Familiar Rooms in Darkness (28 page)

‘I can't speak French,' said Derek, looking a little dazed.

‘It doesn't matter! The point is, we could actually share something – no pretence, no artificiality. Just some time.'

‘I wouldn't get on with your friends.'

‘Derek…'

He shook his head. ‘Thanks, but it's not on.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Wouldn't the girls like it? Have they ever been on holiday abroad with you?'

‘No.'

‘Wouldn't it be better for them than being cooped up here for the next two weeks?'

This gave him pause. ‘Yes, but–'

‘Then just do it!'

‘I don't know if I could get away. I can't just close up the yard.' Nearly there, thought Bella. She held her breath. Derek suddenly shook his head. ‘No, I don't see how it would work, me and the girls and your friends. Sorry.'

‘What? How can you throw away a chance like this? Charlie will be there. It could make all the difference in the world to all three of us…' She was near to tears with frustration.

Suddenly Leanne put her head round the door. ‘Dad, Emma's chain's come off and I can't fix it.'

‘Go and ask Paul or–'

‘Leanne,' said Bella quickly, ‘would you like to come on holiday to France? To a house I have there? You, your dad and your sister. To stay with me and some friends of mine.'

Leanne looked at her father, mouth open. Derek, not even looking at Bella, said, ‘Go on. Hop it. Get Paul or Terry to fix the chain.'

Leanne switched her glance to Bella. ‘Why are you asking us to go to France with you?'

‘Because,' said Bella, ‘I'm your aunt. Your dad's my brother.'

‘That's it,' said Derek. ‘Go. I mean it. I'll talk to you
later. You and your sister get to the park.' He closed the door firmly, waiting for the sound of the child's steps fading towards the kitchen, then turned to Bella in a fury. ‘What the bloody hell did you do that for?'

‘Because it's true.'

‘It's up to me to tell them!'

‘Why?'

Derek didn't know what to say. He paced around in agitation, trying to calm himself. ‘Look, you can't go treating us like some ready-made family. We don't just slot into your life because you feel like it!'

‘You won't even think about it. You don't want to know me, or Charlie.'

He rounded on her. ‘Don't say that! You have no idea what this has done to me! Don't you think I'd have liked a brother and sister? I feel like someone's robbed me! Even when she was dying, I could hardly bring myself to forgive my mother for what she did! Do you know what that's like?'

Bella stared into his angry, stricken eyes, a little taken aback. ‘Yes,' she said at last, ‘I do. I still find it hard to forgive my mother for not telling me that I was adopted. If she had, I could have found you years ago. I could have known Doreen, and she could have seen me and Charlie and maybe been happier for it. But here we are, and we have to make the best of it. That's why I'm asking you to come to France with me. Just to take the chance.'

Derek shook his head slowly. ‘That's your world. I don't think it's a very good idea. Sorry.'

‘Say you'll think about it.'

Derek scratched the back of his neck with oil-stained fingers. ‘If you want,' he sighed, ‘I'll think about it.'

Bella got up, thrusting her hands into her jacket pockets. ‘I'll let you get back to work.'

He nodded. ‘Sorry if I was a bit…'

‘Don't worry. I'll see myself out.'

Driving back, Bella went over their conversation. Just like Charlie. Stubborn, and bloody impenetrable. Well, at least she'd tried. At least it didn't stop here.

Bella spent the afternoon clothes shopping, which she knew would have a pleasantly palliative effect on her melancholia, and met up with some girlfriends at the Manor Bar in Notting Hill. She rapidly realized, however, that she wasn't in the mood for drinking and gossiping, and left after half an hour.

When she got in, the message light on her phone was flashing. She pressed the playback button, hoping illogically that Adam Downing might have called – why would he? But it was Derek's voice, saying nothing more than his name and that he would speak to her later. Quickly she rang back.

‘Derek, it's Bella. You called when I was out.'

‘Yeah. Hold on while I turn the telly down.' She heard voices, a door closing, and he came back on the line. ‘I've been having a long talk with the girls. I explained everything to them. I thought you'd like to know.'

‘I see. What did they say?'

‘Oh, at first they thought I was having them on, that kind of thing. You know kids. But they understand. Sort of. They asked stuff like why did Nana give you
away, and so on… I didn't really have an answer. I think they're kind of fascinated by it all – if that's the right word.'

‘I can imagine.'

‘Anyway, because you said what you said to Leanne, they've been banging on and on about you inviting them on holiday.'

‘And?'

‘In the end, I said yes. Paul can open up the yard while I'm away, we're a bit light on work with people being on holiday and stuff…'

Bella felt exultant. ‘Derek, that's fantastic!'

‘Yeah, well…'

‘Come on – try to sound more enthusiastic. It'll be good for us to spend some time together. It's a marvellous place – you'll love it.'

‘If you say so. I haven't had a holiday for four years, to be honest.'

‘I'll check on flights straight away. Oh, I'm so thrilled!'

‘I'll square this up with you. I've got a bit put by.'

‘We'll worry about that later. I'm just so pleased you're going to come.'

Bella rang the airline and managed to book three more seats for the Monday flight. Her next instinct, when she'd put the phone down, was to pick it up again straight away and call Charlie, to tell him. But she hesitated. Knowing Charlie, if she said that Derek and his daughters would be in residence at Montresor when he got there at the end of the week, he'd run a mile. Anything rather than face up to the reality of his past, in the shape of a brother he'd never met. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to
say nothing, let matters take their course. Charlie couldn't run away from his beginnings for ever.

Always a late packer, Adam was still in the middle of throwing clothes into a bag on Sunday morning when he was startled by three deep blasts of a car horn from the street below. He went to the window and looked out. There next to the kerb stood an enormous silver-grey Bentley. He pushed up the sash window and at the same time Richard Compton-King leaned out of the car window and looked up. He raised a hand in salute.

‘Down in a minute!' called Adam. He zipped up his bag, picked up his laptop and a canvas bag holding his notes for the article, and went through to the living room, where Megan was riffling through her handbag.

‘Got everything? Compton-King's downstairs.'

‘Yes, OK.' Megan closed her bag and picked up her holdall.

As he locked up the flat and followed Megan downstairs, Adam felt in excellent spirits. He pushed to the back of his mind the problematic knowledge that this was far preferable to going alone with Megan. For the moment, he just wanted to enjoy the adventure.

Richard Compton-King was lounging behind the wheel of his Bentley, a battered but very becoming Panama tilted on the back of his head, the engine gently thrumming. ‘Good morning,' he called. ‘Sling your things in the boot.'

Adam put his bag and Megan's in the boot of the car, inhaling the delicious, evocative scent of old leather and petrol. When he walked around to the front of the car,
he saw a figure slumped in the passenger seat next to Compton-King with its head resting on the door sill. It was a young man, unshaven, his dark-blond hair in messy dreadlocks, dressed in jeans and an unseasonably bulky sheepskin coat, and apparently fast asleep. ‘Hop in the back,' said Compton-King. ‘My young friend is just sleeping off the excesses of last night.' He shot a dazzling smile at Megan and extended a large hand. ‘Richard Compton-King. Hi.'

‘Megan Philips.' She shook his hand. Adam could tell by the way she returned the smile that the Compton-King magic was destined to have its potent effect, and felt relieved. They settled themselves into the comfort of the squashy leather seats, Compton-King shifted the car into gear, and they set off down the road at a stately trundle.

‘What an amazing car,' said Adam.

‘Had the whole thing customized,' replied Compton-King. ‘Nineteen fifties' workmanship, plus some twenty-first-century technology. Best of both worlds.'

‘It's fantastic,' murmured Adam, glancing round the capacious interior, noting the little silver vases mounted next to both rear windows, the inlaid-walnut drinks compartment, the DVD screens in the back of the front seats.

Suddenly the young man in the front seat gave a groan and lifted his head. Without opening his eyes, he repositioned himself, burrowing his head down into the collar of his coat.

‘This is Bruno,' said Compton-King, nodding in the direction of the sleeping form. ‘Bruno Skeffington-Ancram. Known to close friends as Skank, for obvious reasons. Lead singer of the Mule Skinners.'

‘Really?' The name of the band evidently rang a clearer bell with Megan than it had with Adam. She leaned forward from her seat and peered with interest at what could be seen of young Mr Skeffington-Ancram above the collar of his coat.

‘Is he coming with us?' asked Adam.

‘Unless he wakes up before the Channel Tunnel and demands to be let out. I decided he's in need of a rest-cure. France is just the thing. Not that he knows he's going.' Compton-King glanced again at his inert companion. ‘Not that he knows much at any time. Excessive abuse of substances. Lack of sleep. Emotional difficulties. Could see we were heading for one of those immortal rift-within-the-band scenarios. Entirely against my interests, naturally, so decided to bring him along and let time the great healer take a hand for a couple of weeks. Some sunshine, decent food, sleep and basic lack of amphetamines should do the trick.'

‘So, what's the itinerary?' asked Adam.

Compton-King glanced at his watch. ‘Shuttle's booked for three, so I suggest we head in a Doverly direction, stop for lunch somewhere along the way, then once we hit the other side we can probably get as far as Orléans before stopping for the night. I've got the numbers of a few hotels there.'

‘You know, we'll really have to settle up with you for the cost of this trip.'

Compton-King waved an airy hand. ‘I only pay for the car on the Shuttle, so thus far it's on me. Don't worry, you can make a petrol contribution at some point. Now, music for the journey.' He leaned forward and pressed a
button, and the sounds of John Lee Hooker filled the car. Bruno lifted his head briefly, gave another groan, and burrowed back into his coat.

Bella had arranged, with some difficulty, to pick up a people carrier at Bordeaux airport.

‘The journey only takes a couple of hours,' said Bella, as she settled herself behind the wheel, Derek next to her, Bruce and Frank behind, and the girls in the back. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Leanne and Emma, as soon as they'd buckled their seat belts, were instantly absorbed in their Gameboys, as they had been throughout the flight to Bordeaux. They really seemed to be quite dull little creatures. It irked her that they were probably going to spend the entire car journey hunched over those machines, instead of taking in the glories of the French countryside. So far she had hardly exchanged one word with them. Well, time enough to get to know them over the next two weeks. She was happy enough to have Derek to talk to all the way to Montresor. They had sat next to one another on the plane, and had already begun the absorbing process of unravelling one another's past. Derek had come a long way from that first wary encounter, and now seemed easy in her company, even to the point of teasing her gently about her French at the car-hire desk. Bella felt quietly confident that these two weeks together would give them both back a little of what had been missing in their lives. She just hoped Charlie could see it that way, too.

Further north, the trip in the Bentley had begun delightfully well. After an excellent lunch at a pub near Ashford
(throughout which Bruno remained in the car fast asleep), they sped to Dover and on to the Shuttle without any delays, then on down the autoroute from Calais in brilliant sunshine. Compton-King beguiled them on the journey with a wide-ranging selection of music and scandalously amusing anecdotes from his many years in the music industry, which Megan enjoyed immensely, seeking occasional breathless elaboration of details. Bruno roused himself in the late afternoon, divested himself of his coat, and sat blinking inertly as they headed southwards, saying nothing at all.

It was around eight in the evening when the air conditioning broke down. Compton-King, after an irate and futile investigation of the problem at a motorway service station, rolled all the windows down, and the rest of the journey proceeded in silence, as the rush of tepid air drowned all possibility of music or conversation. Compton-King and Bruno managed a brief exchange of words, which Adam was unable to overhear, culminating in the production from the glove compartment of two fruit cereal bars, which Bruno ate.

Despite the slight mechanical setback, everyone was in good spirits when they stopped for the night at the hotel, booked ahead by Adam on his mobile phone during their last motorway stop. Adam and Megan were sharing one room, Compton-King and Bruno another. When shown to his room, Bruno sank immediately on to a bed and rolled himself up in his coat, clearly intending to stay there.

Adam, Megan and Compton-King went downstairs to the little terraced bar which served late-evening snacks,
and sat outside in the balmy night air, drinking and talking, before turning in a little after midnight. They had agreed to be up early the next day to complete their journey, which, according to Compton-King, would take no more than six or seven hours, even throwing in a leisurely lunch in Limoges. By the time he fell asleep that night, pleasantly exhausted by the journey and late-night cognac, Adam congratulated himself that thus far the trip with Compton-King seemed to be going pretty well.