Familiar Rooms in Darkness (25 page)

Adam was intrigued. Cecile, in their conversations, had painted herself as an ever-faithful wife. ‘Is that supposition?'

‘Hardly. I was shagging her senseless myself for nearly a year.' Compton-King signalled to the waiter and asked for coffee. He glanced at Adam. ‘Don't look so astonished. She was pretty gorgeous back then. I was twenty, randy as hell – thoroughly enjoyed it while it lasted.'

Adam remembered Cecile's sudden and unexpected burst of laughter when he'd asked her if she thought Compton-King was gay. Now he understood. It bemused Adam that he'd misread the situation so utterly. ‘But when we first spoke, you suggested that it was a marriage of convenience. Now you're saying that the whole thing devastated Cecile, and that she tried to compensate for what Harry was doing.'

‘You misunderstood me. It was
Harry
's convenience I was talking about. I think he married Cecile to create a smokescreen. You could say that Cecile went her own sweet way, with me and plenty of other guys, but she was always trying to get Harry's attention. Only he wasn't looking.'

‘D'you think that's what finished the marriage off?'

Compton-King shrugged. ‘As I recall, they were divorced on the grounds of Harry's adultery with some model. Penelope something. Possibly another smokescreen. Having said that, Harry did swing both ways. Maybe that was what really got Cecile. Anyone and everyone, except her.'

Adam pondered this. ‘Do you remember any – well, any particular relationships that Harry had with men?'

‘Special boyfriends, you mean? Been thinking about that since we last spoke and I'm afraid I can't, no. Very bad memory for detail – those days are a bit of a haze, what with one thing and another.' Compton-King grinned. ‘Which is probably just as well. Do I sense a loss of nerve?'

‘Far from it,' said Adam. ‘Merely a lack of clarity.'

Compton-King asked a passing waitress for the bill. ‘Sorry I can't make this longer. My fault for being late in the first place.'

‘It doesn't matter,' said Adam. ‘I've got a bit of thinking to do. I'll get back to you, if I may.'

‘Fine.' Compton-King finished his wine. ‘By the way, I see Bella Day's play is closing early. Shame I didn't get round to seeing it. Mind you – liked Joe and all that – never found his plays very funny.'

‘I didn't know it was closing,' said Adam. Poor Bella. He would ring her. Merely friendly commiseration.

‘So,' asked Compton-King, ‘what are you working on when you're not doing this biography?'

‘Bits and pieces. I'm off to France in a week to research an article.'

‘Nice work. Whereabouts?'

‘Lot-et-Garonne. Do you know the region? I've never been there before.'

‘Absolutely stupendous. Love it,' said Compton-King, with an enthusiasm that surprised Adam. ‘I adore France, especially that part. Has a medieval quality. Haven't been down there for years.'

‘You should come,' said Adam, uncertain where this impulse came from.

‘No, no – two's company.' But Adam could tell from Compton-King's smile that he was pleased to have been asked. ‘Saying that, I could do with a holiday…' At that moment the bill came, which Compton-King insisted on paying.

‘You should let me,' said Adam. ‘This is part of my research.'

‘Have this one on the Mule Skinners. Little buggers are earning me enough.'

Compton-King got up, reached out his hand and shook Adam's. ‘Give me a call, we'll talk again. Sorry this had to be so short.'

‘I will. Thanks.' As he sat over the remains of his coffee, Adam remembered the last time they had shaken hands, his misreading of the firm, warm handclasp. It hadn't been what he'd thought at all. The guy simply liked him. And he liked Compton-King. How could anyone help it? And he had to assume, for the present, that his version of certain events in the life of Harry Day was more honest than Cecile's.

He rang Bella late that afternoon.

‘Someone told me your play's closing.'

‘Next Friday. Not doing enough business, I'm afraid.'

‘I'm sorry. I thought it was very good.'

‘Oh well, theatre's not in great shape at the moment. I'm not going to mope about it. I'm off to France on holiday.'

‘That's a coincidence. Megan and I are going to France.
Next week, as a matter of fact. I'm doing research for an article. Whereabouts are you staying?'

‘Near Montauban, down in the south-west. It was my father's house, and he left it to Charlie and me when he died. It's a fantastic place, I really love it, but it looks like this is the last visit I'll make there. We've got to sell it so that Charlie can raise the capital to buy Claire some mansion in Surrey. I've invited the other members of the cast along, to cheer them up. Should be quite a jolly little house party. Charlie and Claire may be going down as well. I haven't spoken to him for a week or so.'

Of course…
Bruce Redmond and Bella Day, holidaying together in her French home
. A miracle
Hello!
magazine hadn't been invited along as well…

‘What about you and Megan? Whereabouts are you headed?' asked Bella.

‘Roughly the same part of the world. I'm going to interview a couple of Yorkshire farmers who upped sticks a few years ago and moved there to farm. I haven't booked anything yet. We'll probably just stay locally.'

‘Why don't I fax you details of how to find our house? It's called Montresor. If you're in the area, you can both come over for the day, have lunch and a swim.'

‘Thanks.' Adam didn't think he had any wish to witness the holiday idyll of Bruce and Bella. ‘By the way, how did it go with your aunt, the one who wrote to you? I've forgotten her name.'

‘Joyce Barrow.' Bella sighed. ‘Auntie Joyce. She was very sweet, quite moved to meet me and so forth, showed me lots of photographs, told me what a bastard my real father was and how he engineered the adoption. It was
odd. I think she wanted to feel close to me, bring me into the family, but there was a kind of remoteness about it all. Like it was too long ago to heal, or make things different.'

‘She must want to meet Charlie. Have you told him?'

‘Not yet. Besides, I'm not sure he'd want to hear. But yes, Joyce says it would mean a lot to her to meet him. I can't see it happening, somehow. You know how Charlie feels about all this, anyway, and I can't see him hitting it off with Joyce and Arthur. That's her husband. I've been the one who's been telling him it'll make him feel better about the whole business if he meets his real family, gets to know them and finds out more about himself, but I'm not so sure…'

‘Did it make you feel better?'

‘Not much, to be honest. If anything, meeting Derek, and then Joyce, seeing all the photos… the whole thing makes me feel lonely. I realize I don't belong, I lost the chance. Is that stupid?'

‘I think I understand. But, you know… maybe it's a way of making you see that it's your real past, the people you've grown up with, that count.'

‘But I lost something, and I want to try to get it back…' She sighed. ‘I know what you mean, though. I've been ringing Mummy up a lot, needing to talk to her. I haven't had the nerve to ask her about – you know, what you told me about Harry before they got married.'

Before, during and after, thought Adam, if Richard Compton-King was to be believed. Not that he was going to tell Bella. Not at this particular juncture.

‘No, well, I can see that would be difficult.'

‘Have you decided yet?'

‘Decided what?'

‘Whether or not to include it in the book? I so hope you won't. I mean, honestly, Adam, you have to ask yourself what good it's going to do.'

‘What good it's going to do?' Adam was perplexed. ‘Look, this is a biography. It's a portrait of a human being.'

She sighed. ‘Oh God… integrity.'

‘Yes, if you like. I know it's difficult for the family, but how can I compromise? It's just not possible.'

‘Do you think it's what my father would have wanted?'

‘When I started this biography, it was with your father's cooperation, and – to a certain extent – control.' He paused. ‘But it's under my control now. I have to do what I think is right.' She said nothing. ‘Bella, I don't want to cause any friction. I badly need your cooperation. I'll need to talk to you and Charlie when I get back from France. And Briony.'

‘I know you feel you have to be completely honest. I respect that. It's the truth that's important, I suppose.'

He sighed. ‘Thank you. Though as I've been discovering, there's no whole and complete truth about anyone. Every individual is so many different things to so many people.'

‘Well, don't expect any exciting revelations when you talk to me. He was just my father.'

Both paused, and Adam wondered if she was as aware as he was of the sense of intimate closeness he felt in their conversation. Perhaps not, he decided, because suddenly she said with a yawn, ‘Anyway, thanks for
ringing. As I said, do look us up when you're in France, if you get the chance.'

‘OK. Thanks.'

She put the phone down. She meant what she said. She hoped he would come to Montresor.

Three days before the play was due to close, Joyce Barrow rang Bella.

‘I felt I had to let you know–' Bella could tell from the rapid, hushed tone of her voice that it was something serious, ‘Doreen's been taken into hospital. She's had a heart attack.'

‘How bad is she?' News of a stranger, yet the danger that her most intimate connection might be severed for ever without having been properly made galvanized Bella.

‘Well, she's serious, dear.'

‘Should I – can I go and see her?'

‘Well –'

‘I don't want to do anything to make her worse–' Bella suddenly realized she had begun to cry, and brushed tears away.

‘She's unconscious. For the moment, anyway. Even if she wasn't, I don't think she would recognize you, not the way she's been recently. She hasn't known me, half the time. Only Derek.'

‘Where is she?'

‘Lewisham hospital. Carpenter Ward. Derek's there. He's been there since they took her in.'

Bella glanced at her watch. Ten past five. Could she possibly get all the way over there and still make it back to the theatre on time? It didn't matter. She had to go.
This was her mother. It might be the last chance that Doreen ever got to look at her daughter. To Bella, that seemed the most important thing of all.

The taxi across London took an hour. By the time Bella had negotiated the corridors and staircases of the hospital and found the nurse's station on Carpenter Ward, it was nearly six-thirty.

‘I'm inquiring about a Doreen Kinley,' Bella told the nurse on duty. ‘I believe she's a patient on your ward.'

The nurse hesitated, then asked, ‘Are you a member of the family?'

For a few long seconds, Bella struggled for an answer. ‘I'm – I'm a family friend. Mrs Kinley's sister rang me.'

‘And your name is…?' Bella gave her name. ‘Just a moment.' The nurse went down the corridor and through a door. After a moment she came out and beckoned to Bella. Bella went into a small room and found Derek sitting there on his own by the window. The room was furnished with blue carpet tiles, functional, mock-leather chairs, and a low table. It spoke of waiting, of emptiness, of dead hours.

‘Hi,' said Derek.

‘Hello,' replied Bella. The nurse closed the door and left them alone. ‘How is she?'

‘She's gone,' said Derek. ‘She died ten minutes ago. I'm waiting for Joyce to get here.'

‘Oh, God.' Bella put her hand to her mouth.

Derek just sat there, folding his knuckles together, twisting the gold ring on his little finger. He seemed uninterested in Bella's presence, or her reaction to the news.

Bella sat down. ‘I'm sorry,' she said softly. ‘I'm terribly sorry.' She put out a hand to his, and to her surprise he gripped it, pressed it. He began to weep, his broad shoulders shaking. Bella had no words to say. She was simply grateful for the fact that he held her hand, for without that she would have felt like the merest intruder. It was Derek's mother who had died, not hers. His grief was for the sum of countless childhood days, the loss of a love which had begun at birth and gradually transformed and reversed itself, so that in the end he had cared for her, in a slow revolve of mutual feeling and dependency, son and mother, mother and son. Whatever loss she imagined she felt, it was not the same.

After a few moments, Derek wiped his eyes, shaking his head slowly as if to clear it of unhappiness. He relinquished Bella's hand.

‘I'm just sorry I didn't know her,' said Bella.

‘That wasn't her fault.'

‘I know that.'

‘After you came that day–' Derek swallowed, composing himself, ‘I was really angry. Angry with you for coming. Angry with Mum for never telling me. Then I saw that it was pointless, being angry. I decided it was best just left alone. That's why I never wrote, never sent you any photos.'

‘I remember thinking that you looked at me like you wished I'd never happened.'

‘Nah, I didn't mean that.' Derek shook his head again, as though inexpressibly weary. ‘The more I thought about it, I began to think it would be nice to get to know you. But it's too late, don't you reckon? I mean, too long a time.'

‘I don't think so. But I don't understand why you told Joyce. If you wanted to keep me at a distance, you need never have said anything to anyone.'

‘I told Joyce because I wanted to know what really happened back then, the adoption and all that. I reckoned she would have known all about it, if anyone did. I wanted to understand.'