The Knapthorne Conspiracy

by Malcolm Ballard

  Chapter Four

  Bella was suffused by a warm, very selfish feeling of absolute well-being causing her to smile to herself as she closed the door of her apartment behind her. Reflecting on the day out with Ben Hollingsworth, which she had just enjoyed, she leaned against the door and considered her good fortune. The helicopter trip had been amazing, all the more so because it was totally unexpected, and then there was the cottage. What a treasure! She still couldn’t really believe that it was hers but an undercurrent of excitement continued to ripple through her at the thought of it and later she could scroll though all the photos she had captured on her phone. Bella's smile faded slightly at the memory of The Lamb, and their experience there, but time had served to put it into a perhaps more relevant perspective, somewhat smoothing out the rough edges of their visit. Maybe, she pondered, things would be different when she went back there, as indeed she would. With a little shove, she pushed herself away from the door while considering Ben Hollingsworth. They had got on well, of that there was no doubt, and she had to agree with Ben’s parting comment that it had seemed like they’d known each other for years rather than having just met. Would she see him again, though? Bella thought it over as she went to the kitchen and picked up the portable phone. There was no doubt in her mind she wanted to but she wasn’t desperate to get into a serious relationship. The cottage was her priority for now and the thought of it excited her immensely. “Who’s a lucky girl, then?” she said to herself, with a grin, as she accessed her answering machine.

  “Bella, darling, it’s Jane!” The brief greeting introduced the first message and she recognised immediately the cultured voice of her editor. Jane Symington-Bentley had been her mentor and friend for over five years now and she had a good idea why Jane was calling. Still in a state of euphoria from the trip, she listened as Jane requested that they meet as soon as possible and Bella was certain that she wanted the meeting in order to discuss the next book. It was something Bella had been avoiding while knowing that the inevitability of the situation would catch up with her eventually. However, she was determined to let nothing spoil her mood and she made a mental note to ring Jane the following day then listened to the two remaining messages, neither of which were of any great significance. Eager to change into something more casual, she went first to her bedroom and emerged a few minutes later in a sloppy white sweatshirt and faded jeans. As usual, in the apartment, she wore nothing on her feet. She was anxious to get on the computer and record the notes she had made about the cottage and the events in the pub. Diarying her experiences was something Jane had suggested to her and it had become an invaluable tool allowing her to draw on real-life to give substance to her characters. Now, seated at the keyboard in her study, the notes at her side, she closed her eyes and began to relive the individual events she had recorded. As she sat, motionless, retracing her steps through the cottage, she could remember it as clearly as if she were actually there, similarly the events in the pub. Using the notes as a guide she would picture the situation in her mind, explore it fully, then open her eyes to key a thumbnail sketch into the computer. Although the dichotomy of the locations was obvious, something strange occurred when she pictured the hallway on the landing, in the cottage. Suddenly, Alfie’s face superimposed itself and she couldn’t shake the image until she opened her eyes, blinking in the light. Then again, a little later, when she had closed her eyes once more to recall the scene in the pub, and visualised the face of Samuel Handysides, a picture of the kitchen in the cottage came to mind. Bella stifled a yawn, looking at the clock on the wall, and discovered that it was getting on for 10pm. All of a sudden she felt exhausted and put the confused imagery down to her tiredness. If Ben hadn’t have insisted on taking her out for a meal when they got back to Stansted, she would have been home long ago. But it had been a wonderful day, and it had seemed a pity to have it end too soon so she had given in to him. Her thoughts strayed to Ben, as she switched off the computer and turned out the light before leaving the study. She wasted no time in getting ready for bed and, as she looked in the mirror while removing her make-up, she had cause to wonder, once again, what he would look like naked.

  The atmosphere in Covent Garden, with its colourful mix of cafes and shops, bold architecture and an ever-changing ebb and flow of visitors usually energised Bella but the weekend had sown the seeds of discontent. This morning she had woken up, fully refreshed by a good night’s sleep, relishing the meeting with Jane because the prospect of writing a new book would mean working from the cottage. While standing under the shower and submitting herself to the pummelling of the water jets, it was as if an outer layer of herself had been stripped away, much the same as a moth emerging from a chrysalis. The dead shell represented the life she had been leading in London while the Bella that stepped from the shower cubicle had undergone a subtle transformation into a writer wanting to take her art more seriously. As she towelled herself down vigorously, the voice of Phil Collins serenaded her from the radio bringing back memories of a Genesis concert many years ago. Abruptly, she stopped what she was doing. Genesis, a new beginning. It summed up her feelings exactly and reinforced Bella’s view that events in her life were presently being driven by some unseen arbiter of destiny and it had a good feel to it. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to see Jane.

  But where was she? Bella had been waiting for over twenty minutes, seated at a table outside the small bistro in Covent Garden, and a third latte was out of the question. It was unimaginable to her how anyone could be late for an appointment but Jane seemed to have turned it into an art form. She took out the small mirror from her bag and checked her hair and make-up, once again. A waiter, who had never taken his eyes off her since she arrived, came over to the table once more but Bella waved him away brusquely as she spotted Jane approaching through the lunchtime crowd, not that it was difficult. Her editor was small in stature and quite rotund, like one of those toys that you can’t knock over and always bounces back, and she dressed with a flamboyance that was legendary throughout the industry. The brighter, the better, was Jane’s motto.

  “Darling! How lovely to see you. You’re looking eminently shaggable! If I was a fella and you were mine, I couldn’t leave you alone!” It was so good to see her, Bella’s annoyance at her late arrival was immediately forgotten as Jane threw her arms around Bella’s neck and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “Have you been here long? You’d never believe the trouble I had trying to get away,” she exclaimed, pulling up a chair. She was like a mini-tornado, never still, and the first thing she did, once she was seated, was to light up a cigarette. Bella had long ago given up expecting Jane to apologise for her lateness, accepting it as part of her character. There were not many people that she would have forgiven for committing such a cardinal sin but Jane had become part of her life. Not only was she a good friend but she also had a heart of gold so Bella was prepared to overlook her blind spot regarding punctuality.

  “Well,” Jane enthused, emitting a cloud of smoke, “what’s new in the life of Bella Foxton? I don’t seem to have seen you for absolutely ages!” Bella couldn’t help but smile. Jane was one of the few people that she knew who was unnerringly constant. She effervesced. If ever Bella needed cheering up, she only had to ring Jane and talk to her and the woman was like a tonic, full of life and vitality. As an editor she was an absolute gem, one of the best in the business, combining an earthy bluntness, often bordering on vulgarity, with flashes of literary inspiration that were an object lesson to her clients.

  “I’m thinking of moving to the country,” Bella announced, without preamble. Jane peered over the top of her glasses, her small eyes boring into Bella.

  “You’re what?” Her surprise was evident. “Which country?” Bella laughed.

  “The country, Jane, as in Dorset.”

  “Dorset!” Jane echoed. “Shit, Bella, why Dorset? I can’t see you as the Mayoress of Casterbridge, somehow!” She was obviously enjoying herself but Bella was not going to rise to Jane�
�s sarcasm. “Dorset?” Jane repeated, suddenly looking serious. “You are going to continue writing, darling, aren’t you?” she said, earnestly. “ I mean, you’re not going to take up basket-weaving or something?”

  “Jane!” Bella was beyond expostulation, the tone of her voice indicating that her patience was being tested.

  “Alright, alright! So, explain.” But before Bella had a chance to speak, Jane’s expression of curiosity was replaced by something more decisive. “No, don’t. Not yet, at least. Let’s order. I’m famished.” Bella was bursting to tell Jane her news but knew that food was the singular most important thing in Jane’s life and therefore resigned herself to waiting until they had both ordered from the menu.

  As usual, the area was a hive of activity, a perfect place for watching the world go by and that’s exactly what Bella did while Jane greedily scanned the menu. It was a cloudy day but warm enough to bring out a sprinkling of shirtleeves and summer dresses as the cosmopolitan throng moved to and fro in an ever-changing tableau. Seduced by the warmth of the sun, the low-key babble of conversation and the sound of mandolin music drifting out from the bistro, Bella closed her eyes and soaked up the atmosphere in a state of total relaxation. The image of Ben’s smiling face came to mind, his dimples making him look even more attractive.

  “Here, take that smile off your face and order something.” Jane’s voice gatecrashed her daydream, ruining the illusion. “And whoever you’re dreaming of, stop it at once, you’re making me jealous.” She opened her eyes to find Jane holding out the menu. “Make your choice, then tell me about Dorset. I’m all ears! There isn’t a man involved somewhere, is there?” Bella shook her head although it wasn’t strictly true but she had no intention of discussing Ben with her editor. Jane was a stranger to the mysteries of love, as nature had been less than kind to her and it would be handling the truth somewhat carelessly to suggest she was attractive. Throughout their friendship she had obtained a vicarious pleasure from Bella’s love life and frequently railed against the unfairness of life whereby Bella had goddess-like qualities while she, in her own words, looked like one half of a condiment set. It saddened Bella to see how Jane would throw herself at far younger men, in a frenzied burst of sexual activity, as if to try and prove something to herself, when what she really wanted was a good, honest man to love her for what she was. But Jane always made light of it, invariably poking fun at herself, yet Bella knew that underneath the bluster and occasional coarseness, was a sad, unfulfilled woman who was rapidly approaching her fortieth birthday. Bella ordered tuna and bean salad, with a glass of Frascati to wash it down, then turned her attention to Jane.

  “Are you sitting comfortably?” Jane nodded enthusiastically. “Right, I’ll begin.”

  Bella wasted no time in getting down to the details of what had happened, as she knew her friend always worked under pressure and invariably had to dash off somewhere. Also, Jane had not broached the subject of why she wanted the meeting and Bella needed to leave her time to do so. As activity continued all around them, with diners coming and going and the waiting staff skilfully moving between the tables Bella began with Ben’s phone call and took it from there. Jane listened intently, at first curious, thinking how divine Bella looked, with the sun bringing out the highlights in her hair, then incredulous, as she listened in disbelief at the turn of events.

  “A cottage? Your uncle left you a cottage?” The tone of her voice left no doubt, in Bella’s mind, as to Jane’s reaction. “Christ, darling, you’re just too bloody much, you really are! You look drop-dead gorgeous, you’re a successful author and someone gives you a cottage!” Bella couldn’t help laughing as she watched Jane take another cigarette from the packet.

  “You’ve already got one going, in the ashtray,” she reminded her.

  “Too bloody bad, old thing,” Jane shot back, in mock desperation. “It’s the effect you have on me. I’ll need them both!” She put the cigarette back in the packet as the waiter arrived with their meals. When he had gone, Jane congratulated Bella on her good fortune.

  “So, what’s it like then, this cottage, and whereabouts exactly is it?” Bella described the property and explained to Jane where it was located. “You’ve seen it then?” Jane asked, between mouthfuls of her Spaghetti Puttanesca.

  “Last Sunday, and it’s beautiful. You’re going to have to come down and see it as soon as you can.” The waiter returned with Bella’s wine and a mineral water for Jane and, after asking if they required anything else, left them alone. Jane looked thoughtful for a moment, before she spoke.

  “You don’t intend moving down there, permanently, surely to God?”

  “Don’t sound so alarmed! I don’t know yet but what if I did? You make it sound like the Australian outback…” Her editor looked aghast, her fork poised in mid-air, halfway to her mouth.

  “Culture, darling. Sophistication!” Jane stressed the words, theatrically. “That’s what I’m alarmed about. How are you going to live amongst the turnip folk?” Bella cracked up, dissolving into laughter.

  “You’re priceless, Jane, honestly. It’s only a couple of hours from London and, between you and me, I think it’s time the big city and I saw a little less of each other. If you want the truth, since the last book, I’ve decided I want to take my writing more seriously.” Jane raised her eyebrows approvingly, impressed by what she was hearing.

  “Well, that’s good news, anyway.” She laid a hand, momentarily, on Bella’s and gave it a quick squeeze. “I don’t want to lose contact with you. It’s just nice knowing you’re close by if I need someone to talk to.” She had never seen Jane look so serious and the confession surprised her. If there was anyone Bella considered to be a hard-bitten, ruthless career woman, unwilling to let her emotional guard down lest it be construed as a sign of weakness, it was Jane. Life was indeed full of surprises.

  The time flew by as Bella outlined her plans for the cottage, explaining to Jane which rooms she would like to redecorate and what new furniture she would like to buy. Jane seized her opportunity and neatly steered the conversation round to the matter she had come to discuss.

  “Sounds like it’s all going to cost money, to me. As much as I’ve loved hearing about all this, it’s earning money I really want to talk about. More specifically,” she added, with satisfaction, “you earning money from your next book.” Bella’s face fell.

  “I knew you were going to ruin my afternoon,” she said, despondently. “Come on, then, tell me the worst. I presume you’ve come to give me a deadline, have you?”

  “Spot on, sweetie,” Jane confirmed, taking out another cigarette and lighting up. Any minute now, Bella thought, she’ll start looking at her watch, anxious to get away. On the small number of occasions when Jane had stayed at her flat for the weekend, Bella had made her take her watch off as her life seemed to be ruled by it. For someone so obsessed with time, she couldn’t for the life of her understand how Jane was always late for her appointments.

  “Ok, so put me out of my misery. I suppose I’ve got to get my feet back on the ground sometime. These past months have seemed so unreal, somehow.” She watched as Jane replaced her lighter on the table, glancing at her watch as she did so.

  “It’s going to be a bit like a pregnancy, darling,” Jane said, cryptically.

  “How so?”

  “My bosses have given you nine months to produce, so conception will need to take place immediately.”

  “Holy shit!” Was all Bella could think of to say. Her mind was like a pristine piece of paper inserted into a computer printer. A blank sheet.

  “Good title,” Jane riposted, without the hint of a smile. “What’s the storyline?” They looked at each other, straight-faced, for a moment then the two of them convulsed with laughter, causing heads to turn in their direction to discover what was going on.

  On the way back home from their meeting, Bella couldn’t stop thinking about Jane Symington-Bentley. In many ways she was a larger than life character guarante
ed to liven up any social gathering and apparently blessed with boundless energy. They had taken to each other immediately, when they first met, although it was an unlikely liaison with Bella’s cool, elegant chic epitomising everything that Jane wasn’t. But they had clicked. The feisty, loquacious editor could justly be described as plain, at best, and only came up to Bella’s shoulder, but it seemed that her essential fashion plan was based on getting noticed. The colour and co-ordination of her clothes and accessories owed more to Dali and Picasso than the dictates of fashion or common sense and she stood out like a wrong note played at a recital but she enjoyed the attention. She may not have been tall but she wasn’t short on either wit or intellect with a never-failing ability to laugh at herself and capable of delivering stunning one-liners that could drop her critics in their tracks. Professionally, she had built herself quite a reputation and, for that, Bella respected her but it was Jane’s personal life that was giving Bella cause for concern. As she drove west along Cromwell Road, passing the imposing building that housed the Natural History Museum, she recalled a comment Jane had once made that summed-up the sadness of her situation. Jane had invited her to attend the launch of a star rugby player’s kiss and tell memoirs, which had been held at Twickenham, home of English rugby union, and the place was brim full of male hunks. One of the England flankers had stopped, in passing, and said, “Don’t I know you?” the remark obviously aimed at Bella herself. She had fobbed him off, with a polite denial, and sent him on his way only to find Jane staring up at her, in total disbelief.

  “I don’t believe you did that?” She looked incredulous.

  “Did what?”

  “Do you know who that was, darling?”