Familiar Rooms in Darkness (33 page)

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.

‘You know what?' Bruno's voice broke the tranquil silence.

‘What?'

‘You don't want to stay with Adam.'

‘No?'

They held one another's gaze for a few seconds. Then, as she'd hoped he would, Bruno kissed her. It was so easy, and she didn't feel guilty about Adam at all. Maybe she wouldn't ever have to. Maybe everything would go back to normal when they got back to London. Maybe this had nothing to do with reality at all, sitting here with her back against a warm wall, being kissed. Whatever. She was simply happy to stay here doing it for the rest of the morning.

The household settled into a pattern. Bruce and Derek, when they weren't continuing their rivalry at the dart-board or table tennis table, were happy to sit around in the sun, drinking cold beers and discussing the coming football season. It was a revelation to Bella to hear Bruce
talk about anything other than work, or the lack of it, in the interminable way that actors usually did. Compton-King spent his time either lying on a sun lounger conducting business calls on his mobile, or roaring off in the Bentley with Frank to conduct lengthy
dégustations
at various local vineyards. Leanne and Emma played in the pool, watched satellite television, went out on expeditions on bikes, and spent long, worshipful hours with Megan, looking at her make-up and listening to her talk about her job and the fascinating world of a grown-up media girl. Bruno, when he wasn't lying in the orchard smoking dope, played games of volleyball in the pool with the girls, or lay around tanning his lean, young body a pleasing shade of golden brown and talking about himself to Megan, who seemed drowsily content to lie on a sun lounger next to him and listen. Adam spent much of his time writing up his feature; it was Bella who suggested he use the annexe to do that, and he installed himself in the bedroom there, tapping away at his laptop at a table overlooking the orchard. He used his ostensible work on the biography, too, as a pretext for long, solitary walks, or hours spent swaying in the hammock at the edge of the lawn, pen and paper on his lap. Sometimes Bella would come and lie on a rug on the grass a few feet away, flipping through a small stack of film scripts which her agent had sent her. The warm hours would drift companionably by, and occasionally Adam fed his fantasy by closing his eyes and pretending that no one else existed in this world of sunlight and cricket-song except the two of them.

Cowardice, a wish not to upset the delicate balance of things, prevented him from talking to Megan about where
they were going – or rather, not going. There seemed no present need. In the rare moments which they spent alone together, they managed to maintain sufficient kindness and affection to hold things together. But the focus of their concentration was no longer on one another. They made love only once in that week, neither knowing that the other didn't much want to.

Early on Thursday evening, Charlie rang Bella and told her he would be arriving with Claire the next day. When she put the phone down, Bella went out to the garden where Adam lay in the hammock, reading.

‘Charlie's arriving tomorrow.' She sat down crosslegged on the warm grass and began to pluck at it.

‘Did you tell him Derek was here?'

She shook her head. ‘I suppose I was afraid he would react badly. I mean, this house is all about him and me and Dad. You know the way he thinks about the Kinleys. He might regard Derek being here as a kind of intrusion.'

‘I thought you saw this as the perfect way to bring them together.'

‘I did. Now I'm not so sure.'

‘Well, what's the worst that can happen? They've got to get to know each other some time.'

‘Not according to Charlie, they don't. That's just it. He'd rather pretend that Derek and the rest of it didn't exist.'

‘Relax.' On impulse, Adam reached out a hand and stroked Bella's blonde head lightly. ‘They're both civilized human beings.' She looked up and smiled in such a way that Adam felt his heart tighten. He took his hand away.
‘When he sees how well you and Derek get on, things will be OK. He'll make an effort.'

She gave a thoughtful smile. ‘We are getting along pretty well, aren't we? I think the secret is not to expect any more than that. I did, at the beginning. You know, after the time we first went to Deptford – I thought we would experience some kind of instant, magical bonding. But it doesn't work like that. It's the same with Leanne and Emma. They're just people I have to get to know, gradually. Not that I get on with them as well as Megan does. She seems very good with teenagers.'

‘Possibly because she shares a lot of their preoccupations. The world of PR can be somewhat infantilizing.'

‘Ouch.'

‘No, I'm not being unkind. It's merely an observation.' Adam hesitated, then said, ‘The truth is, I've realized in the past week or so that Megan and I aren't going to go the distance. She knows it, too. At least, I think she does. I don't quite know how it happened. Funny how suddenly relationships fall apart.'

Bella gazed at him. She was careful not to register any particular emotion at this news. Why should she feel guilty that he and Megan were breaking up? It was nothing to do with anything she'd done. It had been bound to happen. And now he would be available, hers for the taking. ‘You haven't talked to her about it?'

‘Not yet.' He shook his head. ‘I think we both know it's not a good idea to try to deal with it here and now. We'll sort it out when we get back to London, I suppose.' He glanced down at Bella, trying to read her expression as she continued to pluck at the grass. But it
was unfathomable. He swung his legs out of the hammock and stretched. ‘Anyway, I'd better not loaf around here much longer. My turn to clean up the barbecue.' She looked up at him and he smiled. ‘Don't worry about Charlie and Derek. Remember, it's their problem, not yours. Let them deal with each other on their own terms. I'm sure it'll be fine.'

She sat and watched as he walked across the grass, wishing she shared his confidence.

Charlie and Claire arrived after lunch on Friday, rolling up in their hired Renault. Bella greeted them on the driveway.

‘I hope you don't mind there being so many people here,' she said, kissing them both. ‘The numbers just built up by accident. Adam Downing and three of his friends had a house not far from here which turned out to be a complete disaster, so I said they could stay here.'

‘A bit ultra-hospitable of you,' said Charlie, who looked hot and grumpy. ‘Who else is here?'

Bella led the way in, carrying a couple of Claire's many bags. ‘Frank and Bruce – two of the people I did the Orton play with.'

They went upstairs and Charlie led the way to his room. As Claire went in ahead of them, Bella put a detaining hand on Charlie's arm. ‘And there's someone else here, someone I very much wanted you to meet.'

Charlie stared at her. ‘Who?'

‘Derek. Derek Kinley. I invited him here with his daughters.'

‘Oh, no.' Charlie's expression went dead with disbelief. ‘Oh, no.'

‘Charlie, what are you so afraid of? You have to meet him some time!'

‘I can't believe you've done this. Why didn't you tell me yesterday that he was here?'

‘Because you wouldn't have come!'

‘Damn right I wouldn't! I told you, I wanted all that left alone! Why do you have to be such a bloody busybody? Why do you have to involve me?'

‘Because he's your brother! Because you
are
involved, whether you like it or not! All three of us are!'

Claire came to the door. ‘Charlie, this is absolutely marvellous–' She saw his expression. ‘What's the matter?'

‘You haven't told her, have you?' said Bella. Charlie shook his head. She felt stricken with pity for him. Why was this all so hard for him to face up to? She took her hand from his arm and said gently, ‘Look, I'll leave you both to – to get yourselves sorted out. I'll see you later.'

Half an hour later, Claire came downstairs. Bella was in the kitchen alone, peeling prawns for the evening's risotto. She glanced up as Claire came into the kitchen.

‘How's Charlie?'

Claire sat down and watched Bella in silence for a moment. ‘He's just told me all about you two. About the adoption, everything.'

Bella nodded. ‘Right. He should have told you weeks ago.'

‘That's what hurts me. Why didn't he?' She turned pained eyes on Bella.

‘I don't think you'll like it when I tell you.'

‘I wish someone would. Charlie won't.'

‘He thought you might think less of him.'

‘Less of him?'

‘Because he's not who you thought he was. Who
he
thought he was. Charlie's ashamed, he thinks you won't like the idea that he comes from a working-class family in Deptford, that he's not really the son of a famous poet and novelist, that his brother is actually a garage mechanic. In case you hadn't noticed, Charlie has always set great store by who people are, their backgrounds, which school they went to. It's been bred into him. Not surprisingly, he thinks you care about such things, too. Thinks you might not be so keen on marrying him.'