Fear in the Sunlight (12 page)

Normally, Josephine would not have dreamt of asking anyone she had just met about a failed marriage, but she reminded herself now that Bella Hutton was hardly conventional company. ‘What did he do to hurt you so badly?’ she asked.

‘He disillusioned me. He turned out to be just like all the rest: a powerful man with smart clothes and dirty hands. In fact, now I think about it, no man in my life has
ever
turned out to be the person I thought he was. And doubt chokes love. There’s no going back from there.’

‘Do you wish you’d never met him?’

‘Ah, what a good question. No, I’ve never quite managed that. I just wish I’d been right about him.’ She stared out of the window, and Josephine waited for her to decide how much more to say. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, what we’ll give up for love? It never makes any sense. I was thinking about that this afternoon – being in the Prince of Wales suite gave it a certain irony.’ She noticed Josephine’s questioning glance. ‘Sorry, I forgot – nobody here knows that we’re about to lose our king to an American divorcee, do they? The papers are so beautifully discreet about it. I’m afraid journalists in the States lack their sense of restraint. It must be a defect in the republican genes.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

Bella seemed to relish her astonishment. ‘The King, by all accounts, is taking things a little too far with his mistress. Some say he’ll give up his crown for her.’

‘Why would he do that? He can have both – there’s no need for him to be so ridiculous about it. No,’ she added, beginning to feel a little naive in the face of Bella’s certainty, ‘he’ll never let go of the throne.’

‘Oh, he will. I’ve met her. But what I can’t understand is why we’re so in awe of his dilemma. All of us make that choice at some point in our lives. It’s a very lucky man who doesn’t pay for what he loves.’

‘It doesn’t usually cost a kingdom, though.’

‘Not in reality, no – but doesn’t it always feel like that?’

It was Josephine’s turn to give an ironic smile. ‘I’m not sure I can answer that. Ask me again in six months.’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid.’

There was a finality to the way she said it that signalled more than the unlikelihood of their meeting again. ‘Is six months really so long?’ Josephine asked quietly.

Bella looked at her appraisingly, and seemed to make a decision to trust her. ‘I’m dying, Josephine. There’s nothing they can do, and it’s weeks rather than months.’ The words were spoken with a lack of emotion which would have been completely alien to any screen performance she had given, as though Bella were merely discussing an inconvenience to her daily routine. She moved on quickly, deliberately making a response impossible, but if she had had all the time in the world Josephine would have found it hard to know what to say. The sudden, profound sadness that she felt, a mourning for more than the woman in front of her, could not be adequately articulated by the usual expressions of regret. ‘What did I tell you? It’s the thing you can’t see that always gets you. And I don’t suppose I’ll be able to keep it a secret for long, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. The insurance alone will be such an inconvenience to the studios.’

The darker subtext that she had felt so strongly in some of Bella’s words now made perfect sense to Josephine. ‘Of course I won’t say anything.’ It was an easy promise to make; in Bella’s position, she would want nothing more than to keep her illness as private as possible and come to terms with the end of her life in her own way.

‘Thank you. Dying isn’t easy when you’re famous – people act very differently when they realise they’ve only a limited amount of time to get what they need from you.’ She looked shrewdly at Josephine and said‚ ‘Usually, I’d feel the need to apologise for my cynicism, but I get the impression from your book that we view celebrity in much the same way. There’s a lot of truth in the way your character talks about fame, and somehow I don’t think you got
that
from other people’s memoirs. It doesn’t sit well with you, does it?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Josephine said truthfully. ‘I don’t like the way it encourages people to think they know you when they don’t.’

Bella nodded. ‘And to compensate for that, you end up becoming someone you don’t always recognise yourself.’ She treated Josephine to a world-weary glance, straight out of one of her films. ‘And you’ll understand now that I found Christine Clay’s death strangely prophetic when I read your book. I imagine people will react to mine in much the same way – pity, dismay and horror, but very little real grief.’

‘What about your family?’ Josephine asked. ‘Is that why you’ve come back – to be with them?’ Bella looked so surprised that Josephine suddenly doubted Lettice’s information. ‘I’m sorry – I thought you were born here?’

‘Yes I was, but I always forget how much people know. I suppose even I could learn something about my life if I read enough newspapers.’ It wasn’t an accusation, but Josephine reproached herself for being guilty of the very thing that she had claimed to despise in others. Bella pointed across the estuary. ‘I grew up in that house over there. My family name was Draycott, and there were four children. I was the middle of three sisters and we had an older brother called Henry. He wasn’t a nice man. Once he inherited the house from my parents, the rest of us couldn’t wait to get out.’ She took an exquisite art-nouveau cigarette case from her bag and offered it to Josephine. ‘Do you know Portmeirion well?’

‘I’ve been a few times.’

‘Then you’ll have heard about the eccentric old woman and her graveyard for dogs?’ Josephine nodded. ‘Well, that was Grace, my older sister – except she wasn’t really old‚ and she wasn’t really eccentric. She rented this house for many years, but she didn’t deserve the reputation she seems to have. She was no fairy-tale witch, just a gentle woman who took in strays and mourned them when they were gone.’

Intrigued, Josephine said, ‘It must upset you to come back here and listen to strangers talking about your own sister.’

‘It feels disloyal to sit there and say nothing, but I’m too tired to argue, Josephine. Is that cowardly of me?’

‘I imagine it preys more heavily on your conscience than it does on hers.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t have the sunniest reputation in my home town, although I’ve only got myself to blame for much of that. But it doesn’t really bother me now, and I certainly wouldn’t want my sister to lose sleep over it when I’m dead. Would Grace have cared what people say?’

‘No, probably not. She’d be too busy laughing at the thought of the heir to the throne having slept in her bedroom. Anyway, compared to the rest of the family, her eccentricities are fairly tame.’

‘Oh?’ Josephine said encouragingly, hoping that Bella would have time to finish her story before Alma Reville joined them.

‘My younger sister, May, ran off with one of the Gypsies who passed through every summer – much to the moral outrage of all the people round here, of course, but she knew her own mind. And
she
really
didn’t
give a damn about what people thought of her. I suppose she must have had the romantic streak of the family.’

‘Are you telling me that Hollywood isn’t romantic?’

‘Only from the outside looking in. When you see it up close, it’s got more cracks in it than the House of Usher. But May’s romance was very real. Tobin was the love of her life and a good man by all accounts, although I never really knew him. I was too busy with my own life. Not that love did her any good in the long run. She died having their second child, little more than a kid herself.’ There was a restrained anger in her voice. Josephine guessed that it was half grief and half guilt at her absence during her family’s sadness; she knew, too, that there was nothing she could say to make Bella feel any better. ‘So no,’ the actress said matter-of-factly, ‘there’s no one left here to grieve for me, even if I wanted them to.’

‘What about your brother?’ Josephine asked. ‘Is he still alive?’

‘Sadly, yes.’

‘But he doesn’t live here?’

‘No. He ran off with a married woman from Porthmadog – his wife’s best friend, actually. Loyalty was never something that either of them aspired to. His wife still lives there,’ she said, nodding to her family home, ‘and I think she was glad to see the back of him. As I said, not a nice man‚ but nothing he does ever seems to come back to haunt him like it would in a just world; he simply moves on and blights someone else’s life. He certainly won’t be shedding any tears on my account, any more than I would for him.’ She spoke dispassionately, as if she were recounting the plot of her latest film, then lowered her voice and added with more feeling‚ ‘Thinking about it, that’s another thing I seem to have in common with your Miss Clay – a healthy capacity for hatred, particularly where our brothers are concerned. Sometimes, Josephine, I wonder if it’s actually hate which is eating me up inside and not cancer at all.’

‘Have you been to see his wife?’ Josephine asked, wondering if the intensity with which Bella had been watching the house when she first came in was down to a human connection or simply an attachment to the bricks and mortar of home.

‘Gwyneth? No. I haven’t seen her for eighteen years. She hides herself away from everyone as much as she can, and I’m not surprised. What happened to her isn’t the sort of thing you just get over.’ Josephine looked curious. ‘Just after Henry left her, Gwyneth found out she was pregnant,’ Bella explained. She never told him because she didn’t want him back, but she adored that child‚ and Grace took her in for a while and helped her as much as she could – not out of family duty, but because she genuinely liked Gwyneth and she had the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. Three years later‚ Taran went missing and was never seen again, dead or alive. It destroyed her – the loss, and then the uncertainty. So the house has become an obsession with her, something she’s terrified to leave in case Taran is still alive and doesn’t know where to find her. She cut herself off from everything and everyone the day that child disappeared.’

‘Doesn’t she have
any
idea what happened?’

‘No. There was talk of an abduction, and the locals turned on an outsider – out of desperation, I hasten to add, rather than knowledge.’ She looked down. ‘That was the worst part for me. The outsider was May’s Gypsy.’

‘But surely he didn’t . . .’

‘Of course not, but violence and prejudice don’t work according to reason, do they? Remember the mob scene in
The Lodger
?’ Josephine nodded. ‘It was just like that, except Tobin wasn’t as lucky as Mr Novello. Nobody remembered to write him a happy ending.’

‘What happened?’ Josephine asked.

‘They killed him. There used to be an old cottage in the woods‚ and they cornered him there like an animal. It was all conveniently brushed over, of course. There was a long and bitter history between the Gypsies and the men from the town – fights every summer when the camp arrived, accusations of vandalism and theft on both sides, rows over women. But the locals stuck together on this one, and the police weren’t exactly diligent. As far as they were concerned, one less Gypsy in the world was a public service. Anyway, no one could prove who was ultimately responsible, and they could hardly arrest the whole mob.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Grace was devastated, but at least May was dead by then. She never had to see it.’

‘Surely the police could have worked a bit harder to find out who
was
to blame?’ Josephine said, thinking about Archie and the personal responsibility he took for every case he worked on. ‘You can’t turn a blind eye to someone’s death just because it’s difficult.’

Bella was quiet for so long that Josephine began to wonder if she had finally overstepped the mark; the story, though freely told, was not hers to comment on. ‘No,’ the actress said eventually, but her tone was wistful rather than resentful. ‘No, I don’t suppose you can.’

Another couple sat down at the next table, and Josephine watched as the girl made a less than subtle gesture towards the film star. ‘It must be difficult to try to make peace with your ghosts in the middle of a busy hotel.’

‘It’s probably the best thing that could have happened to the place. When something’s too dark, covering it with glamour and glitz is the only way. Hollywood depends on it. I’ve done it all my life. But you’re right – there are ghosts everywhere.’ She leant forward and surprised Josephine by taking her hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise it until you sat down, but I needed to talk to someone – someone who, sadly, I’ll never meet again. You’ve been very kind, and you’ve helped me make my mind up.’

‘Can I ask what about?’

Bella shook her head. ‘No, I’ve said enough‚ and, if I’m right, you’ll soon find out.’ She looked up and withdrew her hand. ‘Anyway, the power behind the throne has just arrived, and there’s not a chance in Hell of an abdication there.’

‘Miss Tey – I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’ Alma Reville had changed into a rust silk-crêpe evening dress which emphasised the auburn shades of her hair, and its formality, together with a perfect make-up, made her look older than she had at first seemed. Bella raised an eyebrow and subtly tapped her wrist, and Josephine couldn’t resist a quick glance at her watch. It was precisely ten past six. ‘What would you like to drink?’ Alma asked. ‘Shall we start with a Martini?’

‘Why not? We can switch to something stronger later if I need it.’

‘I hope you won’t. Bella? Can I get you something?’ The offer was formal, and Josephine noticed a cool civility between the two women. Alma seemed relieved when the actress declined and left them to it. She beckoned a waiter and ordered their cocktails with an authority that suggested she was used to having people at her command, and a warmth which told Josephine that she never took it for granted. She nodded at the book which Josephine still held in her hand. ‘Not much time for reading when Bella’s around.’

‘No, but I probably do too much of that anyway,’ Josephine said, matching the subtlety of the probing in the way it was deflected. ‘It’s always easier to read other people’s books than to write your own. I used to justify my time by calling it research. Now I’m just shameless about it.’