Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘I love you, too,’ she whispered finally.

  ‘And you will marry me, won’t you, darling?’ he asked anxiously, taking her hands in his.

  ‘Yes,’ Katharine murmured, her eyes sparkling. ‘I want to very much, Kim.’ She bit her lip and said hesitantly, ‘But I also want us to be very sure about each other.’

  ‘I am sure! Aren’t you?’ he cried nervously.

  She nodded, her face radiant. ‘Oh yes, I’m pretty sure I’m sure.’

  Kim relaxed. ‘I’ll have to speak to the old man, before we get engaged.’

  ‘Don’t! At least, not yet.’

  ‘Why ever not? You said you’d marry me, and I think he ought to be told of my very serious intentions, our intentions!’ he exclaimed excitedly.

  ‘Yes, he should,’ she agreed, adding in that same beguiling voice, ‘However, perhaps it’s wiser not to spring it on him for the moment. I feel he ought to get better acquainted with me, just as we should get to know each other a bit more intimately—’

  ‘Splendid idea!’ he cut in, laughing, and breaking the tension between them.

  Katharine laughed too. ‘I didn’t mean it that way, you wolf! Look, Kim, we’ve only been dating a few months and a lot of that time you’ve been in Yorkshire. Let’s wait a while before we announce our engagement. Let’s keep our feelings a secret for the moment. Our secret. Promise?’

  ‘Can’t I tell Francesca?’

  Katharine shook her head.

  ‘All right, I promise.’ He sounded reluctant.

  ‘How long will you be in Yorkshire this time?’ she asked, adopting her plaintive little girl’s voice and widening her eyes prettily.

  ‘A few weeks. Which reminds me, getting back to the cancelled dinner. Father is going to ’phone you tomorrow, some time late morning, to apologize, and also to invite you to Langley for a weekend. You will come, won’t you? I think you should see where you’re going to live, and in the not too distant future if I get my way.’

  ‘Oh yes, Kim! Of course. I’d love it. When does he want me to come for the visit?’

  ‘Oh any time in the next month. Actually, he’s going to invite Victor and Nicholas Latimer to join us at the same time. He rather liked them, Victor especially. Doris Aster-nan will be there, and the old man wants to make it a nice, jolly weekend house party. Gus will be able to drive you up together on a Saturday night after the play. Just as you suggested to Victor, if you remember.’

  ‘Yes,’ Katharine replied in a subdued tone. ‘How kind of your father.’

  ‘Then it’s settled.’ Kim took her in his arms and held her close to him, stroking her hair. He lifted her face and kissed her, but pulled away after one kiss, suddenly brimming with laughter. ‘I think you’d better throw me out, before I forget I’m a gentleman, and take you up on that tempting offer you made me a few minutes ago.’

  ***

  Perhaps any other young woman would have agreed at once to become engaged to Kim. He was young, attractive and intrinsically a kind and loving person. He had position, a title in his own right, and was heir to one of the oldest earldoms in England. In short, he was enormously eligible.

  But not Katharine. She was far too intelligent and clever and calculating to rush into the engagement without being assured of the Earl’s blessing. She knew instinctively that, whatever Kim’s feelings, the Earl’s total acceptance of her was crucial. Without his approval, consent, and co-operation, there would be no wedding, of that there was no doubt in her mind. Her shrewdness had prompted the suggestion that the Earl become better acquainted with her. She was confident she could charm him, win him over to her side with the greatest of ease, and in the shortest possible time. However, she was also aware that the engagement of the Earl’s only son and heir would be an occasion for celebration and thus entail all manner of social obligations. Distractions of this nature she could not afford at this time. First she must make the film. That was her most vital priority. And so she had demurred, but she did not believe she was taking a gamble. Katharine was eminently sure of herself, and doubly sure of her place in Kim’s affections.

  Now, as she sat relaxing in the bath, she smiled. She had not even considered it a gamble when she had offered herself to him a short while ago. She had enough psychological insight into Kim to understand that his sense of honour and decency would ultimately prevent him from accepting her proposition. Very simply put, his conscience would not permit him to take advantage of a virginal girl. The way she had presented it, with tears and hesitancy, had ensured the outcome. She would never have made the offer if she had believed otherwise.

  She lifted a shapely leg and rested her foot on the tap, regarding the pink-painted toenail reflectively. It is better to wait a while before announcing our engagement, and later on I’ll convince Kim that I should continue my acting career. Even if he objects at first, I’ll manage to persuade him. Kim will do anything I want, he loves me so much. She smiled again, filled with happiness, and slipped farther down into the water, so that it lapped around her aching neck and shoulders. She made her body go limp, relaxing completely, and closed her eyes, and the wheels turned endlessly in her head.

  It had been an incredible day. Even memorable in one sense, because of Kim’s proposal of marriage. Quite involuntarily she thought of her father. How would he react when he discovered she had married an Englishman and a tided one at that? He hated her, so he wouldn’t care. Inwardly she laughed cynically. But he hated the Sassenachs more, and so he would be furious. How he ranted and raved about the English and what they had done to Ireland. She had grown sick and tired of hearing about the ‘ould sod’ during her childhood, the Potato Famine and the cruelty and the injustices. As if he knew anything about the Potato Famine. It had been long before his time, and anyway he had been born in Chicago. Yes, her father would be irate on principle. The thought of his anger pleased her for she was not without spite where he was concerned.

  Well, her life was going to be very different soon, with her success and her fame and her money and her title. And Kim of course. A wonderful life. What a terrible mess Terry has made of his life, she thought with a rush of sadness. But she was going to save him. She would soon straighten him out and get his life organized. He would agree to make the film. He had no option really, because of his terrible financial problems.

  Hilary. She was the crux of the matter, not only with Terry but with Mark as well. If she agreed to design the costumes, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t jump at the chance, she could undoubtedly be persuaded to exercise her influence over Mark, to prevail upon him to direct Wuthering Heights. Katharine wished she had thought of Hilary Pierce before. If she had, Mark might have been signed up already, and she would have avoided all those sleepless nights worrying about the right approach to make to him. He adored his wife, who was twenty-two years his junior, and would do anything for her. In turn, Hilary would do anything for Terry.

  But would she?

  This last possibility had not previously occurred to Katharine and she sat up in the bath with a start. Essen dally, her schemes revolved around the assumption that Hilary still cared for Terry. But did she really? Estelle had said Hilary had drooled over Terry all night at the Standish party several months ago. Naturally she still cares, Katharine reassured herself. What woman could resist the opportunity to help a former lover save his career and extricate himself from the clutches of another female, in this instance Alexa Garrett, who was very beautiful and consequently a threat to most women. It was too tempting by far. But I’ll have to have a very serious talk with Hilary, explain everything to her, so that she understands all the ramifications, Katharine added to herself. Understands that Mark is the vital factor, that he must agree to be the director, otherwise Victor might not sign her as the costume designer.

  Katharine considered Victor Mason now. A bargain had been struck between them. Although it had not been couched in so many words, Katharine knew, nevertheless, that it was a deal. A deal Victor would
hold her to, no matter what. His offer had been irresistible. Her screen test in return for Terrence Ogden and Mark Pierce. Delivered to him on a plate. Victor had failed to persuade them to do the film. She had been given the task of doing it for him. He hadn’t even guaranteed her the part. Only the test. And everything hinged on her success with these two. Until Norman had unwittingly presented her with exactly the right tools, she had been frantically seeking ways to make them change their minds.

  A smile of triumph flickered on Katharine’s face as she stepped out of the bath and towelled herself dry. ‘They’re both in the bag!’ she said out loud, still thinking of Terry and Mark. She slipped into her nightgown and padded through into the bedroom, where she sat down at the dressing table. She began to brush her hair, briskly at first and then more slowly. Terry was going to be so grateful to her for arranging everything so beautifully for him, and certainly the film would be a boost to his career. He had nothing to worry about any more, not even the damage to the flat. She would handle all that with Kim’s help. And Hilary would be thrilled to work with a world-famous movie star like Victor Mason. What a marvellous credit for her. It would certainly give her the stamp of approval, and lead to other major pictures. Come to think of it, Mark would be delighted too. His last movie had not been all that well received. Even though he might not at first realize it, he actually needed Wuthering Heights. It was going to be an artistic triumph for him. Why, he might even win an Oscar, just as she herself might. As she continued to gaze at herself in the mirror a beatific expression crossed her face and settled there, and she was filled with such enormous self-gratification it bordered on smugness. This new emotion, so suddenly induced, sprang from the genuine conviction that she was being a wonderful friend, loyal and loving and concerned. A Good Samaritan to Terry, a benefactor to Hilary and Mark Pierce. In her eyes, her actions were so unselfish that they were all the more commendable, and would earn her friends’ undying gratitude.

  Katharine Tempest had always had the curious knack of justifying everything she did, especially when other people were involved. She usually managed to convince herself, somewhat misguidedly, that she was motivated out of the sheer goodness of her heart and by the selfless desire to help everyone solve their insurmountable problems. She did not seem to comprehend that she was driven chiefly by self-interest and the need to gain her private ends. And so, with blithe indifference to the consequences, and prodded along by her egotism, she constantly meddled in others’ lives. A most dangerous game.

  By the time she climbed into bed and snapped out the light, Katharine had become the heroine of the hour, and holding this thought she contentedly fell fast asleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In a few minutes the lights would dim in the private screening room and Victor Mason would run the test of Katharine Tempest playing Catherine Earnshaw in a scene from Wuthering Heights.

  Francesca sat in the next seat to Katharine, filled with a complex mixture of excitement and anticipation underscored by apprehension, and as the seconds ticked by her apprehension accelerated. Her anxiety was not for herself, nor was it in any way linked to the scene she had written for Katharine.

  In all truth, Francesca did not feel she had contributed very much to the test, for there was little or no conceit in her. As far as she was concerned, she had simply taken some of those immortal words from Emily Bronte’s monumental masterpiece and arranged them as straight dialogue, without adding or subtracting anything. In consequence, her ego was not on the line. She was not about to be judged. But Katharine was, and therein lay the root of her fear, and her concern was solely for her friend. The points Victor had made to her about the technique of acting in front of a camera now echoed ominously in her ears, and she prayed that Katharine had not been tempted to over-act or be histrionic; or that she had not swung in the other direction and been too low key to make the proper impact; that Katharine had, in fact, hit just the right note and given a balanced performance.

  In the past few weeks Francesca and Katharine had become the closest and most intimate of friends. There was a shared trust and empathy and understanding between them, all of which had developed without benefit of time. It had been thus since that first meeting, when they had instinctively reached out in silent communication, striking chords in each other to which they had both responded from their innermost hearts.

  And so, not unnaturally, the success of the screen test meant as much to Francesca as it did to Katharine, and she had lived through every single moment of it with her new friend, was living it now, on tenterhooks. Moving her head slightly to one side, Francesca stole a look at the other girl. That beautiful profile appeared more spectacular than ever. But Katharine sat straight-backed and rigid on the seat, and Francesca detected her tension, her extreme nervousness, controlled though it was. Impulsively she reached out and touched Katharine’s hand. It lay immobile in her lap, and it was icy.

  Katharine looked at Francesca swiftly, gave her a small weak smile and shrugged.

  ‘It’s going to be all right. I know it is. Don’t worry,’ said Francesca quietly, her smile confident and full of love. She squeezed Katharine’s hand again and held on to it rightly, wanting to warm those icy fingers, to reassure, to alleviate the other girl’s anxiousness if she possibly could.

  Katharine nodded and turned back to stare at the darkened screen. She was mute with nerves. All the worries she wanted to voice to Francesca were strangled in her throat. She had been supremely self-confident since making the test, filled with absolute certainty about the final result. She knew she had done a superlative job, and Bruce Nottley, the director hired for the test, had been wonderful to work with. He had been patient and kind, understanding her initial nervousness of the camera, encouraging and complimentary afterwards. But in the last few days that overriding self-confidence had ebbed away, leaving her riddled with the most awful self-doubt, and mounting disquiet.

  Katharine was well aware that Victor had induced these feelings in her. He had already seen the test, yet when she had questioned him about it, he had been noncommittal, even vague, and this worried her. Surely, if it was good he would have been excited and would have hired her at once. On the other hand, she reasoned, if it was bad, why had he bothered to invite half a dozen other people to view it with him today? Unless, of course, he was uncertain and wanted other opinions. Victor’s attitude puzzled Katharine, and so much so she no longer knew what to make of the situation. She sighed wearily. In desperation and misery, she broke her recently-made rule about not smoking during the day, and took a cigarette from her handbag and lit it.

  Francesca was glancing around the room with interest. This was the first time she had ever been to a private screening, and she was fascinated. In fact, she had discovered that many areas of film-making intrigued her, and she had gained a wealth of knowledge in the past few weeks. Victor and Nicholas Latimer were seated in the row behind them, several places along, and both of them were talking to the man Victor had introduced as Jake Watson, the line producer, who had flown in from Hollywood recently. Francesca had not understood the meaning of the title line producer, and had asked Nicky for clarification. He had told her it meant the working producer, the person who was on the set at all times, ‘On the line, so to speak, making sure everything works, that nothing goes wrong with the production on a day-to-day basis.’ He had further explained that Victor was the executive producer, ‘Who’s not so much concerned with the daily details but more with the overall aspects of the project. Financing, casting, script, director, and distribution. But making a film is teamwork essentially, and it’s up to the executive producer to put the best team together,’ he had finished, adding with a sly grin, ‘And let’s hope the kid has done so.’

  A few rows in front, Jerry Massingham, the English production manager, was slumped down in his seat, biting on an unlit briar pipe, and nodding from time to time to his assistant. Jerry, a rumpled-looking man, heavyset and with shaggy red hair, invariably spoke in
statistics, or so it seemed to Francesca.

  Francesca shifted in her seat, making herself more comfortable, and stared at the lifeless screen, momentarily drifting with her thoughts. She had been thrilled when Katharine had announced that Victor had given his permission for her to come along this morning, and had accepted immediately. She was only sorry Kim was not present. Katharine had wanted him to attend as well, but he was in Yorkshire, running the Home Farm and also coping with the problems of the burst pipes at Langley Castle. There had been several more leaks at the concave end of the Widow’s Gallery this past week. Fortunately these had been caught in time, and the Turner and Constable landscapes on display there were safe, but additional sections of the centuries-old panelling had been completely ruined. The damaged panelling was currently being replaced, slowly and painstakingly. According to Kim, their father was still plunged in gloom because the repairs and the new panelling were going to cost a fortune. Her father had deemed it necessary to engage a master cabinetmaker, a craftsman from the old school, since he insisted that the reproduction panelling be a facsimile of the original, and authentic down to the last detail. Apart from carefully treating the new wood so that it looked aged, the craftsman was going to use the old-fashioned method of pegging the panelling into position, a process that was slow, not to mention difficult.

  Poor Daddy, Francesca thought, remembering his distress on the day they had received the upsetting news. But at least Kim is there to give him moral support, and the money he’s received from Giles Martin for the prize heifers will more or less cover the cost of the panelling and the new plumbing being installed.

  The disaster at the castle had precipitated yet another discussion about money that particular Thursday evening, after Kim had gone off to meet Katharine at her flat, armed with the Fortnum’s hamper laden with the food Francesca had prepared for them. She had finally plucked up her courage and suggested to her father that she look for a job, perhaps in a reputable Mayfair gallery dealing in antiques or art, in order to help with their heavy expenses. He had refused to countenance the idea and had been horrified at first, later somewhat amused. Laughingly, he had pointed out that she couldn’t possibly earn more than a pittance, which would hardly solve their grave problems. But the Earl had been touched by Francesca’s generous offer, especially unselfish in view of her dedication to her writing. Subsequently she had poured all of her energies into the book on Chinese Gordon. But she continued to fret about the situation in general, and one night, when Katharine came to supper at the Chesterfield Street house, she had confided her worries about money. Carefully, Francesca had enumerated some of the facts, endeavouring to explain in the simplest terms such things as entailment and trusts, and her great-grandfather’s curious will. This had actually been dictated by her great-grandmother, in much the same way that this redoubtable lady had conceived, structured and dictated the various family trusts. The Ninth Countess of Langley, aware of ‘Spendthrift Teddy’s’ proclivity for extravagant living and young mistresses, had been determined to protect her children, her grandchildren and their progeny from any foolishness on his part. To this end she had bullied her husband into acceding to her wishes, and the family’s solicitors had been obliged to create a number of iron-clad trusts which could not be invaded or broken. Everything was neatly and very tightly sewn up for ever, making it virtually impossible to sell anything. Whilst successfully tying her husband’s hands, the Ninth Countess had also hamstrung future generations. ‘We’re rich in land, paintings, and possessions, but cash poor,’ Francesca had pointed out gloomily, adding, with a surge of youthful optimism, ‘At least until the Home Farm starts making a profit, which won’t be long, now that Daddy has modernized the operation. It’ll soon be on a paying basis.’