Voice of the Heart

  What the hell, I’m also vulnerable to her, he said to himself. Well, for the moment anyway. He stole a sidelong glance at her, took in the proud tilt of the shapely head, the honey-coloured hair turned to a deep golden hue by the late afternoon light. His eyes dwelt on her. The Loden cape she was wearing was far too large, more than likely Christian’s, but its bulkiness only served to emphasize her fragility and delicacy, and she seemed defenceless and feminine, more so than ever.

  When she had taken him up to see his suite after lunch, he had been filled with her, had had to stifle the urge to take her in his arms, to make love to her without preamble. The scent of her had lingered with him long after she had left, and her image had danced before his eyes for the entire twenty minutes he had talked to Jake in London. During the course of their business discussion, Jake mentioned that Nick had been trying to reach him from New York. Nothing important, it seemed. Nick had merely wanted to touch base; he had told Jake to pass on the message that he would call again next week.

  Now, as he trudged along, Victor’s mind strayed to Nicky and he was momentarily saddened himself. Poor bastard. I don’t envy him. I bet he’s been through the wringer half a dozen times by now. Victor sighed and glanced again at his companion, this lovely, willowy girl, striding out next to him through the snow. She was so vibrant, so full of life. All at once his sadness lifted, and he experienced such a surge of joyousness, he was startled, and he began to reflect on the reason for his abrupt swing in mood. Don’t analyse, just accept it, he said under his breath.

  They continued in silence for some time, following the steep path into the heart of the forest. Here the stately ancient firs were massive, interlocking overhead to shut out the sky, and all was green darkness, infinite stillness, and gentle peace in this soaring cathedral wrought from nature. But as the trees began to thin out, rays of light, faint, fading, intermittent, were penetrating the cool darkness here and there, creating a delicate pattern-play of shifting shadows on the pale ground. A shaft of brilliant sunshine broke through, glazing the windswept snowdrifts with a silvery sheen, turning the icicles bedecking the trees into shreds of shimmering crystal. Everything was bathed in this iridescent light, the scene ethereal and breathtaking in its silent beauty. Victor thought: Oh God, it’s so good to be alive. And it was then that he remembered his vow not to fritter away his time, made on the day he had learned of Marcia’s untimely death. Seize the moment, live for the day, taking everything it offers. Dangerous? Perhaps. But then what was life without an element of danger? Hardly worth living, surely…

  ‘How is Jake?’ Francesca asked, turning to him.

  Victor cleared his throat, and said, ‘Hunky-dory. No problems at the moment, thank God. We’re still on the same schedule, and start principal photography the first week of April, as planned. Jake also told me Mark Pierce has found the perfect actor to play the young Heathcliff. He met with him this morning, and it looks as if we’re all set there.’

  ‘I hadn’t realized you’d definitely decided to go with that idea.’

  ‘Yep. We tossed it around a lot, finally came to the conclusion it would be wiser to cast someone else to portray Heathcliff in the early years. Nicky tried to call me today. He’s going to be staying in New York for some time. He wants to be with his folks.’

  ‘But he is all right, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said laconically. He was thoughtful. After a second, he remarked in the most guarded of voices, ‘You like Nicky a lot, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Francesca had caught something curious in his tone, and she had the merest flicker of a thought: Was he jealous because he believed she had a crush on Nick? She said evenly, ‘He is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and he’s been awfully kind to me, very encouraging about my writing, most helpful actually. I like to think he’ll be my very good friend always.’

  ‘He will, kid,’ Victor replied, his voice a shade lighter. ‘When Nicky takes to somebody, the way he’s taken to you, he’s devoted. Nothing fair weather about him either.’

  Francesca said, ‘I sensed that. Don’t you think it odd that he and Katharine are so antagonistic towards each other?’

  ‘That’s pretty smart of you, picking up on the undercurrents between those two. I didn’t realize anyone else had noticed their carefully-veiled dislike, and it is a bit puzzling, yes. On the other hand, you never know about people. We all bring out different things in each other, present different sides of ourselves.’ A short pause, another swift glance at her, and then, ‘You and Katharine seem to be closer than ever. Unusual really, for two such pretty girls to be inseparable. Women are generally very competitive, in my experience anyway. You two are the exception to the rule, I guess.’

  Francesca nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, that’s true I think. And she is quite marvellous, and so good for Kim. If she is going to become my sister-in-law, I know I couldn’t ask for a better one.’

  Victor was dumbfounded. ‘Are you trying to tell me those two are serious?’

  She regarded him in surprise. ‘I thought you’d realized how involved they are. Yes, I think they’re very serious, although, to be honest, they haven’t confided in me.’

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ he muttered half to himself, and wondered how Katharine Tempest, rising star, intended to manage her career in Hollywood, where she was destined to go, and marriage with a member of the English aristocracy. A farmer no less, based in the wilds of Yorkshire, and one who was entirely involved with his heritage. Christ, he thought, she’ll have to do a lot of expert juggling. A smile touched his eyes. No one was more adept at that little trick than Katharine, as he had recently come to understand. Sweet and thoughtful though she was, there was a manipulative side to her character, and it was so deeply ingrained it was second nature. ‘And how does your father feel about having a movie star in the family?’ he asked. ‘That must really thrill him.’

  Francesca picked up the edge of his sarcasm and gave him an odd look. ‘I haven’t discussed it with him lately, but he does like Katharine very much. Why wouldn’t he? In fact, I’d say he’s enchanted by her.’ Not wishing to become further embroiled in this conversation, she added, ‘There’s the gazebo Diana was telling you about at lunch.’ She pointed towards a small stone structure, just visible on the crest of the hill ahead of them, a little beyond the edge of the forest. It was circular, with a domed roof and four side columns, built in the manner of a pavilion, and it was obviously very old. ‘From there we’ll be able to see for miles and miles around, right across the valley.’

  ‘I’ll race you,’ he cried, and charged forward before she could respond, leaving her well behind as he sped through the few remaining trees, across the snow and up the slope. Francesca began to run after him and when she finally reached the stone steps leading into the pavilion she was panting.

  Victor was already standing inside and he leaned forward to give her his hand. ‘Watch the steps,’ he cautioned. ‘They’re a bit icy.’ He steadied her with his free hand and helped her up. Francesca, who was familiar with the spot, led him to the far side of the structure, which faced out towards a range of mountains punctuating the horizon above the floor of the deep wide valley below.

  ‘Diana was right!’ he exclaimed. ‘The views are magnificent.’ He put his arm around Francesca’s shoulder in a companionable way, and brought her close to his side. They stood for a long time like that, not speaking, regarding the awesome beauty of the glacial snowscape stretching endlessly before them, engulfed by the infinite white silence and the crystalline fight pouring out of a sky of the clearest blue.

  Francesca, conscious of Victor’s proximity, could hardly breathe. She was shaking inside and her heart was pounding, filled as she was with a mixture of joy and anticipation. And the longer he held her next to him, the sharper his desire became, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to release his hold on her.

  Then, as though they had read each other’s thoughts, they turned slowly. Their eyes met
and each one saw the longing and desire so clearly revealed on the other’s face they were momentarily staggered. Francesca’s lips parted slightly and she wanted to say his name, but it choked in her throat and she could only continue to stare up at him speechlessly. Her adoration of him blazed on her face, and to Victor it was heartstopping in its depth and sincerity, and he was spellbound by her. He felt a rush of intense emotion. His eyes bored into her, devoured her, and she returned his gaze unwaveringly, baring her innermost feelings, and in her expression he recognized irrevocable commitment to him. For the longest moment they were unable to look away. They were entranced, breathless, bound up in their infatuation with each other, and they both knew there was no going back.

  Victor finally discarded the tight rein he had had on himself for weeks. He leaned forward and pulled her into his arms roughly, and his mouth was on hers, and he kissed her passionately and for a long time, as if slaking a consuming thirst. And she responded so ardently, meeting his passion head on, without restraint, and this sent thrill upon thrill shooting through him, and he wanted to take her without delay. But he knew he could not. Not now. Not here. And yet he was unable to quell his urgent need for her, and he tightened his embrace, lavishing her face and her neck and her hair with kisses, his heart racing, the blood pounding in his temples.

  At last he held himself away from her, and guided her into the shelter of the gazebo, out of the wind, his hand gripping her arm forcefully. He leaned her against one of the stone columns and stood in front of her, looking down into her face, brimming with expectancy and paler now. His gabardine parka was fur-lined and cumbersome, a barrier between them, and he unzipped it, throwing it open, and then he took her hands in his and pulled off her woollen mittens. With his own he tossed them onto the floor.

  She was in his arms again, their mouths meeting as if for the first time, their tongues entwining, their bodies cleaving together, straining to be joined. Victor’s kisses were slow, prolonged. He ran his hands through her silky hair and grasped the nape of her neck, his fingers biting into her skin; and she reached up to touch his face, stroking it languorously, and she thought she was about to dissolve in his arms. His control was slipping, slipping away from him completely, and he felt his hardness growing as she returned the pressure of his body with her own. He was on a dangerous explosive edge, wild with longing, and suddenly he thrust himself up against her savagely, pinning her against the stone column; his mouth grew more demanding, was unrelenting on hers. He wanted to draw all of her into him, to know every part of her body intimately, to make her truly his.

  The rage to possess her drove him on, and his hand went under her cape and he cupped her breast and fondled it lovingly. He felt her nipple harden through the wool, and he slid his hand around her back and up under the sweater. His fingers plucked impatiently, and expertly, on her bra strap, freeing her, and at last he was caressing her bare flesh, gently, tenderly, and then with growing urgency and fervour. He heard a faint moan of pleasure from her throat, and he brought his mouth down to her breast and kissed it with sensuality, savouring the warm silken flesh, drinking in the delicate perfume of her body, so yielding and so obviously craving his.

  It seemed to Francesca that his mouth was ravaging her, an exquisite tingling sensation spreading up from her thighs through her whole being. She was intoxicated with him. Her legs weakened and she swayed against him, aching for total domination, wanting to give herself to him. And the erotic fantasies she had harboured about him in the past few weeks converged and exploded in her head. Her fingers embedded themselves in his thick black hair, and she called his name, saying it over and over again, and she quivered under his touch, every one of her senses clamouring for him.

  Consumed with his passion for her though he was, Victor knew dimly, at the back of his mind, that to continue like this out here in the open was foolish and unfair to them both. He must bring their lovemaking to an end, and immediately, get a grip on himself, and on her, for there was no way she would even attempt to stop him. She wanted this as much as he did, was his willing ally. Excruciating as it was for Victor to curtail their loving, he finally did so. He lifted his face from her breast, pulled down her sweater and wrapped the huge cape around her body. Then he enfolded her in his arms, protecting her with his parka. He stroked the crown of her head slowly, pressing her face against his chest, endeavouring to calm her. She cried suddenly, ‘Oh, Victor! Victor!’ and he heard the yearning, the disappointment echoing.

  He said hoarsely, ‘I know, baby. I know. Later. I promise you, baby. All of me later.’

  They stood clinging to each other until they had both regained a measure of composure. Eventually they drew apart and stared wonderingly into each other’s eyes. Victor’s heart clenched, and he experienced that same shock of recognition he had felt when first meeting her, and the elusive memory stirred again but evaporated before he could pinpoint it accurately. Her upturned face, still faintly glazed over with a residue of desire for him, was exquisite. He brought his hand up to touch her cheek, and his gaze was steadfast, their silent communication more explicit than words could ever be. Victor nodded his head slowly, but with great deliberation, as though confirming his recent promise to her, confirming the mutuality of their feelings. He brought her out of the stone gazebo without speaking.

  Together they went down the hill, hand in hand, each shaken by the intensity of their desire for each other and by the fierce sexuality which had been aroused and unleashed between them. And they were a little benumbed as they headed back to the narrow path which plunged precariously through the pines to Wittingenhof and the estate far below on the plateau. Glancing up at the sky, Victor realized how long they had been on the mountain. The sun had long since set, the fight was swiftly fading and there was a biting chill in the air. As they entered the forest, darker now than ever, he squeezed her hand reassuringly, and hurried her on, anxious to get her back to the warmth of the house. At one moment, he said, with a sheepish laugh, ‘My timing leaves a lot to be desired! I certainly picked one hell of a place to make love to you, didn’t I?’

  Her laughter echoed his in the silent air. ‘Yes, you did. And that’s the perfect way for us both to catch our deaths.’

  ‘Ah, but watta way to go, kid.’

  A mist had materialized and it was rolling down the mountainside to swirl around them as they pushed ahead. It was a light fog really, dank and cold and pervasive, and it was shrouding the forest with gossamer layers of pearl grey that obscured visibility. At Victor’s insistence, they increased their pace, were almost running as they took the last stretch of pathway through the wood. When they finally came out of the trees onto the flat ground, twilight was already descending, the sky drained of its icy blueness and darkening to sombre pewter. Still clasping hands, they continued to run across the long meadow to the Schloss, and its lights, twinkling brightly in the distance, were a welcome sight. ‘I think we just made it in time,’ Victor said, slowing to a trot. ‘I’d hate to get caught on that mountain when it’s really dark.’

  ‘It can be treacherous. And it’s very easy to get lost,’ Francesca told him as they went inside, crossed the hall and made their way down the stone stairs to the cloakroom on the lower floor. She hung up her Loden cape, and went on, ‘Diana’s always warned me about getting back before sunset. She’s probably quite worried by now. We’d better hurry, and go up for tea.’

  ‘Sure,’ Victor said, struggling out of his parka. He sat down, pulled off his heavy walking boots, and slipped into a pair of black suede loafers. He rose, looked at himself in the mirror, ran a comb through his hair and carefully straightened his black cashmere sweater. He swung around to face Francesca, and unaccountably he began to laugh.

  She threw him a startled look. ‘What is it?’

  Victor shook his head in a bemused way. ‘I was just thinking about all the time I’ve wasted with you. All the opportunities we’ve had these past weeks…’ He said no more, merely smiled lopsidedly. ‘I guess I
’ve been kind of ambivalent about you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The problems with Arlene, with my divorce. Worry about Confidential. Preoccupation with the picture. A decision not to get involved with anyone. But I suppose your age did have a lot to do with it.’

  ‘I’ll be twenty in May,’ she answered, her tone defensive.

  ‘And I’ll be forty in June,’ he said flatly, suddenly facing this reality. ‘I’m far too old for you, Francesca. Twenty years too old. Jesus, I was a married man when I was your age—before you were even born. The boys are older than you, for God’s sake. Listen, kid, I’ve lived a lifetime already. There’s nothing I haven’t seen, haven’t done, haven’t experienced. In fact, there’s nothing new to me on this earth. I’m pretty goddamn jaded, if you want the truth.’ He shook his head a trifle sadly, and his sigh was heavy. With a hint of regret, he finished, ‘I’m not being fair to you, Francesca. You ought to be with someone nearer your own age, not an old reprobate like me.’

  ‘What a stupid thing to say!’ she cried, and her concentrated stare was furious. Her expression changed, became grave, concerned, and a stricken look smudged out the light in her eyes. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re sorry then? I mean sorry about what happened between us on the mountain?’

  ‘And that’s a particularly stupid question,’ he responded swiftly, reaching out for her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, wanting to expunge the mingled hurt and panic on her face. A moment ago he had experienced a twinge of guilt about the disparity in their ages, and he had meant every word he said. But perhaps she was right, maybe age was irrelevant. Surely the way they felt was more important than anything else. He found himself whispering into her hair, ‘I’m not sorry about what we did, darling. But I am sorry we had to stop so abruptly.’