'I think I'm the last personage in the world he would want to know anything about, Roly.'
He gave her a small, intimate smile. 'I knew there was something, you know. I just didn't know what it was. It must have been a big, oppressive secret to carry round.' He stroked her hand.'I'm glad you've unloaded it.That has to be a good thing, doesn't it?'
'I avoided it by ignoring it. By making it into something that never happened.You see, Roly, I haven't been accountable for it.'
'It's important to be accountable, you're quite right.' She had known she wouldn't have to explain this point.
He was still studying the photograph.'It's not too late to take it on, you know.'
'But I think it is. I think it is too late. How can I take it on now, when it's something I should have lived with all my life? I should have acknowledged it instead of burying it like some . . . like some shameful thing I wasn't responsible for. No amount of sackcloth and ashes is going to undo that.'
'I don't mean a hand-wringing kind of penitence, darling.That would be of no use to anybody.There's really only one person you need to be accountable to, other than yourself, of course, and that is –'
She interrupted,'Will.To my son.'She shook her head. 'But I've no right to describe him like that.'
'Whatever has happened, you're still the biological parent.You have the inalienable natural right.'
'No. When I gave him away I surrendered my natural right.'
'But rights are nothing but human constructs, aren't they? Riddled with faults and holes like their poor, unfortunate creators. They're there to be superseded, rewritten and improved on. Surrendered,' he glanced sideways, 'and then miraculously resurrected.'
'Oh, that's the sort of thing I used to think, Roly.That they were just words. And if you repeated words often enough they would lose their meaning.They would cease to exist.'
'Now, let's not get ourselves sidetracked by silly old semantics.Think on this thing.Your son is alive.'Rollo gave her one of his probing, almost intrusive looks.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. Yes, my son is alive.
'And you are both living in the world. You are both inhabiting our funny, imperfect world – don't forget those qualifying words, they're very important – and I think, dear heart, to invent any excuse not to meet him and take the first steps, however imperfect and faltering, to acknowledge your accountability would simply compound the transgressions of a former self.'
Greer thought, he looks exhausted by this speech. I think he managed to deliver it all in one breath.
He gave her a follow-up smile and a little squeeze and added,'Discovering that his mother is a fallible human being won't necessarily destroy him, you know.'
She kissed him on the cheek. His skin was thin and papery. She felt a renewed chill.
'Guy's invited Tony back in the summer.'
He evinced no surprise. 'There you are, I knew His Majesty had a penchant.Well, we both have a bit of a one, let's be honest about it. I'm using the royal "we" here. He and I liked each other, didn't we, so I suppose we have a similar taste in men. But that's naughty, he should have cleared it with you and Mischa first. Do you disapprove, darling?'
She said,'I don't know what to think.'
'If you decide you do, you can supersede Guy. Rewrite the rule book and boot the young Turk out.' He gave a rumbling chuckle.
She went back to Tony. He was in the sitting room, working on his laptop.Writing about her,she had no doubt.He had a bottle of mineral water on the desk, with a decorated tile placed under it.
She was unworried now about what he thought of her. She had no interest in trying to influence that.There were other concerns of greater moment, matters of fact rather than chance or opinion, and these she did have some residual power to influence.
At the sight of her Tony switched off his computer. There was an unfamiliar expression on his face. It was apprehension, she realised. He expected her to be angry as well as upset.
Very quickly, before she could change her mind, she said,'There are some important things I didn't tell you.And incidental details you couldn't have known about. So that you have a more accurate idea of how things were.That is, if you'd like.'
Tony leant forward, his face alight. 'Oh yes, Greer, I would most certainly like.'
She allowed him to turn on the recorder. If he did not have basic, accurate information he would undoubtedly get things skewed.That would be worse.
It was incumbent on her now, wasn't it, to take responsibility? The beans were spilt, the secrets were out. Most of them. Others remained in her keeping. She could decide which of these she wished to give away.
'She's changed towards me. Or maybe it's not towards me, but her attitude's different.To questions about the past, to a whole bunch of stuff she'd glossed over before. What it means is we're coming at the whole thing again, from the top.'
Tony replayed a section of the recording he had just made.
'She's showing a different side to me now. Why's that? Because she knows I know, so there's no point pretending any more. But it's not only that. There's something else going on here. It's almost like she's become a collaborator or confidant.'
There was a television in the corner of the room. He switched it on, and watched a few minutes of an Italian drama series involving groups of students in shared apartments.Then he spoke slowly to the recorder again, eyes still on the screen.A couple had gone into a bedroom and were having a strenuous argument while stripping off their clothes.
He said slowly,'I think what she's decided is, she wants to let me in on the last big secret. She wants me to get what falling in love was like for her. For them. Maybe she even wants Will to get that.Why? Because she knows it's the key thing in their story. Well, I guess it's a key thing in life, period.'
His hand lingered over the switch.'Is love the important thing in itself, or is it what it can do to you? And what it can make you do?'He gave a little laugh and added,'Hey,I can't believe I just said that.Was it really me?'
His mobile phone rang. He fished it out of his jeans pocket.
'Hi.'A pause.'Oh,OK,good.What's that,you are? Oh yeah, sure I can –'
Some time later there was a knock on the front door. He ran down the steps, calling out that it was unlocked. He heard it creak and groan as it was pushed open.
'Hey, so you made it! Let me welcome you to the Castello.'
Mischa answered the telephone.This was a comparatively rare occurrence, as he disliked talking on the phone. Greer had been considering getting one of the new devices, where you could see the person you were talking to on the computer screen. Being so visual, Mischa might quite enjoy that.
He came into the bathroom, where she lay under a cloud of bubbles. He stood over her, brandishing the phone like a weapon.
She hissed, 'I told you I didn't want to talk to anyone. Say I'm asleep.'
'He said wake her up. It's the husband you had a long time ago before me.'He held out a towel.'Dry your hand.'
'It's Charlie?' She was electrified. She took the phone.
Charlie's voice sounded as if he was in the next room. It had not altered a whit.
'Greer? I'm sorry to ring you unannounced like a blast from the past, and probably an unwelcome one at that, but there's something –'
'Quick, tell me, what is it?'
He said calmly, 'It's important but not life-threatening. Everyone's all right. I probably should have called you before, but I've been flat-out. It was a triumph of detection to get your number.' She could hear him deliberating.
'Is it him, Charlie? Is it to do with Will?'
'Well, it is, actually, yes. He's on his way. I strongly suspect he's going to turn up on your doorstep at any moment. Both of them,in fact.Will and his fiancée,Rebecca Levy.'
Her mind had shut down. After a pause he continued, 'We only just found out that they'd gone.They left a day or so ago without telling us, of course. As they do. You've spoken to that biographer by now, I suppose? Devious bastard, isn't he?'
'Yes, he is.'
'You do know what happened to Will?'
She said, 'Yes. I thought he didn't want anything to do with me. I could understand that, completely.'
'Well, no, he didn't. It was all very unfortunate, the way he found out. Cold, like that. He was very angry about being lied to.Angry with us,with you,with the whole box of tricks.'
She interrupted,'Charlie – is he in love?'
'Josie can tell you about all that stuff better than me. Here, I'll put her on.'
As if they had been chatting every week of the last twenty-five years.
'Josie?'
They were weeping again, as they had wept before, a long time ago, in Josie's flat overlooking the Flagstaff Gardens.That afternoon Greer had been about to disappear off the face of the earth, for the duration. Hearing Josie's voice again at the end of the telephone from the other side of the world, high and breathless and familiar, the duration seemed very long. In another way, seconds later, it didn't seem that long at all.
Greer and Mischa lay in bed. It was late, but for once Mischa was still wide awake. Greer could tell his mind was working away at full pelt. She fancied she could pick up the disturbances in the air.The atmosphere between them was vibrant with unspoken thoughts.
She thought, this is how we are, Mischa and I. We operate on tangents for much of the time. Our thoughts intersect and veer away.We touch and then we separate and then we touch again.That is how it is.
Eventually she said,'I'm glad about it.The picture,it's a wonderful work. I'm happy that it was saved.'
'It had a good subject,' Mischa said.
'You did work on it again, after all.You finished it. It must have been – it was on that Boxing Day, wasn't it?'
'Yes. On that Boxing Day I worked on it after all. I finished it off.' He turned on his side to look at her, although it was too dark to make out her features. 'It kept me busy while you were out.'
While you were out. She marvelled at that. Out. Such an innocent little word, to carry such a weight of meaning.
'Why did you give it to Marlene? You never liked her.'
His response was unhesitating.'Because she helped you when I couldn't. It was the best thing to do with it.'
'Yes,it was.And I'll make contact with her again.'
She turned this over in her mind.
'If there had been no biography, none of this would be happening, would it? It would still be buried. All of it.' And my son would still be living his life oblivious to my existence.
Would I still be oblivious of him,too? This new question struck her as so confronting it verged on the unthinkable.
Mischa made a noncommittal noise. He remained in the same position, immobile. She thought, he is unusually tense tonight.
'Is it a good thing, though, Mischa? Overall?'
Because this was you, wasn't it?
It was you, Mischa, who set this in motion.You said yes to the biography.You didn't clear it first with your dealers. More to the point, you didn't say anything to me. It was your doing alone.Was that because you knew that if I heard about it I would put the kibosh on the idea?
Did you set it in motion knowingly, and on my account?
He said, 'I'd rather hear what you think, Mrs Smith. Overall.'
Greer searched for the invisible shadows imprinted on the walls of the bedroom. The previous occupants of this house must have had secrets, must have had their big secrets too, for which they had been accountable. She was convinced of that. But then, they had little or no choice in the matter.
She thought, there is an opening. A glimmer in darkness, a crack in a wall. I have been handed a choice.
'I think – no, that's not right, Mischa –'
'Yes?'
The single syllable was laconic, but she knew he was one hundred per cent on the case. He lay beside her, still motionless,waiting.
She tried to gather her thoughts. They were undisciplined, swarming all over the place. She thought, there are changes afoot in my life. In our lives. He knows that.
'I know it's a good thing.'
'How are you feeling?'
The surprising question rebounded. He had hardly ever asked a question like that. This time she answered without pause for reflection.
'I feel relief.'
He moved against her. She felt the tension go out of him, his breath on her face. She rested her head against his chest.He traced her cheekbones with his finger.They were wet.
She said,'Other things too, Mischa. Lots of other things. I don't think I know how to describe them yet.'
'I don't have to kill him, then?'
'Him?'
'The biographer.'
She waited until afterwards, until he fell deeply asleep – it was not a long wait – before she got up and went into her study. From a pigeonhole in her desk she took out a sheet of writing paper.
21st April 2006
I've heard the tape of your meeting with Tony Corbino. I've seen your photograph,Will.And now I hear the news from Charlie and Josie – the first time I've heard their voices in twenty-five years – that you and Rebecca may be on your way here.
What can I say to you,Will? And to you, Rebecca? Because it's your business now too. I know you are engaged to be married.
Your attitude to me is understandable. It is entirely justified.
The question is, why? Why did I do what I did?
I trust that this diary, which I am going to give you in the hope that you may bring yourselves to read it, will go some way towards answering that question. I think I knew all along, from the day of the biographer's arrival, and perhaps subconsciously very much earlier, that one day I was going to give it to you.
You may not wish to read it, and I should warn you that it will not be an easy read. Nor do I emerge from it with any credit.
What is written here does not in any way excuse, but I hope that it may, however baldly and inadequately, explain what must otherwise seem inexplicable. Perhaps the one virtue it does have is honesty, although there are limits to that which will not be lost on you.
If you reach the end you will have some insight into the young woman I was (not much older than you are now).To what extent I am still that person is not for me to say.
Whether it hit you like a thunderbolt, as it did me, or whether it grew on you more slowly and flowered, the experience of being in love must have changed the two of you profoundly.
I can only hope that this may help you both, not to forgive the unforgiveable, but in some way to understand.
She lingered over the last sentence, as if to imbue it with some miraculous power, before folding the page in half and placing it inside the front cover of the diary.
22
Greer came into the kitchen dressed in jeans again and a loose cotton shirt. It was going to be another balmy day. She could already hear bees.The beams of light that lay across Mischa's breakfast debris on the table had more warmth in them. He had slept well, so deeply he had hardly moved all night. He had got up early, whistling. She had slept too, but fitfully.
She threw open the north windows.The creeper on the south wall of Rollo and Guy's house opposite was greener today, the stones nearly hidden. The light breeze was drenched with wisteria. She gulped the perfume like a narcotic, drawing it deep into her lungs.
Then she heard a murmur of distant voices and saw them. There were three young people standing at the east end of the lawn, by the low wall at the precipice of the valley, grouped around Guy's telescope.
Two of the three had their backs to her. She did not know them, but she knew who they were instantly, without a moment's doubt. The third person was no surprise. It was Tony, positioning the telescope so the girl could see across the valley to the lookout tower on the far ridge.
Greer stood at the window and watched them,hypnotised by the three figures.Tony was leading the other two away now. He was opening the gate to the right of Rollo's chapel. He must be going to take them along the winding path acr
oss the slope of the hill, the path that led down to the swimming pool and on to the little walled cemetery.
She would have known Will from his walk, more of a saunter, which was Charlie's loose-limbed walk, even if his photograph had not imprinted itself on her mind. He was swinging the young woman's hand. Rebecca was tall too, taller than Tony, with her wavy hair caught in a band and tumbling down her back.
The three figures disappeared from sight down the path. Greer stared at the small patch of ground behind the gate, where they had briefly been and then vanished. She stood at the window, transfixed.
They had been here, on this land, only a short distance from where she stood. It was as if a magician had waved his wand and magically they had come into her world, just as Rollo said yesterday. Then he had waved it again and they were gone.
Were they really here? Had she seen them at all, or was it a hallucination, a dream glimpsed and then irretrievably lost? She had set eyes on Jean-Claude that day, only to find herself unable to recall any detail of his face. But Jean-Claude was no figment of her imagination. He was real, he was a character in her story, and he had passed on the secret. Tony was around to verify that.
What if they never come back?
She felt herself disabled by the thought. Suppose they had been spirited away by a pied piper, young and charismatic like them, but blond-haired and full of guile? She fought a blind urge to chase after them, foolishly calling out her son's name. She fought against the rising panic of bereavement.
Tony has no reason to spirit them away. On the contrary, he has every reason to see this to its conclusion, since he engineered it. Of that I have no doubt.
She turned away from the window with its vista of emptiness, crossed the room, then ran down the steps and into her study. She breathed in the deep, calming breaths, the method Marlene had once taught her, in a time of extremis, and she had never forgotten.
She pulled out the diary and unfolded the sheet of paper she had written last night. She read it through once, folded it and replaced it inside the front cover.
Then she opened the diary at the last page.There was one more piece of information she had to impart, an urgent postscript. Although it was of fundamental importance she had been unaware of it until just then when, standing at the window and feeling bereft of something she had never had, she discovered it for the first time.
The Biographer Page 31
