were a good person, Heath.’

    Heath rolled his eyes when no one was looking and loosened his tie. His mouth watered when he smelled the steaks sizzling in the kitchen. Kate, dressed in an old-fashioned apron and playing chef, began to worry that trusting Heath to be civil tonight was a mistake. However, concerned she might lose contact with him altogether and unable to face the thought, she had hastily taken the risk to combine the three people now closest to her in the same room.

    ‘I’m sorry not to have kept in touch, Annabelle. I suppose…real life gets in the way,’ Heath added, changing the subject as Annabelle handed him a glass of red wine.

    Hunt stood up when Heath entered the room as Kate re-introduced the men. They shook hands and talked about the stock market as Heath’s gaze wandered, drinking in the family portraits.

     During dinner, where Heath was most amiable to Hunt and Kate, it was as if the seductive kiss between him and Annabelle had never happened.

     The first course was heating on the stove. Greta had left all the instructions as she departed but Kate kept getting up to check on everything. The table had been set perfectly and Heath recognised Greta’s hand in all of the decorations. He knew Kate must have wanted the night to be perfect for some reason. Perhaps she somehow expected his re-introduction to the family would be a happy occasion.

     Kate, who had been finalizing the sketches for Annabelle’s play, had little to do with the domestic running of the house. She had been avidly researching the best food to serve at dinner parties…and the recipe for Heath’s favourite dish of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. 

     Heath walked into the kitchen, leaving brother and sister alone to chat after demolishing the first course of lobster soup. Heath offered to bring the plates and stack them in the sink. It was the first time he’d ever done menial work in a kitchen since Greta had allowed him to wipe the dishes as a six-year-old. He’d done it so badly she never asked him again. He disliked kitchen tasks but for tonight, he’d made an exception. He knew women actually liked men who pretended to be domesticated and he was keen to impress Annabelle. Heath found it funny because he thought Kate would have to be out of her mind to really be fooled by his act, but she played along.

     Kate smiled, ‘This is all going remarkably well, considering...’

    ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ Heath said.

     Kate leaned in and whispered, ‘considering you hate my husband.’

     Heath looked into her eyes, ‘I don’t hate him. The thought of him barely enters my mind. By the way, I saw the family portrait. How old is your daughter?’

    ‘Katarina is just a toddler.’

    ‘Don’t you think I should meet her?’

     ‘Not tonight. She’s asleep.’

     Heath shrugged. Kate sighed disbelievingly as she took the dinner plates from the top shelf above the stove. Heath looked on impatiently studying Kate’s perfect curves as she retrieved various forks and spoons. The desire to plunge his retracted fangs into her neck, the curve in her arm, the crease behind her knee - demolish her altogether - was more intense  than ever.

     ‘Anything else I can do?’ Heath asked standing close to her. ‘I have to say, I thought Hunt would have more…staff.’

    ‘Don’t be stupid, Heath. Greta only comes in because I begged her not to leave me. Most of the servants quit ages ago. Hardly anyone in London has servants anymore. We barely afford the groom even though Hunt is, as you know, comfortable.’

    Heath laughed.

   ‘Is that meant to be a joke? ‘

     Kate sighed. ‘Of course I understand how fortunate we are. I volunteer at the local charity now.’

    ‘Listen to you. You sound so…pious.’

    ‘It’s more than you’ve ever done.’

    ‘True, but then I was born a little closer to the poverty line than you were and it’s not a place I relished. Anyway, you needn’t be so proud of your ability to marry well and your husband’s ability to inherit money.’

    ‘You think I married well? I thought you’d abandoned me Heath. What was I supposed to do? You disappeared for three years.’ she whispered, wary that Annabelle and Edmund might hear.

     ‘Yes, that was…unfortunate.’ 

     ‘That’s an understatement. If you need to blame someone, you should at least partly blame yourself.’

      Heath reached for Kate when he was sure the others were in conversation in the other room. He leant in to her hair as he used to when they were younger and she hugged him, greedily, expectantly, wanting more.

     Then, just as he contemplated kissing her perfect lips, he spoke.

    ‘Oh Kate,’ Heath shook his head. ‘I’m just imagining what a boring little country wife you have become…’

     Kate pushed him away.

    ‘Stop it Heath, you’re being horrible…’

     Heath laughed softly.

     ‘What did you expect when you invited me here?’ he whispered.

     ‘Why are we whispering? Never mind…’ Kate stacked the pudding dishes. ‘I just wanted us to have…’

    ‘What,’ he whispered, ‘an evening reminiscing? Like the good old days! Did you hide the shot guns? Hunt can barely hide his disdain for having to dine with the help…’

    ‘That’s not fair, he’s not a snob…he was…thrilled I’d invited you home.’

    ‘I can’t believe you’re sticking up for him.’ She was close to him now. He heard the heart beats and spoke out of turn, accusingly.

    ‘You’re pregnant aren’t you? That’s why you won’t leave him,’ Heath said as he transported the spoons to the tray.

    ‘Heath…he’s…’

    ‘He’s what? Your husband…the man you preferred to sleep with over me? The man you…love? Does he know you married him for his money, because of a misunderstanding with me?’

    ‘Now, you’re being nasty…’ Kate whispered, cautioning him with her intonation.

    ‘Only now?’ he replied.

    Just then, Annabelle came wandering in, her long skirt floating into the room behind her as if she were part of an intangible mirage or some bizarre circus.  She smiled at Heath, unable to contain her thrill at being in the same vicinity as this unknowable, beautiful man. The wind outside the kitchen windows groaned across the grounds of the estate. Winter air that had turned to a deep chill over the last few days warned them of the icy weather and snow soon to follow.

    Heath felt the chill then smiled again at Annabelle. ‘I don’t miss the cold.  America is warmer. By the way, I was just telling Kate how lovely you look tonight, Annabelle.’

   ‘Thank you.’ Annabelle said, clearly thrilled but obviously surprised to be complimented so publicly.

    ‘I can see this is not going to be simple,’ Kate said under her breath as she opened the oven door.

    ‘Let me help you with that,’ Heath said, obligingly. ‘Kate was never one for the kitchen,’ he said to Annabelle, ‘and we wouldn’t want you lifting anything heavy in your condition.’

     Annabelle beamed, ‘Isn’t it exciting?’

     ‘Very,’ Heath said.

      ‘Kate’s told you…’

      ‘I guessed,’ Heath responded. The sound of the tiny heartbeat drummed in Heath’s ears as soon as he was close to Kate. He wanted to savage her and was sated only by a double dose of Magenta before he arrived. Annabelle gazed at Heath warmly. She was thinking what an amiable and successful man he had become. 

    Hunt, sitting at the dining room table patiently, was closing the half opened window as Kate returned with the gravy boat.

   ‘Darling, I told you we should have kept the staff tonight,’ he said, deluded about the rising cost of living.

   ‘It’s just friends, Edmund. I didn’t want anything to be formal.’

    Now it was Edmund’s turn to roll his eyes.

    ‘I rather think I would have sooner entertained a rapper or a recently paroled dealer…’

    ‘Shh…’ Kate said. ‘Heath is a guest… he’s family.’

    ‘He’s not my family,’ Hunt said as Heath entered the room. It wasn’t his style to pretend not to hear, to play the upper class games Kate’s family were raised playing, but for tonight he would make an exception. All would continue along smoothly, for the moment.

    They talked of old school acquaintances and the stock market. Edmund, steadied by Katherine, had been warned not to discuss the missing years of their lives.

    Hunt boasted of Kate’s brief but shining design of the classic play being talked about in the London theatre world and congratulated Heath on his obvious business successes.

    ‘Yes,’ Heath said, ‘and, I’m sure Kate has told you, I’m…as of three minutes ago… the new owner of Hareton Hall.’

     Hunt raised his eyebrows and looked shocked. Then he looked directly at Kate.

     ‘Darling, you never told me this.’

     Kate looked surprised. ‘I only just found out…’

     ‘Harrison lost it in a bet…and now, it’s mine…’ Heath added as Annabelle scooped raspberry coulis over her ice-cream. Not entirely oblivious to the family drama, she looked up wide-eyed. It was exciting that Heath was to be their newest neighbour. She would get to see him regularly. And now that Kate was married, her sister-in-law couldn’t resent their friendship. Annabelle smiled warmly at Heath over her pudding. Heath looked at the raspberry sauce and imagined drinking her blood.

    ‘But I thought… Oh, I still have a few of the pictures I was commissioned to make, left to do…of the Hall…’

     ‘And you shall,’ Heath added jubilantly.

     Kate looked up, ‘Would anyone like coffee?’ she asked, trying to change the subject.

     ‘Yes, please,’ Heath said. ‘I find myself absolutely starving for pudding, and I never eat sweets. That must have been the finest meal you’ve ever cooked tonight, Kate. What an excellent little wife you’ve made…the second time around,’ he said condescendingly.

    Hunt stared at him. ‘We didn’t ask you here to insult us,’ he said.

   ‘Mmm,’ Heath replied, ‘well, you didn’t ask me here at all, did you?’

   ‘Heath,’ Kate cautioned.

   ‘No, it must be said, out with it. Kate’s my wife now, not yours.’

   Heath just looked at him and laughed.

   ‘Yes, well, I can see by the light on her wedding ring - nearly knocked me out when we ran into each other riding yesterday. Oh, that’s right. You weren’t wearing one, were you?’ Heath said sarcastically.

    Kate shook her head.

   ‘Let’s all go into the drawing room and have a drink,’ Annabelle suggested.

   ‘Actually,’ Heath announced as he stood up, ‘I find I’m tired after all my…acquisitions today.’ He looked straight at Kate, then at Annabelle.

    ‘I trust you know you will be welcome at Hareton Hall anytime, Annabelle, to finish your paintings and photographs. The same goes for my new neighbours. Perhaps we could go riding again soon Kate.’

    Kate looked up. In the still and without distractions, he could read her mind, ‘Don’t…’ she thought, ‘don’t tell him…that I love you more…even after the fact that you’ve succeeded in  making a fool out of me tonight…’

   Hunt looked at Kate, surprised she had already been socializing with this man who he had feared, it must be said, admired yes, and as a school boy, hated… Though now, he felt a slight twinge of pity for the person who was so evidently in love with what was his.

     Later that night, Kate lay awake, reading one of her favourite novels, Jane Eyre. She read about the delusional woman in the attic, the first wife and wondered how much of the crazy it took to send a woman mad. Her husband had tossed and turned after Heath left but he had no inkling of the power Heath had over her, of how torn she now was. Underneath, she longed to be only with Heath.

     That was how little Edmund understood her.

     And who knew? Maybe it was a marriage of convenience, just as Heath had insinuated. Their partnership was a merge of her finances and Edmund’s property. But what choice did she have back then?

     Kate lay awake for hours in the dark, thinking about Annabelle’s loving glances towards Heath at the dinner table. It would be a lie to say, as she tossed and turned all night, she didn’t have any inkling what Heath might do next.

(#Twenty-five: Scholarship) Wuthering Nights: Inspired by Wuthering Heights

Chapter Twenty-five

Scholarship - Present Day

    Slowly, Katarina and Hinton became friends.

    When Katarina arrived at Hareton Hall at nine in the morning to help Hinton revise his written applications for the Art prize, she felt a pool of excitement in the pit of her stomach. She could hardly wait to see him again. Hinton had confided in her that he thought his written skills were lacking and Katarina had offered to help him present, “the best possible version of himself”, as she put it. He had readily accepted and together they made a first draft.

   The Hall, once the grandest of houses, had creeping plants growing from its foundations now, as if it were slowly crumbling from the inside. Over the past few months, the wiring needed fixing, the swimming pool had grown thick with leaves, the tennis court was left untended and the stables were nearly empty. The owner had become more and more reclusive.

    Hinton didn’t want to tell her why he’d felt a desire stronger than any natural one to drink blood. It was a one in ten thousand possibility, according to Heath’s specialist, but somehow his condition matched that of his adopted parent.  A trace had been done and it seemed somehow Hinton and Heath shared the same affliction.

     Their lineage, a distant, improbable vampire link, was not all they had in common. Hinton and Heath shared a desire to feed, a fear of the sunlight and their own fading images in mirrors. Heath’s was now an outline and soon there would be nothing.  Today, Hinton’s image in the hallway mirror had dulled considerably. Instead of a medallion, Hinton wore a signet ring that Heath had given him when he was small, to protect him from the sun. Hinton resolved not to focus on the negatives of his condition.

    The winner of the scholarship was due to receive an apartment and a small stipend abroad. Prague would be darker and rainier than many places and Hinton quite liked the idea of that kind of weather, for obvious reasons. He wanted to get away. Still, only one person from the whole college would be chosen on the strength of their exhibit.

     Katarina had insisted on taking him in her new car for lunch in Hampstead High Street. Her father had bought the car for her as a bribe for choosing to study in London instead of travelling far from home. Previously, the thought of Katarina leaving him was something her loving father had found nearly impossible to bear. Katarina, having recently turned eighteen, was experiencing a freedom she had longed for after passing her driving test. The girl was yet to tell her father that she had become friendly with Heath, Linus and Hinton.  That was an “off limits” conversation.

    It was a beautiful day, rare and summery, like the ones her father had told her about when she was first born. In those days, when she was a child, she vaguely remembered her young mother taking her to Hampstead Heath for picnics. Her studious father would hold her hand, walk her across the road and teach her to ride. When she was old enough she rode park trails on her pony and later, her horse. By the time she was a teenager, she’d become an expert, riding properly in various events on Hero’s Daughter.

     When Katarina asked about her mother’s family, all her father told her was that he’d never been fond of Heath as a child. He grew up with nannies and in boarding schools as men of his class and in his generation did but repeatedly told Katarina he loved her - something his own family had never said to him. Katarina knew this was true and that he meant well. He had tried not to burden her with this now adult concept of his quiet, contained, isolated youth but one day he told his daughter something that surprised her.

    ‘I never saw my parents show any affection to one another,’ he told Katarina when they were out riding together.

    ‘Something of an overshare, Papa,’ she’d replied.

     Katarina realised how different her upbringing had been from her father’s.

      How strange and quiet the heath had become in winter, her father thought, when he first bundled this little girl up and took her for long walks to Kenwood House. As she grew older, and had her own nanny, the family would often go for picnics in the grounds of the heath. Though the gardens of their own house were magnificent, Hunt wanted Katarina to have the normal childhood that had eluded him, or as normal as it was possible for her to have, so he took her exploring. 

   Being in his daughter’s company pleased Edmund Hunt endlessly. He remembered so many dinners with his own father, separated by an expanse of dining room table.  He was never allowed to chatter during meals. He determined to raise Katarina differently. Together they played a game called… What if? From the time Katarina could talk she was encouraged to ask questions: ‘What if the world was coloured pink? What if the grass was blue? What if Mummy hadn’t left?’ This question ended the game. There were some questions Hunt wouldn’t answer.

    As she grew older he worried for her and for himself. His daughter was sweet-natured and generous. She had gifted him further understanding of the world beyond his front door. Katarina made Hunt see life for what it was, rather than in isolation and in relation to his needs and those of his family. He knew he loved her so much he would never be able to say “no” to her and dreaded the day she would ask him for something he could not or did not wish to give her.

    Like the truth.

    The morning Katarina and Hinton decided to drive over to Hampstead High Street, the place, busy with post-Christmas bargain hunters, was busy. Together they sat in the French patisserie and ordered coffee, sandwiches and sweet cakes. Hinton barely ate in her presence and when he did, he picked the chicken off his plate and chewed that first.    

    ‘Do you know why our families don’t speak?’ Katarina asked as she stirred sugar into her latte.

    ‘Age old feud,’ Hinton said. ‘I think Linus knows the whole story. I only know my version of it. I’m sure your father would have a different account of what happened.’

    ‘He wouldn’t be happy if he knew we were all in contact, that’s for sure. But I’m so glad you and Linus and I are friends.’

     ‘Is that what we are?’ Hinton looked at her quickly, wondering for a moment if she would say something more.

       In response, Katarina looked into his eyes as Hinton took her hand. His fingers were pleasantly cool.

       ‘I want to…thank you for helping me so much.’

       Hinton slipped a tiny packet in the saucer of her tea cup. The envelope contained a delicate, gold bracelet with the initials KH carved on the inside. It must have cost Hinton at least a month of the wages he’d earned, working at the pub.

       Katarina smiled as Hinton helped her to fasten the clasp around her wrist. 

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, finishing her toast. Then she did something that surprised him. Katarina leant over and kissed him with her honey lips.

       Hinton’s face flushed red. He wasn’t really sure what to say next. He’d dated girls, lots of them, but he’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for Katarina. He shyly took her hand and kissed it. 

       They had been reading together every day. Heath still got the odd word the wrong way round, but had improved considerably. He was sure the extra study he did with the tutor he’d hired (encouraged by Katarina) had gone a long way to making words much easier for him to read. His world had opened up and he was less afraid of what the future held when she was near. He didn’t want to let go of her fingers.

     ‘Over these months …you helped me to have some confidence, not just in reading, but in…myself.’

     Katarina was speechless. She had looked forward to every moment she spent with Hinton walking through Hampstead and working together in the studio in Soho. He dreaded what he had to tell her so instead he passed her some documents.

     ‘You need to read something,’ Hinton said, ‘before you decide if you want to…be my girlfriend…’

    Katarina smiled, it was the first time he’d used that word. Then she frowned, what possible barrier stood in the way of this, her first real romance?

     Hinton passed her his medical records.

    ‘You need to be aware,’ he said, ‘that I’m not…normal.’

     Katarina looked at him quizzically, unsure of the correct response. Hinton got up and left the coffee shop as Katarina opened the cover of the first folder marked: Type A Requirements.

     Later that day, Hinton was in the college studio, quietly painting. He had a small supply of Magenta that he kept in the student common room kitchen in a flask. He quietly sucked on lunch through a straw. Since he’d turned twenty-one his desire for human blood had been overwhelming but this daily treat of Magenta kept it at bay. Vampiricism was another reason he and his uncle both liked and loathed each other.

     Heath had been the first to identify him as a fellow bloodsucker. Hinton had been so full of self-loathing he was almost glad Harrison and Franny had never lived to see him develop from hybrid to vampire. Harrison had drunk himself to death in his early thirties and his wife, Frances, had been killed in a nightclub in Paris at the age of twenty-six. That’s how Hinton wound up with Heath. It was discovered Heath and Frances (remarkably) shared a supernatural gene. Although Heath had not been biologically related to Harrison or Kate, he was a very distant cousin (two hundred years removed) to Frances and Hinton. 

    Hinton didn’t share Heath’s passion for chicken but he gnawed on a cooked chop that had been specially marinated, pan fried and wrapped in foil. He’d left Katarina with the open folder on her desk and didn’t want to think about what her reaction might be.

    Hinton painted freely. He was sure with brush strokes in a way that he had never been with words. He disliked any form of authority but was aware of his need to improve his basic reading skills. He was embarrassed to be this age, to be this bright (he had no trouble comprehending the world and had a photographic memory for numbers and people’s names…), yet to still be such a terrible reader was confronting. He’d long ago accepted his daily need for blood but he was ashamed of his lack of education. He’d stuttered as a child and somehow he’d overcome this affliction in his teens. If Katarina believed in him, he felt sure, with her help, he could overcome his wicked desires.

    He liked the solitude of the studio, deep in the quiet hub of the empty Art College.

    Nobody was here late in the afternoon and there was not a soul to suggest changes to what he was creating. He thought of Katarina and checked the messages on his mobile; nothing.  He wondered what she was thinking but didn’t want to press her until she had fully digested what the words in that folder meant.

     They’d been working on abstract expressionism in class, but for the first time in weeks Hinton’s brush seemed to have a mind of its own as he removed the drying artwork from his desk and set to work on a blank canvas attached to a wooden easel. 

     He sketched the outline from a photograph taken on his mobile but then he relied on the memory of her perfect face. As if writing a first draft, he sketched with abandon, adding the base with great ease and little emphasis on detail. But then, as the hours wore on, and afternoon became evening, he built the intricate shades of colour that became skin on his subject’s neck. The textures made him uneasy. Still, with no answer from the girl, his first layer of the image was becoming more complex, like a photograph of Katarina’s face. Hinton leaned in and painted two perfect red dots on the paper frail skin above her collar bone. Then he bowed his head in his hands and sighed.

    

    That afternoon, Katarina re-read Hinton’s file.

     It was less shocking than she’d suspected.

     The word ‘blood’ stood out in all its satin, red stained essence.

     The description of Hinton’s “type” was unusual but not conclusive. For years now, there had been talk in the press about a rogue species; human-vampires. Born with a weak strain of vampiricism, they developed fully over a period of time and into adulthood. It was different for males and females. The females could linger for up to twenty years in hibernation and it was impossible to tell the difference between hybrids and human beings. Katarina had not taken as much notice as she should have but she remembered these details from a recent article on the web.

     She wanted to discover as many facts as she could; she wanted to find out what this strain meant for them and how she could help. Regardless of words on paper, Hinton was still Hinton. Katarina realized this as she read the doctor’s dramatic introduction: he may not sleep at night, he may not wish to eat…it may be possible he lives far beyond the years of normal humans… The words “immortality”, “bloodsucker”, “vanished”, “feeding”, “type A”, “hunger”, “forever”, jumped out at her on the page. Katarina resolved to do some more research that evening.

      Upon waking, after Katarina had had a few hours’ sleep and the enormity of Hinton’s condition had set in, Hinton would be greeted with the message - it’s okay. I love you and that doesn’t change. I want to help in any way possible. Meet you tomorrow afternoon @ Hareton Hall.

      Katarina was determined to finish her Art folio the next day (of a series of photographs of Hareton Hall) using different levels of light. The girl also intended to start reading the files and finish the journals. She knew there was a secret that went beyond Hinton. The hush ran through the family. There had been whispers of a human-hybrid species for years in the media, but no one she ever knew had met an actual vampire; whole or hybrid. They kept to themselves, or maybe they just hid in the shadows. 

     Hinton, in retrospect, had displayed all the symptoms she’d researched on the web upon waking. His specialist had scrawled in the files… ‘The young man has cravings for protein, then citrus, then…animal blood…which may develop upon adulthood as a craving for humans…’ Katarina looked away.  Further details were in the files that she forced herself to read.

   The boy displayed a nocturnal instinct as a child. He’d tried to bite his own mother (at birth) and she had declared him ‘impossible’ to raise.

    It was true. Hinton had gravitated towards Heath as a child. His sister, Frances, had stayed at the Hall briefly until she fled to Paris. Harrison had been discovered trying to beat Hinton with a stick, before he drank himself into oblivion. That part was true; it was like history repeating itself.

      Katarina was surprised as she read the social worker’s reports sitting in the car. Her desire to help and protect Hinton grew stronger with every sentence.