Familiar Rooms in Darkness (21 page)

‘Yes. I went with her.'

‘Oh?' Cecile looked surprised. ‘She didn't mention that.'

‘I think she wanted – well, some kind of moral support.'

‘I see.' Cecile nodded. ‘She told me afterwards that she felt utterly no connection between herself and her mother. I was so relieved… it made me feel quite ashamed.'

Adam said nothing. It wasn't up to him to tell Cecile that Bella and Doreen Kinley had done nothing more than look at one another, without Mrs Kinley having any idea of who Bella was. Then again, he began to wonder what
was
up to him. Hadn't he come here to unlock another family closet and bring forth the skeleton?

‘Would you like some tea?' asked Cecile.

‘Please, don't go to any trouble.'

‘I'm always grateful for an excuse to make tea.' Cecile rose. ‘I'll only be a few minutes.'

Damn, thought Adam. Back came the politeness, the
fragile decorum. When she came back, he'd have to start all over again. Best not to beat around the bush.

Five minutes later, as she set down the tea tray, Adam said, ‘I'm surprised you agreed to see me, to be honest. After what's happened, I thought you might no longer be particularly keen on helping with the biography.'

She looked directly at him. ‘I don't really care about events in the past being broadcast to the whole world. That's what you journalists do, after all.' She poured his tea and handed it to him. ‘No, my concern is only for the integrity of my family, to keep us close, to ride things out… Facts are as they are. I suppose we're all stupid to try to conceal them. If I turned my back on this book, and on you, it wouldn't do any good.'

There was a silence. Adam stirred his tea. She sounded so resolute, almost as though she knew, or suspected, that he was going to broach some further hidden aspect of Harry's life. He decided to be as direct as possible, whatever the risk of offence. ‘In that case,' he said, ‘I'll be frank with you. I have found a certain source, a man who was a friend of Harry's back in the sixties, who says that at the time he knew Harry, he was having a number of affairs. With men.'

Adam had no idea what her reaction might be. That was the worst of it. Either she knew or she didn't. If she didn't, then the enormity of what he had said… He waited, watched.

Cecile merely dipped her head to sip her tea, then said quietly, ‘That's quite true. I knew. I knew at the time.' The gaze she fastened on Adam was a little defiant. ‘I didn't mind. It wasn't as though he were seeing other
women, or having love affairs. I never felt threatened. They were just casual pick-ups, young men, so it was quite unimportant. It was only a sexual thing, you see. There was no… emotion involved. He didn't care for any one of them. It's not as though Harry was actually queer, you know. It was simply a habit he had picked up, a vice he had learned during the time he lived in Soho. These things can be learned, you know. I don't care what the modern cant is about men being born that way. Perfectly normal young men can easily be corrupted. It happened to Harry. It was something he had to rid himself of. But it took time. I was a correcting influence, eventually.'

Adam nodded wonderingly. Was she being embarrassingly naive, or had it perhaps really been like that? He remembered what Compton-King had said about the moral atmosphere of forty, fifty years ago, and realized he had simply no way of knowing how people conducted themselves then, or how things were. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out his tape recorder. Cecile eyed it. ‘Are you happy for me to tape our conversation?' asked Adam.

Cecile hesitated. ‘I suppose so.'

He set the tape down on the table and switched it on. ‘Did you know any of them? Harry's–' He hesitated momentarily, floundering for the right word.

‘Boyfriends? God, no.' Her voice was sharp with disgust.

‘Did you… did you and Harry ever discuss what he was doing?'

‘No. It was… well, I suppose “acknowledged” is the
correct word. He had told me earlier on, before we were married, about himself.'

‘How did you feel when he first told you?'

‘Pretty appalled. In those days people didn't talk about such things, not openly. Being in the theatre… well, one knew any number of homosexuals, but I suppose I wasn't prepared… We had vowed to tell each other everything, the way people do – not keep anything back. It was very upsetting when he told me about his past, things he had done. But I was very much in love with him. He told me it was over and done with. I believed him. I wouldn't have married him otherwise. When you're in love, you do want to believe in the other person…'

Her manner was still entirely composed, but something about the expression in her eyes made Adam hesitate before continuing.

‘And later… how did you find out that it was still carrying on?'

‘Oh, I just guessed. The people he knew, some of the types he hung around with. He was very friendly with Joe Orton and that companion of his, Halliwell. There were evenings when he didn't come home, and he said he was at such and such a place, and I found out later that he hadn't been.' She shrugged. ‘Little things. Little lies.'

‘Did you confront Harry about it?'

She hesitated, then said, ‘It came up. We talked. I'd really rather not discuss it in great detail.'

‘It must have been something of a shock.'

‘Yes. But I overcame it. I was determined that it shouldn't be a threat to our marriage. Harry didn't want it to be. He saw it as an aberration, a kind of backsliding.
It really was very difficult for him. As I said, it was a habit he had to break. And he did, in the end.'

‘Can I ask… forgive me if this is difficult… Did Harry's bisexuality–'

‘I'd rather you didn't call it that. It was nothing of the kind.'

‘Fine. I'm merely trying to understand… Did his behaviour – I mean, did it have any bearing on the fact that you couldn't have children?'
I don't think I'm cut out for this kind of work
, thought Adam.

The question brought spots of angry colour to Cecile's withered cheeks. ‘Our marriage was perfectly normal, in the physical sense, if that's what you're implying. I have told you twice already that Harry dealt with his problem, overcame it. It had no relevance to the fact that we couldn't have a family. The problem there lay with me.'

Adam nodded. ‘This is a difficult conversation for both of us. I apologize if–'

‘I quite understand that you don't mean to be offensive.'

‘It's just that the truth often is just that. Offensive.'

She gazed at him implacably. ‘Would you like some more tea?'

‘Thank you.'

She refilled his cup. ‘May I ask you – who was the third party who told you about this?'

Adam hesitated. ‘Someone called Richard ComptonKing.' He watched and waited.

‘Ah, yes…' Her face gave nothing away.

‘You know him?'

‘I haven't seen him in – what? Nearly thirty years? But, yes, I remember him.'

A thought occurred to Adam for the first time, and he wondered why it hadn't struck him before. ‘Was he one of Harry's lovers?'

Cecile looked at him in astonishment and burst into a peal of genuine laughter. ‘Oh no – heavens, no!'

Her evident amusement at this made Adam smile. The momentary change of mood was a mild relief. ‘Why is that so funny?'

‘Well…' She smiled reflectively. ‘I think I would have known if that was the case. And I can assure you it was not. Anyway–' Her smile faded as she set down her cup, ‘as I told you, the men involved were mere pick-ups. Quite faceless. I shouldn't think he knew their names, ever.' There was a pause of several seconds. ‘So you see, whatever you intend to make of this in your book, I'm afraid there are no personalities involved. No names. I imagine that is disappointing.'

Cecile's slant on things was quite different from Compton-King's in more ways than one. Not the remotest suggestion that her marriage to Harry had been one of mere convenience. Far from it. Not that Adam had any intention of telling Cecile. He shrugged. ‘It's another aspect of Harry's life. That's where my interest lies. Everything else that follows is incidental. This biography isn't intended to be–' He paused.

‘A muck-raking exercise?'

‘Just the truth,' said Adam. ‘That's all I'm after.' He reached across and switched off his tape recorder. He had the impression this couldn't be pursued much further
– not with Cecile, at any rate. ‘Thank you for being so frank.'

‘Not at all. I really think the whole thing is quite trivial, actually. It lasted only a couple of years into our marriage. It was all well over by the time the twins arrived. Not really worth making much of a fuss about in your book, I wouldn't have thought.'

Adam made no response to this. Instead he asked, ‘I wonder – not that there's any reason why you should know the answer – but do you suppose Briony knows anything about this?'

‘Briony? I'm sure I have no idea.' The look she gave Adam was cold and defensive. ‘Harry may have told her. Or he may have regarded it all as too trivial, too far in the past. You'd have to ask her.'

Adam nodded thoughtfully. He'd taken this as far as he could. It had plainly been difficult for her, and for that he was sorry. But the task he had undertaken was a serious one, and he had to pursue it in a professional manner. Would he have undertaken it, if he had known at the outset how much pain might be involved? He had no idea. He put his tape recorder back into his pocket and, in an attempt to relax the atmosphere between them, said, ‘I take it you've been to see Bella's play?'

‘Of course.' Cecile's eyes brightened at the thought of Bella. ‘I went on the opening night. It's hard to say whether it will be any kind of a success. I don't think the play has ever been staged before, so it's something of a leap in the dark. They televised it back in the sixties, but I didn't see it. Orton is difficult, I always think… How can one tell when the time is right for a revival?'

‘Perhaps we'll be seeing some of Harry's plays in the West End soon.'

‘Not soon,' said Cecile. ‘There's always a decent interval of obscurity after a writer dies. Maybe in fifteen or twenty years. We shall see – or at any rate,
you
shall… But I hope, for Bella's sake, that
Funeral Games
does better than the critics have suggested. Have you seen it?'

‘I'm planning to go next week.'

Adam rose, and Cecile went with him to the front door. They stood together for a hesitant moment, and then Cecile said, ‘You know, it might be a kindness to everyone involved if your book didn't touch on this part of Harry's life.'

‘That's asking a lot.'

‘I know. Of course, I could have simply denied that any of it ever happened, and tried to conceal it that way. But you already knew, so that would have been pointless. So I'm appealing to – to your better nature, if you like. I don't see what good it will do anyone for these things to be brought out.'

Adam didn't know what to say. ‘I intend to be no more than truthful. But no less. I can't–'

‘You can. You have a conscience.' Her voice rose, trembling a little. ‘Don't you think you've already unearthed enough things that Harry might have wished left alone?'

Adam turned and walked down the path to the garden gate. ‘I'll be in touch. I won't do anything without speaking to you again. I promise.'

Driving back across London, Adam reflected on Cecile's attempt to appeal to his conscience in the matter
of Harry's youthful indiscretions. This was surely just the beginning. Once the rest of the family knew, the pressure not to publish would grow, and would inevitably be less gentle than Cecile's dignified supplication. If it were a matter of conscience, as Cecile had suggested, he didn't see how he could be selective with the truth. Presumably Cecile didn't want any mention made of it because, by the standards of her generation, the revelations were to Harry's discredit. But were they? Adam couldn't decide. By today's standards, one would say not, but Adam knew in his bones that there was a wider moral perspective to this. It was more a question of hypocrisy, of concealment. Smokescreens, as Compton-King had put it. And, if he were honest with himself, this aspect added the touch of sensationalism which the book badly needed. No – he would not be baulked by Harry's family. As he formed this resolution, Adam was dimly aware that a streak of ruthlessness had entered his soul.

When Adam had gone, Cecile began to clear away the teacups. She moved slowly, her mind still working on the conversation which had just taken place. Whatever Briony and Harry had assumed about that young man, they were guilty of a serious underestimation. Or complacency, at the very least. Adam Downing had certainly done his homework… unearthing Richard Compton-King, of all people. What a charmer he had been. She paused by the sink, staring across the garden, across the years. Afternoons in that cramped little flat of his in Greek Street. Rain on the windows.

After a few moments she turned and went to the
telephone. There were several seconds of tiresome negotiation with Briony's PA, Peter, before she managed to get through to Briony herself. Really, the woman behaved as though she were Elizabeth Taylor…

‘Briony? It's Cecile. I thought you should know that Adam Downing came to see me again today. He's dug up an old friend of Harry's – and mine. Someone with a nice, long memory who isn't at all interested in protecting anyone's reputation, much.'

‘Who?' Briony's voice at the other end was sharp, anxious.

‘His name is Richard Compton-King.'

‘I've never heard of him.'

‘Well, that's neither here nor there, dear. He knew both of us very well at one time. Mr Downing has just been plaguing me with questions – quite tactful questions, naturally – about young men that Harry was cavorting with back in the days when we were married.' Cecile's tone was dry and light, in contrast to Briony's anxiety.