Free Familiar Rooms in Darkness by Caro Fraser Page B

years, until Charlie, using a combination of wheedling and threats, had persuaded his mother to send him to Uppingham, which he had heard about from a boy whom he had met during the school holidays, and which Charlie thought sounded much more his type of school. He had flourished there, discovering like-minded souls who enjoyed rugby and bossing people around, and was genuinely appreciative of a hierarchy based upon seniority and sporting prowess as much as intellectual and creative ability.
    They always went to the same wine bar in Essex Street, and Charlie was generally there before Bella. He was rigorously punctual, even with social appointments, a quality in which Bella was deeply deficient. This evening, however, Charlie was twenty minutes late. Bella sat with a paperback book, trying to pretend she was unaware of the frequent glances she attracted from every man in the place. Even when she felt, as she did today, that she was at her bedraggled worst, in old jeans, trainers and an outsize Barbour (one which had belonged to her father and which she had sentimentally retrieved on her last visit to Gandercleugh), men always looked at her, while trying to pretend at the same time that they weren’t. She knew she should be used to it by now, but it was most annoying not being able to glance around in an ordinary kind of way, for fear of making unwished-for eye-contact.
    Suddenly there was Charlie, sliding into a chair opposite Bella and slapping down a rolled-up copy of the evening paper. He was out of breath. ‘Sorry I’m late. Rowley heard today that he’s been made a QC, so we had a couple of glasses in chambers by way of celebration. I could hardly say no.’
    â€˜Why didn’t you ring me on my mobile to say you’d be late?’
    â€˜Don’t grumble. I’ll get us a drink.’ Charlie took off his coat and went to the bar.
    Glancing up, Bella saw a man standing near Charlie at the bar, dark-haired, wearing a raincoat, his back to her. For a moment she thought it was Adam Downing, but he half-turned and it wasn’t. To her relief. She still feltangry and a little embarrassed at the recollection of that evening at Gandercleugh. No man had ever turned her down before. Not that she made a habit of propositioning men, but when, in propitious physical and social circumstances, there seemed to be raging mutual attraction, she could see no good reason for not taking the initiative. In fact, given the way most men seemed to be somewhat in awe of her – Bella always thought it quite ludicrous to be thus perceived, but accepted it as her inevitable lot – it was often positively necessary to do so. Of course, the way he had behaved didn’t do him any favours – it merely marked him out as a prig. She had reassured herself on this point often enough. The girlfriend factor could scarcely be counted. On Bella’s scale of morality, playing away, provided it didn’t inconvenience or upset anyone, was perfectly acceptable. Notions of fidelity were boring, and conventions there to be broken. No, she didn’t think much of Adam Downing. Which didn’t prevent her from mentioning him almost as soon as Charlie had sat down with two glasses of wine.
    â€˜Did Adam Downing ever get in touch with you? The journalist who’s writing the biography?’
    â€˜Not so far. I gave him my card that evening, but he hasn’t rung.’
    â€˜Maybe he’s lost interest in the project, now that Dad’s dead.’
    â€˜Quite the opposite, surely?’
    Bella shrugged. ‘I rang and left Mother’s number and address on his answering machine, and he never rang back to thank me.’ She wasn’t sure whether she had hoped or expected that Adam would call her back. Sheonly knew that the unsatisfactory balance between them had to be redressed somehow.
    â€˜Oh, he’s been in touch with Cecile. I spoke to her last night. He went round to see her the other