Lavinia’s definitely a bit of a chatterbox. She told me all kinds of other things, when I was up viewing her paintings. It’s true that the family don’t have a lot of money these days, and that it’s Verity’s ingenuity that keeps everything running. Lavinia said the catalogues have helped, but that Verity sold off a lot of family jewellery and paintings, although the Earl hadn’t been too happy about it. She also told me that Xenia will never fall in love again, because she won’t let herself, that she’s ‘the keeper of the flame’, was the way she put it. I also found out that Xenia has a title too, because Tim, the only son of the Earl, was Viscount Leyburn. But she doesn’t use it.
I don’t care about any of their idiosyncrasies, or their complicated relationships. I just know that I like them all very much, and they’ve been so welcoming, so kind to me, especially Xenia. It’s wonderful to have such a true friend, a real girlfriend again after all these years. She’ll never be able to replace Carly and Denise in my heart, but I know she is a good person, and that she cares about me, as I do her. I love Xenia. She’s special. I hope Lavinia is wrong and that she will fall in love again one day.
Denise is gone, but Carly is there, lying in that hospital bed in the hospice in Connecticut. I haven’t seen her for over a year now, but Mom has been every month or so, as she always has for the last ten years. Mom’s been very devoted to her. Carly looks the same. In some kind of coma…lost to us all, is the way Mom puts it.
I’m still ambivalent about taking on the role of Emily Brontë. For a lot of reasons, really. I’m still not sure I can play the part; and then again, I know that deep down I truly dread going back to New York. It’s not that I’m afraid about my safety, because I’m not. Yes, there’s a murderer roaming free out there, a man who literally got away with murder. But I don’t think he’s after me, even if he did target me all those years ago. The reason I dread going back is because I was never happy in New York. These months I’ve spent in London have only pointed this up even more…
There was a loud knocking on the door. Katie stopped writing and put her pen down. Rising, she hurried to see who was there.
Dodie, the housekeeper, was standing in the corridor with an armful of towels. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Byrne, but I thought you might need these…just freshly laundered.’
‘Thanks, Dodie.’ Katie opened the door wider, and the housekeeper came in and headed towards the bathroom.
A moment later she was back in the bedroom; she looked across at Katie, who was standing with her back to the fireplace.
‘Oh, I see you started the fire,’ she said. ‘I’ll send Pell’s boy up with some extra logs.’
‘Thanks.’
Dodie nodded, walked towards the door, and then stopped abruptly. She closed the door with some deliberation and came back to the fireside. In a low voice she asked, ‘Could I have a word with you, Miss Byrne?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Katie frowned slightly, a puzzled look settling on her face.
‘It’s like this, miss. I acted funny, sort of odd, on Friday, when I first saw you. And I know you noticed, so did her ladyship. And Miss Xenia, she noticed too.’
Katie nodded, not sure how to respond to this statement.
Dodie was silent, stood staring at her intently.
Feeling suddenly uncomfortable under this concentrated scrutiny, Katie said, ‘It’s all right, Dodie. Please don’t worry about it.’
Dodie took a small step forward, peered into Katie’s face. ‘I’ve lived here all my life, I was born here…in the village. I’m like part of the family.’
‘Yes,’ Katie murmured, nodding.
‘So you know I’m not a crazy person. What I mean is, her ladyship trusts me, she knows me inside out, miss. Lady Verity is aware I’m psychic. Miss Xenia knows it too, but she doesn’t always accept it. She thinks I’m daft, but I’m not. Far from it, miss. I told Lord Tim not to go to Harrogate that day. I had bad feelings. I saw death. But he didn’t listen. And then they were in that…crash.’
Katie stared at the housekeeper, wide-eyed, wondering what was coming next.
‘On Friday night, when I stood near you, I picked up on you, Miss Byrne…your aura…You are full of pain. You hide it. But I see it. I see it all around you.’
Katie swallowed hard, continuing to gape at Dodie, but she made no comment.
‘There’s violence in your past…violence changed your life…you must go home, Miss Byrne.’
‘To New York?’
‘To America. You must go. There is unfinished business…you are needed.’
‘Who needs me?’
Dodie shook her head. ‘Please, Miss Byrne, go home. Home.’ She repeated this word, stressing it. ‘It will all be clear.’
‘I was planning to go for Christmas.’
‘No. Sooner.’
‘Dodie, are you all right?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Are you sure? You look very pale,’ Katie said, frowning again.
Dodie came closer, and she placed her hand on Katie’s arm. ‘Listen to me, miss. Your future…I can see it all around you. It’s in America. And there’s unfinished business, like I said. Years old. I mean you no harm, miss.’
‘Oh I know that, Dodie. But I can’t leave London immediately. I have classes to finish at RADA…’ Katie’s voice trailed off under Dodie’s unwavering gaze.
Dodie went on, ‘Soon. Go soon. That’s best.’ She walked across the floor, added, ‘I’ll tell Verity what I’ve told you…I always tell her when I’ve seen… something.’ She paused at the door, turned around and said in that same matter-of-fact voice, ‘I’ll send the boy up with the logs.’
PART THREE
Touch of Love
New York – Connecticut, 2000
‘Alas I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me – wilt thou? Open thine heart wide…’
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
‘With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gather’d to thy heart.’
ALICE MEYNELL
Chapter Twenty-seven
Katie stood alone in the middle of the stage, staring out into the empty auditorium. It was in darkness, and the stage was also dark, except for one pin-spot shining down on her red hair, illuminating her delicate face.
Taking several steps, she sat down on the bench and leaned forward, her right elbow on her knee, her chin resting on her right hand. After a moment, she began:
‘To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep – No more, and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to; ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep – To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause; there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life…’
Katie paused for an instant, to take a quick breath, and in that infinitesimal moment of silence sudden applause broke out in the auditorium.
Startled, she looked up, her mood of intense concentration broken. She rose and peered out into the darkness, saw sudden movement in the stalls, and then a slender figure came forward, walking slowly down the aisle towards the stage.
A moment later Katie recognized Melanie Dawson.
‘I didn’t know you were there!’ Katie exclaimed. ‘I was certain I was totally alone in the theatre.’
‘Remind me to cast you in the leading role, if ever Harry and I produce Hamlet again. That’s one of the best renditions of the soliloquy I’ve ever heard. How about that? Not a bad idea, eh? A female playing Hamlet.’
‘I’d love it,’ Katie replied. ‘But you’ve only heard half of the speech.’
‘I know that. You’re very gifted, Katie, and I’m both thrilled and relieved you took the part of Emily B
rontë. Thrilled because I know you’re going to be great in my show; relieved because I would’ve hated to see that talent of yours go to waste.’
‘Thanks for saying that, Melanie, your opinion of me as an actress is so important.’
Melanie was now looking across the proscenium, her face serious, as was her voice, when she said, ‘This part of Emily Brontë couldn’t be more perfect for you, Katie. You’ll see what it’ll do for your career.’
‘I’m glad you like the way I’ve been playing her. I was worried at first, because my interpretation is not quite the same as Janette Nerren’s is in London.’
‘No, it’s not. But I’ve liked what you’ve been doing, right from the start of rehearsals. It’s the way you visualize Emily that makes your performance different. You’ve made your Emily Brontë a very modern woman, I guess that’s what appeals to me. But I’ve told you this before. And you know, you were explaining to me why you’re playing her the way you are a couple of weeks ago, and then we were interrupted as usual. So tell me now.’
‘It was a friend in Yorkshire, Rex Bellamy, who helped me to see Emily differently. He’s an expert on the Brontës, and he gave me some insight into her. He didn’t tell me how to play Emily, of course. But he did explain a great deal about her, what she was really like, not what others have turned her into over the last hundred years or so.’
‘In other words, he showed you the real woman, the woman behind the myth.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It’s working, Katie, as you well know. You’re doing something special up there on that stage.’
‘Emily was very modern, Melanie. Before her time. Independent, extremely go-ahead. She thought she was superwoman, that she could do anything, achieve anything, because of her strength of will. And she emancipated herself, in a sense.’
‘Sounds like quite a few women I know.’ Melanie began to chuckle, looking amused.
Katie joined in that laughter and then she said, ‘I’ll come down off the stage.’
‘No, no, I’ll come up there, and walk back to the dressing room with you.’
A couple of seconds later the two of them were heading backstage, and Melanie was saying, ‘I was looking for you when I got stopped by Paul Mavrolian. He wanted to talk about the lighting. You know what tech week is like. I saw you, out of the corner of my eye, heading for the stage. And when I was finally able to follow you, I realized you were about to perform, so I went down into the auditorium to watch.’
‘I see. But why are you looking for me? Do you want to talk to me about something?’
‘Yes. You’ll have to meet Selda Amis Yorke tomorrow. For your final costume fittings. You should go to her studio tomorrow morning, then get back here as soon as you can for rehearsals.’
‘Okay, I will. And thanks again, Melanie.’
‘You’ve already thanked me.’
‘I know, but I am so aware of your faith in me…I promise I won’t let you down.’
‘I know you won’t.’
Maureen Byrne was busy dusting the living room of Katie’s small apartment in New York when the phone began to ring. Immediately she picked it up and said, ‘Hello?’
‘Is that you, Katie?’
‘No, it’s her mother. Who’s this?’
‘Oh hello, Mrs Byrne. How are you? This is Grant…Grant Miller.’
‘Hello Grant…Katie’s not here. She’s at rehearsals.’
‘Of course, how stupid of me. I keep forgetting she’s in the Brontë play. What time do you expect her?’
Maureen hesitated. She really couldn’t stand Grant Miller, and it took a great deal of her self-control to be civil to him. He was a bore with a face. His claim to fame, no doubt, although Katie had always said he had talent. Clearing her throat, her good manners kicking in, Maureen finally answered. ‘I guess she gets out of rehearsals about six.’
‘That sounds about right…ten until six. Those mandatory eight hours the producers make one work, tough, tough, Mrs Byrne. And I can only say, oh boy, am I glad I’ve moved out of the theatre and into the movies.’
‘Have you really, Grant?’ Maureen tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice, but she wasn’t sure that she had. ‘Can I give Katie a message?’
It was his turn to clear his throat. ‘Well, er, I’m not really sure, Mrs Byrne…I hate leaving a message. I really should talk to Katie about this…’
There was a sudden silence.
Maureen could hear him breathing at the other end of the phone. Reaching for the pen, sliding the small white pad towards her, she said in a brisk voice, ‘Give me your number, please. I’ll have her call you when she gets home. If she’s not too tired.’
‘I’m in Beverly Hills,’ he replied, and rattled off ten digits. ‘But as I just told you, Mrs Byrne, I don’t like to leave a message about a sensitive subject, so –’
‘You never said it was a sensitive subject, Grant,’ Maureen cut in.
‘It is though, you see…Look Mrs Byrne, maybe I should explain to you, and then you can give me your input, tell me what you think.’
‘Go ahead, Grant.’
‘It’s like this Mrs Byrne…I’m getting married. Now this will come as something of a shock to Katie, I know, and I don’t want her to take it too hard, get upset.’
Maureen was silent.
After a moment, he cleared his throat again, more nervously than before, and asked, ‘Are you there, Mrs Byrne?’
‘I am, Grant.’
‘It’s just…Well, look, I don’t want Katie to be hurt. How will she react?’
With relief, I’m certain of that, Maureen thought. But she said, in a no-nonsense tone, ‘Oh, don’t worry about Katie’s reaction, she’s totally involved with the play right now. She’ll be the first to wish you much happiness. As I do. Goodbye, Grant.’
He was mumbling his goodbye as she hung up swiftly.
Good riddance, Maureen thought, staring at the phone, and then she whirled away, gaily flicking the feather duster over the bookcase, suddenly feeling like humming a tune for the first time in ages. But instead of humming she began to laugh. Michael had always said Grant Miller was pompous and he had just proved it.
How like Grant Miller to imagine Katie would be upset because he was about to marry. Ego, she thought, what an ego that man has. She and Katie were as close as they had always been, if not closer these days, and her daughter had confided, over a year ago now, that the relationship with Grant was going nowhere, that it was over, as far as she was concerned.
And Katie had moved on. Not to another man, unfortunately, but she had finally taken a decisive step and accepted a part in a Broadway show at long last.
Maureen was relieved about that; also relieved that Katie had returned to America. She had understood her daughter’s need to get out of New York, her desire to go to London to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Katie was very enamoured of English acting and actors, wanted to hone her own acting talent in the place she considered the best.
She and Michael had been more than willing to support her financially through this period, just as they had taken over this apartment while Katie was absent.
Her sister, Bridget, had found it for Katie, when she had first come to New York to study. It was on West End Avenue in the Seventies, in a small building with a doorman, safe, very convenient, and accessible to Broadway.
When Katie had announced her intention to go to London last year, Bridget had cautioned Maureen not to allow Katie to vacate the apartment. ‘She’ll be back before you know it, and this is rent-controlled, a bargain she’ll never find again. It will even be a bargain if and when the building goes co-op. And that will happen, you’ll see. So hang on to it, even if you have to take it over yourself.’
She and Michael had listened to Bridget and done exactly that, which had turned out to be an excellent move on their part. In the past year, during Katie’s absence, they had frequently driven into Manhattan to spend the weekend, go to the theatre
or the movies, to shop, and have a meal with Bridget. And even Niall used the apartment from time to time, on quick trips to the city on business.
Niall. Her eldest child. Maureen worried about him. He was twenty-nine and still not married, much to her disappointment. She’d always thought that by now she would’ve had at least one grandchild. But Niall wasn’t even courting anyone special. Lots of girlfriends, though. Safety in numbers.
She didn’t worry about Fin. Her youngest was twenty-two and loved Oxford University, where he would graduate next year. He always struck her as being totally in harmony with himself, in control, at ease with his academic accomplishments, which were considerable. Not taking them for granted exactly, but accepting them in the most natural way. A bit of a loner, of course, but then Katie and Niall had made him that, not always allowing him into their tight circle of two. Fin was forever going forward, though. No, he’s not a worry at all, she thought. But then again, Fin was not as badly affected by the tragic events of ten years ago as Katie and Niall were.
Maureen sighed, and glanced at the photograph on one of the bookshelves.
Katie, Carly, and Denise.
The photograph had been taken when they were sixteen. At Katie’s Sweet Sixteen Party. She put the duster down on the desk, reached for the photograph in its dark wood frame, held it in both her hands, staring down at their faces. So young, so innocent, so tender.
Unexpectedly, tears sprang into Maureen’s deep blue eyes as she thought of their great promise…it had been stolen from them so viciously.
Katie was alive, but the violence had left its terrible and very damaging imprint on her daughter. And on Michael and Niall and Maureen herself.
The Triumph of Katie Byrne Page 20
