Synopsis
Vaughan Vellacott is a writer. He, his wife Kate and their young son live in France. Vaughan is an established writer but these days he hardly believes it. His third novel is floundering. Somewhere along the line he has lost his inspiration and his courage.
What can Kate do? She is only the writer’s wife. Besides, her days are busy, looking after the visitors who come to stay at Maision Rouge each summer.
Kate's best friend, Angela, arrives with her hot-eyed husband Terry.
Shrub and Kitten Evergreen roll up from darkest Ilford, larger than life and already heading for the drinks tray; and then there is Justine, pale and lovely as a lily, with her boyfriend, Damien.
Vaughan, hiding up in the old pigeon tower he calls his office, feels a prickle of anticipation, a rush of ideas. Something, or someone, has sparked his imagination. Angela notices and wonders quite what the young woman Justine has done, or is doing, to set Vaughan alight.
Kitten, a great believer in all things spiritual, feels obliged to consult the higher forces. And not a moment too soon. Her spirit guide might tell naughty fibs, but this time Kitten reckons he’s spot on. There is trouble ahead.
And not least, the inevitable difficulties that arise when six guests, two hosts, a gardener, a dusky chambermaid, one child, one dog and a spirit guide are cooped up together.
Vaughan has found his muse. But in discovering her, he sets in motion a series of events that affect everyone staying at The Red House.
Extract from 'The Red House'
Kate stands at the head of the table. She is very still, very pale.
“Well,” says Angela, a little unsteadily. “Here we all are.”
“Of course,” says Kitten in a theatrical whisper. “ What did you expect? The house wants us here, where it can see us. So here we are.”
“For Christ’s sake, Kit!” Shrub picks up a glass. “ Pack it in, for once.”
Terry stalks around the room with a bottle of beer.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m having a shit holiday.” He nudges Damien. “ Not gone yet? “ He nods at Justine. “You should push off quickly, darling, before you end up off your box, like Vaughan here.”
Angela takes a gulp of wine. She doesn’t like the blank look on Vaughan’s face. Finding him on the floor in the pigeonnier frightened her. But Kate’s set expression and quiet calm frightens her more.
“What’s happened to us all?” Angela’s eyes stray across to Terry. “Why has everything gone wrong?”
“Vaughan knows.”
Vaughan hears his name and raises his eyes from the fire.
“What do I know?”
“You know what’s wrong,” says Damien. “You know exactly what’s wrong. You are wrong. You are what is wrong.”
Vaughan tips back his head and stares at the beams above his head. “Me? I am just a writer.”
“Just a writer!” Justine gives a little laugh. “Is that all you have to say?”
Damien pours himself another drink and looks at Vaughan.
“You’re not even a good writer! You don’t have the imagination to think up a story. You spy on your guests instead. You creep around, poking your nose into their lives, stirring up trouble. Then you sit back and write it all down.”
‘Does he,’ thinks Shrub? ‘Shitting hell, I hope he wasn’t snooping about when Kitten was giving me that blow-job.’
“Oh, don’t worry.” Damien turns to the other guests. “ He’s not interested in any of you. It’s Justine he wants. Justine. And me.”
“And you? “ Justine looks at her boyfriend in surprise. “ What have you got to do with it?”
Damien smiles.
“There’s a scene. I must tell you,” He looks at the other guests and taps his finger against his lip. “ How does it go? Ah, yes: Ralph and Sophia lie beneath a hawthorn tree in the middle of a summer meadow. The sun beats down on Ralph’s bare shoulders as he takes Sophia in his arms .”
Justine makes a little sound and sits down suddenly. Damien drains his glass.
“I won’t bore you with the rest of the detail. Just ask Vaughan here .”
Vaughan leans forward in his chair, his eyes alert for the first time. “You’ve read it !”
“As much as I needed to,” says Damien. “You shouldn’t leave your office unattended.”
“So I was right?” whispers Justine.
“Yes, sweetheart. You were spot on.” Damien wanders towards Vaughan. “You watched my girl-friend and I have sex .”
There is a discernable intake of breath around the room.
“Watched them have sex?” mutters Terry incredulously. “How? When? How the hell did he manage that?”
“Beats me,” whispers Shrub. “Cheeky fucker. I only get to see that kind of things on hotel telly.”
“I didn’t believe it at first,” says Damien. “I thought Justine was making it up.” He looks at Kate. “Well, it’s not exactly something you want to believe, is it?”
Until today Damien had no idea that he too might be the focus of Vaughan‘s attention. It has given him a nasty shock.
“How you must have loved it, Vaughan. Watching me, following me, creating the fool you call Ralph.” Damien has drunk too quickly. He leans his hot forehead against the wall. “There’s more .”
As Damien closes his eyes the words come back to him as if he is reading them straight from the page.
“They stand within the twilight of the tower. Conrad takes Sophia in his arms and kisses her. They kiss like two people who have found the only other person that matters in the world .”
Damien smashes his glass at the wall and turns to face the room.
“What the fuck is all that about?”
Kitten gives a little scream. Justine spills her drink.
“Ring any bells, sweetheart?” Damien grasps her arm. “Sounds familiar does it?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Justine. “Vaughan, tell him.”
Vaughan looks at the younger man.
“You’re over-reacting,” he says flatly. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
Justine gets up and walks across the room. She stops to touch the candlesticks, the heavy curtains. Her fingernails, usually a pale pink are white and nerveless.
“It isn’t as bad as you think, Damien.”
“And how bad is that?”
“I was flattered.”
“You were flattered?” Damien laughs out loud. “Well, that’s great .”
“Of course I was,” says Justine. “How could I not be?”
“And all that flattery got you flat on your back ?”
From her place at the end of the table, Kate raises a hand. “It doesn’t matter where it got her.”
Damien turns on Kate in amazement.
“Doesn’t matter? You and I have been made to look fools..!”
Kate speaks quietly. “Justine is the heart of Vaughan’s novel. She is Sophia.”
“Yes,” says Damien, his eyes narrowing. “And you hate her for it.”
Kate shrugs. “I’d hate her more if she was not..”
“Some things are out of the writer’s control.” says Vaughan quietly from his seat by the fire. “The characters set a course we writers are bound to follow. And if we fall or claim victims on the way, so be it.”
Damien takes a swift step across the room and lunges at Vaughan. But Shrub, who is bigger and heavier and used to breaking up brawls, pulls Damien back.
“That s enough!” Angela gets to her feet, knocking her chair over backwards. “ Damien, if you want to be had up for assaulting a best-selling author, go right ahead. I know he’s a bit potty but that won’t help you. Celebrities always get let off the hook.”
“I’m not a celebrity !” Vaughan looks put out.
Angela ignores him. “Even if you’ve never read Vaughan’s books, there are plenty of people out there who have.”
“I haven’t,” says Terry.
“I’d never heard of you, mate,” admits Shrub.
“Me neither,” says Kitten.
“That ‘ beside the point!” cries Angela. “Young men can’t go round kicking the crap out of middle-aged writers!” She turns to Vaughan. “And Vaughan! Vaughan! Have you really lost the plot? Or is this just some elaborated game? In which case, will you kindly stop behaving so absurdly Gothic!”...
