Chapter Seven
The
Storm
His cravings had been less extreme this
evening and he was fairly sure the parlour, where he kept his supply of freshly
caught game, was locked. He did not wish this stranger to encounter an instant
surprise. It would turn her off ever returning and Heath did not want to risk
that just yet. He could only imagine the look of horror on her face if she was
to discover his secret. They reached the gates through the midnight mist and
Heath stopped the car with a jolt. He drove the vehicle fast and hard. He was
not used to having guests. Heath had little thought for his passenger. Katarina
arrived at the house looking white and surprised.
The girl shivered.
‘Are you cold?’
‘Yes.’
‘Here, take this,’ he said absently.
Heath pulled a red shawl out of the glove
compartment and handed it to her.
‘Who’s?’
‘It was your mother’s,’ he added.
Katarina didn’t bother to ask what it was
doing in his car.
The girl’s fingers had practically frozen
during the twenty minute drive that took them from icy country lane to mansion
gates. Katarina had heard about this
place only once during her childhood, had seen it from the heath but had never
dared venture into its overrun grounds. They entered the hidden garden through
the foggy, wrought iron gates that led to Hareton Hall.
After a few minutes of walking across
slippery grounds, strange, open-mouthed statues greeted Katarina at the grand
entrance.
Her
father had never allowed her to speak of the Spencers and especially not her
uncle. But recently, she and her cousin Linus had connected via the web and
Katarina was more than a little intrigued about the mysterious ‘other half’ of
her family. The outside lights came on as they walked over the gravel towards
the front door which was overrun with creepers.
Her father would be concerned about her
late night visit to The Hall but Katarina was fed up with being wrapped in egg
shells. She pulled the red shawl round her shoulders and stuffed her curls into
her woollen cap, dragging it over her ears.
‘Quick,’ Heath said, rubbing his hands.
‘It’s frozen out here. Be careful of the ice.’
She took his arm, surprised at how hard
and strong the muscles felt. She hadn’t expected her workaholic uncle to be so
welcoming.
‘I give the staff leave on weekends, can’t
stand them about me and I usually work on
Saturdays anyway,’ he added, amiably enough. Rude, arrogant, reclusive were all words she had heard in
connection with this man. So far, he was nothing like his press.
Apart from
a few cobwebs at the side of the stone entrance, which was covered with climbing
plants, the interior of the hall was miraculous; turning a simple switch lit up
grand chandeliers that led to a parlour, kitchen and vast hall and dining room.
There was a series of ancestral portraits lining the walls to the right of the
entrance - one of her mother. The interiors were lush but tasteful.
Heath
wandered into the kitchen after they’d walked the length of the entrance.
Katarina was agog. She was used to being the richest
girl at her all-girls’ school but she had never seen such opulence. Her hand
brushed the entrance hall side table and wall
of mirrors as they walked towards the drawing room.
‘Ah, I see Greta’s left a note. Greta was
my housekeeper and she used to look after your mother and me…when we were
little. She was not much older than we were. Seems funny now,’ he mused as he
found the key to the cabinet.
‘Greta locks it, she gets worried when I
drink alone,’ Heath said, ‘but I know where she hides the key.’
Katarina looked around her.
‘Another drink?’ Heath asked.
‘Yes,’ Katarina said…
‘Something stronger?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Brandy?’
‘Okay.’
‘Brandy is
best on cold winter nights,’ Heath chuckled to himself, pouring her less than
he normally would, though she had officially reached legal drinking age.
Katarina wondered if he was over the limit but his hand was steady as he
carried the decanter into the Edwardian drawing room. Drinking brandy in the
evenings was as normal to Heath as breathing.
‘Was this
once…a ballroom?’ Katarina asked as she unwound her red scarf with the graceful
moves of a ballet dancer.
‘It was
not,’ Heath said, sitting easily on the black leather sofa.
‘It is definitely big enough…’
‘Funny. I remember thinking that when I
arrived here the first time. Actually, the ballroom was upstairs. For some
reason, the children’s rooms were built connecting to it, so we often heard
dancing - “partying” as you’d put it - loud noises, fighting. He noticed the
look of surprise on Kate’s face.
‘Where’s Linus?’
‘Not home yet, apparently. Probably at a
dance club.’
‘Oh. I met him once online…’
‘How modern,’ Heath mused.
Heath checked his text as the wind started
to howl and announce its presence in a storm. The rain trickled down slowly at
first, like water on tin, then the storm gushed through the
open
window, spraying its fury over the low table and threatening a vase of flowers.
Katarina moved to hold it upright.
Heath’s phone beeped, relaying a text.
‘That’s
Linus. He won’t be home for an hour or so; nice of him to let me know. To be
honest Katarina, I thought you might be a…good influence on my son.’
Heath
pulled the window down as far as it would go, shutting out most of the storm.
‘Why? Is
he out of control?’ Katarina joked.
Heath
turned to look at the girl squarely.
‘He is
spoiled, Katarina, and weak. I fear I may have indulged him.’
Katarina
glanced at the photographs on the wall. She wasn’t sure how to respond to his
directness.
‘But you
have…another…son?’
‘Oh, that’s Harrison’s wife’s brother,
Hinton. He lives here and works in the evenings. You may have already met him.
He studies at the same college,’ Heath said, starting to feel the familiar
tightness in his arms. He’d need to feed and take his medication soon.
Katarina had told Heath during the car trip
all about where she studied.
‘I’ve heard about him,’ she said, reluctant
to tell Heath about his nephew’s reputation. The girl looked around and sighed
as the storm and the darkness swamping the confines of The Hall seemed to
embrace her. Heath was taken aback at the image she made in the half-light, so
similar to the photographs he had of Kate, tucked away in his wardrobe. The
need to take his vitamins and drink Magenta overcame Heath. He quickly excused
himself and began to walk out of the room.
‘I’ll get some photographs,’ he offered.
‘Should keep you busy until Linus returns at some unearthly hour. I’m not even
sure which club he’s gone to but once he’s out he doesn’t come home until late.
I could drive you back to The Grange, but to be honest, we should wait for the
weather to clear.’
‘Of course,’ Katarina said. There was
obviously no choice since storm warning, news flashes were being broadcast. Heath
turned to leave the room and Katarina flicked the switch on the flat screen and
turned on some music instead. Something old and classical, Katarina thought.
The low lighting flashed once and then the power went completely: no television,
no CD, no sound except the thrashing of water on trees.
‘I’ll get
the candles,’ Heath offered. ‘I know where Greta keeps them,’ he added.
‘Okay.’
Kate
froze. The house was way creepier in the dark.
Moments
later, Heath came back with lamps for each of them.
‘Old-fashioned, I know, but they work.’
It
occurred to Heath that from outside the window any stranger could see him
entertaining a young female. Of course, they’d have to make it past the vast
security on the neighbouring property, which he also owned, to find this place.
Still, the thought suddenly bothered him as he pulled the curtains. His
intentions for this girl had nothing to do with forming any kind of connection
with her. She was merely the final piece in the jigsaw puzzle that formed his
bizarre life, if that’s what it was called.
He was
determined not to let her realize she was trapped. The girl must want to stay,
he thought, at least for now. He wondered how to get her to agree, as he
stopped in the kitchen and took his medication mixed with protein powder. Heath
was able to drink a variety of blood but tonight he felt like 0-negative. He
glanced out the window as he guzzled, noting the heaviness of the rain. The
dark, vicious winters fuelled his fantasies… and his nightmares. When he
finished drinking, he thought he should find the photographs first - distract
the girl.
He’d heard the neighbours at the pub
gossiping about Hareton Hall but their stories had never bothered him until
now.
He ventured into Kate’s old room in the
half-light and opened the door to her wardrobe which was a converted spare
room. Her things had barely been touched since they’d been packed away when
Kate had left The Hall forever. He was tall and could easily reach the top
shelf but her many shoes had been piled together. There was a loud crash as
some folders tumbled down in front of him.
Blast that boy, he thought. Of course
Hinton had been in here rummaging through their old school texts and files.
People often wondered why he’d adopted Hinton from Harrison as a six year old,
but he never liked to comment publicly on family matters. He didn’t believe in
filling the gossip columns with his motives and every minute detail of his
family
life though people in cyberspace now did. It was bad
enough that the many girlfriends he’d had over the years since his wife left
him had talked about him publicly. Heath felt social networking sometimes
degenerated into an excuse for public one-upmanship and he wanted no part of
that. But then, he had more than most to hide.
He
wondered what the boy could possibly have been looking for in the room that now
housed a filing cabinet in the corner. He recalled a recent conversation with
Greta as he rummaged…
‘Let’s be honest Heath, I’m fed up with
your haphazard lifestyle. I promised to stay until the children were raised and
they’re grown up now…almost. They don’t need me anymore and nor do you.
Everything’s under control.’
‘Don’t leave us, Greta.’
‘That’s not the point Heath. The place
itself is just filled with ghosts. I
don’t mean literally, I mean from the past…and you should think about selling
it…for your own good. I have my own children to raise, Heath. Move on. Get
married again. Start anew. Put away the old ways, Heath. Revive yourself.
That’s my advice, for all the good it will do…’
Heath had looked at her as if she were
mad. He’d even had the house redecorated just to please her and had converted
the drawing room into a room of Edwardian taste bathed in blue light, a
blue-seeming flame in the fireplace, candles and candelabras and lush crystal
chandeliers. The lounge room had been updated from its 80’s look to the modern
era with sunken leather furniture and various reference journals and magazines
lining the covered shelves. Heath had always refused to take down the portraits.
‘I tell you Heath, living in the past is
no good for anyone…’ Greta had told him.
‘You don’t know the half,’ he’d said
dismissively as he walked down the stairs and out the door to the office
building he worked in (and owned) deep in the City of London.
On this night, he turned up the paraffin
lamp to find what he was seeking and reached to grasp it.
Meanwhile, Katarina, who felt a little
like a trapped bird waiting out the storm which had begun in earnest, wandered
over to the fire and started going through a pile of old CDs (there were even
some old vinyl albums!) which lay around the edges of the brick. Her cousins
mostly liked the same music although both of them seemed to be more into
“house” than she was.
She was glad her father, a kind man, had
taught her to appreciate all musical styles over the years even though he’d
insisted on piano lessons to fill The Grange with the music that had left it,
along with her mother. Katarina noticed the grand piano gathering dust in the
corner and imagined her mother, Kate, once playing it.
Katarina remembered her mother’s face
from photographs. She had been so young when she had Katarina, only eighteen.
Katarina glanced into the glass above the fire. The girl realised, as she
rubbed the life back into her cold cheeks, that her mother had been the same
age as she was now; the same age as her uncle would remember her.
Weary from the long day and warmed with
brandy, Katarina slumped on the couch. It was a good thing she didn’t need to
go back to college tomorrow, or anywhere, really. The rain and hail began to
pelt down forming sleet outside the window. She texted her father, so he
wouldn’t worry. There was no need to fill him in on the details. He’d assume
she was with friends. Besides, it would be foolhardy to travel on the country
roads just now, though the haunted interiors of this opulent palace made her
feel like a trapped bird.
Wuthering Nights link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0087EUMD6
