Familiar Rooms in Darkness (42 page)

The phone rang and she reached for it quickly, half-expecting it to be Adam. But it was Carla, her agent.

‘Bella, darling, sorry to hustle you, but I need a decision. The people at Carlton need to know one way or another about the Jane Austen.'

‘Oh, God… I don't know. I think it's yes, but I'm still
trying to decide.' If, as she felt he would, Adam gave in, then everything would be fine, she could forget the Hollywood thing. But in the unlikely event that he refused to compromise, insisted on going ahead, then she wanted to be as far away from him, and this whole, horrible situation, as possible. Tears stung her eyes at the thought that it might happen. No, she refused to accept the possibility. Not if he cared. ‘Carla, give me till this evening. I'm sure it's going to be OK, but let me call you later. You said you didn't need to know till tomorrow.'

‘Well, tomorrow's the deadline, but they've been pressing me. It would help if I could say something today.' She sighed. ‘All right. Call me this evening.'

At quarter past eight that evening, Adam sat waiting for Bella in the bar of the restaurant he had booked for dinner. She came in late, breathless, beautiful. He felt his throat tighten at the sight of her.

She pulled off her jacket. ‘Sorry I'm late. I had trouble getting a cab.'

‘It doesn't matter.' She sat down and he leaned across and kissed her cheek, taking in the perfume, the softness of her skin. ‘Drink?'

‘Just mineral water, thanks.' She smiled, but her eyes were clouded, troubled.

They gazed tentatively at one another.

‘Have you been working hard?' she asked. Adam nodded. ‘I managed to do a bit of serious shopping myself,' said Bella, and gave another quick smile. Her mineral water came. She sipped it, then set it down. ‘OK, then.' He watched the rapid pulse which beat in her
throat. She is so anxious, she loves me so much, thought Adam. He waited to hear what she would say next. ‘I hope I didn't sound too – well… too dictatorial on the phone this morning.' Adam shook his head. ‘It's just – it's just so important to me, Adam. You do understand that, don't you?'

He nodded. ‘Yes, I understand that.'

‘So… You said we would sort something out.'

He leaned forward, gazing intently at her. ‘Before we say anything else, there's one thing you have to understand. I love you, and I would do nothing to hurt you. Nothing you say or think can change that.' He stroked her cheek once with his finger. ‘But as for sorting something out, that's up to you.'

‘What do you mean – it's up to me?'

‘Whether or not this book makes any difference to us. It's up to you to decide whether or not you can accept what I'm going to write.'

Bella drew a long breath. ‘You're going ahead with it?' He nodded. She looked away for a few seconds, then asked, ‘How can you possibly pretend to love me?'

‘You once quoted something to me,' said Adam. ‘From your play. “Truth must win. Otherwise life is impossible.”'

She shook her head. ‘All you have to do is compromise.'

‘But it's right. I have to say what I know to be the truth, or say nothing at all.'

‘Then say nothing. Forget compromise. Just abandon the biography. Please, Adam.'

He gazed at her, as if trying to fix the moment, to recall every precious, shared instant. He could hardly comprehend what it was he was about to lose.

‘I can't.'

There was a silence. ‘At least we know where we stand. I know now what matters more to you.'

‘No, you don't. It's not the simple choice you make it out to be.'

‘Yes, it is. And you've chosen. You're on the other side now. I have to stick by my family.' Her eyes were bright with tears. ‘It's all pointless, this – you do realize that? We won't let you publish it. We'll do everything possible to stop you. And so no one will be any the better off – not you, or me, or anyone.'

He could think of nothing to say to this. He watched as she rose, picked up her jacket, put it on. As she was about to leave, Adam said, ‘Whatever happens, remember – he was a great man. A great writer.'

She walked out of the bar, and Adam was left alone. He sat there for some time. At last he got up, paid, went down to the street and hailed a cab to take him home. When he turned the key in the lock of his door and went in, it was as though the silence had been waiting for him, to welcome him. He walked into his study and stood by the window, watching the beginnings of the late-summer dusk creep across the London sky. He sat down at his desk and began to work.