The Love Letter (87 page)

‘Oh she’ll never be straight, darling. That really was always the greatest flaw in matching her with Francis, who quite frankly would take a beagle as a girlfriend as long as she looked at him adoringly and listened to his endless opinions.
So
like his father.’ She shuddered and shot Legs a steely look before carrying on: ‘Darling Kizzy’s heart has been quite lost on another throughout.’

Legs let out a sigh of recognition. ‘Édith.’

‘How do you know that?’ Poppy looked astonished.

‘Nothing gets past Julie Ocean,’ Byrne reached out to take her hand, his own icy cold, betraying the tension he was feeling as yet more home truths were revealed.

‘I suppose Julie Ocean’s one of the arty crowd that used to gather at the Book Inn,’ Poppy was saying. ‘Kizzy and Édith were a part of it. Last year they had a very passionate affair which ended very unhappily. I guessed at it at the time, but thought it was just a phase, like Virginia Woolf. Kizzy did try to make a go of it with Francis, poor girl,’ Poppy sighed, ‘and I know that she would do anything for me, but frankly it was torture to watch in the end. If
anything Francis pushed her further in the direction of Sapphic love. He takes so much looking after.’ She let out a deep sigh. ‘I do wish you’d reconsider him, Legs. You’re so good for him.’

‘She will
not
reconsider,’ Byrne thundered.

‘Hector is terribly disenchanted by all this. He’s desperate for grandchildren. He always thought Édith was going through a stage and would settle down eventually to have babies, but this latest development rather refutes that – and now you and Francis look unlikely to reconcile, Legs, he’ll have to stop practising lullabies on the bassoon, poor darling.’ She let out a long, soulful sigh, but if she expected to garner any sympathy on board
Chastity,
she was mistaken. ‘He’s hugely disapproving of Édith taking up with Kizzy,’ she went on. ‘He only tolerated Jax because she was so practical to have around the house and looked rather like a chap. He says decorative women like Kizzy and Édith should never take up together because it limits the high end heterosexual market, leaving only poor quality goods available. He’s such a corporate reactionary in some ways – my darling caveman.’ She shuddered, but this time from pleasure as a smile spread across her face. The idea of a limited heterosexual market available to Hector clearly pleased her a great deal. ‘He’s even threatening to boot Édith out of the London house, but I suspect that’s only as an excuse to sell it. He’s convinced the only way to secure a knighthood is to bung another few million to charitable causes, and we’re stupidly hard up.’

‘Can’t he stage a few more art thefts and claim them on insurance?’ muttered Byrne.

‘Oh that’s just Hector being silly,’ Poppy dismissed, as though it was no more than a mislaid cufflink.

‘He can’t really believe I took that painting deliberately?’ Legs asked nervously, reluctant to reveal the full truth about how Hector’s love token came into her possession.

‘Well he’s certainly been shouting down the phone and annoying the police a lot. They even seem to be taking him seriously,
which is quite amazing given Liz’s death threats turned out to be harmless creative over-enthusiasm, although I suppose the fact you ended up hanging upside-down from a cliff in front of witnesses added some weight to his argument, Legs. Then of course you ran off with that painting, and focus shifted from malicious threats to art theft. It’s insured for a hundred thousand, which would have come in jolly handy.’

‘Oh God, he’ll have me banged up,’ she groaned.

‘I’m sure all will be forgiven if you come back to Francis,’ Poppy gave her a knowing look.

‘I can’t do that!’ she yelped, looking at Byrne whose dark eyes glowered furiously.

Poppy folded her long fingers together in front of her nose and crossed her eyes as she regarded her large, brightly coloured glass rings before glancing across at Legs.
‘Nobody
will arrest you over that dreadful geegaw, Legs. Quite honestly you did us a favour getting rid of it. Hector and I always argue about it because he once told Francis it was a Freud, showing off as usual, and now he can’t bring himself to admit that he painted it himself as a young man. Now that it’s been recovered, it’s bound to be authenticated, and of course the truth will come out. It’s actually a portrait of one of the waitresses at the Fitzroy Club. Hector told me he had an affair with her while Ella was pregnant with Francis, but I don’t think it will help to tell him that right now.’

‘Probably not,’ Legs agreed shakily.

‘The man’s shameless!’ Byrne exploded at his mother. ‘How can you bear to take him back?’

Poppy looked at him levelly. ‘For all his considerable sins, I love him a great deal,’ she sighed. ‘It’s such bliss to have him in the house again, I feel reborn. It’s been so deathly quiet without him. He’s my music, my conversation and my laughter. I know he’s terribly wayward, more so than ever these days, and he probably should be taught a lesson, but with the festival so close at hand, I need him to stay strong for all our sakes.’

‘I’ll happily teach him a fucking lesson,’ Byrne raged.

‘Please don’t hate him, Jamie. I know you two haven’t got off to the best of starts, but Hector really terribly charming once you—’

‘Never!’

‘Oh, what a mess,’ Poppy let out a deep sigh, pressing a fingertip between her eyes to relieve the pressure of a headache there. ‘Everything surrounding the festival is very fragile this year, including the house. Thank
goodness
for Gordon Lapis. He is Farcombe’s saviour.’

‘You think so?’ Byrne asked darkly.

Legs watched him anxiously. There was a muscle pounding in his cheek.

‘I know it,’ Poppy seemed greatly cheered by the thought of Gordon as she reached for her hip flask again. ‘Such a talented chap. Do you know I’m probably the reason he asked to make his debut appearance at Farcombe? I wrote to him once in appreciation of his work (I’m sure the poor man hardly ever gets a letter from anybody with a decent education) and had a charming reply from his PA saying how gratified he was. I can’t wait to meet him. I think we might have rather a lot in common, he and I.’ She checked her reflection in the flask’s silver side, its convex curves widening her cheekbones to flattering Marianne Faithfull proportions.

Byrne’s brows lowered over his furnace eyes. ‘The man’s a selfish bastard. He’ll let you down, trust me.’

‘Do you know him then?’

‘Intimately.’

‘How thrilling! I had no idea you were bisexual.’

Byrne was looking up at the cabin’s wooden roof in frustration. Then a wry smile touched his tight lips. ‘Poppy,
I
am Gordon Lapis.’

Her hands flew to her face again, huge eyes gazing at him over her fingers, her voice muffled as she gasped: ‘Would you mind saying that again?’

Sitting down at her side, he took her hand in his and told her about his writing alter ego as calmly and simply as he could.

Afterwards, she kissed his hand like a fervent disciple kissing the Ring of Fishermen, ‘You are so clever and so brilliant and so unique and so – rich! And you are about to be so, so famous.’

‘I don’t want to be famous.’

She gaped at him in horror, almost more shocked by this bombshell than the news that he was Gordon. ‘Why ever not?’

He stared across at Legs. ‘I want to marry the woman I love and have a huge family, ride horses and write new books. I don’t want that life to be in any way public. Gordon’s done a fantastic thing, but now it’s time for him to retire.’

‘Nonsense! You have no idea what influence such notoriety has. It’s power to do
so
much good. What I wouldn’t have given for this opportunity. Admittedly you are very populist, but that has its plus sides. And your books are so terribly clever, I have no doubt they will outlive you by many generations. You could do so much for the arts as a patron and spokesperson. You must see this as your duty!’ She was positively evangelical. ‘My son! My clever, clever son.’ She sprang towards him in a rare, affectionate embrace.

Crushed in her bony crab grip, he admitted mournfully. ‘I have absolutely no desire to do it.’

‘You have no choice. What else are you going to do? Trawl this old boat out of harbour and set sail across the oceans?’ She released him from the hug.

‘Something like that.’ He looked to Legs for reassurance, jumping as his mother slammed her ringed finger down on the narrow galley table in front of them.

‘You mustn’t! Think of the millions of fans you’re letting down.’

‘I’ve already done that. I killed Ptolemy.’

‘And I was very, very angry about that at first too,’ Poppy admitted, ‘but I’ve reread the book and it’s obvious that you’ve put down markers for his resurrection, Purple’s abilities in necromancy for a start, and the ghost narrative in the mid section. In fact the
whole series is littered with references which could be tied together to create a quite overwhelming sequel to
Raven’s Curse.’

‘You know the books better than I do,’ he laughed sadly. ‘But you’re not going to change my mind.’

She looked terribly sad, her dreams of more Ptolemy Finch adventures shattered. ‘Do you really hate writing them that much?’

He shook his head. ‘I enjoy writing them. Ptolemy’s world is so real to me now I can escape there simply by closing my eyes. I’ve even written something new in this past week.’

‘You
are
writing another!’ she cried, hopes reigniting as she demanded excitedly. ‘Can I read it?’

‘It’s not a sequel. It’s an apology of sorts.’

She grasped his arm determinedly. ‘You will read it aloud at the festival even if I have to take you hostage tonight. This is your duty, Jamie!’ She turned to Legs, ‘Tell him he must do this. It’s entirely selfish of you both to want to set sail, not to mention cruel to the dog.’

Legs had to admit that life on the high seas was starting to lose its appeal. Just bobbing about in the harbour was making her feel quite sick, and Fink certainly looked pretty queasy too, but she remained staunchly loyal, brimming with such love and pride that she’d set sail across oceans in a two-man barrel if he asked her to. ‘I will go wherever Byrne goes.’

‘Then I’ll have to take you both hostage,’ Poppy said in a sinister undertone, reaching into her cavernous handbag.

Seeing a glint of metal, Legs thought for a terrifying moment that Poppy was pulling out a gun, but it was just her hipflask which she unscrewed with shaking hands before taking a very long tot.

‘I hardly think you are in a position to take us hostage,’ Byrne pointed out gently. ‘You came by taxi, for a start.’

Poppy conceded the point, staring fixedly at Legs now, eyes narrowing. She gazed so intently and for so long that Legs shifted uncomfortably, frightened by what she was going to do next.

But Poppy merely raised her hip-flask in a toast with a gallant
smile. ‘It seems I am destined to be your mother-in-law one way or another, Allegra. I’m very glad.’

‘You are?’ Legs gulped.

‘You’re really quite witty and it’s useful having a strong soprano like yours at singsongs. You have a lot of brio, and I’ve always rather liked you. It was your taste in men that’s always been too abhorrent to countenance. But you’ve obviously changed your ways completely.’ Her big eyes glowed with affection. ‘I do hope we’ll be friends. I could use someone spirited like you on side.’

‘I hope so too.’ Legs beamed back, knowing that such barbed praise from Poppy meant everything; when she gushed, it was just habitual affectation but when she gave a reluctant tribute like this, it was spoken from the heart.

Now Poppy was staring at Legs even more intently as she announced with great theatricality: ‘I see the solution to your dilemma, Jamie!’ She didn’t take her dark eyes from Legs’ face. ‘It’s right in front of us.’

‘It is?’

She nodded earnestly, turning from Legs to him and then back again. ‘Gordon Lapis must have a sex change!’

Horrified, Legs and Byrne held hands, fingers tightly knitted for mutual support.

The traffic crawling along the main North Devon coast road was worse than any Legs had ever known. For hours it was at a standstill, only edging forwards when the intrepid few turned off to try to forge a way along the back lanes, or simply executed a three point turn to head back the way they had come. Drivers and passengers got out and chatted, complained and shouted into their
mobile phones. Only motorbikes and pedal cycles were making it through, weaving in and out of the static line.

‘There must have been an accident,’ Legs groaned.

‘This is all festival traffic,’ Poppy pointed out cheerfully from the back seat which she was sharing with Fink, watching as a motorcycle roared past. ‘It’s been the same all week apparently.’

The local radio station confirmed this, warning listeners to avoid the area around Farcombe at all costs, and reporting tailbacks of ten miles or more.

‘They’re all coming to see Gordon,’ Poppy beamed through the window as the driver of a neighbouring car, stepping out for a leg stretch, peered in nosily.

The Bentley Continental was yet again attracting a great deal of attention.

‘Why didn’t I come in something less conspicuous like my dad’s horsebox or cousin Caron’s gipsy caravan?’ Byrne muttered, getting increasingly tense as he pressed the button to close the roof and it flipped protectively over them like a black wing.