‘When did you find out?’ he whispered, terror rampant in him.
‘Last November. That little pinprick of a mole I’ve had all my life turned black, grew slightly larger. My dressmaker noticed it. But it was already too far gone.’
‘Will you—will you have any pain? I couldn’t bear you to be in pain, Kath,’ he gasped in a strangled voice.
‘No, not really, Nick. When the deterioration starts there is a slow weight loss, severe debilitation, loss of appetite. I’ll tire easily.’
He closed his eyes convulsively, his imagination running wild. He cut off the unacceptable and agonizing thoughts of her suffering, said, ‘Are you sure about the prognosis?’
‘Absolutely. My doctor in London called in every specialist there is. I’ve even seen specialists here. There is no remedy, Nicky.’ She took his hand. ‘My doctor in London told me I had some good time left, meaning about nine months at that point. That’s why I came to New York. To see you, in particular, and Frankie, Ryan, and of course my darling child.’
‘Is that why… he let you see her?’ he asked sorrowfully.
‘Yes. I sort of threatened him in a way. I told him if he didn’t, I’d start a lawsuit, have a press conference, give reporters all the facts about my illness. Mike capitulated.’ She smiled. ‘But I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have subjected Vanessa to that kind of circus.’
‘Does Ryan know?’
‘No, Nick. You and Mike Lazarus are the only ones who do. I want to keep it that way. Promise. I don’t want sympathy—or pity.’
He looked at her carefully. ‘Is that why you didn’t tell me, or Frankie, when you first arrived?’
‘Yes. I wanted you to forgive me because you wanted to do so, not out of compassion or charity. Promise me you’ll keep this to yourself.’
‘I promise. What about Frankie and Victor?’
‘I’ll tell them myself, darling. Soon.’
Unexpectedly, suddenly, something snapped in Nick, and he leapt up, began to pace the floor, a raging anger temporarily subduing his sorrow. He kept smashing his clenched fist into his open palm, and he cursed under his breath. After a few minutes he swung to her.
‘There must be a way out of this! There has to be. I won’t accept it. Goddamn it, I won’t accept it. Just because you have, I won’t. You sit there, so calm, so contained, and my heart is breaking into infinitesimal pieces and you—’ He stopped, shocked at his words, the way he had spoken to her, his behaviour.
He ran to her, knelt at her feet. ‘Forgive me, forgive me, my darling. Oh Kath, I’m sorry. I—I—love you so much. I’m crazy. I shouldn’t have—’ He began to sob and buried his face against her body.
‘It’s all right, my dearest love. I understand. Your reaction is natural. When the shock recedes a little, the anger does take over, then the frustration sets in. Next comes fear. Then the anger returns. And finally one is left, very simply, with acceptance, resignation. Because there is nothing else to feel, nothing one can do.’ She began to murmur gently to him, stroking his head, soothing him. ‘Don’t, darling, don’t. Hush, my love.’
Eventually, he pulled himself upright, sat on the sofa with her, cradling her in his arms. ‘I’ll be with you, my darling Kath. The next few months are going to be happy for you… as happy as I can make them. We’ll do anything you want, go anywhere you want. You can have your heart’s desire.’
‘No, Nicky, you can’t be with me.’
‘Why? In God’s name, why not?’
‘I’m not going to let you risk losing your child. And if you go away with me, you surely will.’
‘Then we’ll stay in New York. The way we are. Maintain separate establishments, keep up a pretence. Carlotta will never know.’ He loathed the mere idea of this, had no intention of doing anything of the kind. He had said it to placate Katharine. Carlotta would do as she was told. He would arrange everything somehow. Nothing, no one, was going to keep him from his Kath.
She said, ‘No, it’s better I just go away now—’
‘I won’t let you!’
‘It would kill me to witness your grief, Nicky,’ she whispered, and then realized, with a stab of dismay, what she had said.
Nick ignored the unfortunate remark, shook his head. His eyes brimmed again. ‘Please don’t send me away. Let me have these last few months with you. I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life without you. Don’t be cruel, Kath, please, please. I’ll get down on my knees and beg you, if you want, but for God’s sake don’t send me away from you, my love.’ He gazed at her with red-rimmed eyes. ‘Don’t be cruel. Let me be with you, please Kath.’
She nodded. Her eyes were bright and moist and the tears glistened on her lashes. ‘All right, my darling. But you’ll have to promise me you’re going to be cheerful, as gay as possible. I couldn’t bear to witness your grief and pain.’
‘I promise.’ A wavering smile touched his lips.
Katharine stood up. ‘I’ll have to change my dress, it’s sopping wet. You cried all over it, my darling.’ She touched his face with one finger. ‘Are you going to walk me to my dinner date with my daughter?’
‘Of course. But I’d better wash my face whilst you’re changing. I told Victor I’d go over to the Pierre and have a drink with him, maybe a light supper.’
‘Oh, I’m glad, Nicky. I’d hate you to be alone this evening. Has he decided when he’s going back to the Coast?’
‘No. But he had his final meeting today. I think he might stay through the week. He’s enjoyed being with us, seeing Frankie again,’ Nick said, as they walked into the bedroom together, forcing the words, making a stupendous effort to control himself.
Katharine smiled. ‘Yes, it was nice.’
***
Later, as they strolled across to Fifth Avenue and then up towards Seventy-Ninth Street, where the Lazarus apartment was located, Nick said, ‘About Frankie and Victor… when do you plan to tell them?’
‘I’m not sure. But the right moment will present itself. I certainly don’t want to tell them tomorrow, when we go to lunch at Frankie’s. It would spoil everything.’
‘Yes.’
Katharine squeezed his hand. ‘I’m glad we forced Frankie to come to dinner with us and Victor last week. I think she was rather pleased at the end of the evening. And Victor was beaming.’
‘Has she said anything to you? About Victor, I mean?’
‘Nicky, are you playing matchmaker? And you call me manipulative!’
‘What you mean is that I used to call you manipulative. But did she say anything?’ he probed.
‘Not really. Just that he was as charismatic and as sweet as he always was. I think she was startled by the white streaks in his hair. She told me she had always remembered him as he was in 1956. Even though she’s noticed photographs of him from time to time, in the magazines, the old image had stuck in her head.’
‘At sixty-two he’s still the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen. And she’s right. His presence is still as potent as ever,’ Nick remarked, tucking her arm in his. ‘I told her yesterday that she must get out more. I know Harrison’s only been dead three months, but she can’t sit around moping in that great big apartment. She’s a young woman.’
‘You won’t sit around moping, will you, darling?’ she asked quietly.
‘Don’t.’ He turned his head, blinking hard, blinded by his tears. ‘Please don’t allude to your death again. I simply can’t stand it.’
‘I won’t. But you must accept it, Nicky, otherwise the next few months are going to be terrible for me. We must try and be as normal as possible.’
Her immense courage staggered him, and he cursed himself inwardly. ‘Okay. It’s a deal.’
She reached up and kissed him when they arrived at the apartment building. ‘See ya later, kid,’ she growled, mimicking him.
‘You’re damn right you will,’ he shot back, forcing a gaiety he did not feel. ‘What time shall I pick you up?’
‘Oh, I guess
around time-thirty.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss him again, and her eyes filled. ‘I love you, Nicholas Latimer. So very very much.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
Francesca said, ‘Val, the dining room table looks really lovely. You’ve outdone yourself.’
‘Thank you, M’lady. When you said you wanted to use the Royal Worcester china I thought how pretty spring flowers would look with the deep blue. I was lucky the florist had such a good selection. I bought a pot of hyacinths for the living room too, and some imported mimosa as well. It won’t last long, but I couldn’t resist it.’
Nodding, Francesca walked out to the hall. She noticed the large square package on one of the French chairs. She frowned, went to look at it. ‘What’s this, Val?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, M’lady, I forgot to mention it. You were out at the lawyers when it arrived earlier this morning. It’s addressed to Mr Latimer, care of you.’
‘Mmmm. So I see. I’ll take it into the living room. Is the wine on ice?’
‘Everything’s ready, Lady Francesca, and Cook has prepared a very nice menu. Shrimp cocktail, roast veal with peas and carrots, a mixed green salad with Brie, and fresh fruit.’
‘God, I hope everyone has a good appetite,’ Francesca laughed. ‘She’s gone to town.’
Val smiled, followed her into the living room. ‘Don’t the flowers give the room a springlike air, M’lady?’
‘Yes, they certainly do,’ Francesca murmured, a vagrant memory stirring. It came to her then. He had sent her similar flowers long, long ago, when she had been a young and foolish girl, not a widow in widow’s weeds as she was now.
She spun around to Val. ‘Do you think the black dress looks a bit, well, you know, depressing?’
Val nodded. ‘Yes, it does, M’lady, if you don’t mind my saying so. It’s awfully draining, and your face is very pale. What about that dark green silk shirtwaister you bought just before Mr Avery passed away? It’s pretty on you, and subdued without being too drab.’
‘Yes, I’d forgotten that dress. I think I will change. I just have time before Miss Tempest and the other guests arrive.’
‘Yes, M’lady. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’
Upstairs in the bedroom, Francesca hurriedly unzipped the black wool dress, pulled the fir-green silk out of her wardrobe and stepped into it. She was wearing black pumps and they were suitable with the dress, as were the pearls. She glanced at herself as she passed the dressing table. She did look drawn and peaked. A touch of rouge rectified this, and she smoothed her hah with the brush, ran downstairs.
After straightening a cushion on one of the chairs, she went to the window. She stared out at Central Park, smiled to herself. It was a sunny April day. Spring. Renewal. Everything bursting out, green and fragrant after the harsh winter. She thought of the luncheon she was about to give for Victor. It had been Katharine’s idea, and Nick had seconded it, and she had agreed because they were so enthusiastic. Had it been a mistake? The last thing she wanted was for Vic to get the wrong idea. But why should he? They were older now, wiser, and their love affair had been two decades ago. As Nick had said, what were old friends for, if not to comfort each other in times of trouble? And yet… There had been a faint undercurrent the other evening at Le Cirque, and memories had come rushing back to her ever since, unnerving in their clarity. The intercom buzzed. A moment later the doorbell rang, and she heard Val greeting Victor in the entrance hall.
She moved forward as he strode into the living room, found herself momentarily startled by his dark good looks, his vitality and his magnetism. He was impeccably groomed, elegant in a grey pin-striped suit, the kind he had always favoured.
‘Hello, Ches,’ he said, stretching out his hand.
Francesca took it, returned his greeting with a smile, said, ‘You’re the first. Shall we have a glass of wine whilst we’re waiting for Nick and Kath? Or would you prefer something else?’
‘Wine will be great. Thanks.’ He glanced around the room appreciatively, then leaned closer to the bow-fronted chest where the large collection of photographs was arranged.
When Francesca brought him the drink Victor grinned, showed her the photograph he was holding, and said, ‘Our little dog really was the whole enchilada, wasn’t she?’
Francesca said, ‘Yes, she was indeed. Come with me. I want to introduce you to someone very special. No, do bring your drink with you.’ She guided him to the library, opened the door, showed him in. He had taken only a few steps when a small white dog leapt off a chair and bounded towards him. Victor looked at Francesca and shook his head. ‘Well, I know it’s not Lada. A grand-daughter?’
‘No, not of Lada’s, but of Tutzi’s, Diana’s dog. I brought this adorable little thing back with me from Bavaria a few years ago. She’s four years old and very smart. Her name’s Fluff-puff. Not my name. Diana’s invention. I call her Fluff.’
Victor picked up the dog and scratched her head. ‘I was surprised when you told me the other night that Lada had lived to be almost eighteen. That’s a ripe old age for a dog, Ches.’ He put Fluff on the floor and asked, ‘And how are Diana and Christian?’
‘Let’s go back to the living room and I’ll tell you all about them. We have to leave Fluff here. She wants to play when I have guests, and she gets very excited.’
They settled themselves in the living room, and Francesca gave him news of her cousins. ‘Neither Diana nor Christian ever married. But they seem content, happy really, living together at Wittingenhof, and Diana still has her boutiques.’
‘I thought of their father when I saw the stories about Raoul Wallenberg,’ Victor said. ‘All very tragic.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Francesca changed the subject, told him about Kim and his children, Doris and her daughter, Marigold. Several times she jumped up, brought him photographs to look at, and everything was easy and relaxed between them. Victor observed Francesca surreptitiously from time to time, noting her elegance, her intrinsic beauty. She turned out to be exactly the woman I thought she would become, he commented to himself. And he was proud of her. He was also immensely attracted to her, wanted her in the very same way he had when they were younger. His only regret was that he was meeting her again when she had been so recently widowed. Good taste prevented him from making any overt moves, and yet he longed to do so. There’s plenty of time, old buddy, he told himself. Don’t rush her. Take it nice an’ easy. He began to make plans, decided to return to New York next month. Instinctively, he felt she was not entirely impervious to him, and they had had so much in the past, he was certain it could be recaptured. She was not going to escape from him a second time, if he could help it.
Francesca said, ‘I’m so glad you met with Katharine, Vic, and that you’re friends again. She really had some awful years in London, when she was undergoing psychiatric treatment.’
‘Yes, Nick told me a few things. Anyway, I’m not one to hold a grudge. We all did some very foolish things in those days. Youth! Not that I was so young. I should have known better. I was forty, after all.’
She glanced at him, smiled. ‘You don’t look very different really. Your face is craggier, but you still have the most marvellous tan I’ve ever seen on anyone.’
‘Thanks for the kind words. But I’ve also got a lotta white hair, kid.’
‘Very distinguished, those white wings at the sides. Oh, that’s the door-bell. Nick and Katharine.’ She pushed herself up and was walking across the floor when Nick hurtled into the room as white as a sheet, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. He closed the door behind him swiftly, and stood staring at her.
‘Nicky, whatever’s the matter?’ she cried, filling with alarm.
‘Oh Frankie, Frankie, she’s gone! Goddamn it, she’s gone! Checked out. No message. Nothing. How will I ever find her?’
Victor had risen. Concern registered on his face. He strode over to them, took hold of Nick’s arm and led him to a chair. ‘Calm down, old sport. Ches, get Nicky a drink please. Vodka or wine?’
‘Better make it vodka,’ Nick mumbled.
Francesca hovered over him, squeezing his shoulder several times. ‘Rest a moment, Nick dear. You seem out of breath.’
‘I ran all the way here. I thought perhaps she’d told you everything. On the ’phone maybe, that she had moved in here.’
Victor caught Francesca’s eye, raised a dark brow, looking as baffled as she did. He gave Nick the vodka, took hold of Francesca’s hand, led her with him to the sofa. ‘Now, Nicky, I think you’d better start at the beginning,’ Victor said.
Nick took a deep breath and told them both the shocking news Katharine had broken to him last night. They were as stunned and as distressed as he was. Several times his voice broke during the recounting of the details, and he had to blow his nose constantly as he fought the tears. Victor interrupted several times, asking medical questions, nodding his head, following carefully. Halfway through the trying and heartbreaking recital Francesca began to weep quietly, brushing her eyes with her hands. Victor put his arm around her, fished in his pocket for his handkerchief, handed it to her.
At last Nick stopped, lit a cigarette and drank some of the vodka. He went on, ‘That brings me up to the point when I left her at the Lazarus apartment. I came to see you, Vic, then picked her up there at time-thirty, went back with her to the Carlyle. I left this morning at six, because I had to finish reading galleys of the new novel. I wanted them out of the way, so I could concentrate on Kath for the next few months. She was awake when I left. I told her I’d pick her up at ten minutes to one to come here for lunch. When I got to the Carlyle at that time she’d checked out. Around ten o’clock, the desk told me. No forwarding address, no message. I can’t understand it. I must find her. Don’t you see, she needs me. Why? Why did she do this?’ He sprang up, walked to the window, stood staring out, his shoulders hunched.
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