I'll Be Seeing You (31 page)

Craig Hamlyn said to me, as an afterthought, ‘I did happen to come across somebody a while back who was at Halfpenny Green around the same time as myself. We were at a fund-raising gala in LA and got talking, by chance. We planned to get together another time but we haven't gotten round to it and I doubt we will. Maybe he could help you, Mrs Porter. I think I've still got his card somewhere.' He fished out a crocodile wallet and thumbed through it. ‘Here we are . . . he's a pretty big shot. You can keep the card if you like.'

I stared at the name on the card. Later, out in the Jeep, I showed it to Rob. He grinned.

‘Well, how about that!'

‘Is he really a big shot?'

‘Sure is. This guy's loaded, and I mean
loaded
.'

I hadn't bargained for him being stinking rich, or even rich at all. That side of it had never entered my head. I said faintly, ‘I think I need another margarita.'

‘And I know where to find the best one in town.'

The Ingleside Inn was an old and beautiful Spanish hacienda hidden away among a grove of trees at the foot of the mountains. It had wooden verandas, louvred shutters, purple bougainvillea smothering tiled roofs, cool terracotta floors, old-fashioned ceiling fans. And style.

‘All the rich and famous used to come and stay here in the Thirties,' Rob told me. ‘Movie stars, moguls, millionaires . . .'

The bar was nightclub dark, apparently lit by glow-worms, and with near invisible patrons located only by the glint of gold or the flash of jewels or the clunk of heavy bracelets on drinking arms. Rob said, ‘This is a great post-face-job location. The bruises don't show.'

We sat on stools up at the counter and Rob ordered from a barman who materialized from nowhere like a genie from one of his bottles. The margaritas, when served, were small, ice-cold and utterly lethal.

I started whingeing. ‘If this man's such a big shot there isn't a chance that he'll agree to see me.'

‘He will if you call him up yourself. It's the only way it's going to work this time. No more hiding behind me.'

‘I don't think I could do it.'

He lit a cigarette. ‘If it means enough to you, Julie, you'll do it.'

‘How come he's so rich?'

‘Howard Hamilton owns a whole bunch of magazines, that's how.'

‘He'll think I'm after the money. That I'm some kind of ghastly impostor.'

‘How can he? He won't know a thing – unless you tell him. Play it the same way you did today. Check him out. See if you think he could be the one. Then decide what you want to do.'

I said bitterly, ‘You make it all sound so bloody simple, Rob. It isn't – not for me.'

‘Yeah, I know that. But if I didn't keep kicking your ass we'd never get anywhere. Have another margarita.'

‘Isn't it time we went back to Los Angeles?'

He looked at me, straight in the eyes. ‘Why not stay over till tomorrow?'

‘
Tomorrow?
Chris is expecting me today.'

‘Call her.'

I turned my head away from his eyes, which were sending mine a pretty clear message. ‘What would I say?'

‘That you'll be back tomorrow. You're over twenty-one, Julie.'

I fiddled with the margarita glass. ‘Where would we stay?'

‘Right here.'

‘Here?'

‘It's a very good place.'

He went away to see about it and came back. ‘It's all fixed.'

‘Two rooms?'

He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. ‘One. That's all they've got.'

I didn't believe a word of it. ‘I haven't even brought a toothbrush.'

‘Nor have I. We'll buy them. Have that other drink. Then we'll go get something to eat.'

In the swanky restaurant we ate lovely food and drank more margaritas.

He said, chin propped on his hand, staring at me, ‘Do you always fix your hair like that, Julie? All screwed up with that clip thing?'

‘Yes. It keeps it out of the way. Otherwise it's a mess. And, since we're being personal, don't you ever wear a tie?'

‘Not if I can help it. If I wear a tie, will you let your hair down?'

‘All right. It's a deal.' I propped my chin on my hand, too, and stared back at him. ‘Do tell me, Rob. What does the F stand for?'

‘The F? What the heck are you talking about?'

‘Robert F. Mclaren. What's the F?'

‘Finlay. That's the maternal side.'

‘So you're a Scot, through and through.'

‘No,' he said. ‘You've got that wrong. I'm an American. My people came here to get away from Scotland. In this country we're all descended from somebody wanting to get away from somewhere – usually for damn good reasons. We're built on desperation and dream-chasing and making good. That's the big difference between us and you.' He raised his glass to me. ‘Otherwise, I guess we're pretty much the same.'

The decor in the supposedly one remaining bedroom was Mexican. Carved mahogany furniture, woven rugs on a tiled floor, soft lanternlight, white muslin hangings. A ceiling fan was humming quietly to itself, around and around and around.

I said, outside far too many margaritas, ‘Actually, I'm forty-eight, Rob.'

‘So what? I'm fifty.'

‘I don't look like I did.'

‘I sure as hell don't either.'

‘And I haven't done this in ages.'

‘It's like riding a bicycle; you never forget.'

‘I really don't think—'

‘You do a lot too much thinking, Julie. Look on it as something you owe me – the fee you were offering.'

‘In advance?'

‘OK by me.'

‘Full and final settlement?' I had some trouble with the word ‘settlement'.

‘Sure. Whatever you want to call it.' He unfastened the tortoiseshell clip and loosened my hair slowly with his fingers.

‘That's not fair, Rob. You're not wearing a tie. And that was the deal.'

‘Scout's honour,' he said. ‘I will.'

I called Howard Hamilton from the hotel bedroom the next morning. If Rob had not been there to ignore all my feeble excuses – including a hangover – punch out the number and hand me the receiver, I'm not sure I would ever have found the courage. I listened to a phone ringing in some Bel Air mansion.

‘There's no answer.' I started to put down the receiver but he grabbed hold of my wrist.

‘Not yet. It'll be a big place.'

Three more rings and a man answered – with a Spanish accent. ‘Mr Hamilton's residence.'

Rob was watching and waiting. Flint-eyed. Pitiless. A far cry from the way he'd been the night before. Very far. ‘May I speak to him, please?'

‘What is your name?'

‘Mrs Juliet Porter. I'm from England.'

‘One moment.'

The moments passed while I kept clearing my throat, suddenly chock-full of frogs. I looked at Rob. ‘He doesn't seem to be at home.'

‘No use hanging up. I'll just call the number again.'

‘It's all right for you . . .'

‘Yeah, I know. You've said that before. Keep holding.'

A voice came on the line: deep, soft, American. ‘Mrs Porter? This is Howard Hamilton.'

I cleared my throat yet again and managed a froggy croak. ‘I'm sorry to trouble you, Mr Hamilton.'

‘It's no trouble. What can I do for you?'

‘I'm on a visit from England . . .'

‘So I understand. We haven't met, have we?'

‘No. We haven't.'

‘I'm rather wondering how you got my number since it's unlisted?'

I croaked on. ‘From Mr Craig Hamlyn. I went to see him recently and he gave me your card with your address and number on it.'

‘I'm sorry. His name's not familiar to me.'

‘Apparently, you were introduced at a fund-raising dinner in Los Angeles. I believe you were both stationed at Halfpenny Green in England during the war.'

There was a short and significant pause. ‘I do remember him now. So, where do you fit in, Mrs Porter?'

‘My mother served in the British WAAF. She was also at Halfpenny Green. Her name was Daisy Woods. I wondered if by any chance you knew her?'

A longer pause;
much
longer. I held my breath.

‘Yes, I knew your mother. Many years ago. How is she?'

‘I'm afraid she died last year.'

Silence. Then, ‘I'm so sorry to hear that, Mrs Porter. How very sad for you.'

‘Thank you.' I chose my next words with care. ‘She left a letter for me when she died.'

Another pause. ‘Yes?'

‘And a photograph of an American bomber crew. There were no names, but, naturally, I was rather curious. Unfortunately, when she was alive she never talked about her wartime service and I never asked her – it's a part of her life that I wish I knew much more about.'

‘Is that why you went to see Mr Hamlyn?'

‘Yes. But he didn't remember her at all and he didn't recognize anybody in the photo. I was hoping you might, and that we might meet.' More breath-holding on my part and another long pause the other end.

‘I'd be glad to, Mrs Porter. Where are you speaking from?'

‘Well, I'm in Palm Springs at the moment, but I'm staying with friends in Santa Monica and returning there this morning. I fly back to England the day after tomorrow.'

‘Let's make it today, then. Come here as soon as you get back to LA.'

I put down the receiver, fingers numb from gripping it to death.

Rob said, ‘You look as though you've seen a ghost.'

‘Not seen one. Heard one.'

‘How did it sound?'

I collapsed on the bed. ‘Rather wonderful.'

On the drive back to Los Angeles Rob told me everything he knew about Howard Hamilton.

‘It's a family company. The grandfather started it with a couple of magazines, then the son added a whole lot more and then the grandson – this guy, Howard – took over in the Sixties and made it even bigger.'

‘Is he married?'

‘Divorced once, then married again. The second wife was killed in a car smash a while back. He hasn't remarried yet, but there can't be a shortage of willing number threes. One thing I didn't know about him is that he was a bomber pilot with the Eighth in England, or I'd've cottoned on before. I've never heard him talk about it.'

‘You mean you've
met
him? You didn't tell me that.'

‘I'm telling you now.'

‘What was he like?'

‘A very nice guy. But nobody's fool. You'll have to play it straight down the middle with him.'

‘If he
is
the right one, I'm not telling him who I am. I've never meant to do that.'

‘Sure. I know.'

‘Especially considering he's stinking rich.'

‘What's the big difference?'

‘Like I said, he'd be bound to think I was after the money.'

‘No, he wouldn't, Julie.'

‘Well, if you were a billionaire, or whatever he is, and some strange woman turned up on your doorstep claiming to be your daughter, when as far as you know you'd never had one, wouldn't you be a bit suspicious?'

‘Yeah – unless she was like you. I told you, he's not a fool. He'll figure out exactly what you are for himself.'

Later on, as we were getting closer to the city, I said, ‘Does he have any children?'

‘Two sons.' He glanced at me drily. ‘And maybe one daughter.'

Bel Air was a large and lushly wooded estate in the Los Angeles foothills that put even Beverly Hills in the shade. We went in at the western entrance under an impressive archway. The zillionaire mansions were well hidden from vulgar prying eyes by verdant trees and shrubs, by high walls and by impenetrable security gates.

‘Money,' Rob said. ‘Can't you smell it?'

We drove for half a mile or so up through exclusive opulence before Rob stopped the Jeep and cut the engine.

‘This is it.'

I looked at the tall iron gates – metal-lined so that nothing could be seen of what lay behind them. ‘Are you sure it's the right one?'

‘Yeah. Quite sure. There's the number on the pillar. And see that panel below it? There'll be a button to press and a grille to talk into so you can tell them who you are. Be sure to smile nicely at the security camera. If they like the sound and look of you they'll let you in. Otherwise they won't.' He felt in his jacket pocket for the little sketchbook. ‘Don't forget to show him this.'

I put the sketchbook away inside my bag but went on sitting there. ‘Maybe I ought to go back and change first, Rob. I look an awful mess in these clothes.'

‘Nice try, Julie. Just get on with it.'

‘You could come in with me.'

‘Not a chance. Not this time. You're on your own.'

I swallowed. ‘I don't think I can do this, Rob.'

‘Sure, you can.'

‘I'm too scared. I simply haven't the guts. Let's just leave it for now.'

He said, ‘We're not going. You hired me to find this guy for you, and I figure we've probably found him.'

‘I didn't
hire
you.'

‘Yeah, you did. And you've paid me up front. Remember?'

He got out of the Jeep, went round to my side, opened the door and hauled me bodily out onto the sidewalk. Then he kissed me.

‘I'm off home now to do some work. Call me when you want to be picked up and I'll come straight over.'

‘I don't want to do this, Rob. I'd much sooner forget the whole thing. Really.'

He took hold of my shoulders and revolved me firmly in the direction of the gate. ‘Get going, Julie. Buzz that buzzer.'

I walked towards the pillar, on my way to the scaffold.

He stayed there, watching, arms folded across his chest. ‘Just
do
it.'