Camellia (67 page)

'Tell me why you didn't like her,' she said, a little unnerved by such a display of tension.

'She was . . .' He hesitated as if unsure whether to voice his opinion. 'Well, poisonous is the only word that fits. I'm very relieved to find you aren't like her in looks or character.'

'So what did she do to upset you?' She felt indignant. Bonny didn't warrant quite such a vicious description, especially to her daughter.

'To me personally, very little,' he replied with a shrug. 'But she played havoc with other people's lives and minds. But you'd know this anyway, my dear. I'm quite sure she didn't change once she'd married your father.'

Mel felt Edward's animosity towards her mother must have been based on jealousy. She didn't feel she could ask any more questions about the two women's friendship, or tell him about the letters she'd found. Instead she moved on to speak about more general things – the restaurant, London, films she'd seen – but in lulls in the conversation she pondered on his relationship with Helena.

She was pretty certain they weren't lovers, but for such a close platonic friendship to have lasted nearly thirty years seemed a little odd, especially as neither of them had married other people. Mel liked Conrad very much, but she couldn't possibly imagine either of them being content to stay together forever without love, romance or sex.

'Are you always so quiet?' Mel asked once they had passed through Reading. It was dark now and she was bored with watching the windscreen wipers swish away the rain. She had tried to get a clearer picture of Helena by asking him questions about her old films and their life in Hollywood, but though she had discovered Helena had a Spanish-style house in the Hollywood hills, a swimming pool and a red Cadillac, and that Edward played a pianist in
Dreamers,
one of her earlier films," she hadn't gleaned anything personal. Edward was so guarded and unresponsive. He could describe a dress Helena wore or the interior of her house in detail, yet he didn't offer any insight to how she felt, her interests or other friends. Stranger still was his reluctance to talk about himself.

'I guess I'm one of life's listeners,' Edward smiled, but barely took his eyes off the road ahead. 'Forgive me for not being better company for you. But Helena will more than make up for it when you meet her. She's a talker too.'

He turned on the radio and Mel lapsed into thought. When she'd first read about Helena she had spent a great deal of time daydreaming about what their meeting could mean to her. Helena might know for certain who her father was. Supposing it wasn't Magnus after all – there was nothing to prevent her going back to visit him at Oaklands. She had even imagined Nick greeting her with open arms, all past grievances forgotten.

As Edward's arrival at Fulham had been unexpected, and their departure so hurried, it was only now as they sped towards the West Country that her mind turned back to those daydreams. She could see Oaklands so clearly in her mind: the trees in the drive turning gold, yellow and russet, the view of the valley shrouded in wispy autumn mist. Magnus would have the fire lit again in the drawing room and there would be those hearty spicy soups on the menu.

She was absolutely certain Magnus would hold no hard feelings against her for running off, but she wondered if he had someone else now in her place, and what he'd done with all the things of hers she'd left behind. There was her bank book. She'd hardly considered it all this time, but perhaps she could get it back, draw out her savings and buy a car.

Yet it was the vision of Nick which made her tingle from head to toe. The memory of him hadn't faded: he was still there in her heart, head and in her blood. If she closed her eyes she could see his chiselled cheek bones, his wide mouth and blue eyes so clearly that she could almost reach out and touch him. She had long since forgiven him for all the cruel things he'd said – perhaps he too had since come to realise that she had no choice but to behave as she did. She offered up a silent prayer that Helena would scotch all ideas of them being related.

Mel was jolted out of her reverie as Edward turned off the motorway and halted at a roundabout.

'Where are we?' she asked.

'Near Chippenham,' he said almost curtly.

Mel knew that the Chippenham road led to Bath and she looked out eagerly for familiar sights. But the rain was so heavy she could barely see a few feet ahead of the headlights.

'Do we go right into Bath?' she asked. They had just flashed past a signpost but she couldn't read it.

'No, we turn off before there,' he said, glancing round at her. 'It's a shame it's so dark and wet. It's very pretty around here, but of course you must know it.'

'Only Bath itself and around Oaklands,' she said. 'You should go to Oaklands yourself one day. It's set on a hill overlooking a wonderful valley with the river running through it. I loved it there.'

Edward made no comment, not even to ask why she left if she liked it so much. But then he hadn't asked her anything about herself.

'Did I tell you that Helena's house is on the river,' he said some minutes later. 'I'm staying there for the time being until I can find her a good housekeeper. It's a rather isolated spot, especially in this sort of weather, and the house is in need of modernisation. But you'll see for yourself soon, we're nearly there.'

With that he turned off the main road and into a narrow lane, overhung with trees. There were a few groups of cottages here and there, but mostly the lane seemed to be winding through farm land, up and down, twisting and turning like a switchback. At one point they met another car and Edward had to reverse back into a wider part to let it through. They went on for another five minutes or so, the road going steeply downward before finally turning off into a bumpy, rutted track.

Mel felt uneasy. She could see no lights anywhere. The wind was howling, rain was battering down and the lane was pitch dark, overhung with bushes.

'Only a few yards of this,' Edward said cheerfully and almost immediately turned onto a gravel drive. 'Well, here we are at last.'

'It looks a bit spooky,' Mel blurted out, then giggled at how childish she had sounded. From what she could see of the house with only one dim light hanging in the stone porch, it actually looked very pretty, with pointed eaves and lattice windows. It just wasn't what she expected.

'You wait till you see it in daylight,' Edward said with far more enthusiasm than he'd shown for anything else so far. 'It's a beautiful old house and an idyllic spot. The garden is a bit neglected but we've got plans in hand for that.'

As she opened the car door, the wind snatched at her. She grabbed her overnight bag and raincoat from the back seat and ran to the porch for shelter.

'Where's Helena's car?' she asked as Edward scurried through the rain towards her.

'She hasn't got around to getting one yet,' he said, putting a key in the lock. 'She gets ferried to and from the film set every day. She's got her eyes on a Mercedes though.'

The fusty smell that wafted out as Edward opened the heavy, old oak door, set Mel's nerves jangling again.

'Oh dear, don't say she's been delayed,' Edward exclaimed at the dark hall in front of them. 'She said she'd be back well before seven.'

He switched on a light. The hall was entirely in keeping with the quaintness of the outside of the house but it was very shabby. The floor was uneven flag stones, with just one badly worn rug to soften it. The staircase was solid oak, with an ornate carved newel post, but again the runners on the stairs were almost threadbare and the brass stair rods were tarnished as if they hadn't been polished for years. A large grandfather clock in the hall had stopped at quarter past three. Even the small oil paintings of horses in heavy gold frames looked slightly menacing.

But it was predominantly the smell that worried her. Mel recognised it as lack of use. The smell of windows kept firmly shut, unaired beds, old people. 'It's very cold,' she said, pulling her raincoat round her shoulders.

'I'm so sorry about this,' Edward tutted and switched on an electric radiator. 'Not very welcoming for you, is it? But don't worry, she's bound to be back at any minute.' He went on ahead down the passage and opened a door.

Mel followed him, pulling her coat more firmly round her shoulders.

The room was in darkness. As Edward moved across to switch on a table lamp she had an irrational urge to turn and run for the front door.

Even when light flooded the room and she saw a copy of
Vogue
and a used teacup on a low table, a small voice inside her head told her that no one had been in this room for days. In one sense the room was entirely perfect. Deep comfortable settees either side of a huge fireplace, antique highly polished small tables and a thick traditional red patterned carpet. From the dark wooden beams to the brass poker and coal scuttle, the glass-fronted china cabinet full of figurines and the roll-top desk everything was just so, without a speck of dust. Yet it seemed all wrong.

'I don't like it,' Mel said impulsively. French windows led out to the back garden and the blackness out there was scary. 'I don't want to stay here.'

Edward looked round at her in surprise. 'Oh Camellia, I'm so sorry you're frightened.' He took a step towards her and put his hand gently on her shoulder. 'This is too bad of Helena, she should've been here to greet you. But don't worry. I'll light the fire and make us a drink. She'll be bursting in here any moment full of apologies.'

The fire was already laid. Edward lit a gas poker and shoved it in under the wood and almost immediately bright flames shot up. Mel perched on the edge of the settee nearest to it.

'That's better,' he said, and drew the thick tapestry curtains over the French windows. 'It will be cosy in no time at all. If Helena does go through with buying this house we'll have to make sure she gets central heating put in. I know we English are supposed to be a tough breed, but after living in a warm climate you notice the cold and the dampness.'

Edward's solicitous remarks and the efforts he put into making everything more welcoming should have reassured her, but Mel still felt uncomfortable. The rain and wind outside were so loud. Where exactly was she? How close was the nearest house or shop?

'Oh good, she's left a note,' Edward said jubilantly, picking up a sheet of bright blue paper from the desk in the alcove by the fireplace.

'Dearest Edward,' he read aloud. 'Sorry but I think the meeting's going to take longer than I expected. Have a drink and just hang on. I'll be back as soon as I can. Whatever must you think of me! Love, H.'

He handed it to Mel, with a glum smile. 'There must have been a change of plan after I left this morning. This sort of thing is always happening. The director gets a new idea, one of the producers changes his mind about a location. It's very annoying.'

Mel felt less edgy then. Nick had often complained about the time he wasted in theatres and studios for very similar reasons and she felt soothed by seeing the letter. The handwriting and single initial was most definitely identical to that in her mother's letter.

'I suppose it can't be helped,' Mel said, holding her hands out to the blaze.

Edward looked at her, his expression one of resignation. 'I can't count the times Helena and I have arranged to do something and had to cancel at the last moment. Now about that drink? A gin and tonic perhaps, or we've got Scotch, wine, and I think rum.'

'I'd rather have some tea.' She smiled at Edward. It wasn't his fault things had gone wrong. He was probably as bored at being stuck with her as she was with him and he was trying to be charming. 'I'm sorry if I was a bit hysterical just now. I suppose I'm just nervous.'

'That's quite understandable,' he said and bent over to move the gas poker to another part of the fire. 'If I'd known Helena would be late I'd have taken you to a pub for a while. But have a real drink, it's been a long drive and it will help you relax.'

Mel fancied a gin and tonic, but she thought it better to wait until Helena arrived. 'Not just now,' she said. 'I really would like tea.'

'Okay,' he said getting up from the fire. 'It will take a minute or two, the kitchen is a little antiquated. I could rustle up a sandwich too if you'd like one?'

'That would be nice,' Mel smiled. 'Shall I help?'

'No, you stay here,' he said. 'It's cold in the kitchen.'

Mel looked at her watch after Edward left the room. It was five past nine. She picked up the magazine from the table and flicked through it, but lost interest in a couple of seconds when she realised it was last month's which she'd already read.

It was getting warmer and she stood up to take off her raincoat, at the same time looking more closely at everything. The owners of the house must be very old. There was a collection of Victorian porcelain figurines in the china cabinet, some grim, dark oil paintings of stags and Highland cattle on the walls and dated parchment lampshades on the table lamps. If she were Helena she'd have packed them all away and replaced them with something jollier and more up-to-date. Flowers and pot plants would make the room more inviting too.

Almost the second that thought popped into her head she realised why the room didn't seem quite right. There wasn't one item that wasn't in keeping with its style and period. Surely Helena would have brought a few of her own things in here, a couple of framed photographs, some cherished mementoes?

But the lack of flowers was perhaps most remarkable. An actress used to receiving them would surely see them as essential. And wouldn't they be doubly important if a guest was expected?

The unease she'd felt as they came up the rutted lane came back twice as strongly. What kind of woman would send a total stranger to collect a young girl, and expect her to travel a hundred miles to an isolated cold house, then not be there to greet her?

Edward came back in five minutes later with a tray in his hands. There was a plate of sandwiches, a fruit cake, a white bone china teapot with cups, saucers, milk and sugar.

'That was quick,' Mel said.