by Caro Fraser
Then there came baby photos, Christmases, beach picnics, birthdays, outings. There were school portraits of Derek in blazer and tie, hair combed, face shining, smiling. In his young face she recognized her own eyes from childhood portraits, wide and guileless. She went slowly and carefully through this era of photographs, trying to find blanks, places where she and Charlie might have fitted. But theirs was not even a ghostly absence in the frozen, camera-fixed moment. They simply hadn’t existed. This was another world, and they were not in it. Merely of it. And that, only long ago.
At the end of her visit, Joyce told Bella to choose a handful of photographs of Doreen and Len and Derek, to show to Charlie.
‘I’ll make sure you get them back,’ said Bella.
‘Don’t trouble, dear,’ said Joyce. ‘You keep them. They’re your family, after all.’
When she left the flat and went back down the stairwell, Bella felt almost giddy with the sensation of being transported back to a lost time, immersed in another world. She got into her car and sat there for a while, thinking about it all. She took the photos which Joyce had given her from her bag and studied them again, trying to work out where these people fitted in; what, if anything, they had to do with her life. It seemed that the deeper she probed, the closer she got, the more tenuous the connections became. She put the pictures away and drove home through the slow lunchtime traffic.
Adam and Giles Hamblin were sitting in the beer garden of Adam’s local, discussing, among other things, the progress of the biography.
‘The whole thing is largely there to be written. It’s just that there are certain areas where I feel I’m groping in the dark, or rather, not getting the full picture.’
‘I take it you’re talking about wife number one?’
‘She’s part of it. I don’t know what to make of what she tells me. If I hadn’t found out about the adoption by accident–’
‘Good journalism, I’d say.’ Giles took an approving swig of his whisky.
‘Thank you. I thought so myself. But if I hadn’t sleuthed about, she’d never have told me. I suppose I should be glad she’s still prepared to talk to me, all things considered, but I don’t know if she’s making stuff up, or concealing it.’ Adam finished his beer. ‘She’s such a valuable source, but she’s got her own agenda. They all have, the entire family. It’s only natural.’
‘So you think maybe she’s not being entirely honest about old Harry’s sexual proclivities?’
‘Well, she’s telling it her way. As far as she was concerned it only amounted to a little bit of cottaging, a few casual flings with inconsequential nobodies. Something he grew out of. She tried to persuade me to leave it out of the book.’
‘Harry’s gay days? You can’t. It’s too good.’
‘I agree. I foresee a certain amount of conflict with the rest of the family. Bella wants me to leave it alone. Briony took the same line as Cecile to begin with – that it was trivial, a “youthful indiscretion”, as she put it – but she got quite poisonous when I ventured to suggest, as tactfully as I could, that it might have amounted to more than that, that Harry was homosexual and tried to conceal it throughout his life.’
‘What? That he was queer and she knew about it? You’ll have your work cut out to establish that. And there’s no room for speculation, not where lawyers are concerned.’
Adam sighed. ‘I know. It’s just that I’m sure there’s something there. The way Briony behaves about it all. She’s always been so keen to paint the right picture of herself and Harry, idyllic marriage and all that. There were times, talking to them both, when it all seemed too good to be true. Still–’ Adam took a swig of his beer, ‘she made it pretty clear that I risk losing her cooperation if I do write about that aspect of Harry’s past.’
‘But you’re prepared to?’
‘Yes.’ Adam nodded. ‘If it comes down to it, telling the truth is more important than maintaining good relations with Harry’s family.’ He thought fleetingly of Bella as he said this, and hoped it never need come to that choice with her.
Giles gazed idly at Adam’s face, thinking that he detected an imperceptible hardening of Adam’s attitude – indeed, his very personality – since taking on this commission. He pointed to Adam’s glass. ‘Another?’
‘My round.’
Adam returned with the drinks and sat down. ‘Anyway, before I do anything else, I’m going to have another talk with Richard Compton-King.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Interesting. Fascinating, in the true sense of the word. He talks, you listen. Lots of insight. I don’t know what he’s doing managing pop groups. Seems too bright for that.’
‘I wouldn’t underestimate the power of intellect required to do that particular job, and do it successfully.’
‘I get the impression he’s not as successful as he used to be. From what he says, he’s still out there, hustling and pitching, but I think his glory days are well in the past.’ Adam took a drink of his beer. ‘Anyway, after I’ve done that, I intend to go to France with Megan for a couple of weeks.’
‘Lie in the sun and drink lots of wine?’
If I get the chance. It’s actually research for an article. The commissioning editor rang yesterday and said he wants the copy by the end of August, latest. At least it’s an excuse to down tools on the biography for a while.’
‘Should be a nice jaunt.’
‘Hmm. To be honest, I think it’ll do us both good to get away. Life in the flat is getting a bit claustrophobic. I do like my privacy, and Megan isn’t very understanding if I’d rather work than spend cosy evenings on the sofa in front of the television.’
An hour later, mellow with sun and beer, Adam went home and rang Richard Compton-King, and asked if they could meet up to discuss Harry a little further. Compton-King was happy to see Adam again.
‘How about the Groucho at twelve-thirty on Friday? I’ve got a meeting in Dean Street that morning, and you’ll be the perfect excuse to get away.’
Adam, scarcely flattered, said this would be fine.
That Friday, he waited for thirty-five minutes in the bar of the Groucho Club, spinning out a white-wine spritzer. At five past one, Compton-King’s tall, unmistakable figure strode into the lobby from the street. The girls at reception seemed inordinately pleased to see him, and he paused for a few chatty moments to bathe in the warm glow of their appreciation before sauntering into the bar to meet Adam.
‘Sorry I’m late. Bloody meeting went on for ever. For some reason the members of my new band insist on going through every line of their recording contract with the lawyers. I wish pop stars would just stick to things they know about, like drugs, and trashing hotel rooms.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we go straight in?’
They went into the dining room, and Adam listened to a twenty-minute Compton-King discourse on copyright exploitation before he could get round to the subject of Harry. Lunch came quickly, and Compton-King was such a prodigiously fast eater that Adam was worried that the meal might be over, and Compton-King off to his next meeting, before he had had time to get answers to his questions.
‘It’s the main focus of the major record companies now,’ Compton-King was explaining. ‘The multinationals don’t want a volatile asset, they don’t want a rock star who gets stoned in the middle of the night and rings up to say he’s going to become a Buddhist monk. They want their pop stars to be anodyne, safe. It’s all about money-making. Not that I’m knocking that, but where’s the creativity, where’s the danger?’ Compton-King was halfway through a plate of seared scallops with spinach mash, and three-quarters of the way through a bottle of Sancerre, of which Adam had had only half a glassful. He knew now the pitfalls of trying to keep up with Richard Compton-King in the matter of lunchtime drinking.
As Compton-King ladled in another forkful, Adam said diffidently, ‘Listen, I know we probably don’t have long, so do you mind if I take up where we left off last time?’
‘About Harr
y? Sorry, Adam. Fire away.’
‘Thinking back to our conversation–’
‘Before you fell asleep.’
Adam smiled weakly. ‘Quite. Anyway, you suggested that Harry’s marriage to Cecile was a sham, that it was just a façade to enable him to live as he pleased.’ Compton-King nodded. ‘But when I spoke to Cecile a couple of weeks ago, she painted a rather different picture. As far as she was concerned, she and Harry married for love. She knew about homosexual connections he’d had in the past, but he told her it was over and done with. The way she tells it, any gay relationships he may have had after they were married were merely in the nature of backsliding. She reckons she cured him of all that.’
Compton-King, his food finished, sat back in his chair with a smile. ‘Dear Cecile. Always had a blind spot where Harry was concerned. Or perhaps the blind spot was about herself. You have to remember that Cecile in those days had a reputation as a very beautiful, sexy actress. Believed her own publicity. The idea that Harry might have preferred some boy to her can’t have been very appealing. Probably still isn’t. She always had to believe in the power of her own charms.’
Again Adam found himself wondering if Richard Compton-King’s certainty about Harry stemmed from some affair between the two of them. It seemed the most likely explanation. Still attractive now, Richard must have been a beautiful young man back in those days. But Cecile had found the idea laughable… He was pondering how to broach this matter tactfully, when Compton-King added, ‘Probably why she had so many affairs – took the edge off the fact that Harry was playing away, so to speak – and with boys at that. Helped to reassure her of her own attractiveness.’
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.’