The party had gone well, and Nat was feeling pleasantly fatigued as she said goodnight to the last of her guests. She had realised a few years ago that the easiest way to make sure she had a birthday party was to throw one herself. There had been ten people for dinner, a mix of medical professionals, fellow students from her yoga class, and a photographer and his wife, former neighbours, who had befriended her when she first moved to Vancouver. This year she had served salad, seafood paella, and the usual odds and ends - cheese, rolls, blueberries with cream, drinks and coffee — all things she could make ahead or buy readymade. In other years she had spent more time cooking, but she had felt she needed to conserve her energy this year.
Conversation had not suffered from the simplicity of the meal. Yvonne from an ob/gyn practice across the city had given a painfully funny account before dinner of a terrified intern she’d recently supervised at his first childbirth, luckily for a mother of three who was more than willing to instruct him. Conversation had continued lively and entertaining from there. Natalie suspected her friends had gone out of their way to distract her from Marcus’ absence with their own good spirits, and appreciated their efforts. She had done her best, for her part, to forget her own considerable anxiety about his whereabouts and his safety for as long as the party lasted, and had largely succeeded. She felt warm and content as she set about tidying up before she went to bed.
She had made a point of not thinking about her meeting with Nick either, but now, as she began to clear away the dishes, she found herself thinking it over. It had been a pleasure to see him, certainly. But did she really want to become a friend of his again? Their relationship, particularly in its last couple of years, had been painful and difficult for her. She had no wish to repeat that. Did she want anything at all from him?
It seemed best, she decided as she worked, to go with her impulse the night before; take it one step at a time, and see what happened. She would meet him for coffee and perhaps a movie tomorrow night. Further decisions could wait. After all, he might never come back to Vancouver, and the question would resolve itself.
As she carried a tray of dessert bowls into the kitchen she heard a tap on the sliding glass door of the balcony, so light that at first she dismissed it as wind. But it was repeated, and she realised there was someone outside. It had to be Nick. No one else could have found their way unaided to a 12th-story balcony. Nat was more than a little irritated. She had told him she didn’t want him to come tonight, that she wanted time to think. She didn’t appreciate being pushed. Nick’s lack of consideration for her needs had been an increasing problem when she knew him, and it seemed he hadn’t learned much. Perhaps, after all, she didn’t even want to meet him for coffee tomorrow. She pushed her hair back off her forehead and turned on the balcony light, saying as pulled aside the curtain from the sliding glass door, "Nick, I thought …"
The figure outside was taller than Nick, and older. She half-heard, half-lipread his words through the glass. "You were expecting someone else, Dr. Lambert?"
Natalie froze. LaCroix. Of course. Where Nick went, his dangerous maker was never far behind. She should have been prepared for this.
She stood and thought a moment. If he intended to do her harm, she was under no illusions that she could stop him. If he had any other purpose, she could be rid of him fastest by finding out what it was. She unlocked the door and pushed it open a few inches. "M. LaCroix. Why are you here?"
"Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance? I was in the area and thought I would stop by." He gestured at the door. "May I?"
Natalie looked at him. "Is it true what they say about vampires?"
"Can we enter without an invitation? What do you think? But I prefer to rely on the courtesy of my host."
Natalie sighed and stood aside, sliding the door open the rest of the way. LaCroix stepped inside, brushing the rain from his sweeping black overcoat. He removed it and draped it meticulously over the back of a kitchen chair. Then he turned and faced her. "You don’t seem pleased to see me, Dr. Lambert."
She looked at him silently, doing her best to appear calm. Her senses were on full alert. What did he intend?
He shook his head. "Such ingratitude."
"Thank you for saving my life," said Natalie politely. "Why did you bother?"
‘You are correct," said LaCroix. "Your welfare did not concern me. Nevertheless, you are alive."
Natalie nodded. "As I said. Thank you. LaCroix, it’s late, I’m tired, and I’m on call tomorrow. Why are you here?"
LaCroix crossed to the sofa and sat down, crossing his black-clad legs and relaxing against the cushions. "For a pleasant conversation with an old acquaintance, of course. Do you treat all your guests so cavalierly? Convention suggests that you offer me a drink." He smiled blandly at her.
"I don’t stock your brand," Natalie said shortly. "If you don’t mind, I’ll continue cleaning up." She picked up the dishes she had set down on the sideboard and carried them through to the kitchen. LaCroix appeared beside her to take them from her hand and set them beside the sink. He stood a little closer than he needed, blocking her exit from the kitchen. "Really, Dr. Lambert. Wine is more than acceptable. Red, by preference."
Natalie sighed. "There’s a bottle open in the dining room. Glasses in the sideboard. Feel free."
"Thank you." He moved into the dining room and examined the label on the bottle, an eyebrow raised. "You served your guests this?"
"One of them brought it." Natalie stacked the rest of the dishes on the dining room table. She brushed past him into the kitchen and began to load the dishwasher.
LaCroix followed her through, glass in hand, and thoughtfully sipped it, leaning against the kitchen table as he watched her work. "Not as bad as I expected. British Columbia wines have improved."
"So I’m told", said Natalie.
"Of course. In your condition you wouldn’t be drinking", said LaCroix.
Natalie nodded. Naturally he would be able to detect her pregnancy as easily as Nick had. She put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher , and turned to the sink to run water into the pots to soak. She bent to retrieve a washcloth from under the sink. "Could you hand me down the detergent from that cupboard?" she asked. LaCroix reached over her head and complied silently. Natalie filled the dishwasher compartments with powder and handed the box back to him to put away. He set the soap back in the cupboard and stood aside while she wiped down the counters and table. "Come through", she said, and gestured towards the living room. "It will take me five minutes to finish cleaning up, and then I can give you my full attention."
"Certainly," said LaCroix, inclining his head. "It was not my intention to interrupt your evening tasks."
Of course it was, thought Natalie. It was your intention to knock me off balance and keep me there; and it’s not going to happen. Nevertheless, she felt unsettled. Performing her chores despite his presence calmed her and gave her time to consider what to do.
She mechanically moved the candlesticks back to the sideboard while she thought, gathered the tablecloth and threw it into the laundry hamper in the bathroom, and did a quick scan of the living and dining rooms for overlooked glasses and plates. All the while she was intensely aware of the presence of the vampire. She finished by the dining room table and the coffee table in the living room, rinsed the washcloth in the sink, and put it in the dishwasher with the rest. She washed her hands and dried them on the teacloth by the sink. Pouring herself a glass of apple juice, she came through to the living room.
LaCroix was looking through her bookcase. "An interesting selection, doctor," he said. "I see you’re a Michael Ondaatje fan."
"I discovered him when everyone else did," said Natalie. "I wanted to read the book ‘The English Patient’ was based on, and went from there to his other work."
"A good novel," LaCroix said. "Why did it appeal to you?"
Natalie sat down at one end of the couch, and took a drink of her apple juice. "Originally? A young woman becomes intrigued by an attractive stranger with a mysterious past, who needs her help. The darker the secrets he reveals, the more deeply attached she becomes. Surely the book’s appeal is obvious."
"And now what do you think of it, doctor?" LaCroix sat down on the loveseat across from her, crossing his long, black clad legs. He leaned back into the cushions, completely relaxed.
"Now I think it’s beautifully written."
LaCroix took a sip of his wine and looked at her without speaking. Suddenly Natalie felt very cold. She thought with utter clarity, this creature has been a remorseless serial killer for two thousand years. He thinks humans are cattle. Personally he doesn’t like me much. And I’m playing games with him. What am I doing?
Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts. LaCroix set his wineglass down on the end table. "You have no need for fear, doctor", he said. "Your condition protects you."
"From exsanguination, perhaps", said Natalie. "Not, I suspect, from simple murder."
LaCroix inclined his head. "I could kill you, true. But at present I see no pressing need to do so."
And you no longer kill for pleasure? Natalie thought. She did not ask.
LaCroix continued, "the reason for my visit is quite innocent, Dr. Lambert. Five years ago I saved your life. I wish to know what you have done with it. To know ‘how you’re doing’, as they say."
Natalie shrugged. She didn’t believe him for a second. "I’m fine. Life is good." What did he really want to know?
"Really, doctor," said LaCroix. "Do not dismiss my interest so quickly." He scrutinized her slowly. "You appear to be telling the truth. You show the signs of contentment and vigorous good health. I gather you have developed a circle of congenial friends." He nodded towards the dining room table, a reference to the earlier evidence of her dinner party. "And your condition itself speaks of hope for the future. I assume it was planned. Artificial insemination?"
"What is it with you people?" Natalie asked, exasperation diminishing her fear. "Why do you assume I couldn’t get laid at an orgy? Not everyone thinks any woman over 25 has lost all her appeal!"
"My dear Dr. Lambert", LaCroix smiled slowly. "I made no such assumption. Nor are my tastes what you believe. As you are an intelligent woman, and moreover a doctor, I assumed your condition was no accident. As I see no sign of a male inhabitant, I hazarded an anonymous donor."
She was furious to feel herself redden under his amused gaze. She turned away and made a show of adjusting a pillow behind her back. I must not allow this man to provoke me, she thought. At least, I must not show it if he does.
But she was falling into an old pattern, she realised. Why shouldn’t she give him honest responses? It would be faster, and fencing with him was pointless in any case; he was a master of the art. She couldn’t stop him if he meant her harm, nor, probably, dissuade him. She turned back and looked at him calmly.
"My apologies. Your reasoning does me too much credit. The father has left the country. The pregnancy was not planned, though I am happy about it." She took a sip from her apple juice.
His amused smile deepened. "Really, doctor? An accident, at your age? And does the father believe that?"
He’s trying to insult me, Natalie thought, with a touch of surprise. "Are you suggesting that I deliberately attempted to entrap the father through pregnancy?" she asked, choosing her words carefully.
LaCroix shrugged indifferently. ‘Not if you say otherwise. But it is difficult to imagine, in this era, how such an ‘accident’ could happen to a woman of your abilities and training. And you have a past history of manipulation of your lovers. Or those you want as lovers." His tone was smoothly and deliberately offensive.
Natalie took a slow breath before she answered. Showing him an honest reaction was one thing; allowing herself to be goaded was another. "My past mistakes are my own, LaCroix . I’ve dealt with them. Was there something else you wanted to discuss?" How would he react to resistance? LaCroix was not one to back down.
Again to her surprise, LaCroix broke his gaze and said mildly, "my apologies, doctor. My comments were uncalled for. I was simply curious." He continued to look inquiring, but seemed somehow satisfied, as if her reaction had told him what he wanted to know.
Natalie decided to let the insult pass without further comment. She explained, "The usual contraceptive drugs are contraindicated in my case because of my medical condition — the blood clotting disorder that saved my life", she added in response to his politely slanted eyebrow. "And every other method has a small but significant failure rate. Still, it is somewhat embarrassing. Or it would be if I weren’t so pleased."
"And the father?"
"Left the country before he knew. I’ve sent word. I haven’t heard from him yet."
"You don’t seem concerned."
"I am," admitted Natalie. "But there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m sure he will be in touch as soon as he gets the message and can respond."
LaCroix nodded. "You do not seem to be allowing your anxiety to unbalance you, however. You have changed in the last five years."
"I’ve tried, at any rate", said Natalie.
A silence fell. Natalie took another sip of her juice. LaCroix’ gaze wandered the room. She saw the apartment through his cold eyes. A cheerful watercolour by a Saltspring artist she knew, showing boats at anchor in Ganges Harbour, hung on one wall. A hand-thrown pottery vase she had picked up at a Granville Island craft fair held a large mixed bouquet of flowers brought by one of her dinner guests. She had retrieved from storage the multicoloured afghan her grandmother had crocheted for her when she left for university, and draped it over the second-hand rocking chair in one corner. Sinbad, her grey tabby cat, slept there when she wasn’t using the chair herself. The pile of books which usually sat on the end-table beside LaCroix had been hastily pushed into the living room bookcase before her party, and were sitting in random order on the bottom shelf. A copy of a large-breasted, heavily pregnant stone Neolithic goddess figurine from Anatolia, a gift from a grateful patient, stood on the mantlepiece. An austere Haida carved wooden shaman’s mask, features accented in black and white paint, hung in one corner. LaCroix’ eye lingered on it and she knew it appealed to him, probably alone of the objects in the room. The rest would be too colourful, too cheerful, too bourgeois, too — human — for his tastes, she thought. Well, the hell with him. She hadn’t decorated with his approval in mind. It suited her.
LaCroix’ gaze returned to her. "Your liking for colour does not seem to accord with your chosen profession of caring for the dead, doctor."
"I’ve changed fields", said Natalie. "Now I deliver babies. Though in fact I always liked to have colour around me."
"Obstetrics?" LaCroix said, sounding mildly surprised. "The very antithesis of your former specialty. A reaction to disappointment in Toronto, perhaps?"
Natalie was too tired and beginning to feel too irritated with her uninvited guest to respond to his dig with answering subtlety. "Perhaps. Certainly I was not happy in the last years in Toronto. But basically I was just sick of dealing with dead people." She hoped he felt insulted.
LaCroix gaze flicked over her, mildly amused. "Really." He picked up his wineglass and turned it by the stem, and continued with no apparent emphasis, "even Nicholas?" The light from the crystal refracted in dim red points on his face.
Natalie’s attention sharpened. Of course this was the purpose of his visit. "Probably especially Nick, by then," she answered.
"And now your feelings have altered?"
What answer did he want? "I haven’t really thought about it," she said, playing for time. She had reached no conclusions, at any rate.
LaCroix sighed. "Please, doctor. I know you have seen him recently. I am curious to know what you intend to do."
"At the moment, I have no idea."
LaCroix looked at her. "Really, Dr. Lambert? Surely you cannot deny that you are - intrigued - by his arrival. Curious to know where it will lead. Perhaps you are prepared to grant him the benefit of the doubt, to blame all his errors of judgment on the influence of his less respectable friends, to allow the acquaintance to progress despite your doubts. Perhaps you are wondering if, after all, there is some potential for a future with him. Would this not be a more accurate description of your thoughts?"
His gaze remained on her face as he spoke, his expression one of mild interest, but Natalie was not deceived. He was intent on gauging her reaction to his words. And he was good, no question of it. In some respects he might almost have read her mind. She refused to allow him to unsettle her, and waited a moment to order her thoughts before she spoke.
"You are correct, M. LaCroix. I don’t know why Nick called, I don’t know what I’ll do about it, and I have grave doubts about pursuing the acquaintance. None of this is so definite as to constitute an "intention". His friends’ influence on Nick, whatever it might be, is his concern. And you’ve forgotten something. I have more important things on my mind."
"Of course," said LaCroix smoothly. "Finding a father for your bastard child. Assuming your erstwhile lover refuses to acknowledge it, as you must fear. Do you hope to snare Nicholas into the role of stepfather?"
This was so intentionally offensive Natalie nearly gasped. But it was also so wide of the mark that it didn’t affect her. There was no question that Marcus would acknowledge the child, whatever else happened. She felt no shame over her pregnancy, and knew that she could cope with single motherhood if need be. LaCroix’ ancient prejudices betrayed him here. She looked at him curiously. "You’re deliberately trying to anger me. Why?"
Natalie noticed with interest that while LaCroix’ pose remained relaxed and his expression impassive, his eyes flicked over her face with sudden attention. Was he surprised to be called on his game? But his voice remained indifferent when he spoke. "I find it the quickest route to an honest answer."
"Really? Or only a hasty one?" Natalie asked. "In any case, I’ve already given you an honest answer." She sipped her apple juice calmly.
The silence lengthened. LaCroix looked lazily around her cheerful apartment again, his gaze returning to her and resting lightly on her belly before lifting. When he spoke, he seemed to have decided on another approach. "Your life seems to have altered materially for the better since I last saw you, doctor. A pleasant home, congenial work, friends, a welcome pregnancy."
"As you’ve already noted", Natalie replied. Where was this going?
"In fact, you have a great deal more to lose than you did." He looked idly at her face and away.
LaCroix’ voice did not alter from its calm purr. But suddenly Natalie was cold with fear. She took another sip of apple juice, trying to loosen the constriction in her throat. She did not wish her voice to betray her. Though he would hear her racing pulse, an unwelcome thought reminded her. She looked at LaCroix with all the composure she could muster. "If you put it that way."
"Five years ago, I believe you considered the world well lost for love." LaCroix’ voice gave an ironical inflection to the last word. "Tell me, doctor, would you feel the same way now?"
Natalie thought carefully and quickly. Again the truth seemed to be the best option. She continued to look directly at LaCroix. "You’re right, M. LaCroix. I did feel, then, as if I had nothing to lose. I don’t feel that way now. As I told Nick, I deeply regret what I did five years ago. I would under no circumstances do the same things again. " Would that satisfy him? Or was there something else he wanted?
"So you would avoid anything that appeared to threaten your current life." LaCroix’ voice continued its low, relaxed purr, but Natalie was not deceived. They had reached the critical point of the conversation.
"I wouldn’t avoid ‘anything’," she said. "That would be to live my life in fear. But I would consider very carefully the consequences of any decision I made. Quite aside from my happiness in my life here, there’s more than my own welfare to consider now."
"Of course," said LaCroix. "You would avoid anything that seemed to be a threat to your child." He looked at her directly.
"I would deal with potential threats in whatever way seemed best," answered Natalie. She returned his gaze. She was still afraid. He had tried angering her, and now he was trying, more successfully, to frighten her. But she could not allow him to manipulate her in either way. If she permitted LaCroix to intimidate her once, he would unscrupulously take advantage of it forever.
"To come to the point, then, doctor." LaCroix set down his glass on the side table and sat forward. "Does not Nicholas strike you, by his very nature, as a danger to your life here? To your child?"
"I’m considering that question. I haven’t decided yet."
He did not move his gaze from her face. "And what of his — disreputable friends, doctor? Do they not strike you as a possible threat to your tranquillity?"
"I wouldn’t expect to have much to do with them," answered Natalie. "We have little in common, after all." She did her best to remain calm, concentrating on breathing slowly and evenly, to counter the adrenaline flooding her veins. She felt a little ill.
"And if you found you were mistaken? If his — friends — took a close interest in your activities?" LaCroix’ voice was low and hypnotic.
Natalie closed her eyes and mentally shook off the effects of his tone. "Why would they?"
"If you were planning to continue to assist Nicholas to find a cure for what you choose to regard as his ‘medical condition’, his friends might find themselves unable to stay away, doctor."
"Oh! Is that why you’re here?" she said without pausing to think. Her relief was unmistakable, and LaCroix seemed taken aback. "I have no intention of continuing my research into a cure for Nick. As I told him yesterday. I have neither the facilities nor the talent, nor, really, the interest in research. If Nick really wants a cure, he should wait fifty years, or a hundred, and pay someone who can do it properly. It won’t be me."
LaCroix relaxed into the cushions behind him, but continued to look at her. "You surprise me, doctor. It was your sole aim for six years, and now you are so willing to give it up?"
Natalie shook her head. "You know very well it was not my sole aim. I began out of professional curiosity, and continued out of personal interest. I thought that if Nick were cured, he would be able to commit himself to a relationship with me."
"And you no longer think so?"
"I don’t even know if it was true five years ago, LaCroix." Nat set down her empty glass. "Certainly I’ve got no reason to think it’s true now. Or that I would want it, even if it were."
"I’m fascinated, doctor. What prompts this sudden clarity of vision?"
"Age. A near-death experience. A good relationship with another man."
"If you aren’t trying to find a cure for his ‘condition’, what will Nicholas get out of continuing his acquaintance with you, doctor?" LaCroix’ expression remained bland, as if he had not just insulted her, and Natalie decided to take the question at face value.
"That’s up to Nick. If he isn’t getting anything he wants out of knowing me, presumably he will vanish again." Fatigue made her reckless and she decided to speak honestly. "Frankly, M. LaCroix, I think the only reason he showed up now was to salve his conscience. Now that he’s sure I’m well he’ll probably find his urge to stay in touch will fade. But whatever happens, I discovered in Toronto that I can’t be his friend and his doctor at the same time. I spent my time nagging him to drink his protein shakes, stop drinking blood, try to eat something, on and on. I could hear myself turning into a shrew and I hated it. I won’t do it again. Perhaps we’ll become friends, in time, though I’m not sure even of that. But I’ll never be his pet doctor again."
"And if that’s what Nicholas actually wants of you? To continue his search for a cure?" LaCroix asked again.
"Then he’ll be disappointed."
LaCroix relaxed fractionally, settling back into the cushions. "I’m curious, doctor. What kind of relationship do you think you can have, if you are not both mortal, or both — "
"Loathsome undead creatures of the night?" Natalie filled in when he hesitated.
LaCroix seemed taken aback, but after a moment inclined his head in graceful agreement. "As you say, doctor. What will you do?"
"I don’t know. But when I was in Toronto, I made the mistake of basing the entire relationship on what he might someday become, instead of on where we stood now. I’ve seen friends fall in love with alcoholics, married men, drug users, men happily living across the continent, and it’s all the same mistake. Their relationships were based on fantasies, fairy tales of how it would be if the man stopped drinking, drugging, being married, living in New Orleans; never on the actual relationship, which was what they were going through at the time, which they didn’t even notice, they were so focussed on the utopian future they imagined. I was doing the same thing with Nick. I wouldn’t do that again."
"Then what will you do, doctor?" LaCroix repeated. "What kind of happiness can you imagine with him? Or he with you? He will outlive you by a considerable period, after all. He will not age or grow ill, and he must watch while you do. How do you expect him to cope with that?"
"That’s his problem. Assuming I see him again at all, LaCroix; your concern, as I’ve said already, is premature. But I had a cat in Toronto. Sydney. I’d had him since my teens. He was my constant companion for years. He died of old age three years ago, and I mourned him sincerely. And then I got a kitten."
"So you see yourself as Nick’s pet." LaCroix smiled derisively.
Natalie looked at him wearily and shook her head. "I see myself, possibly, as Nick’s shortlived friend. But there’s no guarantee that he’ll outlive me, LaCroix. Vampires aren’t immortal; they just don’t die of natural causes." She paused, and added quietly after a moment, "and if we never loved anyone who was going to die, we would never love anyone at all."
LaCroix said nothing. Fatigue was beginning to weigh on Natalie, and after a moment she decided to be reckless once more. "If I can ask you a question, LaCroix. " He nodded politely. "Why interfere?"
LaCroix looked at her for a moment. Natalie continued, "From what Nick’s said in the past, it’s not just a question of discouraging Nick from trying to become mortal. You’ve always done your best to dissuade him from any involvement with the world of mortals at all, except that of hunter and prey."
Again LaCroix said nothing. After a moment she went on, "Assume you’re right, and involvement with mortals is always a mistake for a vampire. Why not let him make the mistakes, and find out for himself that you’re right? In ten years or so he’ll come back to you anyway. That’s the blink of an eye, for you. But if you keep bringing his attempts to a premature end, he’ll only keep on trying."
LaCroix looked at her without speaking for a long moment. Just as she decided that he had no intention of answering her, he replied. "Pleading on your own behalf, Dr. Lambert?"
Natalie was about to deny this, but honesty made her hesitate. "I don’t think so, now", she said. "I’m pleading on behalf of my younger self, perhaps. And on behalf of the next person he forms an attachment to. And for Nick. If he doesn’t make his own choices he will never find out what’s best for him."
LaCroix had picked up his wine glass and turned it slowly by the stem while she was speaking, observing the colour through the crystal. He seemed to consider. Finally he set the glass down and looked at her directly. "He must learn to accept what he is. " He paused, and went on. "When you are a parent, you will understand better why I interfere."
Natalie considered the wisdom of replying and cast aside her caution. "I hope I will also know when to stop."
"You are mortal, doctor. You, and your relationships, necessarily change over time, as you mature, age, and die. Vampires do not feel the same need for this continual readjustment."
LaCroix’ ice-blue eyes looked directly into hers. Again she felt a chill. She had never before considered that aspect of the vampire world. They did not die, and did not need to change. Their relationships with each other could be not only permanent, but immutable, if they chose. She found the thought terrifying. Poor Nick, who had tried so hard to change his relationship with LaCroix; but LaCroix did not choose that it should alter. She had a vision of him bound to LaCroix in passionate misery through the millennia, as the world changed again and again around them without even attracting their notice.
She cleared her throat and replied. "And if they do want to change?"
LaCroix shrugged. "They find it difficult. But few feel that desire. It, like death, is a mortal weakness."
Nick feels it, Natalie thought, but it seemed pointless to say so. That was perhaps LaCroix’ main problem with him. She had tried to suggest an alternate strategy to LaCroix, without apparently having much of an effect. It seemed futile to involve herself further. And suddenly she was very tired.
LaCroix must have seen, again, the change in her expression. He rose. "But I do not mean to outstay my welcome, Dr. Lambert. You need abundant rest in your condition. Thank you for entertaining me at so late an hour."
"My pleasure," Natalie murmured politely, rising a second after him and following him into the kitchen. She retrieved his coat from the chair and handed it to him. "Perhaps you’d prefer to leave by the regular route?" she murmured mischievously, and gestured to the apartment door. "Though it’s certainly less dramatic."
LaCroix allowed himself a smile. It did no harm to leave on a pleasant note. "Perhaps", he said. "It is a wet night." She led him through the apartment and opened the door. "Goodnight, doctor. I wish you every success with your venture into child-rearing." He inclined his head courteously and stepped out.
The doctor had put her time to good use since their last meeting, he thought as he made his way back to his hotel. She appeared to have learned from her mistakes, and both her judgment and her strength of character had certainly increased with age. She had been afraid of him, but had correctly refused to be intimidated; she had even challenged him, though her heartbeat told him that she was aware of the risk she took in doing so. Few mortals, or vampires, had such hardihood. She had, moreover, made her best of the life she had, and was content with it. Continued acquaintance with her might even be good for Nicholas, if it taught him to do the same.
Older mortals were so often more interesting than the young, he thought idly. They did have that advantage over vampires, the ability born of necessity to learn quickly and cope with rapid change. Their own changing bodies demanded it of them. The changes Dr. Lambert had accomplished in five years would not come to a vampire in fifty, or a hundred. It was regrettable that mortals were physically less appealing as they aged, though that was not yet true in Dr. Lambert’s case. Nicholas’ attachment to her would not last much longer than her looks, LaCroix thought; he had a strong taste for superficial beauty. He estimated that Natalie would continue to interest Nicholas for another five years at most, depending on what pregnancy did to her body. A pity; Nicholas could have learned from her, and LaCroix was willing to allow the association, since Dr. Lambert’s research no longer posed a threat.
He hoped she spoke the truth about her refusal to further abet Nicholas’ futile search for a "cure". LaCroix was unwilling to tolerate further interference of that kind, but, he realised, he genuinely did not desire her death. If it after all became necessary, he would ensure that it was quick and painless.
That night Natalie slept restlessly. She woke several times, disturbing dream fragments clinging as she rose to consciousness, and found it more difficult each time to fall back to sleep. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, she accepted that she was fully awake and wasn’t going to get back to sleep by lying in bed and hoping. She sighed, arose and shuffled groggily out to the kitchen to make herself some tea.
As she lit the burner under the kettle she caught sight of herself in the reflective door of the wall oven, her face lit from beneath by the light on the stove’s instrument panel. All of her incipient wrinkles, her pouches and sags and tiny — and not so tiny — signs of aging were underscored in deep shadow by the merciless angle of the light. Retained water made her face and eyes puffy, and the slight morning sickness she felt most of the time made her pale and darkened the circles under her eyes. The net effect was prematurely aging. Or appropriately aging; she was 39 after all, as of midnight. She did not look immortal, or eternally 30. Or even eternally 40. She looked more like 70 and sliding fast, she thought dispiritedly.
Usually her age didn’t worry her, she thought as she poured water over the teabag in her cup. But she had just seen Nick again. He looked as he did the day she met him, when she was 28. They were both beautiful then. He was beautiful now. She was in very good shape for her age, a different thing entirely.
She looked searchingly into her reflection in the dark glass. What, Natalie, she asked her image, makes you any different from all his other women? All those beautiful young things he loved and abandoned, murdered in their prime? Besides the fact that you’re still alive. Why should you believe you mattered more? Her reflection looked back at her silently, sadly. She turned away with her cup and wearily sat down at the table.
Nick sure picked his times, she thought. As if she didn’t have enough on her mind already. She had done very well in her meeting with him the previous night. She’d been confident, independent, warm but reserved — the very picture of a woman who has gone on, made something of her life, and has no regrets or secret sorrows. And most of the time she was that person. Most of the time she was sure she had resolved her feelings about him a long time ago. She had loved him, but it wasn’t really mutual, and she’d made some bad mistakes; but she’d recovered, learned from her experience, and moved on. That was the story she had written for herself, and she had done pretty well in living up to it.
But remembering their meeting as she sat at her kitchen table in the darkened apartment, she wondered how well, after all, it described the truth. This was Nick, who for years had held her heart in his cold hands. Nick, whose cold heart never once beat fast for her. Nick, who was quite fond of her in his way, and of a thousand other people too. Nick whom she’d loved so hopelessly, and if it was hopeless then, how much more hopeless now, when she could no longer play the cards of careless youthful beauty and vitality to attract him? Of course he would like to be her friend. Nick was a friendly person. But was that, truly, honestly, all she was likely to want of him, if he stayed in her life? Was she really unmoved by him now? One thing she was sure of. She never wanted to feel again the kind of pain she’d felt over him. Surely making a royal fool of herself once in a lifetime was enough.
She stirred sugar into her tea and sipped it. Her left temple was beginning to throb, the harbinger of a tension headache. She rubbed absentmindedly between her brows and it eased a little. She was backsliding in thinking this way, beating herself up for no reason, she knew. She hadn’t been entirely foolish. It hadn’t all been a delusion. She had meant more to Nick than a lot of people did. Even if she hadn’t known that before, his reappearance was evidence that she had been important to him. But it was very late, she was tired, and fatigue always made her feel low. The surprise visit from LaCroix hadn’t helped either. The hell with all of it. She would finish her tea, take a Tylenol and go back to bed. Her spirits would be restored by morning, she reassured herself. After all, why worry about Nick? She had been happier without him. With any luck he wouldn’t show up in Vancouver again anyway. And she had more pressing concerns than the emotional state of an old ex-quasi-boyfriend.
Her mind obediently moved to the more pressing concerns as she sipped her tea. What was happening with Marcus? It had been nearly 6 weeks. Surely that was enough time for him to have received her letter? Of course she didn’t know how long mail took to Sierra Leone; she didn’t even know where he was. Still. She was really beginning to be anxious about him. Whatever the future might hold for them, she certainly wanted him to be well and happy, wherever he was. And Sierra Leone wasn’t exactly the safest place for anyone to be. This was probably another thing there was no point thinking about right now, but it was hard to stop. Where was he, damn it?
And once he did get her letter, her mind insisted on continuing, how was he going to react? She’d tried not to speculate about that, too. But her fatigue-induced low spirits made anxiety easier. She tried to distract herself, looking over the rim of her cup at the lights of the city diffusing through the glass balcony doors, dimly illuminating the darkened apartment. The peace of the silent, luminous scene, seen from far above, usually calmed her. Tonight it seemed to have no effect. She looked away. The glowing numbers on the microwave informed her that it was nearly 3 a.m. Time to go back to bed, not to sit here and worry. But she hadn’t the energy to move, and her mind kept gnawing on the unwelcome question. How was Marcus going to feel when he got the news?
Truthfully, she didn’t think he was going to be happy. It was very likely that he would want to ‘do the honourable thing’; he was that kind of person. But did she want a husband who had only married her out of a sense of duty? Even if that was best for the child? She was beginning to realise that she’d almost rather he turned her down. She had done the honourable thing herself, in offering to marry him, but did she really want to? She and Marcus had, essentially, agreed that they didn’t suit, when he left for Sierra Leone. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left, or she would have gone with him. He was a wonderful man, but she saw now that it had never been destined to be a long-term relationship. Their approaches to life were too different. The pregnancy complicated matters, but did it change anything essential?
There was no point to this, she thought wearily. Sitting up at this hour fretting was only making her feel lower. Already her headache was worse. Maybe she was better off without either one of them, but she was in no state now to make that kind of decision. She would go to bed and do some calming breathing exercises, and hope that helped her back to sleep. She would feel better in the morning. She stood up, rinsed the cup and set it on the drainboard, and left the kitchen, stopping in the bathroom for a Tylenol before she climbed back into bed. Life was never easy, she thought as she turned off the bedside light. But she’d been through much worse than this. Everything would be okay, somehow.
The motionless figure in the shadowed corner of the balcony watched her leave the kitchen. She looked so sad as she walked away. Even from behind, her drooping shoulders made her look tired and discouraged. He had hoped his return would bring her pleasure, might even ‘make her happy’ if one person could ever be said to make another one happy. It didn’t seem to have done so. Perhaps he was reading too much into her appearance. She might simply be tired. Or she might not be thinking about him at all, as he was arrogantly assuming. Maybe she was worried about her absent lover, or about something else entirely. Or maybe, he thought wryly, it was simply a lesson to him not to go looking into other people’s windows. Still, it worried him to see her look so sad. Perhaps after all she was better off with him out of her life. He should have thought this through more carefully.
When he was sure she would not return, he departed silently into the sky.
Raven image courtesy of Lisa Konrad, who retains copyright, and whose clipart website can be found here.