Whitby Vampyrrhic by Simon Clark Page A

book to Eleanor when you check in.’
    â€˜You’ve just finished our day’s sugar ration.’ Sally grinned. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I want to keep off sugar. It goes straight to my waist.’
    Alec leaned towards Beth as if about to kiss her. ‘Check for yourself.’
    â€˜Excuse me?’
    â€˜Yesterday, you accurately detected the whiff of mother’s ruin.’
    â€˜It’s not my job to dry you out.’
    â€˜But I shouldn’t be boozing at nine in the morning, even if it was medicinal.’ He touched the eyepatch.
    â€˜How is it?’
    â€˜The eye? Want to look for yourself?’
    â€˜Ugh!’ Sally pulled a face. ‘Is it really bad?’
    He raised his hand to the eyepatch, as if to flip it up.
    Beth dabbed her mouth with a napkin. ‘I suspect Alec is showing us our place in his team. He wants us to know that he is our lord and master.’ She stood up. ‘And he wants us to be afraid of him.’
    Sally shuffled uncomfortably in the seat, knowing that the seeds of another argument had been planted. ‘Beth. We should be getting ready.’ The sound of a door shutting gave her another reason to divert the confrontation. ‘That must be Eleanor. Alec will have time to check into his room before we leave.’
    As Sally stood up, so did Alec to give a polite bow. ‘Ladies. Thank you for your company. And I’ll see you get the sugar back.’
    Sally laughed, relieved that the impending awkwardness had been avoided. ‘Oh, we’re sweet enough.’
    â€˜I’m sure you are.’
    â€˜Come with me, I’ll introduce you to Eleanor. You’ll love her.’
    â€˜Indeed?’
    The pair left the room.
    Sally laughed at everything Alec said, Beth realized. The same kind of giggle schoolgirls use when they have a crush on a teacher. She decided to wait for Sally so they could go up to their rooms together to collect their coats. For a while, she examined framed photographs on the walls. There were scenes of old-time Whitby: sailing ships in the harbour; a paddle-steamer being smashed to pieces on the rocks by enormous waves; lifeboat men wearing bulky cork lifebelts; women in long skirts, lugging baskets of freshly caught fish. Then there were pictures of the Leviathan Hotel as it was in years gone by. Beneath one, a date fixed it as having being taken on Christmas Day, 1921. Outside the front door, standing in a neat line, were four people. A middle-aged man and woman, and then probably the son and daughter. Beth studied the features of the young woman. Eleanor, it had to be – yet an Eleanor of twenty years ago. Those features were unmistakable. Her brother smiled broadly. He possessed a healthy robustness. In his hand, a fishing rod. No doubt a Christmas present that he’d insisted on displaying proudly.
    Eleanor had told them that her brother suffered ill health. So, if this photograph of a strong, young buck full of vigour didn’t lie, then his sickness must have struck him down later. After she’d glanced at the other photographs (all ships with masts), she gazed out of the window. From the reception area came the deep rumble of Alec’s Scottish burr, mingled with Sally and Eleanor’s voices. Sally’s laugh would often rise above the others’ conversational tones.
    This window didn’t open on to any grand vista, unlike her bedroom, which revealed the waterside hotel had perfect harbour views. All she could see from here was the small cobbled yard hemmed in by walls six feet high. Tucked in one corner, a little cottage in the same deep red-brick. Its frontage presented a door, two windows at ground level, then another pair of windows on the upper story. As her eyes alighted on the upstairs windows she noticed one had its curtain parted by just six inches or so. At that moment, a thin, weak-looking hand fumbled for the edge of the curtain.
He can’t see it
, she told