Voice of the Heart

  He heard her laughter as she tripped lightly down the steps, and he went along the corridor to meet her, smiling broadly. He grabbed her, somewhat roughly, but with genuine affection, and hugged her to him. ‘You were smashing, love,’ he exclaimed. ‘Staggering. You pulled out all the stops.’

  ‘Thanks, Norman.’ She exhaled several times. ‘I did it for Terry,’ she said softly, and with the sweetest of smiles. ‘I acted for both of us tonight. But it was rough going at times. Look at me. I’m soaked to my skin.’

  ‘You’d better get out of your damp costume immediately,’ Norman ordered in a fatherly manner, bundling her towards her dressing room door. ‘By the way, can I buy you a drink later, love?’

  ‘That’s so sweet of you, Norman, but I have a date.’

  ‘Just one. Ten minutes of your time. It’s important, Katharine.’

  She noted the anxiety in Norman’s voice, and she thought, Oh God, Terry’s taken a turn for the worse. She said swiftly, and with a degree of nervousness, ‘Is he all right? There’s nothing wrong is there?’

  ‘No, he’s fast asleep. Actually, I need a bit of advice… About Ter… our boy…’ Norman’s voice traded off. He gave her a pointed look. ‘Understand what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ She did not have the heart to refuse him. Also, she was worried about Terry herself, and riddled with curiosity about these recent events, and her inquisitiveness now got the better of her. She said, ‘Kim Cunningham’s bringing a picnic over to my flat later. We’re going to have a midnight supper.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He’s very romantic. Anyway, we can have a drink there, Norman. We have plenty of time to talk before he arrives.’

  Norman was hesitant, shrinking away from this suggestion. He always felt faintly ill-at-ease when he was with the nobs. Being the son of a man who had spent forty years of his life in service to one of the premier dukes of England, he had been brought up to know his place. And his place was certainly not at any social gathering, particularly one of this intimate nature. ‘Oh well, if his lordship’s coming courting, perhaps we’d better leave it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Norman. I want you to come. And I certainly want to help you and Terry if I can.’

  ‘Okay. And thanks, Katharine, you’re a real brick,’ Norman beamed. ‘I’m going to pop along and help Peter, but I won’t be long. Knock on the door when you’re ready to leave.’

  ‘I’ll hurry. About fifteen minutes,’ she said, disappearing into her dressing room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘I’d like a pink gin, please,’ Norman said, lighting a cigarette as he sat back on the white sofa in Katharine’s flat.

  ‘Oh dear, I don’t have any angostura bitters,’ she answered with a frown. ‘But I do have gin. Would you like a splash of tonic water with it?’

  ‘Thanks, love, that’ll be fine.’

  Katharine smiled, returning to the kitchen. Norman glanced around with considerable interest. Very posh, he thought. And expensive. But not to my taste at all. The room was too cold, too sterile and too… hygienic. All this white. It reminded him of a hospital. The only thing missing was the smell of disinfectant and that peculiar medicinal odour which always permeated the wards. The décor was so frigid and icy it was oddly depressing, and despite the warmth emanating from the large electric fire in the fireplace, Norman felt chilled. He had trouble reconciling the room with Katharine and what he knew of her. Earlier, at the theatre, when she had invited him to her flat, he had imagined a setting quite different from this one. She was such a cheerful, open and vivacious girl, with a warm personality and a sweet disposition, and this place where she lived was somehow alien in its austerity and, yes, its lifelessness.

  White. It struck an odd chord in his memory. White was the mourning colour in India, wasn’t it? He shivered again and his thoughts swept to Terry. We might have been mourning him, he said inwardly, except for the slip of the knife. The right slip, in this instance. Norman’s chest tightened, and he felt a spurt of intense rage. Deep inside he was furious with Terry for constantly putting himself in such precarious situations, for jeopardizing his career. His brilliant career. And, today, his safety as well.

  Katharine arrived with the drinks. She handed the gin and tonic to Norman and seated herself on the chair facing him.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said with a friendly smile, and took a sip of her vodka on the rocks.

  ‘Cheers,’ Norman responded. ‘I really appreciate this, Katharine.’ He looked away, wondering where to begin, how to launch into the story and enumerate the terrible worries which plagued him, which could no longer be shoved under the rug. The trouble was, there was so much to tell.

  Katharine waited patiently, regarding Terry’s dresser with not a little curiosity, wondering how much he was going to divulge about the stabbing. For undoubtedly that was what he wanted to discuss with her. She had half expected him to say something on their way from the theatre, but he had mostly raved about her performance, not touching on his troubles.

  As if he had read her mind, Norman now cleared his throat and blurted out, ‘Terry’s on a path to self-destruction! I don’t know how to stop him, Katharine. I’m out of my mind with worry. Honest to God, I don’t know what to do any more!’

  Katharine sat up straight. ‘What do you mean… self-destruction?’

  ‘The way he’s been behaving, the situations he gets himself into, and with increasing frequency. He’s not very stable.’ He immediately saw the challenge in her large turquoise eyes, the disbelief washing across her lovely young face, and he said with great firmness, ‘I’m not exaggerating! Believe me I’m not! I’ve thought for a long time that he’d come a cropper one day, but it was sooner than I expected. And much worse. Christ Almighty, don’t you realize he could have been killed today! It was a fluke he wasn’t!’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Katharine shifted in her chair and leaned forward slightly. ‘Why don’t you tell me about the stabbing, Norman dear. You’ll feel much better if you get it off your chest.’

  Norman half laughed bleakly. ‘There’s not much to tell about that incident. I’ve been trying to piece things together as best I could from Terry’s incoherent mumblings, and I’ve come up with one theory at least. I wish I’d talked to you before, and then perhaps this bloody mess might have been avoided. But to be honest, I didn’t want to discuss Terry’s troubles. I… I… felt it would be terribly disloyal.’ Norman took a cigarette, lit it and continued, ‘I know I can trust you though. I mean, I know you understand that what I’m going to tell you about Terry is absolutely confidential—’

  ‘I would never repeat anything you told me to anyone,’ Katharine interrupted. ‘I promise you, Norman.’

  ‘Thanks, love.’ His eyes rested on her, searching, as he began slowly, diffidently, ‘I know you suspect Alexa, and so does Penny, but I don’t think she was involved. Terry told me the other day that she was going to Zurich to see her father, and as far as I know she did. I think she’s still there. Actually, I’m sure it was a man,’ he rushed on, his voice gaining in strength and conviction. ‘But listen, love, I don’t want my theory repeated. You’ve got to promise me you won’t say a word to a soul about this matter either.’

  Katharine moved to the edge of the sofa, absorbing his words. She said, ‘Of course I won’t. I realize you can’t go around accusing people of attempted murder.’

  ‘Have you ever seen Terry with a young, good-looking bod? Dark haired, very well dressed, almost foppish?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ Katharine said, her brows puckering. ‘Does he have a yellow Jag that he parks in the Haymarket?’

  ‘That’s the bloke!’ Norman cried. He took a long swallow of the gin and tonic, and said flatly, in a cold voice, ‘I think it was him that did it.’

  ‘Norman, are you sure?’ Katharine asked nervously.

  ‘Of course I can’t be sure. I wasn’t there,’ he replied snappishly. In a more even tone he added, ‘But from what Terry said to me, and because of the things I
know myself, everything points to him.’

  ‘But who is he, Norman?’ Katharine demanded.

  ‘He calls himself Rupert Reynolds.’

  ‘Calls himself! Isn’t that his real name?’

  ‘No, it’s not. Actually, he’s the son of a very prominent man.’

  Katharine looked at Norman sharply. ‘How do you know, if he uses a false name? Did Terry tell you?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. In fact, Terry had no idea who the hell he was until I filled him in. You see, this bod was getting to be a bit of a nuisance to Terry, so I made a few inquiries about him.’ Norman laughed grimly. ‘He’s the black sheep of a prominent family, and not on good terms with his old man. Anyway, I believe he was having lunch with Terry at the flat today, when they had a row. And then Rupert slashed him with the knife.’ Norman’s head moved up and down a few times jerkily, as though he was confirming his suspicions to himself.

  ‘But why?’ Katharine asked, horrified that anyone would want to harm Terry.

  ‘Jealousy,’ he pronounced.

  Taken aback though she was, she refrained from commenting. Finally, she said, ‘Don’t tell me Terry pinched one of his girl friends.’

  ‘Well, yes, and then, no. It’s a shade more convoluted than that…’ Norman ran his hand through his thinning hair, blinking rapidly, obviously distressed. ‘I’ll try and make the story as simple as possible. About six months ago this Rupert chap met Terry at a party. He claimed to be a playwright. Anyway, he attached himself to Terry. Like a bloody leech, I don’t mind telling you. I warned Terry he was a sponger, a hanger-on of the worst kind, but Terry simply laughed at me. He seemed to be impressed with the bloke, God knows why. He thought Rupert was entertaining. Rupert was trying to shove a play down Terry’s throat, one he’d written. He wanted Terry to help him get it staged, and to star in it. Bloody cheek, if you ask me. And a load of codswallop, it was. Drivel. At least Terry had the sense to say no to that little project, but still, he wasn’t able to shake Rupert. Terry was beginning to get fed up with him, and they had some sort of a barney. Rupert made himself scarce for a few weeks. Suddenly, out of the blue, he was back on the scene with Alexa Garrett in tow. He introduced her as his girl friend, and, I must say, they did seem very chummy. Stone the crows, the next thing I know she and Terry are shacking up together and madly in love. Talking of marriage. Bloody hell, you could have knocked me down with a bloomin’ feather.’

  ‘And so that’s why Rupert stabbed Terry? Because he was jealous of him?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so…’ Norman gave Katharine the most careful of looks, and his voice was muffled as he told her, ‘I think the bugger was jealous of Alexa. I think… well, to be honest, Katharine, he’s a bit decadent in my opinion. You know, swings either way on a windy day. AC-DC.’

  Katharine was staring at Norman, momentarily nonplussed. Eventually, she asked incredulously, in a surprised voice, ‘Are you trying to tell me this Rupert what’s-his-name has a thing about Terry?’

  Norman nodded. ‘I bloody well am! But hey, Katharine, it’s not mutual! Terry’s as straight as a die. Nothing in the least bit bent about our boy. He loves the ladies too much to tango with the gents, as you well know. And I know for a fact he hasn’t encouraged the chap, other than being friendly with him. Terry can be generous to a fault.’

  ‘But didn’t Terry realize that this Rupert was…’

  ‘Queer as a coot?’ Norman interjected and laughed sarcastically. ‘No, not initially. Rupert Reynolds is a deceptive kind of bloke. He always had a lot of dolly birds hanging around, and was for ever boring us, boasting about his conquests. But I began to get an inkling about his predilections a couple of months ago, when he started acting possessive with Terry. I remarked about it, but Terry just laughed again and brushed it off. ’Course, I’d alerted him. Then Alexa confirmed my suspicions and Terry had to listen to her, now didn’t he? You can imagine Terry’s reaction. He dropped Rupert like a hot spud. Yes, Master Reynolds was suddenly persona non bloody grata around the old homestead. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for weeks.’

  ‘Until today,’ Katharine volunteered.

  ‘That’s right. When I got to the flat and found Terry bleeding on the bed, he muttered something about Rupert being bonkers, and repeated it several times too. I couldn’t make out everything he was saying, but blimey, Katharine, it don’t take much to put two and two together, does it?’

  ‘Oh Norman, it’s so little to go on, really it—’

  ‘I found this,’ Norman interrupted peremptorily, and reached into his pocket, producing a gold cufflink. He handed it to Katharine, who took it and studied it, turning it over in her hand.

  ‘It has some sort of crest on it.’ She looked at Norman questioningly.

  ‘That’s correct. A family crest, and it’s Rupert’s all right. I’ve seen it before. No two ways about it, ducks, and I found it right in the middle of the living room floor. Listen, the ashtrays were full of the cigs he smokes. Some foul-smelling Frog brand.’

  Katharine said curiously, ‘Is that why you wanted my advice? I mean about this Rupert fellow?’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact, it isn’t—’

  ‘But somebody like that could still be dangerous,’ Katharine cried. ‘Aren’t you afraid he’ll try and hurt Terry again? You know what they say, hell hath no fury like a—’

  ‘Good God, no.’ Norman laughed, and she caught the edge of grimness in his laughter. ‘I’m sure he’s already scarpered across the Channel by now, and if he hasn’t, you can bet your bottom dollar he’s packing at this very moment, intent on doing a moonlight bloody flit to foreign parts. I doubt he relishes the idea of being in the dock at the Old Bailey, up on a murder charge. Or rather, attempted murder. No, we won’t be hearing a peep from that nasty bit of work again, don’t you fret, duckie. And if he should be stupid enough to show his mug, I’ll threaten to go to his father. That’ll scare the living daylights out of him.’

  ‘Well, I suppose you know best, Norman,’ Katharine murmured, sounding both hesitant and doubtful. She was perplexed and asked pointedly, ‘So what was it you actually wanted my advice about?’

  Norman said, ‘How to get Terry out of the trouble he’s in right now, and as quickly as possible.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ Katharine cried anxiously. What else could Norman possibly have up his sleeve?

  ‘All kinds of problems… I suppose the best thing is to just plunge in at the deep end, so to speak, and tell you about them. So, here goes. First of all, Terry is up to his eyes in debt. And I really mean up to his eyes—drowning. He’s paying alimony and child support to Glenda, his first wife, and he’ll also have to fork out alimony to Megan, once they’re divorced. She ain’t about to let him off the bloody hook, I can tell you that! So, you see, two ex-wives are going to prove very expensive, unless they both remarry, and pretty sharpish. Then again, take Terry himself. He lives like a bloomin’ pasha. The best Savile Row suits, shirts from Turnbull’s, shoes from Maxwell’s. He’s always in chic restaurants, and nothing short of the best will do for our Terrence. And he entertains very expansively, and expensively. Now there’s the damage at John’s flat. That’s not going to be cheap to put right. Not on your nelly. I’ve been doing a bit of arithmetic, and right now Terry needs at least forty or fifty thousand pounds to square everything away. And don’t ask me where he’s going to get it, ’cos I don’t have any ideas. I’m stymied.’

  Katharine had been listening attentively, and she realized Norman was not exaggerating. Everything he said was true; she knew herself that Terry lived high, although she had never given it much thought until this moment. ‘Couldn’t he go to the bank and get an overdraft?’ she suggested.

  ‘Not bloody likely! He has one already.’ A tired sigh escaped Norman’s lips, and he said, ‘Jesus, Katharine, Terry spends money like a drunken sailor when the fleet’s in, and there’s just no end to it. But his financial worries aside, there’s also Alexa. I agree with Penny that
she’s been a bad influence on him, and he’d be a lot better off without her in his life. And don’t think he isn’t influenced by his women,’ he muttered almost to himself. After a pause he went on, ‘For one thing, he’s been boozing heavily since he met her. Oh, I don’t mean he has a real drinking problem… at least, not yet. Terry’s always been able to knock a few back, but he’s tippling more than usual. If he weren’t, I doubt the incident with Reynolds would have erupted and ended the way it did today. To be honest with you, I wish I could get Terry out of London, away from Alexa and that fast crowd of hers he’s running with. I think he’d straighten out very quickly. One possibility has come up. He’s been invited by the Shakespeare Memorial Company to go to Australia on a long tour, as the leading actor, the star attraction. I’ve been wondering how to persuade him to sign the contract. It would solve a lot of things. What do you think? I’d really like your advice.’

  Katharine pondered, but only for a moment. She exclaimed authoritatively, ‘But they pay so little, much less than he’s earning now in the play. It would hardly solve his money problems. And I don’t think it would do much for his career. I realize Larry and Viv used to do those tours, but, well, they were international stars already. No, I think Australia would be a real mistake, Norman.’

  ‘I expect you’re right,’ Norman mumbled glumly, and fell silent.

  Katharine sat back on the sofa, reflecting on everything Norman had said. Once again, she knew he was absolutely correct in his assessment of the situation. She knew, too, that he was motivated strictly out of concern for Terry. Norman was the most selfless person she had met in a long time, and Terry was exceptionally fortunate to have such a dedicated dresser and loyal and devoted friend. Katharine’s mind was like a well-oiled Swiss watch, finely tuned and precise, and now it turned with amazing swiftness.