‘Yes, nick it,’ says Sadie patiently. ‘It’s not really stealing. It’s compensation. You deserve it after what he’s done to you.’
‘That’s true. And he got really nasty when I told him I knew about his French whores.’
‘What happened?’
‘He laughed in my face and told me to keep my nose out of his business. That he could fuck who he liked.’
‘Arsehole,’ says Sadie, looking murderous. ‘I hope you told him that you’d fucked and feasted on four marines? And had a grand old time doing it?’
‘Yes, I did. But ...’ I rub at my cheek where Alexander hitme. It’s still a bit tender, even though the bruising healed pretty much instantly.
‘Bastard,’ Sadie spits. ‘Where does he keep his chequebook and his account details?’
‘In the safe,’ I reply.
‘Do you know the code?’
I shake my head. ‘But I can try out some combinations.’
‘Do it,’ she urges. ‘Because if you don’t leave him, I’m going to have to drive a stake through his goddamn heart. And I’d rather not have another vampire’s blood on my conscience.’
***
I prepare to make my escape from Alexander. When he’s asleep, I practise forging his signature and try out different combinations on his safe. Because what other choice do I have? I mostly keep my head down and try not to make waves, even though he taunts and insults me and jeeringly asks if I want to join in with his ménage à trois. I would rather cut my own throat. But I grit my teeth, smile politely, and say, ‘No thank you, dear.’
It takes a month and myriad combinations, but one Tuesday afternoon, I finally crack it. Turns out Alexander is a sentimental old fool—the code is the date he turned me: 03-10-1888.It will be his downfall.
Dressed to the nines in Sadie’s fur and dripping with cheap jewellery, I saunter into the bank and claim to be Alexander’s devoted wife, explaining that we need the funds to buy a townhouse for our daughter. But alas, my poor husband is ill and has sent me along in his stead. Aunt Ivy has taught me well when it comes to faking documents. I hand over a signed letter from Alexander duly giving me permission to withdraw his funds and requesting to please make the cheque out to his wife as she will be handling the purchase. It’s a performance I’m particularly proud of. By the time I leave, I’ve cleaned out half of his Paris account, walking away with a cheque for 200,000 francs made out in my name. They don’t even question why my name is Florence Hughes instead of Florence Dryden.
Sadie is so impressed by this that she decides to come with me once I promise her a share in the money. It’s a fresh start for her too as she wants to give up prostitution.
We slip out of France by train and ferry, bound for London. Once there, we open a joint business account at Lloyds, saying we’re thinking of running a Parisian-style tea room. We act posh and charming so the clerk doesn’t ask too many questions or look too closely at the fake IDs Sadie’s rustled up for us. After depositing the money, we rent a modest room in Bayswater. As Sadie wisely puts it, ‘Alexander’s money needs to last us for decades, if not centuries, so there’s no point squandering it on fancy hotels from the start.’
Sadie is a powerful vampire, but even she knows she’s done for if Alexander tracks us down.
However, that’s something we’ve factored into the equation. Our plan is to keep moving and always be one step ahead of him. Since Alexander and I have a blood bond, I can sense him keenly if he’s anywhere near me. We’re hoping he eventually gets bored and leaves me alone.
However, realistically, this could take a while—depending on how long he nurses his grudge.
Still, we have time. And I’m free from his control for the first time in nearly thirty-five years, and that makes it worth the risk. Besides, as Sadie says, ‘Two undead heads are better than one.’
We spend the nights practising sustainable feeding in the back alleys. Sadie is careful to memory-wipe our victims afterwards while I keep an eye out for anyone who looks suspiciously like a thrall.
But one day, I jerk awake from a nightmare where I’m running down a dimly lit street with Alexander hot on my heels. There’s a tugging sensation in my chest, and my head is pounding with the force of his anger. A cold dread creeps over me.
Quickly, I wake Sadie and tell her Alexander is close by and that we need to leavenow. We throw our things into our suitcases and silently slip out the back entrance of the guest house. Sprinting to the nearest Underground station, we disappear into the labyrinth of dark tunnels, making sure no one notices us. We go deeper and deeper until I can’t feel him anymore.
That was too close for comfort.
And Sadie isn’t happy about our new accommodation since it’s sooty, smelly, noisy, and, in her words, ‘not exactly the Ritz’.
‘Fucking hell,’ she complains two days later, ripping open the neck of an inordinately large water rat for us to feed on. ‘This is just what Ididn’twant to happen.’
I’m not happy about it either, but what else can we do?
After five days, when the threat of Alexander discovering our whereabouts has entirely dissipated (as has most of the rat population), Sadie puts her foot down. ‘We can’t live like this—we need a proper plan.’
‘Maybe Charlie can help us.’
