Part 43 (1/2)

Cadel's bath was waiting at the top of the staircase, in the most luxurious bathroom that he had ever seen. It was all made of marble; there was a gilt-framed mirror, and a headless Greek statue in an alcove, and about twenty towels of every imaginable size. The sunken bath itself was so big that two steps led down into it.

'Is there anything else you need, sir?' Vadi inquired, hovering on the threshold. Cadel eyed him nervously. He looked almost normal, and yet . . . why was he wearing such a high collar?

Surely he didn't have gills?

'No,' Cadel replied, in a shaky voice.

'If you think of anything, just call,' said Vadi, gesturing at an intercom panel with a phone attached. 'Your bedroom is next door.'

'Okay.'

'It's a very great honour to meet you at last,' Vadi added gravely; and before Cadel could recover from his surprise, the young man withdrew, closing the door gently behind him.

Cadel hesitated. He was feeling so groggy that he actually had to think about what to do next. Clothes off, of course. Into the bath. The water was scented, and just the right temperature; Cadel sighed as the warm, fragrant liquid engulfed his bruised body. He almost fell asleep in it. Afterwards, he dried himself on the largest towel that he had ever seen, which he removed from a heated towel rail. Even the mirror over the vanity was heated, to prevent it from steaming up.

A pair of men's summer pyjamas had been laid out for him. (They were far too big.) He made use of the toothbrush and toothpaste that had also been provided. When he finally, cautiously, pushed open the door, Vadi was waiting for him in the corridor outside.

'This way, sir,' he said.

After the bathroom, Cadel was expecting something even more luxurious in the bedroom: a four-poster bed, perhaps? An alabaster fireplace? A gilded ceiling? To his surprise, the bedroom was furnished quite simply. It had creamy walls, creamy curtains and a creamy bed. The lamps were made entirely of blown gla.s.s. The only painting was a strange, dreamlike landscape which, on closer inspection, wasn't really a landscape at all, but an abstract collection of colours.

The clock on the bedside table said two-fifteen a.m.

'Would you like a hot drink, sir?' Vadi queried. 'I've heated up some cocoa.'

'No, thanks.'

'Anything to eat, or to read?'

Cadel shook his head. He simply wanted Vadi out of his room. This was unfair, he realised, but the whole aquagenic thing made him uneasy. He didn't know what to say, or where to look. He had a horrible feeling that the guy might smell sort of fishy.

One whiff of fish, and Cadel would vomit. He knew that. Besides, he had seen something else on the bedside table, standing between the lamp and the clock. It was a photograph in a silver frame.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, and was staring at it, mesmerised, when Vadi left the room.

The woman in the photograph was Cadel's mother. She had to be a there was no other explanation. Her eyes were exactly the same as his. She was smiling, and even her teeth were the same. She wore a pale yellow top, and the wind was blowing her hair back. She looked young, and happy, and pretty, and . . . and nice. Really nice.

Not like a junkie at all.

Cadel lowered himself onto the bed, still gazing at the photograph. Suddenly, it was all too much: the chloroform, Max, the fire, the foot, the long drive through the night, and now this. On top of everything else. His mother, laughing up at him from a silver frame.

Tears spilled down his cheeks. Oh, Mum, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. What am I going to do? Why aren't you here to help me?

'Cadel?'

It was Thaddeus. He had entered the room as silently as mist.

Cadel looked up.

'Why did you do this?' he asked in a hard, accusing tone.

'Do what?'

'Put this here! This is my mother!'

'Yes.'

'She looks just like me!'

'Thank G.o.d,' said Thaddeus. 'Or Darkkon might have suspected that you weren't his child.'

For several seconds, Cadel didn't understand what Thaddeus had just said. It was the psychologist's taut expression that caused him to backtrack a to review the words that he had, at first, ignored.

Darkkon might have suspected that you weren't his child.

What was that supposed to mean?

'Huh?' he said, gaping like a fish.

'It's time you knew,' Thaddeus explained quietly, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light. 'You're my son, Cadel.'

Cadel's mind went blank. He just sat there, slack-jawed. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak.

No one said anything for a long, long time.

Finally, Cadel bleated: 'Wh-what?'

'You're my son.' Thaddeus's pale face was flushed. 'I'm you're real father.'

'No you're not.'

'Yes, I am. I'm sorry, but it's true. Your mother and I . . .' For the first time, Thaddeus faltered. He scratched his nose and looked away. 'She was so sweet. So young. She had no idea what she was getting herself into. He treated her like a pet parakeet, and she turned to me for help . . .'

'No!' Cadel cawed.

'Listen a '

'You're lying!' Cadel felt hot. He felt ill. It was as if the whole world had turned upside down. When Thaddeus approached him, he pulled back. So Thaddeus sat down on an upholstered armchair nearby.

'Phineas didn't trust her, you see,' the psychologist continued quietly. 'Even in the beginning, when she loved him, he used to lock her up. Put things in her food to make her sick, so she couldn't leave the house. He was paranoid. He thought she was bound to betray him, because she was so young and beautiful, and he was so old and ugly.' Thaddeus cracked a mirthless half-smile. 'Well, he got his wish. He was proven right. In the end, she was so miserable that she turned to me. And then she had you. And when that happened, Phineas got tests done. DNA tests. Because he still didn't trust her.' The smile died. 'You're my son, Cadel. There's no doubt about it.'

Cadel shook his head. 'No,' he mumbled.

'Phineas never found out, of course.'

'No!' Cadel covered his ears. But Thaddeus leaned forward, and gently unclamped one of Cadel's hands. Cadel pulled away from him. 'The irony is, while he didn't trust her, he trusted me whole heartedly,' the psychologist explained. 'He asked me to arrange the tests. Naturally, I faked the results. He was convinced that you were his child. In the end, though, it didn't help your mother. He still destroyed her.'