“Not much ever got past Megan or her mother. But yes, we were great friends. And please call me Pippa.”
Adrian liked her; she had a nice, open laugh. But he felt uncomfortable sitting, listening as they talked about something personal to Lenny’s family.
“Can I make us some tea or coffee?” he asked, standing. “Tea with milk, no sugar, Lenny?”
Lenny grinned and nodded in response. Philippa opted for the same. Adrian headed to the kitchen where he’d placed the kettle and box of refreshments. While he wiped down one of the surfaces and set about making mugs of tea and coffee, he could still overhear their conversation.
“I suppose you know all about what happened to Luke. Were you here at the time?” came Lenny’s voice.
“No, I was studying at Durham University. I can’t even begin to tell you the shock I felt when I heard. His sister, Mary, phoned me. Told me how Luke had accidentally slipped from a step ladder while working on a light switch in the bedroom. I know it sounds odd now, but I believed her. Luke loved doing handiwork around this place on his own. But for something like that to happen to someone so talented. Tragic. I moved heaven and earth to get to the funeral, but I could tell they were hiding something. It was only at the gathering afterwards that his father confided in me what had truly happened. Which, honestly, made even less sense. I suppose you know that Mr Darlington was the one who found Luke. He walked out on them not long afterward. I’ve always wondered if the suicide had something to do with that. Of course, the wife could also be difficult.”
“Luke’s mother?”
“Have you met her?”
“Only once, recently. At my father’s funeral. She came across as quite—um—opinionated.”
“You could say that. Luke wanted to study photography. In the upper sixth form he applied to the RCA in London for a degree in arts and humanities specialising in photography. Got accepted, too, and while his father didn’t mind—the father was pretty chilled about everything the few times we met him—Luke’s mother refused, insisted he study something more respectable like law or politics or economics. If you’d ever met Luke, you would know how much he despised those subjects. Art defined him. He could sketch proficiently, and even with his instant Polaroid camera—this was back in the eighties, remember—he took some incredible shots. Some people instinctively understand light, shade and composition and how to capture a scene. Luke was one of those.”
“So he hadn’t even started his studies?”
“He planned to. I don’t know why he didn’t. I know his mother threatened that if he did, they wouldn’t pay a penny towards the fees. But I got the impression they didn’t have much to contribute anyway. Luke didn’t care. He hated the idea of a student loan, so he planned to defer, to spend a couple of gap years working hard and saving as much money as he could and then take the smallest loan possible, if at all. The people at the RCA were understanding and said they would keep a place open for him. I remember him telling us that he had lined up a couple of casual jobs after the summer, working weekends as an assistant to a wedding photographer and during the week as a labourer on a building site.”
“And what happened?”
“That’s all I know. The next thing I heard was that he’d died. If you get a chance, you should have a chat with Freya. I think she still lives around here.”
“And her brother?”
“Howie?” Something about the way she said his name made Adrian feel that she had been fond of him. “Heaven knows where he is. Timbuktu, probably. Couldn’t wait to get away from Newbridge. Well, from the UK. Born with wanderlust in his veins, according to his dad. For as long as I knew him, he talked about travelling the world on a shoestring.”
“But Luke felt happy here?”
“He loved the area, and especially this house. Often came here earlier than the rest of the family. He’d usually entice us and others into getting the place tidy, or help get the garden looking presentable. Even did a bit of decorating in some of the rooms.”
As he grabbed the three mugs to bring into the main room, Adrian grinned, realising now why the decorating seemed to have been performed with more enthusiasm than skill.
“Did you know his grandfather was going to leave the place to him, to Luke?” asked Philippa.
“No,” said Lenny. “I didn’t. He left it to my father.”
Adrian wondered if Lenny’s aunt wanted the place so badly because she knew about that promise. Maybe he would share those thoughts with Lenny later. He placed the three mugs on the table before sliding one over to Lenny and absently squeezing his shoulder.
“I imagine that’s because your grandfather outlived Luke.” Before taking the mug, she placed her flat case by the side of her chair. “Ah, tea, thank you, Adrian. Can I ask a personal question?”
After Adrian had moved a mug to her side of the table, he found her looking at him. The question had been meant for him.
“Of course,” he answered, taking his seat.
“Hope you don’t think I’m being presumptuous, but are you two a couple?” she asked, plainly, before blowing on the surface of her tea mug.
Lenny choked on his tea, while Adrian could not help but chuckle.
“No. I’m the hired help for the long weekend. Lenny needed some muscle to assist with the manual work.”
“But you’re friends?”
Adrian peered over at Lenny. For some strange reason, hisfriend’scheeks had flushed noticeably.
