Familiar Rooms in Darkness

by Caro Fraser

  There was silence for a moment or two. ‘There are often several angles to these things,’ said Compton-King. ‘That’s a third-hand story, told from only one of them.’

  Frank shrugged and picked up his wine glass. ‘I make no judgements. I only tell you what Gordon knew to be the truth.’ He finished the contents of his glass. ‘And let’s face it, that’s all the truth ever can be. One person’s version of events.’

  ‘No doubt Adam will want to quote your story,’ said Compton-King, glancing at Adam, ‘even though it’s not exactly to Harry’s credit.’

  ‘It’s not a question of credit or discredit,’ replied Frank. ‘If Adam is setting himself up as a biographer, it should all be grist to his mill, as they say.’

  Adam set his glass down. ‘I don’t know. I wish it were that simple. On the point about Harry’s sexuality, I begin to wonder what good it’s going to do to publish the truth.’

  ‘What? About his AC/DC tendencies?’ Compton-King laughed. ‘You’ve just had corroboration. You can’t leave it out. This is painting by numbers, you know, not impressionism.’

  ‘I know. You’re absolutely right.’ He scratched his head. ‘I feel a little odd, having this discussion about Bella’s father, while we’re sharing her hospitality.’

  ‘I had no idea of any of the things you’re talking about,’ said Bruce, who had been silent until now. ‘Was he really gay?’

  ‘Oh, not entirely. Let’s say he liked a bit of both.’ Compton-King raised his long arms above his head, stretched and yawned. ‘Not that the family cares to acknowledge that.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Bruce, ‘but it’s something Adam has a duty to write about, as I see it.’

  ‘Why so?’ asked Frank. ‘What bearing does it have on anything? I merely ask out of interest.’

  Bruce spread his hands. ‘People like to know details about their heroes. The more intimate the better. They love it. It’s human nature.’

  ‘Even if those details are discreditable?’

  ‘There can be nothing discreditable about a person’s sexuality. Not any more.’

  ‘Ah…’ Frank drew a long breath, and smiled.

  ‘Isn’t Frank’s story discreditable?’ asked Compton-King.

  ‘Well, there’s the question. It’s up to the reader to answer it. Adam, as a biographer, merely has a duty to draw as full a picture of the man as he can.’

  ‘And if it hurts people? Living people? If it tarnishes his reputation, diminishes him?’ asked Adam musingly.

  ‘That would be down to Harry, and the way he lived his life. Not you.’

  ‘Thanks. Not much comfort.’

  ‘Oh, I’d stick it all in,’ said Bruce, getting up from his chair. ‘You want to sell your book, don’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Adam shrugged, picked up his wine and finished it.

  ‘I’m going in,’ said Bruce.

  ‘I think I’ll join you,’ said Adam. He turned to Frank and Compton-King. ‘Goodnight.’ He and Bruce crossed the lawn to the house.

  ‘That boy Downing,’ said Compton-King, ‘is troubled by a conscience.’

  ‘Then he’s in the wrong job,’ said Frank. ‘Shall we open another bottle?’

  Bruno and Megan were sprawled on a sofa watching MTV when Adam and Bruce came in, and Derek was sitting at the table, playing solitaire.

  Derek glanced up. ‘Fancy a hand of poker?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Bruce, pulling up a chair.

  ‘No – thanks all the same,’ said Adam. He didn’t feel like cards. The conversation in the garden had unsettled him. He wandered through to the kitchen, where Bella was clearing dishes away.

  ‘Hi.’ She gave him a smile.

  ‘Hi. We left the serious drinkers in the garden.’ Adam picked up a cloth and began to dry glasses.

  ‘That wasn’t a bad dinner that Derek and Frank cooked, was it?’ said Bella.

  ‘Very impressive. I gather it’s down to Compton-King and myself tomorrow night?’

  ‘Correct. Can’t run a household without rotas.’

  ‘Don’t forget I’ll be out most of tomorrow talking to an ex-pat farmer. I rang him before dinner and fixed it up.’

  ‘Where is their farm, exactly?’

  ‘Near Lauzerte, about fifty kilometres from here.’

  ‘Oh, I know it. I think they have a market on Tuesdays, so you can pick up some things. We could do with some more melons. We’re getting through half a dozen a day. And cheese. We need more cheese.’

  The sound of laughter and banter came from the card table. ‘Derek and Bruce seem to be getting along pretty well,’ said Adam.

  ‘Apart from table tennis, they’ve discovered they share a passion for poker and football. They both support Chelsea.’ Bella put the last of the plates away and closed the cupboard.

  Adam nodded. ‘Well, I suppose it’s good that your brother and your boyfriend get along together. It all helps.’

  Bella stared at him in mute surprise as recollection dawned on her – Adam, like the rest of the wide world, thought that she and Bruce were still an item. He had no idea what she and Bruce had been up to. Why should he? As far as he was concerned, she and Bruce were here together, as a couple. She gave a little laugh and laid a hand on Adam’s arm. ‘Look, there’s something I should tell you…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well,’ she said slowly, apprehensive as to what his reaction might be, ‘Bruce and I – we haven’t really been going out together. In fact, he’s not interested in me in that way at all. Or vice versa.’

  Some seconds elapsed as Adam tried to make sense of this. ‘According to the gossip columns, you’ve been inseparable for the past two months.’

  ‘Yes, well… the gossip columns are why we did it. Why we pretended. It was a publicity stunt, if you like. Bruce’s idea. He thought it would raise our profiles, help the play. When the play closed, we just assumed – well, that the gossip would go away, die a natural death. But you didn’t know. Sorry.’ She gazed at his features, trying to read his expression, and failing.

  Adam took a deep breath. ‘I see. Well, I have to say you made a very convincing couple.’

  ‘Didn’t we? It was good fun while it lasted, actually. I wish all love affairs were as easy. Anyway, I’m sorry if – that is, I’m sorry you were misled.’

  ‘Wasn’t that the general intention?’

  ‘I don’t want you to go on thinking–’

  ‘Bella, what I think doesn’t really matter.’

  ‘I see.’ She paused. ‘I just happen to remember a certain night, when you came to my flat, and – Well, it seemed like it might have mattered. Once.’

  There was a long silence, then Adam said, ‘In some ways I’m sorry that you and Bruce weren’t for real.’

  ‘Why? Because it would all have been a lot simpler?’

  ‘Something like that. Yes.’ Before she could say anything, he added, ‘I’m tired. It’s been a long and surprising day. I really should get to bed.’ He paused. ‘I hope you’re not regretting inviting us to stay.’

  ‘No, of course I’m not.’

  She was so close, so tantalizingly close, her expression so troubled and vulnerable, that he couldn’t resist bending to kiss her lightly on one soft cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, then turned and went upstairs.

  Adam lay in bed, thinking it through. It was getting worse and worse. Either he was hopelessly infatuated with Bella, or it was the real thing. He had no idea. He only knew that he was going through the motions with Megan, and it had to stop. He had to tell her. He could almost hear himself doing it. Look, I’m enormously fond of you… At what point did the depth of love evaporate into the shallowness of ‘enormously fond’? Well, it had happened. Regard, affection, friendship – none of these was any substitute for what he felt for Bella, witnessed by his unutterable relief at the fact that she was not having a passionate affair with her leading man. He couldn’t go on ignoring it. What was he going to say to Megan? How on earth was he goin
g to do it?

  After a while he heard the sounds of laughter and muted conversation as people broke up and went to bed. He very much hoped that Megan wouldn’t be feeling especially randy. He closed his eyes as she came in and moved around the room, getting ready for bed. She slid in next to him, but did nothing more than lean over and kiss him gently on the shoulder. Adam pretended to be asleep.

  13

  The residues of guilt were still with Adam the next morning, driving him to ask Megan if she’d like to come with him on his expedition. She lay in bed, watching him as he dressed.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, thanks. I’d rather stay here.’ She stretched luxuriously. ‘I’ve always got Bruno to keep me company.’

  ‘Bruno, eh? You mean his interests extend beyond MTV and the Cartoon Network?’

  ‘Don’t be rude about him. He’s good fun.’

  ‘You just like him because he’s a rock star. Or thinks he is.’

  Megan smiled. ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Are you joking?’ Adam slipped on his shoes, lifting the curtain to glance out at the early sunshine. He picked up his bag, checking through his notes. ‘See you some time this afternoon. Enjoy your day.’

  ‘I will.’ Megan rolled over in the empty bed, smiling at her own thoughts.

  Compton-King, heading off for an early-morning walk, saw Adam getting into the hired Renault.

  ‘For God’s sake, take the Bentley. It’s just sitting there. You’ll have more fun than in that thing.’

  Adam glanced at the Bentley’s gleaming contours. ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Of course.’ Compton-King fished in his pocket for the keys and chucked them to Adam. ‘Go on. Enjoy your day.’

  Adam had to admit that it was quite a buzz, driving through the French countryside in Compton-King’s luxurious silver Bentley. It handled beautifully, the engine purring smoothly and richly along. Now that the air conditioning had been sorted out, any previous sense of animosity towards the car which he may have harboured on the journey down had entirely vanished. He loved this car deeply. It attracted admiring stares, and a small group of children even cheered as he passed through a village, making him feel like a pre-war English adventurer.

  Once the novelty of driving the Bentley had subsided a little, he tried to address the two new certainties which had lately made themselves apparent to him. The first was to do with Megan. Since they had come to France with Compton-King, something had happened. And it had happened to both of them, not just himself. He could tell by her voice, her expression, that the faint hostility which had sprung up at the disastrous gite had solidified in some way. Perhaps it was being thrown together with so many new people, or the change of scene. Whatever it was, they were going to have to address the fact that their relationship had altered to the point where it was going nowhere. She knew it, and he knew it. It was now a question of acknowledging it.

  And then there was Bella. The certainty of his feelings for her had been brought home to him by the light-headed sense of relief he had felt when Bella had told him there was nothing between her and Bruce. So, was he in love with her? Something of that order. But the world was probably stuffed with men who thought they were in love with Bella Day. He remembered that feeling when she had sat down next to him in the church at Harry’s memorial service. Immediate and suffusing infatuation. But the bliss of infatuation, in Adam’s experience, was predicated on unattainability. And yet she was, and always had been, utterly vulnerable and entirely available. He could have slept with her nine hours after they’d first met. On the occasion when he’d gone to her flat when she’d just learned about her adoption, she was well on the way to seducing him (with his hesitant cooperation, admittedly), until Charlie had rung and interrupted things. He had no reason to believe that she wanted anything from him other than a casual affair. She lived entirely for the moment. Instant gratification of a casual whim. For him, that wouldn’t be enough.

  These thoughts occupied him, in a circular and unresolved fashion, all the way to Lauzerte, and he was rather relieved to be rid of them when he reached the Whittingtons’ farm. There he spent the day in the company of Roger Whittington and his wife, listening to their story of how they had given up the hard and unprofitable business of farming in North Yorkshire for a new life in south-west France. They showed him round the farm, the thirty acres set aside for hard wheat for pasta, the barley and sunflower fields, the carp and tench ponds, the rows of vines from which they made their own wine, the chestnut trees whose fruit they marketed, and the few acres of oak trees for firewood. The apparently idyllic life was not without its hardships, and they had suffered setbacks and a couple of hard winters early on, when the renovation of the farmhouse was still in progress and temperatures had dropped below fifteen centigrade, but now they seemed content, well settled in with their French neighbours. By mid-afternoon, when he left, Adam knew he had the beginnings of an excellent feature. In the next few days he would pay a visit to the other farmer he had previously contacted and get the thing written by the end of the week.

  On the way back he drove up the winding road that led to the medieval hill town of Lauzerte. He had a beer at one of the cafés on the edge of the town square, then wandered around the shops and market stalls, picking up food for the evening. He felt more relaxed than he had done for some weeks, glad to be entirely on his own. That was the problem with his present existence in London. He wanted his life back, his quiet, undisturbed hours, without having to consider anyone else’s needs. Then he might be able to work out the confusion of his thoughts and feelings. When he had loaded the melons and chickens into the boot of the Bentley, he walked to the stone wall edging the steep drop down from the road and stood contemplating the gently undulating fields, dotted with farmhouses, broken by distant roads and poplars, stretching to the horizon. He could understand why the Whittingtons were happy with their life, and why Bella loved the house here so much. He stood leaning on the warm stone, constructing a fantasy world, one in which his biography made him enough money to jack in journalism, so that he could turn to full-time writing, and come and live here with Bella in one of the narrow, quaint houses in the streets behind him. Some dream. Whatever the two of them were destined for, it wasn’t likely to be that. After a while he walked to the car and drove back to Montresor, no clearer in his mind about any aspect of his life.

  Megan was lying in the hammock with her book when

  Bruno wandered over.

  ‘Fancy a walk?’ he asked.

  ‘Where to?’ Megan shaded her eyes with a hand as she looked up at him.

  ‘This place I found down the road. It’s an old mill, or something. I passed it the other day, went to have a bit of an explore. Completely deserted. Ideal place for a quiet smoke.’

  ‘OK.’ She closed her book and got out of the hammock.

  ‘Where’s lover boy?’ asked Bruno, as they walked down the dusty track.

  ‘Gone to interview some farmers.’

  Bruno nodded. ‘There it is, just past those trees.’ He turned off the track and began to cross the field. Megan followed him. The sun was high and hot.

  The millhouse was old and abandoned, the river which had once turned its wheel now no more than an idle stream. Bushes and trees had grown up around it, almost hiding it from the road. Bruno and Megan sat down in the shade, leaning their backs against the warm stone wall. Bruno rolled a joint and lit it. After a few seconds he handed it to Megan. He watched as she drew in the smoke, then took the joint from her.

  They sat in the peaceful warmth, the air bright with the lazy sound of crickets, vividly aware of their isolation and closeness. Megan closed her eyes and smiled. It was nice, feeling like this, thoughts floating fluidly and easily, like smoke. This was like being seventeen again. Hiding from the grown-ups. Bruno made her feel like that. Like nothing mattered. Like tomorrow was far away, and you could do what you liked, be totally irresponsible. That was suddenly the way she wanted to be.