Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘That’s true. By the way, talking of trouble, have you heard anything from Arlene The Bitch?’

  Victor frowned. ‘Not a peep out of her, or her fancy lawyers, who are no doubt still figuring out ways to take me to the goddamn cleaners. Listen, don’t even mention her name, you’re spoiling my day.’

  ‘Sorry, Vic,’ Nick answered, and went on, ‘I got the impression Francesca is terrified of you.’

  Victor gave him a baffled look and said, ‘Terrified of me! You gotta be kidding, kid. What the hell do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think she’s afraid of you the way most women are, you know, of your fatal charm. Far from it. I think she’s quite a cool customer, very self-possessed. But when we were talking the other night, she said she came from Yorkshire. I asked her what she thought of Wuthering Heights, and she told me you had forbidden her to discuss it with me. Then she closed up like a clam and didn’t open her mouth for ages.’ He gave him a quizzical look and asked, ‘Did you forbid her to talk to me about it?’

  Victor couldn’t help laughing. ‘No, of course not. I made some joking remark about keeping her away from you. Because she has strong opinions, Lady Francesca does. She told me, and in no uncertain terms, that it wasn’t a love story at all, but a novel about revenge.’

  ‘She’s right.’

  ‘She is?’ Vic said, sounding a bit doubtful.

  ‘Sure. But it is a love story as well, and a rather touching and heart-breaking one at that.’ Nick grinned. ‘Intelligent as well, eh? Lethal combination, as far as you’re concerned. You’d better watch yourself there, old sport.’

  ‘Go to hell,’ Victor exclaimed, and then laughed. ‘I’m too preoccupied with the picture to start any romantic relationships, particularly with a teenager who has Stardust in her eyes.’

  Nick made no comment and the two of them walked on in silence, pushing through the shoppers milling around Oxford Street. They cut back, down North Audley Street, to escape the flood of humanity and roaring traffic on the main thoroughfare, and approached the more gracious and tranquil streets of Mayfair with relief. Nick glanced about, his eyes scanning the charming old houses and elegant edifices that dated back to another century. He thought fondly of his father, who had first brought him and his sister Marcia to London when they were children, and had lovingly imparted so much of his own considerable knowledge about the history of this city. He and his father had been inseparable then. He now wondered how he had ever lived through the terrible years of his father’s monumental anger with him, after he had announced he wanted to be a writer, did not want to join him in the bank. He had not enjoyed being on the receiving end of his father’s thunderous silence. They were on better terms of late, and for that Nicky was thankful. He had always loved his father. The terrible things parents do to their children, he thought with a stab of sadness. And children are equally bad.

  Victor suddenly stopped in his tracks, staring ahead. They were drawing close to a construction site where a high building was rising slowly, its skeletal frame soaring into the sky like the fleshless bones of some gargantuan prehistoric monster.

  ‘What’s up, Vic?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Victor took a step backwards and raised his head, craning to see the highest point of the towering steel girders, where two solitary workmen were perched like ants, finishing up at the end of the day. Memories flooded through him. He brought his gaze to meet Nick’s puzzled eyes.

  A pained smile played around Victor’s mouth. ‘You don’t know what fear is, sport, until you’ve dangled up there in the sky, with nothing between you and the ground but a narrow edge of metal and lots of yawning air. And then seen one of your friends slip and go plunging down, crumpling like a rag doll on the way. If you’re ever going to freeze, that’s when you freeze, when you know you can’t go up, can’t hit the sky ever again. The freeze, when you get it, is paralysing. Later come the shakes. Shakes like a dypsomaniac never knew existed.’

  Nick was silent, observing the grimness on Victor’s face, the anguish in his eyes. But the expression passed, and Nick asked gently, ‘Did that happen to you, Vic?’

  ‘Sure as hell it did. But the funny thing was, I didn’t get the freeze when Jack actually fell. I was too concerned about him that day, I guess. It hit me forty-eight hours later.’ He shook his head. ‘Every construction worker dreads the freeze, because, for ever after, your days on the job are numbered. Of course you try to conceal it, bury it, because you need the work, but it gets to you in the end. The fear becomes impossible to live with, and there is no way of faking, because as the building goes up, you’ve got to go up. And up and up and up. If you don’t, you get thrown off the job. And pronto. Anyway, your buddies always smell it on you… the fear.’

  ‘Is that when you got out?’

  ‘Yes, after a few weeks. Ellie smelled the fear on me, Nick. Her father and her brothers were construction workers. That’s how I met her, through Jack. He was her youngest brother. Just a kid when he fell. Hell, she knew, Nicky, really knew. From past experience… with them. And she begged me to quit. I wouldn’t at first. I had to be different. Naturally. I had to conquer the fear. And I did. A week after Jack had slipped, another young kid got stuck on the girders at the top of a sixty-storey building. It had started to rain and a wind had blown up. A terrific gale. The kid remembered Jack’s accident, and he froze. He was unable to come down. I went up and got him. About a week later I left the construction business for good, much to Ellie’s relief. That’s when we packed up and left Ohio for California. The twins weren’t even a year old. We bought an old pick-up and drove it across the country. The four of us and the luggage, what little there was of it, packed in like sardines. But I’ll tell you something, Nicky, they were the good days. I had Ellie and the boys, and that’s all that mattered to me.’ Victor chuckled. ‘Jesus, and I wasn’t even twenty.’

  ‘And Ellie’s brother Jack? Was he killed when he fell?’

  ‘No, he was paralysed. He’s been in a wheel chair ever since. Thank God I eventually made it, and have been able to look after him properly over the years.’

  Nick was unable to speak for a moment, a lump constricting his throat. He thought: There’s nobody in this world quite like Vic. At least that I know of. That makes eight people he supports, to my knowledge, quite apart from the friends he helps out all the time. He’s got a heart the size of a goddamn mountain.

  Victor had thrown back his head and was surveying the soaring girders for a second time, his lips compressed, his expression unreadable. When he lowered his head he half smiled at Nick. And then he said slowly, and with great care, ‘So you see, I know what real fear is, Nicky. And I’ve conquered it. Believe me, I ain’t afraid of Mike Lazarus.’

  ‘I believe you, Vic.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Norman Rook, Terry’s dresser, was walking so rapidly he was almost running, and Katharine was finding it hard to keep pace. Finally, when they neared the top of the Haymarket, she caught up with him and tugged him to a standstill.

  Breathlessly, she said, ‘Please, Norman, can’t you slow down a bit? I’m really puffed.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, ducks,’ he muttered apologetically. ‘I’m anxious to get back to Albany as quickly as possible.’ He set off walking again, and if his steps were not exactly leisurely, at least they were more measured. Katharine was now able to keep abreast of him, and several times she stole a look at his face, conscious he was plunged in gloom. But fortunately, now that they were away from the theatre, his agitation seemed to have lessened. When Norman had appeared in her dressing room fifteen minutes earlier, his distress had alarmed her to such a considerable degree that she had responded to the urgency in his manner with swiftness, and without really thinking, anxious to be of help.

  The brisk walk had given Katharine time to sort things out in her mind, and she found one fact singularly troubling, and so perplexing. This was Norman’s reaction to Terry’s drunken state. In her view, it was not only rather extreme,
but unwarranted in many ways. Every actor, herself included, hated to miss a performance, but sometimes it was unavoidable, usually for health reasons. Terry had only been out once, since the play opened, and that was nothing short of fantastic. A record. She herself had missed three shows because of a cold, and John Layton, the second male lead, had been absent for two weeks with a dislocated knee cap. It won’t be the end of the world if Terry doesn’t appear tonight, so why is Norman so frantic? she questioned herself.

  Katharine clutched the dresser’s arm so forcefully, and her grip was so tenacious, that he had no alternative but to stop again. ‘I don’t understand you, Norman! Why are you so worked up about Terry missing tonight’s show?’

  Norman stared back blankly. ‘I’m not!’ he protested. He took a deep breath. ‘Hell, I wish he wouldn’t even attempt it, I think he’s bloody bonkers! Terry knows I’d lie in my teeth for him. I could easily say he has laryngitis. But he won’t listen. I don’t know how I’m going to stop him going to the theatre tonight. That’s what worries me, duckie. Restraining him.’ He gave her a sickly smile. ‘Terry’s twice my size.’

  Katharine was satisfied with the explanation and recognized the truth in it. ‘Yes, I know he makes two of you. But look, why can’t you simply lock him in the flat, Norman?’

  ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of that! But… Well, Terry can be bloody difficult when he’s boozed up. Belligerent, for starters.’

  That sense of dismay Katharine had experienced in the dressing room, reactivated, and it struck her that Terry must be far worse than she had imagined. She wondered what had motivated him to behave so irresponsibly. Still, there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on that. Action was the imperative.

  ‘Maybe we could find somebody to help us,’ she suggested. ‘I could ask Victor Mason to run over! He’s as big as Terry, a lot bigger in fact and more powerfully built. I bet he could handle Terry easily.’

  Norman gawked at her. ‘Don’t be daft, ducks, we can’t drag other people into this mess.’ Not bloody likely, he thought to himself. And without another word he swung around and rushed on, obviously propelled by the urgent need to get to Albany, and Terry, as speedily as possible. Katharine stared at his retreating figure, filled with exasperation, and then she set off after him.

  The dresser, small and spry, was bounding ahead like a wiry terrier, his raincoat flapping out behind him as he dodged between pedestrians. My God, he’s behaving like a maniac, she thought, her exasperation flaring into real annoyance. It occurred to her then that perhaps Norman was afraid Terry had managed somehow to get out, and was already staggering drunkenly to the theatre. Yes, that’s obviously the explanation, she decided, and instantly changed her mind. She knew John Standish’s flat, where Terry was presently staying. Apart from having a strong oak door, there were also three locks, because of John’s valuable antiques, paintings and other objects of art. He made sure it was difficult to break into—or out of, for that matter. She increased her speed in an effort to catch up with Norman. When she drew level with the Piccadilly Hotel, she saw, to her surprise and immense relief, that Norman had finally stopped and was actually waiting for her.

  ‘You are being unfair,’ she gasped, positioning herself determinedly in front of him. ‘You promised to fill me in and you haven’t. Not only that, you’re behaving so strangely I’m beginning to think you’re hiding something. What’s wrong, Norman? You haven’t told me everything, have you?’

  Norman gulped several times, striving for control. Finally, he said, ‘No, I haven’t, love.’ He shook his head sadly, and his shoulders sagged with weariness. ‘I was going to tell you everything when we got a little closer to Albany. Honest, I was. I wasn’t going to let you walk into that… that shambles unprepared. I just didn’t want to tell you in the middle of the street…’ He took her hand in his and said slowly, in a lower tone, ‘Terry’s not just sloshed, Katharine. He’s been… Terry’s been stabbed.’

  For a moment his words did not seem to penetrate. Katharine gaped at him, uncomprehending, and then a look of horror washed over her face as his words finally registered. ‘Stabbed,’ she repeated, her voice quavering. She leaned against the wall, trembling from shock, and her heart suddenly began to pound. ‘Is he all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, yes, he’s all right,’ Norman quickly assured her. ‘Sorry for blurting it out like that. I didn’t mean to upset you. He has a flesh wound on his upper arm. Not too deep, thank God. My wife’s there. She used to be a nurse, and she managed to stop the bleeding earlier.’ Norman sucked in his breath, rushed on. ‘The doctor isn’t there. I didn’t send for one.’

  When Norman saw the flash of anger and panic on Katharine’s chalky face, he cried hurriedly, ‘I couldn’t, Katharine! The doctor would have had to report the stabbing to the police, and there would be an investigation and lots of lousy publicity. You know what the papers are like when they get hold of something like this!’

  ‘But are you sure he’s going to be all right?’ Katharine persisted. ‘Really sure?’ she demanded, clutching Norman’s arm, her eyes searching his.

  ‘Yes, I am. Honest to God, ducks. And so is Penny. I told you, she stopped the flow of blood and was bandaging him when I left. The wound isn’t all that serious. Luckily. By now I hope she’s managed to sober him up a bit.’

  For a moment Katharine did not trust herself to speak, as she acknowledged the gravity of the situation, and also grappled with a variety of emotions. Uppermost was her enormous horror. Intrepid though she was, she nevertheless had an overwhelming abhorrence of violence, whether verbal or physical, and when confronted with it she was rendered helpless. Now she felt nauseous, and her head had started to ache. But conscious of Norman’s beseeching eyes, she somehow caught hold of herself. She said slowly, ‘He really can’t go on tonight, Norman, even if he is sobering up. He’d never get through the show.’

  Norman agreed. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be able to talk some sense into Terry. He’ll listen to you. That’s the main reason why I came to get you. You will give it a try, won’t you, love?’

  ‘You know I’ll do anything to help.’ She hesitated, reluctant to ask the next question. But she screwed up her nerve. ‘Norman, who do you think… stabbed Terry?’

  Norman grimaced and shook his head. ‘I couldn’t make head or tail out of what Terry was saying.’

  ‘You don’t think it was Alexa Garrett do you?’ Katharine’s voice was hushed.

  ‘No. No, I’m sure it wasn’t,’ Norman asserted, but to Katharine he sounded unconvincing, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze, which was shrewdly assessing.

  ‘Then who?’ she pressed.

  ‘I… I… Honestly, I’m not sure.’ Norman thought for a second and volunteered grimly, ‘There was some sort of altercation though. A lot of bloody stuff was broken. John’s going to be in a hell of a rage when he finds out. He lent Terry his flat, out of the goodness of his heart, and now half of his valuables have been damaged, and he’s only been gone for a few weeks.’

  ‘You don’t mean some of those jade pieces and the porcelain things in the drawing room, do you, Norman?’ Katharine asked, incredulity spreading across her face.

  He nodded, unable to respond.

  Katharine exclaimed, ‘That’s just awful, Norman. Terrible. John spent years collecting those lovely things, and he was so proud of them. Terry will have to replace everything, that’s all there is to it,’ she concluded firmly.

  ‘Yes,’ Norman replied. But with what? he thought. Terry’s dead broke and up to his eyes in debt. Not to mention a lot of other rotten lousy problems. Norman was about to confide some of his crushing worries about Terry, but instantly changed his mind. Terry would have his guts for garters if he betrayed any secrets, and besides, Terry’s present condition was the most vital priority just now. Norman said quickly, ‘Come on then, me old love. Let’s shake a leg. The bloomin’ sand is running out. Don’t be too shocked when you see the boy, Katharine. He’s a bit unde
r the weather.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’ She took his arm and hurried him down Piccadilly, as anxious as he was to get to the flat.

  They were only a short distance from Albany. The entrance was just a stone’s throw away from the Burlington Arcade, and adjacent to the Royal Academy, the famed art gallery. Albany House, built by Lord Melbourne in 1770, had been turned into gentlemen’s chambers at a later date, pied-à-terre in the heart of Piccadilly for members of the English aristocracy and men of letters. The chambers, generally referred to as ‘rooms’ rather than flats, had become exclusive and desirable places of residence over the ensuing centuries, and those who lived there considered it a privilege to do so.

  Norman ushered Katharine across the courtyard and up the steps to the glass doors which opened into the building. She sneaked a look at him, and saw at once that he seemed calmer now that they had finally arrived. They went in, and were greeted by an ancient uniformed porter, who looked as if he had been left over from the Battle of Balaclava. The stone-flagged hall was shadowy and silent, and their footsteps echoed hollowly as they crossed to a second set of doors at the other end. These led out to the Rope Walk, a covered walkway traversing the entire interior area of the building which was designed in the style of an atrium.

  When they reached the door of John’s flat, Norman inserted the key and they went inside together. They were greeted quietly by Norman’s wife, Penny, who was standing in the hall near the drawing room, and it was most apparent she was relieved to see them. Penny, a petite and dainty blonde with pretty features, was pale and her face was tight with worry, but she was coolly controlled.

  ‘How is he holding up?’ Norman asked.

  ‘Not too good. He’s very shaky. But fortunately his arm hasn’t started to bleed again,’ Penny responded, summoning a cheerful tone. She nodded in the direction of the drawing room. ‘Let’s pop in there for a tick, before you see him, and I’ll fill you in.’