Jack grinned. ‘Even Winds of Dark Passion by Abigail Cook.’
‘Well, I’ll be go-to-hell. Look, why don’t you join us for supper. We’ve both original and extra crispy, and there’s another bottle of beer where that one came from.’
Jack appeared about to beg off when Gabbie entered the kitchen carrying paper bags filled with rolls, potatoes, and other accompaniments for the chicken. She was on the verge of some comment when she caught sight of Jack. For a brief moment the two young people stood facing each other in an obviously appraising fashion, and equally obviously both approving of what they saw. Jack’s face slowly relaxed into his biggest smile so far as Gloria said, ‘Jack Cole, this is Gabrielle.’
Jack and Gabbie exchanged nods, while Phil ordered the twins to wash up. Gloria fought off the urge to giggle. Gabbie absently touched her collar, her cheek, and a strand of dark hair, and Gloria knew she was dying for a mirror, comb, and clean blouse. And Jack seemed suddenly unable to sit comfortably. Gloria glanced from Jack to Gabbie and said, ‘Right, one more for dinner.’
• Chapter Four • (#ulink_20dac6e0-0b20-5f20-b4ef-10cae4fc2de6)
Dinner was relaxed. Phil and Gloria, Jack and Gabbie sat around the kitchen table while the twins ate sitting on a crate before the television in the parlour. Jack had spoken little, for his questions had coaxed Phil into explaining the family’s move from California.
‘So then,’ said Phil, ‘with Star Pirates and Star Pirates II being such tremendous hits, and with me getting an honest piece of the box office, as well as a creator’s royalty on Pirates III, IV, and however many more they can grind out, I have what I like to call “go to hell” money.’
‘“Go to hell money”?’ asked Jack.
Gabbie said, ‘Dad means that he’s got enough money to tell every producer in Hollywood to go to hell.’ Gabbie had managed to find a mirror, comb, washcloth, and clean blouse and had barely taken her eyes off Jack throughout the evening.
‘That’s it. Now I can go back to what I did first, and best: write novels.’
Jack Cole finished eating and sat back from the table. ‘You’ll get no arguments from me. Still, most of your films were pretty good. The Pirates films had darn good writing compared to most others in the genre; I liked that sly humour a lot – made those characters seem real. And the plots made sense – well, sort of.’
‘Thank you, but even so, film’s more of a director’s medium. Even with an editor’s input, a book’s a single person’s product. And it’s been too many years since I’ve been able to write without story editors, directors, producers, other writers, even actors, all screaming for changes in the script. In films the writing’s done by committee. You’ve never lived until you’ve been through a story conference.’ There was a half-serious, half-mocking tone to his voice. ‘Torquemada would have loved them. Some idiot from a multinational conglomerate who needs to have every line of Dick and Jane explained to him is telling you how to rewrite scenes, so the chairman of the board’s wife won’t be offended. Or some agent is demanding changes in a beautifully thought out script because the character’s actions might be bad for the star’s image. There are agents who would have demanded a rewrite of Shakespeare – have Othello divorce Desdemona because his client’s fans wouldn’t accept him as a wife-murderer. Or the studio wants a little more skin showing on the actress so they can get a PG rather than a G, ‘cause they think teenagers won’t go to a G. It’s a regular Alice Through the Looking Glass out there.’
‘Is it really that bad?’ Jack asked.
Gabbie rose and began gathering up the paper plates and napkins. ‘If the volume of Dad’s yelling is any indication, it’s that bad.’
Phil looked wounded. ‘I don’t yell.’
Gloria said, ‘Yes you do. Several times I thought you’d smash the phone, slamming it down after speaking to someone at the studio.’ She turned to Jack. ‘You’ve been doing most of the listening, Jack. We haven’t given you a chance to tell us anything about yourself.’
Jack grinned as Gabbie replaced his empty bottle of beer with a fresh one, indicating he should stay a little longer. ‘Not too much to tell, really. I’m just a good old boy from Durham, North Carolina, who got a BA in English from UNC and wandered up north to study at SUNY Fredonia. I had my choice of a couple of different grad programmes, including a tempting one in San Diego, but I wanted Agatha Grant as an adviser, so I pulled some strings and got her, and here I am.’
Phil’s eyes widened. ‘Aggie Grant! She’s an old family friend! She was also my adviser when I got my MA in modern lit. at Cornell. She’s at Fredonia?’
‘Emeritus. She retired last year. That’s what I meant by pulling strings. I’m her last grad student. I’m after a doctorate in literature. In a few more months I’ll be taking orals to see if I get to continue, and an MA in passing. I’m doing my work on novelists who became film writers, on how work in films affects a writer’s work in print. I’m looking at writers who did both, like Fitzgerald, Runyon, William Goldman, Faulkner, and Clavell. And of course yourself. Though mostly I’m working on Fitzgerald. When I figure out the thrust of my dissertation, I’ll probably concentrate on him.’
Phil smiled. ‘You put me in some fine company, Jack.’
‘It’s all pretty technical and probably pretty boring.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘When the local papers printed the word you’d bought this place, I thought I might impose and get an interview with you.’
Phil said, ‘Well, I’ll help if I can. But I don’t have much in common with Fitzgerald. I don’t drink as much; I’m not having an affair with another writer; and my wife’s not crazy … most of the time.’
‘Thanks,’ said Gloria, drily.
‘I was going to call Aggie, and take a weekend and drive up to Ithaca. I had no idea she’d moved. First chance I have, I’ll get up to Fredonia and see her. God, it’s been years.’
‘Actually, you don’t have to go to Fredonia. She lives on the other side of the woods now, right at the edge of Pittsville. That’s part of the deal. I double as something of a groundskeeper, general factotum, and occasional cook, though she prefers to putter in the kitchen most of the time. She only runs up to the university when she has to, commencements, a colloquium, guest lecture, the occasional alumni function, that sort of thing.’
‘Tell Aggie I’ll be over in the next day or two.’
‘She’s at NYU for the next two weeks. She’s editing a collection of papers for a symposium in Brussels. But she should be back right after. She wouldn’t miss the Fourth of July celebration in Pittsville.’
‘Well then, as soon as she returns, have her give us a call.’
‘She’ll be glad to know you’re back home. She’ll whip up something special for the occasion, I expect.’ Jack finished his beer and rose. ‘Well, I want to thank you all – for the hospitality and the dinner. It’s truly been a pleasure.’ The last was not too subtly directed at Gabbie.
‘I hope we’ll be seeing you soon, Jack,’ said Gloria.
‘If it’s not an imposition. I hike this area when I’m thinking around a problem in my thesis, or sometimes I go riding through the woods.’
‘Riding?’ asked Gloria, a calculating expression crossing her face. Jack’s presence had lightened Gabbie’s mood for the first time since they’d arrived, and Gloria was anxious to keep her diverted from any black furies.
‘There’s a farm a couple of miles down the highway where they raise horses. Mr Laudermilch’s a friend of Aggie’s, so I can borrow one sometimes. Do you ride?’
‘Infrequently,’ answered Phil, ‘but Gabbie here rides every chance she gets.’
‘Oh?’
‘Bumper – that’s my horse – he’s a champion Blanket Appaloosa. Best gymkhana horse in Southern California, and one of the best cross-country horses at Highridge Stables.’
‘Never ridden an Appaloosa; they tend to be a little thick-skinned, I understand. But I guess they’re good working stock. Champion, huh? Pretty expensive, I guess.’
‘Well, he’s a good one …’ Gabbie shrugged, indicating money was not an issue. Gloria and Phil smiled.
Jack said, ‘Back home I had a Tennessee Walker. Perhaps you’d care to go riding some afternoon, after you’re settled in?’
‘Sure, anytime.’
‘I’m going down to visit my folks in Durham, day after tomorrow. I’ll be there two weeks. When I get back?’
Gabbie shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Well then. As I said, it’s been a pleasure. I do look forward to the next time.’
Phil rose and shook Jack’s hand. ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ offered Gloria as Jack left through the back door. Returning to her husband’s side, she said, ‘So, Gabbie. Things don’t seem quite so bad, do they?’
Gabbie sighed. ‘Oh, he’s definitely a hunk; Ducky Summers would say, “He’s got buns worth dying for”. But how am I going to keep from losing my lunch when he shows up with some retard rockhead, cold-blood farm horse? Ugh!’
Gloria smiled. ‘Let’s unpack another crate, then I’ll chase the boys to bed.’
Gabbie nodded resigned agreement, and Phil led her out of the kitchen. Gloria followed, but as she started to leave the kitchen she was struck by a sudden feeling of being watched, as if unfriendly eyes had fastened upon her. She turned abruptly and for an instant thought she saw something at one of the windows. Moving her head, she saw flickering changes in the light of the kitchen bulb as it reflected off imperfections in the glass. With a slight sense of uneasiness, Gloria left the kitchen.
• Chapter Five • (#ulink_552b9cb2-8dc9-5b88-8a57-2b6bc012730f)
Sean tried to settle deeply into the bunk bed. The smells were new to him. Old feather pillows had been dug out of a closet when it was discovered the boy’s familiar ones hadn’t been where they were expected to be, and despite the clean pillowcases, they had an ancient, musty odour. And the house made strange sounds. Creaks and groans could be faintly heard; odd clutters and whispers made by creatures of darkness had Sean burrowing deeply below the heavy comforter, peeking out over the edge, afraid to relax his vigil for an instant.
‘Patrick?’ he whispered, to be answered by his brother’s deep breathing. Patrick didn’t share Sean’s fear of the dark. The first night Patrick had tried to bully his brother out of the top bunk – they had both wanted the novel experience of sleeping that high off the ground – but Mom had prevented a fight and Sean had picked the number closer to the one she had been thinking. Now Sean wondered at the whim of chance that put him in the top bed. Everything looked weird from up high.
