His Vampyrrhic Bride by Simon Clark Page A

himself enjoying life too much. ‘It’s like I’m being given one last good time before I die,’ the superstitious man would utter, full of doom-laden woe. ‘One last party spree before they nail down my coffin lid.’
    Tom shook off that inexplicable sense of mortal danger. ‘Thanks, Dad. I’d be glad to.’
    ‘That’s great. I’m really pleased you said yes.’ He slapped Tom on the back.
    ‘When’s the big day?’
    ‘Mid-August. We’re renewing the vows at St George’s Church in the village. Then we’re having a party back here.’
    ‘I look forward to it.’
    ‘We’ll make sure you get the weekend off from that job in France.’
    France?
Tom realized that he’d forgotten all about going to work for his father’s friend. That kiss on the riverbank with Nicola had wiped everything else from his mind.
    ‘Dad, about this job in France . . .’
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ve sorted everything out with Jack. He’s going to email the Eurostar tickets tonight. Stay here, I’ll get us a cold drink.’
    Tom went to pick up the axe. He couldn’t even bring himself to face the man he loved when he said, ‘Listen, I’ve decided not to go to France. I’m staying here.’
    The breeze blew through the orchard, rustling the leaves. His father had already hurried back towards the house and hadn’t heard what would be bad news . . . Hell, it would be bombshell news. His father had worked hard to get Tom this high-paying job. He may even have staked an old friendship on it.
    Tom found himself tangled up in thoughts about France, about the urgent need for money for the dive school, and about Nicola Bekk. Especially Nicola Bekk. Absolutely about Nicola Bekk. He rested his finger against his lips where she had pressed hers.
    What do I do? Go to France? That way I don’t let Dad down. What about Nicola? Do I just leave? As if she means nothing to me?
    Under bushes by the fence were dry sticks. He started to pull them out, intending to burn the dead wood in the orchard. These thin twigs were ideal kindling.
    When he saw the eyes glaring from the shadows he thought that the thugs from the village had arrived to cause trouble.
    Then he recognized the face.
    ‘Mrs Bekk?’
    ‘I warned you,’ she hissed. ‘I explained that Helsvir stands guard at our door. You’ve chosen to ignore me. You think I’m insane.’
    ‘No, I don’t, Mrs Bekk.’
    She waved her finger from side to side. ‘Leave Nicola alone, Tom Westonby. If you don’t, you will be sorry.’
    Tom resented orders – especially those kind of orders. ‘Whether we want to see each other is our decision, Mrs Bekk.’
    ‘I’m warning you, boy. Don’t lay a finger on her –
you know what I mean by that!
Because if you do, you’ll regret it for whatever’s left of your life. Understand?’
    ‘I like Nicola. I respect her. She’s—’
    ‘So be warned! If you continue this relationship, you’ll be doing more harm to my daughter than you can even begin to understand. You must never see her again.’
    ‘Tom?’ His father’s voice came from the orchard. ‘Tom, where are you?’
    ‘Here, Dad.’
    By the time he’d turned back, Nicola’s mother had vanished. He peered into the forest but couldn’t see her. It was as if she’d been transformed into one of the shadows before merging with the gloom.
    ‘Here you go.’ His father handed him a glass that clinked with ice. ‘Anything wrong?’
    ‘No. Why?’ He decided not to mention Mrs Bekk’s strange visit.
    ‘That shocked expression on your face. You look as if you’ve just seen your own funeral cortège.’
    ‘Nicely morbid line, Dad. Cheers.’ Mrs Bekk’s words troubled him, but he pretended nothing had happened. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ They tapped glasses.
    The breeze stirred the forest again, creating a huge
whooshing
that majestically rose and fell. For reasons that weren’t entirely rational, the sound conjured images of a prehistoric beast that sucked in colossal breaths of air as