he’d be like a barn door! Also, his handshake was iron. Hardly limp-wristed, no matter the length of his fingers.
George was suddenly very much aware of his own thinning hair, his small paunch and slightly stodgy appearance. But at least I can go out in the sun! he thought. Yulian’s pallor was one thing that never changed; even here he stood in the shade of the old house, like part of its shadow.
But if the last two years had improved Yulian, they’d not been so kind to his mother.
‘Georgina!’ Anne had meanwhile turned to her cousin, hugging her. Beneath the hug she had felt how frail she was, how trembly. The loss of her husband almost eighteen years before was still taking its toll. ‘And . . . and looking so well!’
Liar! George couldn’t help thinking. Well? She looks like something clockwork that’s about wound itself down!
It was true – Georgina seemed like an automaton. She spoke and moved as if programmed. ‘Anne, George, Helen – so good to see you all again. So glad you accepted Yulian’s invitation. But come in, come in. You can guess what we’ve got for you, of course. A cream tea, naturally!’
She led the way, floating light as air, and went inside. Yulian paused at the door, turned and said, ‘Yes, do come in. Feel free. Enter freely and make yourselves at home.’ The way he said it, somehow ritualistically, made his welcome sound quite odd. As George, at the rear, made to pass him, Yulian added, ‘Can I bring in your luggage for you?’
‘Why, thanks,’ said George. ‘Here, I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Not necessary,’ Yulian smiled. ‘Just give me the keys.’ He opened the boot and took out their cases as if they were empty and weighed nothing. It wasn’t just show, George could see that. Yulian was very strong . . .
Following him inside the house, and feeling just a shade useless, George paused on hearing a low growl of warning which came from an open cloakroom in an alcove to one side of the entrance hall. In there, in the deepest shadows behind a dark oak coatstand, something black as sin moved and yellow eyes glared. George looked harder, said, ‘What in – ?’ and the growling came louder.
Yulian, half-way down the corridor towards the stairs, turned and looked back. ‘Oh, don’t let him intimidate you, George. His bark is worse than his bite, I assure you.’ And in a harsher tone of command: ‘Come, boy, out into the light where we can see you.’
A black Alsatian, almost full grown, (was this monster really Yulian’s pup?) came slinking into view, baring its teeth at George as it slid by him. The dog went straight to Yulian, stood waiting. George noticed that it didn’t wag its tail.
‘It’s all right, old friend,’ the youth murmured. ‘You make yourself scarce.’ At which the vicious looking creature moved on into the house.
‘Good Lord!’ said George. ‘Thank goodness he’s well trained. What’s his name?’
‘Vlad,’ Yulian answered at once, turning away, cases and all. ‘It’s Romanian, I believe. Means “Prince” or something. Or it did in the old times . . . ‘
Yulian wasn’t much visible for the next two or three days. The fact did not especially bother George; if anything he was relieved. Anne merely thought it odd that he wasn’t around; Helen felt he was avoiding her and was annoyed about it, but she didn’t let it show. ‘What does he do with himself all day?’ Anne asked Georgina, for the sake of something to say, when they were alone together one
morning.
Georgina’s eyes seemed constantly dull, but only mention Yulian and they’d take on a startled, almost shocked brightness. Anne mentioned him now – and sure enough, there was that look.
‘Oh, he has his interests . . .’ She at once tried to change the subject, words tumbling out of her: ‘We’re thinking about having the old stables down. There are extensive vaults under the grounds – old cellars, wine cellars my grandfather used – and Yulian thinks the stables will crash right through to them one day. If we have them down we’ll sell the stone. It’s good stone and should fetch a decent price.’