Familiar Rooms in Darkness Read Free Page A

my aunt and uncle. I don’t know why.’
    â€˜So you suddenly found you had a stepmother?’
    Adam looked mildly surprised. ‘I never thought of her as that. I suppose she was. She just took the money and ran. I don’t think about her. I don’t think about him much, as a matter of fact.’
    The silence stretched over long seconds.
    Harry gazed reflectively at Adam, remembering his own choices in life as a young man, wondering what hadset Adam on the path which had brought him here today. ‘What made you become a journalist?’ he asked.
    â€˜Something to do with English being my best subject at school, I imagine. I was always passionately fond of literature. I mean, I was happy enough as a boy, but I suppose I was – well, somewhat solitary. Reading has always been a passion. I thought I wanted to teach, had ideas of becoming a fellow, staying at Oxford, but I’d already begun to write the odd review, articles here and there… I sort of slipped into journalism, and I’ve stayed there.’
    â€˜Being a freelance is quite a lonely occupation. Don’t you mind that?’
    â€˜No. No, I enjoy solitude. I like my own thoughts, my own company. I’ve been on the staff of a couple of big dailies, had quite enough of working for large organizations. The way I work now suits me very well. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, and I suppose I thought going freelance would give me more time to work on something of my own. But it hasn’t quite happened that way. I’m too busy. That’s the trouble with journalism. No end to writing.’ Adam laughed. ‘Not that I should complain.’
    â€˜No, indeed. I see your name everywhere.’ Brenda, the middle-aged woman who acted as Harry’s nurse and housekeeper, appeared bearing a large tray, which she set down on the table.
    They talked on over lunch. Afterwards, as the afternoon grew cooler, they moved indoors to the morning room to have coffee. It was a room of battered grandeur, reminiscent of a London club, comfortably furnished in a masculine style. It was here that Harry did his writing,working at a large desk which stood in one corner, surrounded by ceiling-high bookcases. They sat in large armchairs, Harry with a tartan rug over his thin legs, feet resting on a leather footstool.
    â€˜I wonder,’ said Harry, stirring his coffee, ‘whether I couldn’t be instrumental in helping you to achieve your ambition of becoming a writer.’ He looked up at Adam and smiled.
    Adam returned the smile hesitantly. ‘I don’t quite understand.’
    â€˜I was serious when I said I wanted someone to write my biography, to begin it while I am still alive. Someone of my own choosing. I should like some control over my reputation’s destiny. Is that conceited, do you think?’
    Adam paused before replying. ‘I don’t think so – no more so than putting the rest of one’s affairs in order before the end of one’s life.’ He felt a tingle of apprehension.
    â€˜How very well you put it.’
    â€˜Given the way that unauthorized biographers tend to plunder the lives of famous people after their deaths, I should think it would be regarded as quite a prudent action.’
    â€˜Prudent, yes. I feel that.’ Harry glanced at Adam. ‘What d’you say? Think you’re up to the task?’
    â€˜You want me to write it?’ Adam felt a thrill of excitement, then laughed. ‘It’s very flattering, but you don’t really know me very well, to entrust me with something like that.’
    â€˜Think of it as professional rather than personal, Adam. We have talked. I know you well enough to think wecould work together for such time as I have left. And thereafter –’ Harry lifted his hand, then let it fall. ‘I feel pretty sure you would finish the job admirably. I’ve read a good deal of your work over the past week or so.