‘I don’t know,’ Adam said. He looked at Diana.
‘I’m going back to the hotel,’ Diana said. ‘Find Jan, and the others. Work out what we’re going to do.’
Tess knew she should go back too, but she couldn’t face it just yet. She said, ‘I’ll be along later, I think. We need to have a meeting, discuss what happens next.’ Diana raised an eyebrow, and Tess went on, ‘Can you round the others up, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’
‘Where are you going?’ Adam asked.
Tess turned to him. ‘Oh, just for a walk,’ she said simply. ‘Just stretch my legs a bit.’
‘I’ll come with you, if that’s OK.’
‘Sure,’ said Tess quickly.
‘Seems a shame to be here and not see anything of Rome.’
Diana looked at them, a strange expression on her face. ‘Right, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll be off. See you both later.’
‘Yes,’ said Tess, hating herself. ‘See you later. Right…Adam, let’s go.’
As they stepped out onto the north side of the hospital island and crossed the bridge onto the Centro Storico, Tess stole a glance at Adam, wondering what to do. She had been going to call Peter, but she couldn’t now. She couldn’t ask Adam anything, either, as he clearly wouldn’t answer.
He stretched his arms out wide, rolling his shoulder blades, then blinked rapidly. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Where do you want to go?’ Tess said.
‘Coffee,’ he said suddenly. ‘Some coffee would be great.’
‘Let’s go to the Campo dei Fiori,’ she said. ‘Get you some breakfast. Sit in the sunshine.’
Then they could walk up past Peter’s apartment, and she could at least look up to the windows, see the bookcase, a tiny piece of that light, airy room. That would give her the strength to deal with what came next. Then she had to work out what they were all going to do. And how she could help Adam, if she could help him…
They strolled in silence, along the Via Giulia, where the traffic eased off and the jasmine hung heavy in the air.
‘What a beautiful smell,’ Adam said, breathing in. ‘Smells like the honeysuckle we used to have at home, do you remember?’
She had forgotten, but now she remembered. The memory washed over her like a flood. Philippa’s wild, colourful walled garden, a little sun-trap on the edge of the ancient town, stuffed thick with flowers, all madly competing to outdo each other in size, colour and scent.
‘Yes, of course,’ Tess said, smiling in wonder. ‘I remember now. Yes, it’s just like it.’
‘And the stocks,’ said Adam. He stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘All those Romans with their summer villas down in Pompeii and Naples. I wonder what their gardens were like.’
Tess looked at him, at the absurdity of the situation, and she began to laugh. ‘Yep,’ she said, as they crossed the street.
‘What?’ said Adam. He stared at her, uncomprehending. A scooter whizzed around the corner, making her jump, and he put his hand on her arm. She suddenly thought of Leonora Mortmain, her angry face knitted together with confusion and bile. Where is he?…Where’s Philip?…He doesn’t come.
‘You,’ she said. ‘You and your Classics brain, Adam, that’s all. Look, we’re just getting to—’
They were approaching the Piazza Farnese, which led onto the Campo dei Fiori, and she looked up at Peter’s building, to the second—or third if you were him—floor, blinking in the sunlight. As if he’d be there, leaning out of the window, calling out her name, like Romeo and Juliet in reverse.
There was a loud bang, and she jumped again. ‘You’re jittery, aren’t you?’ said Adam. ‘It’s just that door shutting over there, look—’
He pointed at the entrance to Peter’s building, and she followed his gaze. The old door had slammed shut and there, on the doorstep, was Peter. Without meaning to, she raised her arm, and then put it down again, but he saw her. He stared at Tess, his dark eyes enormous.
‘That’s weird,’ Adam said. ‘He’s looking at you. He’s waving, like he knows you.’
Tess, rooted to the spot, watched as he approached. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I know him.’
‘Hi,’ Peter said. ‘Tess—’
He looked at Adam. Adam looked at him. ‘Hi,’ Adam said eventually, gripping Peter’s hand. ‘I’m Adam, I’m…’ He trailed off. ‘I just got here this morning, and…’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Peter, as though he totally understood. ‘It’s good to see you.’
Tess felt she had to explain. ‘Adam is the old lady who had the stroke—I mean, he’s her grandmother.’ She stamped her foot. ‘I mean, he’s her grandson.’
‘Hi,’ Peter said. ‘Great to meet you.’ He squeezed Tess’s shoulders. ‘Hi, honey.’ He kissed her lightly.
‘You wanted to ask me something?’ Tess said softly.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I need to talk to you, in fact. But it can wait for now.’ He turned back to Adam, watching them both and frowning. ‘I know you guys must have a lot to talk about. I’m sorry about your grandmother, Adam. Hope it works out for you.’
‘Er—thanks,’ said Adam. ‘It’s nice to meet you too…’ He stared at the two of them, squinting in the strong sunshine. ‘This has been a long morning. I need some coffee.’
‘I’m coming,’ Tess said, and she turned and followed him, blowing Peter a kiss goodbye. He watched her go, waving, and as she and Adam walked towards the café, he stayed there, watching, and when she turned once more he smiled at her, and went back towards his flat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
They sat down in silence at a café on the edge of the Campo. After the waiter had gone, Tess leaned forward and looked at Adam. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Adam, what the hell—’
He met her gaze. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Peter?’ Tess was stumped. ‘He’s—a friend.’ He stared at her.
‘How did you meet him?’
‘We—we sort of bumped into each other,’ Tess said, suppressing a smile at the memory. ‘He’s a journalist. He lives here.’
‘And you’re seeing him? What’s—so what’s going on with the two of you?’
‘Adam!’ Tess said, astonished. ‘Who cares! That’s not important at the moment, is it? I mean—what’s going on with you—that’s the question, isn’t it?’
She was spluttering, and he nodded, bowing his head slightly. ‘I know,’ he said frankly. ‘I know. Tess—I owe you an explanation at the very least. I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you before—’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. She tapped the table with a teaspoon, beating out a rhythm. ‘It really, really doesn’t matter.’ ‘Well, it does,’ Adam said. ‘I think—it’s affected everything. Even keeping it a secret has. I sometimes think, if things had been different, you know, would Mum still be here. Even—’
He broke off, and looked miserably down at the ground. She looked at him, tearing her thoughts back to the present—and the past, the ever-present past. ‘Oh, Ad,’ she said eventually. ‘Do you really think that? How would that have made a difference?’
‘I don’t know,’ Adam said. ‘But Tess—’ He stared out, across the colourful square where the market was in full flow, the flower stall next to them thronged with people. ‘I don’t know. Just all that lying, what it did to Mum, to the two of us. I feel no connection to that woman. I don’t think I could ever.’ He jabbed a thumb back in the direction of the river, towards the hospital. ‘Even though she’s my own flesh and blood. The only real family I have.’ He breathed in the sunny midday breeze. ‘Diana’s been more like family to me, for all her odd ways, these past ten years, than she ever has.’
‘So—when did you find out?’ Tess said tentatively, not knowing where to start, she had so many questions. ‘About Leonora, about her being your—your grandmother?’
‘When Mum died,’ Adam said. He smiled grimly. ‘Yeah. Nice present for the funeral, isn’t it? Your mother’s dead, you’re all alone in the world, but hey, there�
�s something she never told you, and you can’t tell anyone else!’ He was fiddling with a sugar cube, in a plastic sachet; he crushed it, suddenly, and the brown sugar shot across the table.
‘What happened?’
‘Well, you know the summer after she died,’ said Adam.
‘Sure,’ said Tess.
‘I didn’t want to go back to the cottage. I was spending a lot of time out.’ His eyes met hers. ‘With you, mostly.’
‘Yep,’ she said.
‘So—someone kept ringing. We didn’t have caller ID back then, but the phone would ring, quite often, and they never left a message. I’d be on my way out, or—busy.’
She remembered it well. They were embroiled in their own secrecy so well, that when the phone kept ringing they took it as evidence of their duplicity. It didn’t occur to either of them, as they lay tangled up in the ancient quilted bedspread on the rickety iron frame in Adam’s room, the attic with the sloping rooves, high at the top of the house. Six, seven, eight hours could go by in the day, lost summer days spent inside, sleeping, eating, having sex. People would knock at the door, wanting to check up on him: he ignored them. The phone rang: he ignored it. If they wanted to leave a message, they would. By the end of that summer, they knew each other’s bodies better than their own; the mole high up on the inner thigh, the bump of skin under the breast, the scar beneath the ribs. It was their own world, created to keep the world outside at bay.
Tess closed her eyes, willing the memories away, and said, ‘How did they contact you? Who was it?’
‘It was Clive. Good old sensible staid Clive.’
‘Clive Donaldson?’
‘Yep. Turned up at the door one day, after you’d gone off, it must have been. “I’ve been trying to reach you, young man. I’ve something rather important to tell you.” That’s what he said—I remember it so clearly.’
‘He told you?’ Tess was appalled.
Adam’s smile grew twisted. ‘He called Diana. They’d agreed she should be there. She was Mum’s best friend, after all. So we wait around for ten minutes, in the sitting room, making polite conversation about the football, the weather, you know. And then Diana appears, they sit me down on the sofa and tell me—’ he flung his hands open—‘all this.’
She shook her head. ‘My God. And your mum—she never said anything to you about it?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all.’ Adam tapped his menu. ‘I don’t blame her though. She probably thought she’d pick the right time to tell me. She didn’t know she was going to drop dead, did she.’
‘No, no, of course. But—who else—’ Tess began, but a waitress appeared to bring them water, and the moment passed.
When the waitress had gone Tess said, ‘Adam, you know, I’m so sorry.’
‘Sorry for what?’ he said, gazing at her in amusement. ‘It’s not your fault.’
It was weird, sitting here with him like this, all tension vanished. Again, she realized he was like a new person to her, the person she’d seen in the lobby of the hotel that morning, not the Adam she’d screamed at outside Claridges, cried over once again. If only it could always have been like this, she thought. If only—if only she could have been a friend to him, a proper friend all these years. If only she’d known…
‘I know it’s not my fault,’ she said. ‘It’s just that you must have been through such a lot. And you had no one—’ She grimaced, and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. ‘No one to help you.’
‘Hey,’ he said, squeezing her hand back. ‘It’s a bit late for regrets, my dear. Where were you when I was twenty-four and in the depths of depression? Living it up in London, miles away.’
She looked at him. ‘Do you really think that?’
The mood had altered. ‘I don’t not think it,’ he said eventually, his voice neutral. ‘There wasn’t anyone else I could talk to.’
There were several things she wanted to say, but now was not the time. Later, perhaps. She bobbed her head as if acknowledging the blow. ‘I’m sorry you felt that,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, keeping his voice level. ‘Now’s not the time.’ She smiled. ‘What’s funny?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘So,’ said Adam, after a pause. ‘This guy, Peter—what’s the story there?’
She stared at him, her eyes wide, searching his face. ‘Oh, Adam. He’s—it’s not important now. Just a guy.’ She bit her lip.
The waiter set their food down and withdrew, murmuring to himself.
‘Looked pretty important to me,’ Adam said. ‘American, is he? What’s he doing here?’
Er…he moved to Italy when he married a crazy-sounding lady who turned out to be having an affair with her oldest friend after he stalked her for a couple of months… Tess weighed up the plausibility of this statement, then decided against it. ‘He’s a journalist,’ she said eventually.
‘Journalist, eh?’ Adam plucked a chunk off the side of his toasted sandwich. ‘And—’
Tess wasn’t ready for a conversation about Peter, not with anyone, certainly not with Adam, not now. ‘Did you really mean that?’ she asked, swallowing. ‘That there wasn’t anyone else you could talk to? You really think I wasn’t there for you?’
Adam stared at her in surprise. ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I don’t mean you, as such, like it’s your fault, Tess. I just mean—well, here we are, we’re supposed to be best friends, oldest friends, whatever it is we are. And we’ve done it all wrong. We’ve slept with each other, we’ve lied to each other, we’ve not been there for each other, we’ve grown apart—‘He looked at her, and took a deep breath. ‘Really, what a mess. Don’t you think?’
It was the nonchalant way he said it that upset her most. ‘How can you sit there and just say all of that?’
‘Why not?’ Adam said, a curious look on his face. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’
‘I—’
‘Tess, if this whole stupid business with Leonora has taught me anything, it’s that life’s too short. I was sitting there in the airport this morning, waiting for a flight, any flight out to Rome, to come and see you—to see her. And I was dreading it, because of how we left things last time, that night in London. How stupid we were.’
‘Oh,’ she said, fiddling with the corner of her napkin. ‘Yes, we were.’
‘You think so too?’ he said carefully. ‘I’m glad. I thought so. I’m sorry—Tess, I feel like we constantly do this to each other. And it’s so silly.’
‘Righty-ho,’ said Tess. She drank her coffee, and swallowed hard. ‘Right. What are you going to do now?’
‘With Leonora?’ Adam stared down at the sugar granules again. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot. I think we have to try and bring her home. There’s a hospice near Thornham, they’ll take her.’
‘You’ve rung already?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Did it yesterday afternoon when I found out. Spoke to Clive—he’s my solicitor now. Well, the Mortmain solicitor.’ He shook his head, and a flash of anger crossed his face. ‘God, the whole thing’s bloody crazy. Anyway, he has all her requests noted in some file in his office. He went and checked it all over. She covered every provision.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Every provision except the one where she acknowledges her daughter or her grandson, in public.’
‘So you saw her? You’d go and—’ Tess couldn’t get her head round it.
‘About every six months, yes,’ he said.
‘But she was—’
‘I had to,’ Adam said.
‘For the money?’ Tess said, and then instantly wished she hadn’t. He stared at her.
‘Do you think that’s what it’s about?’ he said, in amazement. ‘Seriously, Tess? You think I want money from her?’
‘But isn’t that what—’
‘I haven’t taken a penny off her,’ Adam said, his voice cold. ‘I wouldn’t touch her money. How can you say that? I saw her twice a year because I’m the only fami
ly she has, I had to. But don’t ever say she gave me money with my knowledge.’
Tess felt ashamed for briefly assuming he had. How little she knew him.
‘The scholarship at school—’ she said, slowly. ‘She must have set that up to help you out.’
Adam nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And I never got to talk to Mum about it. She must have thought she was doing it for the best, getting her to help us out. That’s why Mum moved back in the first place—she didn’t have anywhere else to go, no money, and Leonora gave her that cottage. I didn’t know till Mum died—she would have hated me knowing.’ He spoke slowly, and swallowed. ‘But God—I’d rather have failed every exam under the sun and had a day more with Mum had I known that’s what the plan was.’ His nostrils flared. ‘Well, I did anyway, so that got fucked up too.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Sorry. There’s so much I’ve made my peace with. But a lot of it makes me furious.’
‘Do you know what happened?’ Tess asked, curious. ‘Who he was? Who Leonora had an affair with?’
‘No idea,’ said Adam. ‘That’s the thing. She won’t tell me. I don’t think Mum knew either—but then Mum never told me who her own mother was.’
‘And your dad—you don’t know him, either.’
‘That’s different. At least I know who he is,’ Adam said. ‘I’ve met him, once or twice, when he’s been over. I just don’t know him. And Mum was always completely open about it: she wanted a baby, he didn’t, they weren’t a couple, really, they went their separate ways. This…this thing with Leonora, it’s different. Perhaps now—’ He winced, and stopped. ‘When she dies, whenever that may be—then I’ll find out. It’s hard to imagine, I must say. The idea of Leonora Mortmain…well, the idea of her as a young woman’s pretty hard to swallow, for starters. Let alone her as an unmarried mother.’
I Remember You Page 27