Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her, his emotions still high on the surface. The fire had burned low and the fight had dimmed, but he could see her quite clearly. His eyes rested on her reflectively. What was it about her that made her so different from all the others, that affected him so strongly? His answer to himself was instant: It was some indefinable thing that he could not quite grasp.

  Francesca’s gaze was wide and candid as she searched his face. She lifted her hand and touched his cheek with ineffable gentleness and her eyes grew wide and more brilliant. ‘Oh Vic, oh Vic, darling,’ she began, and sighed and said no more, and her mouth trembled.

  He read the adoration and devotion in her face with the greatest of ease, and he saw her love reflected there, and suddenly his heart missed a beat. It was not only the way she was looking at him, but the use of his diminutive and the particular way she had said it which now struck a chord in his mind. It was déjà vu… he had seen that look and heard his name pronounced in exactly that same tone before, long long ago… And then that evanescent memory which had so nagged at him since their first meeting now took shape, became substance.

  Francesca reminded him of Ellie. It was not that she looked like his first wife, for in all truth she did not, rather it was a special quality of personality that was the link between them. Implicit in Francesca’s character were honesty, sincerity and goodness, outward manifestations of an extraordinary inner beauty and grace which she possessed in great abundance, as had Ellie. He was unable to speak, but he leaned forward and kissed her brow, and then he ensnared her in his arms. Everything had become quite clear to him.

  They lay for a long time, embracing each other, not speaking, drifting with their thoughts, watching the firelight dancing on the walls and the ceiling. At one moment Francesca shivered slightly and Victor pulled the eiderdown over them and drew her closer to him. At last, recovered from his surprise, he said, ‘It’s funny, the way you suddenly started to call me Vic—’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Francesca said, rousing herself, recalling that he seemed to dislike this abbreviation of his name. She had heard him correct Hilly Steed several times. ‘You hate it. I’d forgotten.’

  ‘I don’t hate it from you, or Nicky, just as I never minded when Ellie used it. Anyone else, yes, particularly someone I’m not close to, I guess because it smacks of familiarity.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Also, I was brainwashed by my mother. She never permitted anyone to shorten my name when I was a kid. But it sounds nice when you say it, sort of soft and gentle.’ He rested his head on hers, and went on, ‘I’ve heard your father and Kim call you Frankie, and Diana calls you Cheska. Which do you prefer?’

  ‘Cheska, I suppose. Frankie sounds so, well, so boyish.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone would mistake you for a boy, baby. Not by a long shot,’ he laughed.

  ‘But I don’t mind kid, or baby either,’ she asserted, settling back in the crook of his arm contentedly. ‘They’ve become very special, to me at any rate.’

  ‘Have they now.’ He smiled and ruminated for a few seconds. Brushing his lips across her shoulder, he went on, in a low voice, ‘I was the first, wasn’t I? The first man in your life, I mean.’

  This question did not really startle Francesca, for she had guessed that he had guessed, but she remained silent. Finally she whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It never occurred to me. It didn’t seem to be of such great importance, certainly not to me. Why, was it important to you, Vic?’

  He was thoughtful, and after a beat, he replied carefully, ‘Yes, it was in many ways. And I hope I didn’t hurt you. I tried to make it as—’

  ‘Sssh,’ she murmured, pressing her fingertips to his mouth. ‘And you didn’t hurt me. Well, not too much.’

  She felt him smiling against her shoulder and then he said, ‘I didn’t shock you, did I? Some of the things I did…’

  ‘No.’ She felt her cheeks grow hot as she remembered their lovemaking, and then she brushed aside her sudden self-consciousness, and finished shyly, ‘I… I… liked everything you did.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He slipped out of bed, padded across the room, threw a couple of logs on the fire, found his cigarettes in one of his trouser pockets, and returned to the four poster. He propped the pillows behind him, settled down next to her and lit a cigarette. He said, ‘By the way, what time’s dinner?’

  ‘Nine o’clock, but we should go down about half an hour before, for drinks.’ Francesca glanced at her small travelling clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s almost eight already,’ she exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘I’ll smoke this and then I’d better go back to my room and shower and dress. I guess I have to put on a shirt and de?’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t have to wear a suit, if you don’t want to. A sports jacket is perfectly fine.’

  ‘If I’d been smart, I’d have stopped off and picked up my robe before coming in here.’ He looked at her sideways. ‘But I was anxious to get to you, baby. Now I guess I have to make myself decent to return to my suite. I can’t very well flit along the corridor clutching my clothes in my hands.’

  ‘I’ll go and get your dressing gown,’ Francesca cried, and had swung her legs out of bed before he could stop her.

  ‘Come on, baby, that’s not necessary,’ he protested as she disappeared into the bathroom. She returned almost at once, struggling into a bathrobe. ‘I’ll be back in a flash,’ she told him and went out.

  Victor lay back against the pillows, smoking his cigarette, musing on Francesca. He smiled. They were perfect together. Within seconds voices outside the door disturbed his train of thought, and he straightened up, listening alertly. Francesca had obviously run into her cousin. He heard Diana’s light laugh, a few mumbled words exchanged between them, and then Diana said something more clearly, in German, which he did not understand.

  The door opened and Francesca came back into the room. Looking across at him, she said, ‘I just ran into Diana.’

  ‘Yes, so I heard. She knows then… knows I’m in here… knows about us?’

  ‘I don’t think she thinks I’m borrowing your robe,’ Francesca laughed, her eyes dancing. ‘It’s far too large to fit me.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Francesca’s blonde brows shot up. ‘It’s really none of her business, you know. Besides, apart from being very romantic, she likes you a lot, so I’m sure she approves.’

  ‘No, no, I was referring to the remark she made to you in German.’

  Francesca sat down on the end of the bed, still clutching his white silk robe to her. ‘Diana said, “das letzte Hemd hat keine Taschen.” That means, the last shirt has no pocket. What she was trying to say was that you can’t take it—’

  ‘With you,’ he finished for her. ‘I get the drift. She’s a smart one, that lovely cousin of yours. And she’s right, life’s too short to waste.’ Now Victor’s curiosity about the von Wittingens surfaced again, and innumerable questions about the parents, and also the reason for Christian’s disability, flew to his tongue. But he realized it was the wrong moment to embark on such a discussion, and so he held back, reserving the questions for another time. He stubbed out his cigarette and got out of bed. Francesca handed him his robe. He slipped into it, belted it tightly and stood looking at her, then he pulled her up off the bed and into his arms. Kissing her very tenderly, he murmured into her hair, ‘My sweet, sweet baby.’ With a swift glance at her, he asked, ‘You are mine, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Vic. Oh yes, darling, I am,’ she replied, and her face was radiant.

  They drew together again, reluctant to leave each other, and their kisses became long and passionate. It was Victor who finally broke their clinging embrace. He said, with an irreverent, lopsided grin, ‘Listen, lady, I’d better get outta here, otherwise we’ll never make dinner tonight.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘The dress looks div
ine on you, Cheska,’ Diana said. ‘Perfect. I’m so glad I remembered I had it in the stock room.’

  Smiling, Francesca turned to look at herself again in the cheval mirror. The evening gown Diana had loaned her from the boutique was made of silk velvet in a lovely shade of clear amethyst. The skirt was cut on the cross, flaring to the floor, and the close-fitting bodice had a low scooped-out neckline and long sleeves. It was elegant and its svelte lines made her look more lithesome than ever, whilst the colour was immensely flattering to her fair English-rose complexion and honey-blonde hair.

  ‘Yes, it is nice,’ she agreed, swinging back to face her cousin. ‘Actually, if it’s not too expensive, I think I’d like to buy it. I could do with it, to tell you the truth. Most of my evening clothes are horribly dull.’

  ‘Oh do keep it, Cheska. It suits you so well, and naturally you can have it at cost.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, but you sold me the yellow ski outfit for practically nothing—’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you pay the boutique price,’ Diana exclaimed. ‘Anyway, I feel pretty awful. It was my stupid fault you didn’t bring any evening clothes with you. My only excuse is that when you rang to say you were coming to Wittingenhof, I forgot all about the dinner party in my excitement.’

  ‘You mustn’t feel badly, Dibs. And you’ve been a darling about the clothes. I’m very grateful. And I did want to get myself a few things with the money I earned for scouting locations. It’s ages since I’ve had anything new.’

  ‘Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, when Victor’s off skiing, I want you to go down to the town and pick out anything you want from the shop. In the meantime—’ Diana stopped and looked at Francesca closely, her head on one side, her expression assessing. ‘I want you to wear this tonight.’ As she spoke she brought her hands from behind her back, took a step forward and handed Francesca a red leather case. ‘I think this will add just the right finishing touch.’

  Francesca stared at Diana and then at the case. She opened it and caught her breath. ‘Oh how beautiful.’ Her eyes widened as they focused on the three-strand choker of lustrous creamy pearls nestling on the red velvet.

  ‘Here, let me help you.’ Diana lifted the choker out of the case and fastened it around Francesca’s neck. ‘Turn the clasp to the front,’ she suggested. ‘Yes, that’s right. Let it rest there in the middle of your throat.’ Diana smiled. ‘I suddenly thought of this because the clasp has an amethyst in the centre. See how it picks up the colour of the dress. Marvellous.’

  ‘Diana, what a gorgeous piece. I’ve never seen you wear it though. Is it new?’

  ‘It was Grandmother’s. She gave it to me for Christmas.’

  ‘It’s so nice of you to lend it to me. Thank you. But don’t you want to wear it yourself tonight?’

  ‘No. My dress has a rather high neckline so the choker wouldn’t look right.’ She moved towards the door, halted and turned. Her eyes rested on Francesca lovingly, and she said with a rush of genuine feeling, ‘I’m so happy for you, Cheska. Really happy. And you see, I was right. I told you everything would work out, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes.’ Francesca’s mouth curved up in a happy smile and her eyes shone. ‘Victor said Wittingenhof was magical, and so it has proved to be. For me. Oh Dibs, he’s wonderful.’

  ‘And a pretty cool customer,’ Diana laughed.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Francesca’s face was instantly touched by apprehension.

  ‘Darling, don’t get upset. I wasn’t being critical. I was referring to his behaviour at dinner last night. He certainly kept a poker face. As a matter of fact, you astonished me too. You were extraordinarily contained yourself.’

  ‘Well, I had to be. Victor thinks we should be discreet. He’s afraid of gossip, as I explained before. Naturally he realizes you know about us, but he doesn’t think we should flaunt our relationship in front of you and Christian either. He—’ Francesca hesitated and rolled her eyes upwards, then confided, ‘Do you know, this afternoon he actually spent a good fifteen minutes explaining how we’re going to act towards each other tonight. I couldn’t believe my ears.’

  Diana burst out laughing. ‘You’re joking. And how are you supposed to behave?’

  Francesca also began to laugh. Recovering herself, she said, ‘Like a chum, what else?’

  ‘And presumably he’ll be cool and faintly distant with you. Am I correct?’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘Well then, so be it,’ Diana shrugged. ‘After all, it’s not so important in view of his true feelings. Now I must scoot, otherwise I’ll be greeting our guests in this dressing gown.’

  Once she was alone Francesca walked to the dressing table and sat down. As she placed the jewel case on it her eyes lighted on the card, She picked it up and read it again. For you, baby. Because you are. Victor.

  The card had been attached to the package she had found on her bed, when she had gone to her room to freshen up just before they all sat down to a very late lunch, delayed until Diana and Victor had returned from skiing. She had not understood the words until she had ripped off the paper. It was the largest bottle of perfume she had ever seen, and it was Joy by Jean Patou. She had been thrilled by his message, his meaning, as well as by the gift itself. Moreover, she had recognized the writing at once. She had seen it before—only last week, on the card which accompanied the truckload of flowers from Moyses Stevens. Francesca smiled.

  Removing the stopper, she dabbed her wrists and the cleft between her breasts with the perfume, loving its scent, which was full-bodied and floral. She had never been able to afford Joy. He’s so terribly extravagant, but the most delicious man, she thought, aware of the trouble he had taken to obtain the perfume for her. That afternoon, when they had been together in her room, Victor had explained that Jake Watson had purchased it for him in London, along with a collection of the latest Frank Sinatra records for Diana. All had been in his suitcase with his dinner jacket, which had arrived in Königssee around noon, also courtesy of Jake.

  ‘Poor old Jake undoubtedly thinks I’m up to no good by now,’ Victor had chortled. ‘What with romantic records, expensive perfume and my dinner jacket. And he’s right,’ he had finished gleefully, pushing her back against the pillows and finding her mouth with his.

  A door banging in the distance reminded Francesca of the time, and she straightened up in the chair, glanced in the mirror, patted a wave in her already immaculate pompadour, and rose. Hurrying to the armoire, she took out her own gift for Diana and headed to the door, then she stopped and looked down at her feet, frowning worriedly. Since she had only brought day shoes with her, there had been a problem about evening sandals, until Diana had produced the high-heeled black silk mules she was now wearing. The trouble was they were really bedroom slippers and also a size too small. On the other hand, they looked quite passable since Diana had cut off the ostrich feathers, and because they were mules their tightness was at least bearable. I’ll just have to manage, she muttered, opened the door and went out.

  Christian was the only occupant of the sitting room, looking darkly handsome in his dinner jacket. He sat in the wheelchair, fiddling with the knobs of the record player.

  ‘It looks as if I’m the first, and I thought I was horribly late!’ Francesca cried, tripping across the floor to him. She planted a kiss on his cheek, and continued, ‘I do hope Dibs likes her gift. I took your advice and went to the little antique shop in town. I found a carved figurine, smaller than the ones she has, but it will fit into her collection.’

  ‘She’ll love it,’ Christian said, smiling up at her. ‘Stand a little farther away, so that I can see you properly.’ He nodded his approval. ‘You look beautiful, Frankie. But different somehow.’ He peered at her more closely, his lips pursed in consideration. ‘Older, a little more worldly, shall we say? Perhaps it’s the upswept hairstyle that makes you seem so very grown up.’ He nodded, as if confirming the fact. ‘In any event, I like the new you, my dear. So will all
the men tonight. You’re suddenly a most intriguing woman.’

  ‘Why thank you, Christian,’ Francesca said. ‘And it probably is my hairdo. It’s sophisticated, isn’t it? But then so is this dress. You’re not used to seeing me looking so elegant.’ She stepped to the coffee table and deposited Diana’s gift on it, and then wondered suddenly if something showed in her face. Did it reflect her recent experiences and Victor’s loving? Were those things detectable? She didn’t care. Unlike Victor, who was determined to keep their romance a secret, she wanted to shout it to the whole world.

  Diana rushed in and joined them near the fireplace. She was out of breath and unusually flushed. ‘Sorry, my darlings. I had a problem with my hair,’ she began, and pulled a face. ‘It took much longer than I anticipated.’

  ‘But worth waiting for, my dear,’ Christian said. ‘I predict you and Frankie are going to outshine everyone this evening.’

  The girls laughed, and Francesca, eyeing Diana, exclaimed, ‘And you do look super, Dibs. How on earth did you manage to create that effect by yourself?’

  ‘I didn’t. Clara helped me, and it was rather complicated,’ Diana explained. ‘I saw the idea in French Vogue and thought it was different.’

  ‘It certainly is, and it’s lovely on you,’ Francesca smiled, examining her cousin’s hairdo.

  Diana’s extraordinary silver-gilt hair had been pulled back from her face, parted in the middle and plaited. Wine silk ribbon was threaded through the waist-length plait, along with tiny white artificial flowers and green leaves. The elaborateness of the hair style was balanced by the simplicity of her gown, which was made of wine-coloured silk jersey. It had a high rolled neckline, long sleeves and a gathered skirt which fell in soft folds to the floor. Her jewellery was minimal.

  ‘Gosh, you are inventive and clever, Dibs. I wish I had your flair.’

  ‘I don’t know about you two, but I’d like a drink,’ Christian announced, wheeling himself over to the console. ‘I’ll open the champagne.’