Victor said regretfully, ‘You don’t have to talk to Jake, Nicky. I was there with Lynn that evening. The three of us saw them. I could have killed Jake when he mentioned it to you in September. I thought it wiser you didn’t know. I didn’t want him to open a can of worms, particularly since it might have been an innocuous date. I’ve been kicking myself for the last hour. I wish I’d told you myself, alerted you three months ago. It might have prevented the situation devel—’
‘What situation?’ Nick demanded shakily. He gripped the receiver tighter. ‘What are you talking about, Vic?’
‘Isn’t that the reason for your call? I thought you wanted to discuss Katharine’s association with Lazarus,’ the actor answered, sounding confused.
‘What association?’ Nick asked, his voice rising.
‘Jesus, Nicky, don’t tell me you don’t know. I thought you’d found out about them—’
‘I only started to suspect something tonight,’ Nick cut in sharply. ‘Tell me what you’ve heard, Vic.’ Nick’s hand shook as he groped for a cigarette.
Vic said: ‘Charlie Roberts came over to see Lynn earlier this evening. You know they’ve always been close friends. He’s holed up down here, writing furiously. Lynn was teasing him about his secret, hush-hush project, asking him why he was being so mysterious. Charlie said he guessed it wouldn’t matter if he told us, since it was going to be announced to the press on Monday anyway, and there had already been a few leaks in Hollywood in the last twenty-four hours. Apparently Charlie is writing a screenplay for Monarch. He’s on the last few pages of the final draft. Plans to deliver it early next week. Lazarus is very much involved with this picture, and he insisted it be kept under wraps until he gave the okay to announce it to the trades. And Charlie told us—’
‘Katharine’s going to star in it, is that it?’ Nick interjected swiftly, in an uneven tone.
Victor sucked in his breath. ‘Yes. But there’s more, Nicky. Jesus, this is the lousy part… the screenplay Charlie’s been writing… it’s an adaptation of Florabelle, kid.’
‘Florabelle! My novel?’
‘Yes, Nicky.’
Nick closed his eyes convulsively. ‘It’s not possible,’ he began, the words strangling in his throat. ‘It’s just not possible.’
‘Yes, it is, Nicky. I reacted like you when Charlie told us. I was speechless. I couldn’t believe you’d agreed to the sale, not to Monarch, knowing how we both feel about Lazarus, after all the things he did to me back in the ’fifties. That’s why I was about to call you. Jake’s arrival delayed me for a few minutes. Then you rang me. When I heard your voice I was sure you’d got a whiff of it. Obviously, you neither approved the deal, nor knew about it. So, how in the hell did it happen?’
Nick groaned into the receiver. ‘When I sold the novel to Kort Productions I didn’t make the usual option deal, with the property reverting to me if Kort didn’t pick up the option and go ahead with the film. Kort bought the novel outright. Motion picture, television and all dramatic rights—the whole enchilada. Kort, therefore, has total and absolute control, can do what they want with it. Make it, shelve it, resell it to anyone, or any company, they wish. They, of course, being Katharine O’Rourke Tempest, since she is Kort Productions,’ he finished with mounting bitterness and anger.
‘I don’t know how she could do this to you, Nicky, go behind your back, make a deal with that bastard, a man she knows you detest, not to mention my feelings about him. It’s inconceivable, goddamn it!’ Victor exclaimed heatedly.
‘But we know she’s done it. And she and Lazarus are a team, working the angles together. I’ve reason to believe she’s over at his house this very minute, concocting God knows what else.’
‘Jesus, Nicky, I’m sorry about this development. Not only with the book but for you personally. It goes without saying you’ve got some serious problems there. Trouble, I’m afraid. Big, big trouble. Capisce?’
‘Yes.’ Nick drew on his cigarette nervously, then said, ‘I can handle them. Listen, did Charlie tell you who’s going to direct?’
‘Alexander Vagasy’s been signed. No casting, other than the lead.’
‘Try to find out as much as you can. That’s the front door closing. I’d better hang up. Thanks, Vic, thanks for everything. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.’
‘Hang in there, be alert. And look to yourself, kid.’
‘I read you loud and clear, old buddy.’ Nick replaced the receiver as Francesca flew through the doorway looking agitated.
‘Nicky, a black Rolls is pulling in through the gates. She’s back.’
He nodded, his hand resting on the telephone. He blinked, trying to marshal his swimming senses. He was unable to speak.
Francesca flung her cape on a chair and hurried into the living room. ‘My God, what’s wrong? You’re as white as a sheet. You’ve had some sort of shock…’ She stopped in mid-sentence, moved closer to the desk, her eyes searching his face.
‘I have,’ he said grimly. ‘The biggest shock of my life.’ He rose, went to the tray of drinks on the refectory table, poured himself a large cognac and turned to Francesca. ‘Want one?’ His voice was tight and bleak and she noticed that his hand holding the bottle trembled.
‘Yes, please,’ Francesca replied, unable to take her eyes off Nick. He looked ghastly, even ill. ‘Nicky, what’s happened?’ she whispered, filled with sudden alarm. ‘Who have you been talking to? You’ve obviously been on the ’phone whilst I’ve been walking Lada. Not Lazarus?’
‘No. I wouldn’t waste my breath. I’ll tell you later.’ Nick headed for the hearth and Francesca joined him, accepting the drink mutely. Then she said, ‘I—’
The door slammed, startling her. They heard the sound of high heels clicking against the bare wood floor in the hall, and they glanced at each other quickly. Francesca noticed a muscle twitching in Nick’s cheek and his eyes were icy. She remembered an expression of Katharine’s from long ago: He’s wearing his flat blues. She shivered involuntarily and she knew something terrible had occurred when she was out and her heart sank.
Katharine stood there, staring at them from the doorway, registering surprise. ‘My darlings!’ she exclaimed, her rippling laughter floating to them on the warm air. ‘What are you two kiddikins doing here? I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.’ She slipped out of her sable coat and floated into the room, dramatically beautiful in wine-red velvet and a blaze of diamonds. As though somehow alerted to the brewing trouble, or perhaps aware of the tension in the atmosphere, Katharine lingered near the refectory table. ‘I think I’ll join you in a nightcap, my darlings,’ she cried, the lilting laughter in her voice undiminished. Lifting the bottle, she poured herself a brandy, called over her shoulder, ‘How could I have mixed the days up? I really did expect you on Friday.’
Francesca felt the controlled and deadly anger in Nick, was conscious of his heavy brooding expression and said, with a small nervous laugh, ‘But you said Thursday, Katharine. And I confirmed it with you on Tuesday.’
‘Did you, darling? Oh yes, I remember.’ Katharine swung around, edged closer to the fireplace, yet nonetheless kept her distance. ‘You poor things, what did you do about dinner? I fired Mrs Jennings today. Did you manage to rustle something up, Frankie dear?’
‘Yes, I—’
Nick silenced her with a warning look. He stared at Katharine. ‘Where… have… you… been?’ he asked coldly, drawing the words out slowly for added emphasis.
‘I guess I forgot to mention it, when we spoke yesterday, Nicky, but I was invited to a dinner party tonight.’
‘Where?’
‘At the Longleys’. You know, in Ridgefield.’
‘You are a liar.’
Katharine blinked, recoiled slightly, and then those unique turquoise eyes opened wider, indicated surprise. ‘Nicky, darling, whatever’s got into you? That’s a nasty thing to say.’ She perched on the edge of the sofa, adopting a nonchalant air. ‘I told you, I’ve been to the Longleys. If you
don’t believe me, call them up and ask them.’ She smiled her sweetest smile, her eyes loving, her manner insouciant. ‘Shall I dial the number for you, my darling?’ She half rose, the smile still playing around her mouth. She was fully aware he would stop her, would not lower himself by checking up on her.
‘Don’t bother,’ he snapped. ‘I wouldn’t embarrass either one of us.’ He threw her a scathing look and placed the brandy balloon on an end table. And then he moved with such suddenness, with such swiftness that he took both women by surprise.
Nick stepped forward, rushed at Katharine, gripped her by the shoulders and lifted her bodily off the arm of the sofa, swinging her out and down onto the floor. She gasped. The brandy balloon slipped out of her hands, crashed at their feet. Nick planted her firmly in front of him, stared down into her face, tightening his vice-like grip on her bare arms, his fingers biting into her flesh.
‘You bitch!’ he hissed. ‘You rotten conniving scheming double-dealing little bitch! You come strolling in here with your smiles and your pretty talk and your wiles and your charm, behaving as if nothing’s wrong. And all the while you know what you’ve done. What you’ve done to me. You betrayed me! And in the most contemptible way!’
‘Nicky, Nicky, let go of me! You’re hurting me!’ she cried, squirming, endeavouring to wriggle free. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re bruising my arm. Let go of—’
‘You sold my novel!’ he thundered, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and frustration. He began to shake her furiously, so that her head flew back and forth. ‘The novel I sweated years to write, poured my guts into, dredged through my soul to create. The novel I loved the most of all my books, and which meant the most to me. You took it and sold it to that creep, Mike Lazarus. The man who has been my enemy for years. And Victor’s enemy. What you did is unconscionable. You might as well have taken a knife and stuck it in my heart and held a cup to catch the drops of blood. I’ll never forgive you for this… this act of treachery. I—I…’ He was wild with the hurt and the pain of her betrayal, and unable to continue. His eyes pricked with unexpected tears and for one awful moment he thought he was going to do her bodily harm. He took a deep breath, gained control of himself, and then he flung her onto the sofa with great force, where she crumpled like a rag doll.
‘Get away from me! I don’t want to soil myself by touching you, you two-faced bitch.’ He stepped over the broken glass and went to the window, stood gazing out, shaking from head to foot, his heart clamouring, the blood pounding in his head. Slowly an immense sorrow swamped him, and he knew the love he felt for her was draining, draining away, leaving him empty, and there was nothing in his damaged heart but the sorrow and the pain. And, as he had once hated her years ago, so he hated her again. And he knew there was no going back for them. It was over… the end.
Katharine lay against the sofa, gasping, fighting back her tears, her limbs trembling, her beautiful face ashen and pinched. She tried to think, but her thoughts were confused, running rampant through her befuddled brain. Why was he so angry with her? She stared at Nick’s hunched shoulders, his broad back, wanting to explain, but she could not find the right words. She glanced across at Francesca helplessly and shook her head, as though denying everything.
Francesca was appalled at what she had heard and witnessed. She was terrified to speak, or move, even though she longed to flee. She did not move a muscle, sat paralysed in the chair. And she was afraid for Nick, afraid for Katharine, afraid of what he might do to her. She could not leave them alone. She groped for some understanding of his terrible accusations, wondering how he had found out.
Katharine was thinking the identical thing. Regaining her strength and her breath, she sat up, straightened the fabulous diamond necklace, and voiced this thought. ‘Who told you about Florabelle, Nick?’ She made her voice tiny, childlike, fawning.
He did not respond initially. He turned slowly, looked at her through eyes of ice. ‘Victor.’
‘Oh! Oh well, I might have guessed,’ she murmured and looked down at her hands. ‘I suppose he heard some gossip, and naturally he couldn’t wait to tell you. That’s typical. Now he’s ruined everything, spoiled my pi—’
‘You are preposterous!’ Nick yelled, glaring at her, his mouth shaking. ‘Suddenly, Victor’s at fault, and you cleverly slide your wrongdoing under the rug. Oh God, you—you—’ he spluttered and angrily balled his fists. He took a deep breath, yelled at her, ‘Victor didn’t hear any gossip! Charlie Roberts told him all about the deal. He’s on the final draft, Alexander Vagasy’s been signed as director, and Monarch are making a press announcement on Monday. Victor got it from the horse’s mouth. You must have sold the book months ago for everything to be this far along. How could you look me in the face every day, knowing what you’d done? And why did you go behind my back? Don’t answer that last question, I know why. The reason’s obvious!’
Katharine stared at him, her extraordinary eyes bluer than ever and full of tender pleas. Brushing her tumbling chestnut hair away from her face, she said in a clear, bell-like voice, ‘Please, darling, calm down. I started to explain—when I said Victor had spoiled my plans. I was going to tell you about the Monarch deal tomorrow. It was meant to be a wonderful surprise. I know how much you love Florabelle, want to get it on the screen, see it made into a film. That’s why I bought it in the first place. I thought I could put it together. No one wanted to finance it, Nicky. You’ve been aware of this fact for a number of years. When I went to Michael it was solely for you, my darling. Don’t you understand, it was for you, for us. He’d been after me to do a film, and I said the only thing I would star in was Florabelle. He finally agreed. He put Charlie Roberts to work. I was going to tell you tomorrow night. I even have Dom Pérignon—for the celebration I’d planned. And next week I was going to present you with the finished script. Charlie’s final draft. I’ll have it by then. But my beautiful, wonderful surprise has gone awry, because Victor told you first, and you’ve taken it the wrong way, and now you suddenly hate me. I haven’t done anything terrible—except think of you, as I always do.’ Tears brimmed, trickled down her cheeks, and her top lip quivered like a hurt child’s as she lowered her head demurely.
Nick gaped at her in fascination. He thought: Oh she’s good. She’s very very good. He had just seen a superlative actress at work, watched a performance, and a brilliant one at that. He walked over to the sofa and stood looking down at her. A faintly ironic smile played around his mouth and his voice was dangerously soft as he said, ‘You did it for me, Katharine? As a wonderful surprise for me? And Victor spoiled your fun?’
Her head lifted and she proffered him a radiant smile through her misty tears. She nodded. ‘Yes, darling, of course.’ Believing she had convinced him, missing the underlying threat in his tone and manner, she reached out, touched his arm.
He flung her hand off him angrily and stepped away from her.
‘You’re a liar!’ he hissed. ‘A goddamned liar, and a cheat! Whatever your true motivations were I’ll probably never know, but I do know one thing. You didn’t do anything for me. As always, it was for yourself, your own selfish ends. I also know something else—’ He paused a beat, came back to the sofa.
Nick brought his face down close to hers. ‘You’re having an affair with Mike Lazarus. And you’ve been having one for years!’ In a lightning move, he yanked at the diamond necklace, clutching it in his hand before letting it fall back against her bare neck. ‘Some badge of honour!’ he intoned with immense disdain. ‘So you’ve joined the long line of his whores, have you?’
Katharine was horrified and she shrank back into the cushions, brought both of her hands to her throat, covering the necklace. For the first time he noticed the diamond bracelets glittering on her arms.
As if she had been pulled upright on a tight string, she now sat rigid and straight and assumed an air of imperious dignity. ‘I am not having an affair with Michael. We are business associates, that’s all.�
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Nick snorted with derision and strode to the fireplace. He had regained a degree of his self-possession, and unexpectedly he began to laugh. It was hard sardonic laughter that echoed the expression on his bleak face. ‘Don’t start playing the grand lady with me, Katie Mary O’Rourke. I know where you’re coming from. And I know you’re screwing around with Lazarus. But what the hell, you’re well matched, I’ll concede that!’
‘You’re insane!’ Her voice was as cold and as hard as his, her face suddenly inscrutable.
‘Come on, Katharine, stop lying in your teeth. I’ve put the many intricate pieces together. There’s been talk, items in the trade gossip columns. Why, even Victor saw you having dinner with him at La Scala last year. Very intimate little tête-à-tête, from what I hear. And there’s your own behaviour, which has been mighty suspicious—’
‘Victor Mason again!’ she screeched, flinging her head back, her eyes blazing. Something snapped in Katharine and she lost control. ‘I’m sick and tired of hearing that name. Victor Mason would say anything about me as long as it discredits me. He’s jealous. He’s always been jealous!’
Nick’s face underwent a vast change, and he peered at her intently. ‘Jealous. Vic’s jealous? You’ve got to be out of your tiny mind. And if anybody present is insane, it’s you. We’re well acquainted with your insanity. Jealous!’ He laughed hollowly, shaking his head.
‘Of course he’s jealous. I dumped him and he’s never recovered from the shock. Women don’t leave Victor Mason’s bed voluntarily. They wait tint—’
‘Are you trying to tell me you slept with Victor?’ Nick interjected, his face now a picture of incredulity. ‘Well, well, well, this is one for the books.’
Voice of the Heart Page 87
