Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Turning his head slightly, Nick stole a look at Francesca. Cool, contained and slightly removed though she seemed on the surface, her eyes gave her away. They not only expressed her amorous feelings for Ryan, but they never once left his face. So much for that, Nick decided. She’s fallen for him all right, and very heavily. He was not sure why this dismayed him. O’Rourke appeared to be nice enough, harmless really, and unlike his sister, he was ingenuous, as transparent as water. He totally lacked her guile, her subtleties of mind; obviously he was neither as clever nor as complex a person as Katharine. On the other hand, he did not seem to possess her devious and manipulative characteristics, which was a plus for him. Yes, a nice kid, but weak and indecisive somehow. Nick knew he was judging again, hated himself for making a sweeping assessment. It was hardly fair, in view of his short acquaintanceship with Ryan. Oh what the hell, Katharine’s right, he thought. Francesca is entitled to a little fun, and she should get into the mainstream of life.

  Shutting off his ruminations on the merits and flaws of Ryan O’Rourke’s character. Nick stood up purposefully. ‘How about lunch everybody? And where do you want to eat? Inside, or out here?’

  Katharine rose, tucked her arm in Nick’s and said, ‘It’s getting too hot in the yard. I’d prefer to eat in the dining room, if no one else objects.’

  They all trooped indoors.

  ***

  Ryan said, ‘By the way, Katie, I start my new job tomorrow.’

  Katharine had the coffee cup halfway to her mouth. She put it down with a clatter and stared at Ryan, her face filling with surprise. ‘I thought you liked the job on the newspaper,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, I did, but it was only a stop-gap, Katie.’

  ‘And what are you going to do? What’s the new job?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’m going to work for the mayor… Mayor Daley,’ Ryan said, looking at her nervously.

  Katharine’s heart sank. So all her persuasive words had fallen on stony ground. Her father had won this round. ‘That can only mean one thing,’ Katharine said in a voice of dismay. ‘You’re going into politics after all.’

  Ryan cleared his voice, ‘Well, er, yes, I guess I am. Eventually.’

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ She sat back with a jerk, scrutinizing him through chilly eyes. ‘You’ve said, and constantly, that you loathed the idea, that you didn’t savour the prospect of a political career. Now, suddenly, you’ve changed your mind.’ She laughed with enormous coldness, added scathingly, ‘This is not your decision, Ryan, it’s Father’s.’

  He coloured slightly and, unable to meet her piercing stare, he glanced away. ‘It is my decision, Katharine,’ he declared after a moment. ‘I’ve given a lot of thought to my future in the past couple of years, and I’ve come to the conclusion Dad is right, has always been right. Men like me, with a vast family fortune behind them, should go into public office… it’s their duty, then responsibility, Dad says. I agree. And Dad has always wanted me to be a politician. He brought me up with that in mind, as you well know. It’s been the great dream of his life.’

  ‘He doesn’t always get what he wants, nor do all of his dreams come true. Fortunately,’ Katharine snapped, and a triumphant gleam flickered in her eyes briefly.

  Ignoring the comment, Ryan hurried on, ‘Dad makes a lot of sense, Katie, and I’ve come around to realizing this lately. He’s mapped out a whole programme for me, a total plan, in a sense. In a couple of years he wants me to run for the House of Representatives, and after several terms he says I’ll be ready to stand for the Senate.’

  ‘And one day you’ll be President of these good old United States! Is that what he promised you?’ Katharine’s laughter was disdainful. ‘One thing’s for sure. You won’t be the First Irish Catholic President of this country, as he boasted you would be when we were children. Someone else got there before you.’

  ‘So perhaps I’ll be the second,’ Ryan retorted, and then flushed again, shifted in the chair, and, attempting to assume indifference, he lifted his cup.

  Nick, who had listened to this exchange with considerable interest, glanced at Ryan quickly, saw that he seemed more nervous and uncomfortable than ever. Leaning forward, Nick took a cigarette, lit it, sneaked a look at Katharine, detected a cold but controlled anger in her. A number of things fell into place. Francesca caught his eye. Her own were pleading and signalled her acute embarrassment, told him to intercede.

  Straightening up in the chair, Nick said, ‘How about another cup of coffee and a cognac, Ryan? Katharine? Francesca?’

  Ryan said, ‘Thanks, Nick, but I’m afraid I’m running late. I’ve got to get back to the Carlyle to pick up my luggage.’ He peered at his watch. ‘It’s turned four already.’

  Recognizing an opportunity to escape, to bring this to an end, Francesca stood up. ‘I do think we ought to be going, Nick. Thank you for a lovely lunch.’ She kissed Katharine. ‘I’ll see you later, darling, at home,’ she murmured, and began to edge away.

  Katharine nodded her goodbye, then said to Nick, ‘I think I will have a cognac, please.’

  ‘No sooner said than done, my fair one,’ Nick cried and, taking Francesca’s arm, he diplomatically led her out.

  Ryan had risen, hovered next to Katharine. He put his arm around her shoulder, kissed the top of her head. ‘Please, don’t be like this, Katie darling. It’s what I want, really it is.’ She made no response, and he hurried on, ‘It’s been a marvellous week, and I’ll be here for your first night, standing in the aisle, cheering my beautiful, brilliant sister.’

  Katharine pushed aside her disappointment and her dismay. He had been lost to her for too long. She could not risk losing him again. Why antagonize him? The closer she was to Ryan the more influence she could exercise over him. Her smile flashed and she stood up, hugged her brother. ‘You’d better be at my opening, darling! Take care, have a good flight.’

  Ryan beamed at her. ‘I knew you’d understand, Katie. And you take care, and don’t work so hard,’ he admonished and hurried out.

  After a few minutes Nick joined Katharine in the garden, carrying two brandy balloons. ‘Here you are, love,’ he said, placing them on the table. ‘I’ve got another pot of coffee brewing. Incidentally, I didn’t know what you wanted to do later, so I told Ryan to send the limousine back here from La Guardia. Okay?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ She sniffed the brandy, took a small tentative sip, settled back in the garden chair.

  Noting the remote expression in her eyes, Nick said, ‘Want to talk about it?’

  She exhaled heavily. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s power hungry.’

  Frowning, Nick exclaimed, ‘Ryan? Surely not. He seems far too—’

  ‘No, no,’ she interrupted. ‘My father. He’s a terrible man. And he’s always manipulated Ryan, turned him into a puppet.’

  ‘Did your father really say that? I mean promised Ryan he was going to make him the First Irish Catholic President?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly.

  ‘And Ryan believed it?’

  ‘I don’t know whether he did or not at the time. He was only ten years old. Mostly he was frightened. But I believed it then, and I still believe it now… my father boasted that with his money, his powerful friends and his clout he was going to propel Ryan into the Oval Office. It was never an idle boast. I’m sure he’s brainwashed Ryan over the years, convinced him he can hold the highest political position in the country. I feel sorry for my brother. Deep down he doesn’t want any of this, and ever since I returned to the States, and we became close again, I’ve been encouraging him to break away from my father, to get out on his own. I thought I’d succeeded.’ Another small weary sigh, and then, ‘If only Ryan had accepted my offer, and gone to Paris when he was twenty. To study art. He’s tremendously talented… I offered to pay for everything, support him, and Ryan agreed to go, was thrilled. Until he talked him out of it.’

  ‘I vaguely remember you being upset, troubled in your ear
ly days in Hollywood. Around 1957, I think. Vic told me it was something to do with your brother. I hadn’t realized he had an artistic bent.’

  She told him the story then, recounting slowly, and carefully, the details of the scene that had taken place in the old nursery in the house in Chicago, almost reliving it as she spoke. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on our father’s face when he made that final announcement, boasted of what he was going to do, how he was going to manipulate Ryan’s political career. That was the day I knew my father really hated me. It was also the day I vowed I would save Ryan, no matter what the cost to myself.’

  Nick was silent, staring into the distance. He said eventually, ‘Misplaced ambition is frightening. Your father is trying to live through Ryan, and I don’t envy your brother. His life isn’t his own.’

  ‘I know that, Nicky.’

  He gave her a sidelong glance, said carefully. ‘Is that why you worked so hard for Jack Kennedy, campaigned so strenuously for him? Simply to thwart your father?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she cried heatedly. ‘I believe in Kennedy. I thought he was just what this country needed, and needs. He’s unique. He fired my imagination, as he did yours and so many other people’s.’

  ‘And getting… revenge… on your father didn’t enter your head, or influence your action at all?’ Nick’s expression was sceptical, and his eyes narrowed as they held hers.

  Surprised at his use of so strong a word, Katharine was about to mouth denials, but suddenly she smiled instead. It was a long slow smile that held a hint of self-satisfaction. ‘Let’s just say that the opportunity to twist the knife was an added incentive,’ she admitted, her mouth twitching with silent laughter. ‘Especially since I knew he knew how hard I was campaigning for JFK. I envisioned him having apoplexy at the thought of old Joe Kennedy stealing his thunder, getting his son there first. Later, Ryan told me that my father had been enraged by my activities, had called me a traitor, among other rather choice nouns. It helped even the score, and I paid him back for some of the things he had done to me.’

  Nick elected not to ask what these were. He said, ‘I can well imagine he was furious.’ Thoughtfully he swirled the brandy balloon, pursed his lips. Looking at her closely, he adopted a gentle tone and said, ‘People have to lead their own lives, Katharine. I think Ryan has enough to contend with right now, and coping with your father must be difficult. I know what such men are like. So step away a little, give your brother breathing space. Please don’t meddle. Please don’t play God, as your father is doing.’

  ‘No, I won’t!’ Katharine agreed with alacrity. ‘You’re absolutely right, Nicky.’ Privately she thought: Patrick Michael Sean O’Rourke is not going to be the winner. I am going to be triumphant in the end. I am going to save Ryan’s soul. He will be mine. And that will be sufficient to destroy my father.

  Conscious of Nick’s appraising gaze resting on her, Katharine shrugged, and her laughter echoed in the little garden. ‘Oh enough of all this seriousness on such a gorgeous afternoon. Let’s talk of more pleasant things.’ Leaning her elbows on the table, she propped her chin in her hands, and her turquoise eyes became dreamy and soft. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Nicky, I’m glad Ryan is getting so involved with Frankie, and it is pretty obvious how they feel. Yes, she’s a good influence on Ryan, and I think he’ll listen to her.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Nick answered laconically. And then he asked himself if Katharine was encouraging the relationship in order to control her brother through Francesca. The idea troubled him, but he could not shake it off, and it nudged at the back of his mind for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  She was an enchantress, and he was enchanted.

  As the weeks passed, Nick and Katharine began to spend more and more time together, and although they did not mention it, neither was out of the other’s thoughts for very long. Both were obsessive workers, wholly dedicated to their careers, and they found a measure of comfort and security in this shared characteristic, which others in the past had found distressing. It became a special bond between them.

  Nicholas Latimer was nearing the completion of his current novel, and as September turned into October the words seemed to surge out of him, the pages flying off his typewriter at a record speed. For her part Katharine was rediscovering her tremendous love of the theatre, and every day, after rehearsals, she was excited and exhilarated.

  Their evenings were spent quietly, usually at Nick’s house. He was aware that acting took its toll on her, for she poured a great deal of emotion into her role and he did not want to tax her strength socializing. Occasionally Katharine joined them, sometimes Terry and Hilary Ogden, and then they would venture out to small restaurants off the beaten track. Nick recognized that his feelings for Katharine ran deep, and he accepted the fact that he was in love with her, suspected she felt the same about him. He had only once made a tentative move towards her, but she had slithered out of his arms, laughing nervously and looking distressed and embarrassed. After this gentle rebuff he had not pressed his attentions on her again, although he had continued to be warm and affectionate. He had decided to bide his time, waiting for the propitious moment, one he was convinced would present itself. He had sufficient insight to understand that Katharine Tempest could not be rushed, that she had to come to him of her own free will.

  Her brother was rarely mentioned, except by Francesca Cunningham, who appeared to be more enamoured of him than ever. Nick was wisely silent, never referred to Ryan after the Sunday in September when they had lunched. Even when Katharine brought up his name, Nick was noncommittal, vague in his responses. Ryan had not visited New York, except for a flying one-day trip early in October, when neither Nick nor Katharine had seen him. But he had left a message with Francesca, renewing his promise to attend the opening of the play. Katharine told Nick she was confident her brother would not disappoint her, whatever arguments Patrick O’Rourke might present to keep him away.

  In the middle of October, on a cool Wednesday evening, Trojan Interlude opened at the Morosco. It was a glittering first night, the likes of which Broadway had not seen in many a year. Katharine was a movie star of the first magnitude now, adored by the public, and they flocked to see her in her first stage appearance in America. Those who were unable to get tickets jammed the street, and mounted police had to be brought in to control the crowds outside the theatre.

  Francesca, looking lovely in a daffodil-yellow brocade gown and matching evening coat, sat next to Hilary, elegantly turned-out in black velvet and diamonds. They were flanked by Ryan and Nick respectively. And they all knew, after the first fifteen minutes, that the play was going to be a big hit. Katharine was superb as Helen, a role she had made entirely her own, and Terry was equally electric as Paris, Prince of Troy. They were magnetic together, and unmatched as an acting team. The audience screamed the house down at the finale, gave them a standing ovation. Later Katharine made the traditional entrance at Sardi’s, once more to thunderous acclaim. She walked in slowly, somewhat shyly, looking spectacular in a white wool-crêpe evening gown, the emerald necklace and teardrop earrings Beau Stanton had given her as a wedding present flashing like green fire around her face. Nick was waiting for her, seated at a table with Francesca, Ryan, Hilary, the producers and their wives. And as she walked towards them, bowing to the right and left, and smiling radiantly, Nick thought his heart would burst with love and pride. Terry followed quickly in her wake, and he also received a wild reception. Champagne toast followed champagne toast, and they stayed for an hour before leaving for the Rainbow Room where a supper dance was already in progress for the rest of the cast and honoured guests.

  Katharine clung to Nick throughout the entire evening, and although she presented a vivacious and self-confident front, he was conscious of her inner tension and anxiety. This was not alleviated until the first editions of the newspapers were delivered by the excited press agent for the play. Waving them over his head, he rushed into
the room, shouting, ‘It’s a smash!! We’ve got a smash on our hands!’ Nobody could hear him above the noise and the band, but his beaming ecstatic face was more explicit than any words he could say. Every review was a rave, and even the jaundiced critic of the New York Times, who could make or break a play and was hard to please, had nothing to offer but accolades and superlatives.

  Visibly relaxing immediately, Katharine was endearing in her unsuppressed joy. It was a memorable night, and a week later, one evening after the theatre, Nick took her to Pavillion for a quiet supper. It was another special occasion, in this instance to celebrate the delivery of his novel to his publishers. Sipping champagne and holding her hand, he told her that he had dedicated his new book to her. Katharine was so touched her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘And to think how much you used to hate me,’ she murmured, blinking, brushing her eyes with her hand.

  ‘You used to hate me too,’ Nick said softly, searching her face.

  Katharine half smiled. ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that I was simply responding to your enormous dislike of me.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Nick replied. He clasped her hand tightly, pressed it to his face. ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that there are two sides to a coin, that the reverse side of hatred is love, you silly adorable divine girl.’

  Colour crept onto her pale face, and she dropped her eyes, said nothing. But after a moment she looked at him through the tangle of dark lashes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It has.’

  Nick remembered this particular evening a month later, as he sat at his desk, doodling on a pad, drawing small hearts and scribbling her name in many variations. He was talking to his mother on the telephone. ‘Yes, Ma, of course I’m coming to Thanksgiving dinner. Would I miss it?’

  ‘You have sometimes, Nicholas,’ Mrs Latimer chided softly. ‘But I do realize those lapses on your part were unavoidable, only happened when you were off gallivanting abroad.’ She cleared her throat, hesitated, and then announced, ‘We’re expecting Katharine too, you know.’