Voice of the Heart

‘From your silence, I gather she’s a lady of leisure,’ Katharine went on lightly. Her fingers curled around the door handle and she made to alight.

Kim reached out and restrained her gently. ‘She doesn’t go to work but she does work hard,’ he explained. ‘She’s a writer. At the moment she’s doing research for an historical biography. She’s always poking around in history books and she’s practically moved into the British Museum. Anyway, she’s kind of artistic, so I know you’ll have lots in common. Don’t worry.’

‘Oh, I’m not in the least bit worried,’ Katharine assured him with a bright self-confident smile, and she meant every word, for few things ever fazed her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The moment Katharine Tempest entered the drawing room Francesca’s eyes were riveted on her. She found herself staring in astonishment and she thought: This girl is too improbable to be real. Everything about her is improbable. Only Francesca’s good manners prevented her from displaying her startled reaction as she rose from the chair near the fireplace to welcome her guest.

The girl who walked with an easy swinging grace across the floor was obviously in her early twenties, perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. She wore an extremely sophisticated dress, and in consequence, to Francesca, she looked like a little girl dressed up in mother’s clothes. Made of fine black wool crepe, the dress was of mid-calf length, with a draped neckline, a straight skirt and dolman sleeves, and it was unrelieved by any touches of accent colour or jewellery. It struck Francesca that it was the perfect foil for the girl’s looks, and she decided it was exactly right on her after all.

Kim followed closely on Katharine’s heels, smiling broadly, and when they neared the fireplace he stepped forward to introduce the two girls to each other.

As Francesca stretched out her hand she found herself looking into the most extraordinary face she had ever seen. Katharine Tempest was lovely, and breathtakingly so. Her eyes, not blue, not green, but a unique turquoise, made the initial impact, and they were startling in their vividness of colour. They were large and set wide apart, fringed with silky black lashes, and they appeared to swamp her face with radiance.

Francesca thought the girl’s features could not have been more exquisite if they had been chiselled by a sculptor. They were harmoniously distributed in an oval face that was perfectly balanced: a smooth brow, a small straight nose, high cheekbones above hollow cheeks, and a rounded chin. The symmetrical brows matched the rich dark-chestnut hair. This was parted in the centre and cascaded in glossy waves to her shoulders. Her white skin, which was exceptionally fine, was totally devoid of colour, which was why her full mouth, painted with the brightest of red lipstick, seemed all the more striking. Yet it was a child-like mouth, and now, as she smiled, it turned up at the corners to give her a look of innocence. There was also an unusual sweetness in her face that was both poignant and touching. In those first few moments, Francesca could only stand and stare speechlessly at this slender young woman who was accompanying her brother.

It was Katharine who broke the silence.

‘Thank you for inviting me.’ She spoke softly and her gaze was open and friendly as she regarded Francesca with not inconsiderable interest. Aware though she was of her own startling beauty and the impact it made, vanity was not one of Katharine’s chief characteristics. In some ways she was even self-effacing at times, and she strove always to find something special in others, especially those she wanted to like. She said to herself: Kim didn’t do his sister justice. She’s really lovely. The perfect English rose.

‘And I’m so glad you could come,’ Francesca said, returning the smile. ‘Please make yourself comfortable, Katharine. And Kim, why don’t you open the champagne. It’s over there on the chest.’

‘Splendid idea,’ Kim said. He beamed at them both and hurried across the room, rattling the bottle in the silver bucket as he attacked the cork. ‘I think I need a cloth to grip this better,’ he said and went out to the kitchen.

Apart from her physical beauty and unquestionable talent, Katharine possessed that most essential and desirable of all human ingredients, the quality of natural charm, and it was a charm so powerful it was at once dangerous and devastating in its potency. Seating herself on the sofa, Katharine looked across at Francesca and the full force of that charm was now levelled with great concentration in her direction. Katharine smiled. It was her most dazzling smile, guaranteed to disarm, ensnare and enchant.

She said: ‘It’s very nice of you to make supper for us, especially at this late hour. That’s the only problem with being an actress, my world is topsy turvy, and my social life begins when everyone is going to bed.’ She laughed her spiralling laugh. ‘It’s a terrible imposition on my non-theatrical friends, I’m afraid, having to entertain me in the wee small hours. If they want to see me, that is. Sometimes they don’t, and I can’t say I blame them. Not everyone wants to be carousing at midnight, sometimes even later than that!’

‘Oh, I don’t mind, really I don’t,’ Francesca was quick to say. ‘And at least it’s Sunday tomorrow. We can all sleep late.’

Katharine turned and glanced around the room. She was conscious of the beauty of the setting, with its gleaming antiques, the objects of art and the fine paintings. The coral walls gave it a roseate cast, this ambience further enhanced by the lamplight and the fire glowing in the grate. Katharine thought of her little birdcage of a flat, in comparison so sparse and utilitarian. But there was not a shred of envy in her. She was reminded instead of another room, from the happy time of her childhood, before her mother had fallen ill, when her life had been joyous, filled with love and tenderness. It was so very long ago now it might have been a lovely dream, yet Katharine knew otherwise. And it seemed to her that this elegant drawing room in London was just as safe as that other room had been, for it gave her a similar sense of permanence and security. She felt protected from the harsh world that existed beyond these walls. Unexpectedly, she experienced a feeling of longing she did not fully comprehend.

‘How beautiful this room is, Francesca. It’s so gracious, and I love a fire on a nasty wintry night.’ A wistful expression flickered briefly on her face, and there was a small silence before she added quietly, ‘It’s so friendly and inviting.’

‘And comforting too,’ Francesca suggested in a tone that was full of understanding.

Their eyes met and inwardly they assessed each other. Neither Katharine nor Francesca knew it but something very special was beginning between them. A bond was being forged, and it would prove to be a bond so strong and enduring it would resist all outside forces and influences for well over a decade. And when it was finally broken, both of them would be devastated.

But now, this night, they simply knew they liked each other, although they did not, as yet, reveal this. The prolonged silence continued to drift between them, but there were no feelings of awkwardness and they went on appraising each other quite overtly.

Finally a sweet smile floated on to Katharine’s face. ‘And do you know something, Francesca? I even like a fire in summer,’ she began. ‘It’s – ‘

‘Absolutely necessary in this bloody awful climate,’ cried Kim, as he strode into the room. ‘And especially at Langley. No wonder the ancestors trudged around in that ghastly armour. It was undoubtedly the only way they could keep warm.’

The mood of quiet introspection was broken, and Francesca and Katharine glanced at each other in amusement. Then Katharine said, ‘By the way, it’s very good of you to include Victor Mason, Francesca. I’m sure you’ll like him. He’s not a bit like one would expect. He’s … he’s … ‘ She stopped, sought the appropriate word and finished, ‘Well, he’s certainly very different.’

‘I’ve never met a film star before, so I don’t know what to expect,’ Francesca admitted with a shy smile. ‘To tell you the truth, I haven’t seen many of his films. Maybe two or three at the most, and certainly nothing lately. How terrible. I do feel at such a disadvantage.’

‘Oh, heavens, you don’t have to worry about that!’ Katharine exclaimed. ‘I think Victor is relieved when he doesn’t have to discuss his movies or his career. And he’s one of the few actors I know who doesn’t want to talk about himself endlessly. Thank goodness he’s not having a love affair with himself, like some performers I know. We can be a pretty boring narcissistic breed at times.’ She twisted the gold signet ring on her little finger absently, wondering what had happened to Victor. He should have been here by now.

‘Have you known him long?’ Francesca asked.

Katharine crossed her legs and smoothed her dress. ‘No, only a few months. Sometimes I think he’s rather a lonely man.’ Her face became still and contemplative and she stared into the blazing fire, lost for a moment in her wandering thoughts.

Francesca could not help noticing this change and it disturbed her. At some time in her life she has been touched by a terrible sadness, she thought. It runs deep in her. This notion at once seemed so ridiculous, so farfetched, Francesca immediately pushed it away. But she did consider Katharine’s remark about Victor Mason rather odd, in view of his fame. She was wondering how best to respond to it, when Kim saved her the trouble.

‘Champagne!’ he proclaimed, handing them each a crystal flute. He retrieved his own glass from the chest, proposed a toast and hovered over Katharine. His eyes hardly left her face, and Francesca well knew the reason why. She was finding it difficult to tear her own gaze away, was in danger of staring as rudely as she had done initially. Suddenly more than conscious of this, she focused her attention on Kim, who was now standing behind the sofa, intent on Katharine.

Meeting his sister’s direct look, he said, ‘I’ve decided to stay in town next week. I can drive back to Langley with the old man at the weekend. I’ll leave you the Mini, old thing.’

‘Is Father coming up to London? He didn’t mention it to me, when we spoke yesterday. How odd,’ Francesca said.

Kim chorded. ‘You know how vague he is. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s forgotten about it himself. But he has to come up to see Marcus, something about the trust, I believe. Anyway, he’s supposed to arrive late tomorrow evening.’

‘In that case you’d better ring him up first thing in the morning and remind him,’ Francesca instructed. ‘And thanks for offering the Mini. I can use it.’ She shook her head in mock bewilderment, and looked at Katharine. ‘Kim saying Daddy is vague is like the pot calling the kettle black. He’s equally bad at times. He’s been here since Thursday and he didn’t even bother to tell me of Daddy’s plans. Men are so thoughtless.’

‘It’s congenital,’ Katharine declared. She had been listening carefully and, never one to miss an opportunity which would work to her advantage, she seized the one which had just presented itself. She leaned forward eagerly, her face lighting up, her wistfulness completely dispelled. ‘I would love you to come to the play with your father, while he’s in town, Francesca. In fact, I’d like you all to be my guests.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Kim. ‘I’ll get house seats for you. Oh, do come! Please! I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Kim told me you’re interested in history.’

‘Why, yes, I am. And how very generous of you to invite us,’ said Francesca, touched by Katharine’s thoughtfulness. ‘I would adore to see it.’ Her eyes shone with warmth, but a note of caution crept into her voice as she added, ‘I’m sure Daddy would too. I’ll certainly ask him.’ She halted, contemplating her father’s reaction to Katharine. He could not fail to like her. She had a natural sweetness and lovely manners, and was so obviously a properly brought up young woman, as well as being such a beauty. But liking her did not necessarily guarantee his full approbation, or his acceptance of her as a wife for Kim. Daddy is out of date, Francesca thought with a spurt of exasperation. Katharine might very well be perfect for Kim, just what he needs. She became aware of Katharine’s eyes focused on her, and she remarked quickly, ‘I’ve always found Greek mythology fascinating. The play’s about Helen and Paris and the Trojan War, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’ Katharine’s face filled with animation, and she explained, with a kind of shining earnestness, ‘It’s very dramatic and moving, really wonderful entertainment. We’re playing to a packed house every night, standing room only. And we’re sold out for weeks in advance. Naturally we’re all happy about that. Knowing we’re going to be working for some time is very reassuring, apart from the stunning reception the play is getting.’

Kim interjected, ‘The critics raved about Katharine. Actually, they were ecstatic. As well they should be. She gives a super performance, and steals everybody’s thunder.’

‘How thrilling for you to have such a big hit!’ Francesca exclaimed. As she spoke she decided Katharine made the perfect Helen of Troy. The face that launched a thousand ships. How very apt. ‘You must be a very talented actress to have this kind of success in your first West End play. Gosh, to have become a star overnight is simply marvellous. What an extraordinary achievement at your age.’

Had this breathless exultation of her success been uttered by anyone else, it might have sounded gushing, even meretricious to Katharine. But she knew Francesca meant every word. Not unnaturally, Katharine was filled with delight at the obviously genuine accolades. ‘Yes, it is exciting. And thank you, Francesca,’ she said. ‘Having a smash hit is gratifying to all of the cast. We worked hard in rehearsals and wanted the play to succeed.’ A smile played around her mouth. ‘But obviously that doesn’t ensure anything. There are a lot of other elements involved, so many other considerations, and there’s always a kind of nervous uncertainty until we’re actually playing to the public. We need the feedback, the reactions of the audience.’

‘I’m sure you must,’ Francesca remarked, somewhat diffidently. ‘Most people think being an actress is so easy, and the theatrical life very glamorous as well. But I suspect acting must be a particularly difficult art to master.’

She became more confident. ‘Interpreting the playwright’s intentions, and expressing emotions and thoughts and feelings must be highly complex. I’m sure it requires a great deal of intelligence and insight to handle everything.’ She grimaced. ‘I know I couldn’t do it. Not in a thousand years.’

Katharine gave Kim’s sister a seraphic smile. ‘How beautifully you express it! And you’re absolutely right. In reality there is very little glamour or glitter to the theatre, despite what everyone thinks. The public see only the most obvious things, the outer trappings. Acting is the most gruelling work, the salt mines really. It’s demanding, exhausting, frustrating, nerve-racking and challenging. But I find it very satisfying. And of course I don’t deny that it does have its moments of excitement.’ There was a sparkle about her, a lovely glow. The last remnants of her tiredness evaporated in the friendly atmosphere, induced by Francesca’s warmth and sympathetic demeanour. ‘But heavens, we’re boring poor Kim with our chatter.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Kim said. He was relieved that Francesca and Katharine had taken to each other and with such spontaneity. His expression was loving as he added, ‘It’s very entertaining. Actually, I’m glad I’ve hardly been able to get a word in edgewise. Imagine how ghastly I would have felt if you two hadn’t had anything to say to each other.’ He lit a cigarette and thought: this augurs well for the meeting with Father. Francesca will help to smooth the way.

Katharine herself was patently aware of Francesca’s readiness to be friends, and she smiled inwardly, remembering her faint misgivings. How wrong she had been. Francesca was a delight, and she felt completely relaxed in her company, conscious as she was of the other girl’s approval. And approval, above all else, was essential to Katharine Tempest.

‘Why don’t you come to the theatre on Monday evening?’ Katharine asked, wanting to pin Francesca down, her mind teeming with elaborate plans for dinner afterwards. ‘We’re always in good form after our weekend break, and it’s generally a great performance.’ She broke into laughter. ‘Having made that sweeping statement, it’s bound to be the worst show of the week!’

Francesca said, ‘I know it will be quite wonderful, and I would like to come on Monday evening, providing Father can make it. What about you, Kim?’

‘I’m definitely on! I’d love to see it again. Now, how about another glass of champagne, girls?’

‘Than you.’ Katharine handed him her empty glass.

Francesca declined. ‘I’m all right for the moment, and I don’t want to get tiddly. I have the supper to serve, you know.’ She turned back to Katharine. ‘It must be an extraordinary experience working with Terrence Ogden. I’ve always thought he was a brilliant actor. He’s also quite the ladies’ man, isn’t he? All my girl friends have a crush on him. Is he really as divine as he looks?’

Katharine groaned to herself. She did not want to embark on a discussion of Terry’s merits as a great lover, in view of Kim’s jealous display earlier. But there was a look of such eager expectancy on Francesca’s face she did not want to disappoint or offend her by brushing the question aside in a peremptory manner. She drew nearer and dropped her voice. ‘I suppose he does have a bit of a reputation, but it’s rather exaggerated. Terry himself encourages that though. He seems to think it’s good publicity, being linked with lots of lovely ladies in the press, although I’m not so sure myself. Actually, he is very dedicated to his work. I enjoy acting with him. He’s very generous as a performer, and I’ve learned a lot from him.’

If Francesca found Katharine’s answer unrewarding, she did not show it. Her eyes rested briefly but thoughtfully on Kim, who was standing by the chest pouring the champagne, and then shifted to Katharine again. She nodded her head, as if she intuitively understood it was unwise to pursue this line of conversation. ‘Kim told me you’re an American, Katharine. Have you lived in England for a long time?’

Francesca had changed the subject, much to Katharine’s considerable relief. ‘A few years.’ There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before she volunteered, ‘I went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art for a couple of years, before doing repertory in the provinces.’

Kim handed Katharine her glass. She looked up at him and those glorious eyes were full of tenderness as they met his. She patted the sofa. ‘Sit down, Kim darling, and let’s talk about something else. I feel as if I’ve been dominating the conversation, and I’m also getting bored with all this chit-chat about the theatre, even if you’re not.’

‘Listening to your lovely voice is music to my ears, my sweet. You could read Debrett’s Peerage to me, and I would still be entranced,’ he teased, seating himself next to her.

‘Oh phooey!’ Katharine winked at Francesca, who simply smiled with benevolence, understanding perfectly Kim’s infatuation. She knew that she herself was also rapidly falling under the girl’s spell. Let’s hope that Father will too, she mused, and discovered she wanted him to approve of Katharine just as much as Kim wanted it.

Katharine, who was intrigued by Francesca, now focused her complete attention on her. ‘I hear you’re doing research for a book, that you’re a writer. Now that is fascinating and I’m sure it’s just as difficult as being an actress, if not more so.’

Surprise flicked on to Francesca’s face and she shot a questioning look at Kim, who simply grinned like a Cheshire cat and then shrugged off-handedly. After a moment’s hesitation she said, ‘Yes, I’m researching, and I hope to write my book on Chinese Gordon one day, but I wouldn’t call myself a writer. At least not yet. Ernest Hemingway said a person is not a writer until he or she has readers. So I feel I can’t possibly make that claim until I’m actually a published author.’ She took a small sip of her champagne. Wishing to avert a discussion about herself, for she was both reticent and modest about her talents, she said casually, ‘Do you think Victor Mason is still coming?’

Kim, who had entirely forgotten about Victor, immediately straightened up on the sofa and frowned. ‘I telephoned him earlier this evening to confirm, before I went to pick up Katharine. He said he would be arriving when we did.’ He stared at the ornate ormolu clock on the mantelpiece and shook his head in disbelief. ‘But we’ve been here almost an hour already. Perhaps I had better give him another buzz at the hotel.’

‘I don’t think you need bother. I’m afraid he’s notorious for being late,’ Katharine fibbed. ‘I know he’ll be here any minute.’ This last remark was said with a degree of assurance Katharine did not truly feel. Victor’s absence had been weighing heavily for some time, and she had been hoping it was merely tardiness on his part. Now she was no longer sure this was the case. She would be mortified if he did not come to supper; this could only have one meaning: He was unable to face her because he had not kept his promise to her.

She felt her throat tightening as the tension took hold of her, and although she rarely smoked, she reached for a cigarette in the silver box on the table in front of her.

Kim gave her a light and took a cigarette himself. He blew a smoke ring, peered at his sister, and said, ‘I say, I hope you haven’t got anything spoiling in the kitchen.’

‘No, I haven’t. Everything is under control, Kim. Don’t fuss so. All I have to do is light the oven when Victor gets here. Are you getting hungry, Katharine?’

‘Not really. Thank you, anyway. It always takes me a while to unwind after the performance. Shedding the part.’

‘But I’m ravenous,’ Kim announced. ‘I wouldn’t mind sampling some of that caviar, and the pâté, which you have so conveniently forgotten, Francesca.’

Laughing, Francesca rose. She, who was so beautifully mannered, had indeed forgotten the food she had intended to serve with the drinks. It was a rare lapse. She had been so fascinated by Katharine and engrossed with her, everything else had been swept out of her mind. ‘How awful of me. Please excuse me. I won’t be a minute.’ She flew out of the drawing room, her taffeta skirt crackling as she moved.

The minute they were alone, Katharine turned to Kim and, quenching her rising anxiety about Victor, she said, ‘I think your sister is really lovely.’

‘She likes you, too, I’m sure,’ Kim murmured. He moved closer to Katharine and put his arms around her, kissing her neck and her hair. ‘And that goes for me too,’ he whispered. He felt the warmth of her enveloping him, the delicate perfume of her silky skin intoxicating him, and as always when he held her like this his excitement surged in him.

‘Oh, Katharine, Katharine, I do adore you so,’ and he buried his face against her neck.

Katharine stroked the back of his fair head and returned his embrace, but she said nothing. At this moment Victor filled her mind and one thought turned endlessly against itself: How could he have let her down? She never broke her promises. Men. They were all the same. Untrustworthy. Just like her father, the bastard. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, endeavouring to obliterate the image of him.

After a moment, Kim drew away from her; as he looked down at her nestled in his arms he was overcome by his longing for her. He slowly lowered his mouth to hers, wanting to devour those warm lips. Katharine pushed him back, but with gentleness.

Somehow she managed to find her voice. ‘Please, Kim darling, don’t start this now. Francesca will be back any moment, and how would it look if she catches us necking on the sofa.’ She extracted herself from his tight embrace and stood up, tugging at her skirt and smoothing her hair. ‘I’m surprised at you,’ she pronounced sternly, but the tone was soft.

Kim fell back against the cushions helplessly, groaning out loud. ‘It’s all your fault. You’re a temptress, don’t you know. And the most maddening it’s ever been my great good luck to encounter. What am I going to do with you?’

‘Nothing at the moment,’ she said. ‘But you can get me another glass of champagne.’

He grinned at her good naturedly, pushed himself up off the sofa and brought the bottle. He filled the Waterford flutes, and then eyed the empty bottle, shaking it. ‘Well, this one’s a dead soldier. I’d better put another one on ice. We’ll need it when Victor gets here.’ As he reached the door, he swung around and said, ‘If he ever turns up, that is, which I seriously doubt now. Back in a jiffy, my sweet one.’

Katharine nodded, not trusting herself to respond coherently. Kim had voiced the one fear nagging at her. She turned and rested her hand on the mantelpiece and gazed down into the fire miserably. She had been in control of her own destiny since the age of twelve. She had never relied on anyone for anything, for mistrust was paramount in her nature, and especially so when it came to men. Yet she had broken her own stringent rule and trusted Victor Mason. Damn, damn, damn, she muttered under her breath.

Francesca came in carrying a large silver tray. ‘I hope you’ll try a little of this, Katharine,’ she said. ‘I think I will.’

‘I’m not really hungry, thank you,’ Katharine answered and returned to her place on the sofa.

Francesca seated herself in the chair, and picked up a pearl-handled silver knife. She plunged it into the mound of sturgeon’s roe, so glistening and moist in the crystal dish, spread a portion on a piece of Melba toast and squeezed lemon over it. Smiling, she offered it to Katharine, who shook her head, and then handed it to Kim, who had joined them again.

‘I say, this is superb!’ Kim exclaimed, after devouring it. ‘You don’t have to bother with the cottage pie. This will do just nicely for me.’

Francesca said, ‘Try the pâté too. It’s – ‘ The shrilling of the door bell caused her to stop. She glanced from Kim to Katharine, arching her blonde brows. ‘Could that be our missing guest at long last?’

Katharine rose with unusual swiftness. ‘Perhaps I’d better answer the door, Kim. After all, you’ve never met Victor.’