Voice of the Heart

  ‘Oh yes, do, darling,’ Diana agreed. ‘And perhaps I’d better check the dining room, just to be sure everything is in order.’

  Christian waved her to a standstill. ‘You don’t have to bother. I looked in a few minutes ago and Manfred has done a splendid job.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I can relax at last. It’s been quite a hectic day.’ Diana picked up a cushion, put it on the hearth and sat down. She smoothed her skirt, crossed her legs, and said, ‘I didn’t get an opportunity to say much about our morning on the slopes during lunch. But I must tell you, Victor’s a marvellous skier. At first I thought he was going to be a wild skier, you know, the kind we despise, who takes bigger risks than he should. I was wrong. He handled the Jenner perfectly, and we had a superb run. He’s—’ Diana broke off, her eyes fastened on the doorway. ‘There you are, Victor. I was just talking about you—about your prowess on the slopes.’ She proffered him a welcoming smile.

  Victor laughed as he came towards them down the long stretch of carpet, white teeth flashing in his sunburned face, black eyes merry. His tuxedo, like all his clothes, had great distinction. It was expensive, faultless, fitted, his expansive frame to perfection, and the white dress shirt enhanced his deep tan, made it look that much darker. Black onyx-and-diamond studs punctuated the ruffled front of the shin, and a red silk handkerchief flared in his breast pocket. He was elegant, and every inch the star.

  Francesca had never seen Victor in evening clothes before, and he seemed more glamorous than ever. She felt overpowered by him again, and her stomach fluttered nervously. Weak at the knees and experiencing a sudden tightness across her chest, she sat down on the sofa and attempted to compose herself. She was amazed at the effect he had on her, especially in view of their recent intimacy. Would she never become accustomed to his stunning looks, his extraordinary presence?

  Drawing to a stop in front of Diana, Victor embraced her. ‘Once again, a very happy birthday.’ He handed her the two gifts he was carrying. ‘And these are for you, from Francesca and me.’

  ‘Thank you. How exciting. I do love birthdays.’

  Victor smiled, turned to greet Francesca. Bracing one hand on the arm of the sofa and the other on its back, he leaned over her, his eyes intent. After a long look, he pressed his mouth to her cheek and gave her a lingering kiss, but as he drew away he winked. He straightened up, glanced down at her and then across at Diana.

  ‘I must compliment you, ladies. You both look mighty fetchin’, mighty fetchin’ indeed, I do declare. Why, you fair take a man’s breath away with your not inconsiderable charms,’ he said, executing a bull’s eye imitation of Clark Gable as Rhett Butler, and bowing to them with an elaborate old-fashioned gallantry.

  ‘Victor, what a splendid mimic you are,’ Christian exclaimed.

  Victor grinned, and in an instant he was across the room, shaking his host’s hand. ‘Evening, Christian. Just one of the tools of the trade, I reckon.’

  ‘What would you like to drink, old chap? Champagne?’

  ‘I’d prefer Scotch-on-the-rocks with a splash of water. Thanks.’

  Diana said, ‘The presents are divine… all these fantastic Sinatras, and Arpège as well. Thank you both so much.’ She beamed, her eyes swivelling from Francesca to Victor.

  ‘And this is from… us,’ Francesca said, finding her voice and rising. She gave the gift to Diana and hugged her warmly.

  ‘You’re both far too generous.’ Diana unwrapped the figurine, her eyes fighting up when she saw it. ‘Oh Cheska, Victor, it’s charming. Thank you again.’ She shook her head, laughing. ‘Everyone is spoiling me today.’ She held out her arm, displaying her garnet ring and a matching bracelet. ‘Christian gave these to me this afternoon.’

  ‘They’re beautiful.’ Francesca squeezed her shoulders, and went on, ‘And you deserve to be spoiled. I know this is going to be a very special and wonderful year for you, Dibs darling.’

  They had just finished toasting Diana when Manfred appeared. He told them the cars were arriving at the gatehouse and that some of the guests were already halfway down the path.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Diana said, getting up. ‘I must go and greet them. Coming, Christian?’

  ‘Naturally.’ He promptly put down his drink and followed her to the entrance of the sitting room.

  Francesca murmured, ‘I’ll tidy up,’ and began collecting the crumpled wrapping paper. Throwing it into the fire, she then placed the gifts on a side table.

  As she passed in front of him, Victor caught her arm, grasping it firmly and pulling her to him. He leaned into her, and said, ‘You ought to be arrested for looking the way you do. You’ll be the cause of my undoing yet.’

  The glances she threw him was reproving but her eyes were flirtatious and teasing. ‘Hadn’t you better be careful, Mr Mason. Someone might get the wrong impression, if they see you grabbing me so… so possessively. I’m supposed to be your chum, not your inamorata. Remember?’

  ‘Touché. And I’ll deal with you later, madame. In the meantime, stand here and give me the dope on everyone.’

  ‘Do you know, you can be quite bossy at times,’ Francesca said, but, nevertheless, she picked up her glass and joined him in front of the fire. ‘I’ll do my best, but I don’t know all the people who’ve been invited. Ah, that’s Astrid hugging Diana now. Princess Astrid von Böler.’ She drew closer, dropped her voice and added, with a small laugh, ‘A great love of Kim’s, until her husband broke up their affaire.’

  Victor’s brows lifted. ‘No kidding! Your brother has good taste. Who’s that with her? The husband?’

  ‘No. Some Polish count with an unpronounceable name. Her latest… friend, I believe.’

  ‘And the other people?’

  ‘Graf and Gräfin Durmann. He’s something to do with banking, I think.’

  ‘What’s Graf? A title?’

  ‘Yes, it means count. Anyway, I’ve met them before, and they’re awfully nice. His first name’s Heinrich, and hers is Tatiana.’

  Within the next few minutes all the guests streamed in, eight couples in all. Francesca endeavoured to acquaint Victor with a few salient details about those she knew, but too quickly they were surrounded by people. Somehow Victor was separated from her. She was stranded near the fireplace with Astrid and the Polish count, along with two other men she had not previously met. They closed in on her, apparently much taken. Yet she was conscious of Victor all the time.

  Effortlessly, he was the focus of attention in the room, had taken the centre of the stage and was holding it. Francesca knew this was not only by virtue of his fame, but also because of his startling looks, his physique and bearing, his commanding manner and his natural charm. Since he was six feet three and towered above everyone else, it was easy for Francesca to keep him in her line of vision. Also, every so often, he would seek her out with his eyes, signalling a private message with a particular look, a smile, occasionally a quick, knowing wink.

  But as the cocktail hour continued, with Clara, and another maid hired for the evening, serving the drinks and canapés, Francesca abandoned any thought of joining him. Most of the women had formed a phalanx around him, and were vying for his attention. And very adroitly, and somewhat maddeningly, he appeared to be flirting with each and every one of them. Francesca experienced a spurt of jealousy, but doused it, and retaliated in kind in her own quiet way. Günther Rundt, an acquaintance of Kim’s, had beaten a swift path to her side. He was being flattering and attentive, lavishly so in fact, and she responded with smiles, a few coquettish glances, and summoned an enthralled expression to her face, hanging onto his every word. Out of the comer of her eye she caught Victor staring at her at one moment, and she stifled a laugh. He looked really miffed. She was delighted.

  Eventually Manfred announced that dinner was served and the group slowly drifted towards the dining room. Victor caught up with Francesca and said in a low voice, ‘Who’s that guy?’

  ‘Which guy do you mean?’ she asked innocently, adop
ting a nonplussed air.

  ‘You know. The one who was practically grinding you into the wall.’

  She laughed lightly. ‘Oh, that’s a friend of Kim’s… I assume you do mean Günther. He’s very sweet.’

  ‘If that’s what you call sweet, then I’m angelic,’ he countered, falling in step. She did not answer, and as they went into the room, he added, ‘I hope we’re sitting together, baby.’

  ‘I doubt it. I’m sure you’ll be sitting at Diana’s right, I at Christian’s right. I expect dinner’ll be quite formal tonight.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to be satisfied with thoughts of what’s yet to come… later, when we’re alone,’ he murmured through the side of his mouth. Surreptitiously he ran his fingers down her back before striding ahead to join Diana, who was beckoning him.

  The grace and beauty of the Schloss, elements which had struck Victor so forcefully when he had arrived yesterday, were in great evidence tonight. The ambience in the dining room was decidedly romantic, had an almost fairytale quality. This was created in no small measure by the incredible number of white candles, in all manner of holders, which had been massed together in clusters everywhere, stood on the chests, the sideboard, the mantelpiece and the windowsills. A log fire flared in the immense stone hearth and the room was washed in a soft and mellow light. Dozens of votive candles had been used to encircle the small bowls of flowers, six in all, which marched down the centre of the long refectory table, and interspersed between the bowls were Meissen porcelain birds in the most radiant of colours. The table had been set with the finest china, crystal and silver, and was the decorative focal point. There were flowers and flowering plants banked around the perimeter of the room, and these introduced additional life and colour to an already breathtaking setting.

  The flickering candlelight was flattering, and everyone looked their best, the women beautiful in their elegant gowns and glittering jewels, the men handsome in their dinner jackets. It was a young group and they were festive. The conversation was brisk, sparkling, entertaining, and Victor was enjoying himself, even though he was seated far away from Francesca. Occasionally he glanced down the table at her and caught her eye, and she would smile obliquely and continue her conversation. She was anchored between Christian and Vladimir, the Polish count, whilst he was next to Diana, as Francesca had said he would be. Astrid was also at his end of the table, and although she was charming, for the most part he concentrated his attention on Diana.

  Francesca also discovered she was having a good time. Her gaiety and warmth quickly surfaced, and her naturalness was endearing to everyone. She laughed a lot, since Vladimir was proving to be a stimulating dinner companion, with his agility of wit and incisive repartee, and hilarity was high at their end of the table. However, as the dinner progressed, Francesca began to realize the others were taking it for granted that Victor was Diana’s date for the evening. That he was now encouraging this in subtle ways was most apparent, and Francesca smothered a little smile, fully understanding his motivation. She also marvelled at his stamina. For a man who had left her room as dawn broke, after a sleepless night, had skied all morning and then made passionate love to her again in the afternoon, he was in remarkable fettle and showed no outward signs of fatigue whatsoever. Twenty years younger though she might be, she was vaguely conscious of aching limbs and a tiredness induced by their nocturnal activities.

  Leaning forward ever so slightly, she looked at Victor, feeling the unique thrill of possession. Whatever anyone present believed, and whomever he flirted with, he nonetheless belonged to her. She, too, now thought of later, of when they would be alone, and a shiver ran through her. How extraordinary life is, she mused. A week ago she had been dying on the vine, miserable with longing for him, and he so seemingly beyond her tender reach; tonight she was more alive than at any other time in her life. And all because of him. He had become the centre of her world. Everyone and everything dimmed in comparison…

  Vladimir said, ‘I understand the Langley Collection is remarkable for its great paintings. Presumably it is open to the public, is it not?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Francesca responded, dragging her mind back to the present proceedings. ‘Every day during the summer months, and at weekends in the winter. My father believes great art should be shared. If ever you come to England, you must stop off at Langley to see the collection. You’re obviously interested in art.’

  ‘Thank you. How kind. Yes, I would love to visit your home. And I am very keen on art, especially old masters.’ Vladimir went on, ‘It is my dream to go to Russia one day, to view the paintings in the Hermitage. Catherine the Great was an extraordinary woman on many levels, but especially so as a collector of fine paintings. It’s amazing, when one considers her resourcefulness in garnering such an incredible number of masterpieces from all over Europe. She built the Hermitage to house them you know… a marvellous legacy to leave.’ He smiled and added, ‘Catherine has always intrigued me, I must admit. An unscrupulous but fascinating woman. She was involved with one of my ancestors when she was in her twenties, and perhaps that’s why she has always piqued my interest.’

  ‘That must have been Count Stanislaus Poniatowski, who later became King of Poland. Am I right?’

  ‘You are indeed, Francesca,’ Vladimir told her, obviously surprised at this display of historical knowledge. He launched into a long story about his ancestor’s love affair with the Empress of all the Russias, and in a most amusing manner. So much so, Francesca was instantly caught up in what he had to say, and the time passed swiftly.

  It was suddenly the end of the dinner. Clara carried in a large birthday cake, ablaze with candles. Manfred served champagne, and Diana was the recipient of more toasts and congratulations.

  Francesca said, as the toasts came to an end, ‘Diana darling, now you must blow out all the candles and make a wish. A secret wish. Don’t tell us!’

  Victor, surveying the cake, leaned towards Diana and teased, ‘Twenty-seven candles. That’s pretty brave of you, honey, letting everyone know how old you are today.’

  ‘A woman who can’t tell her age doesn’t know who she is,’ Diana retorted pithily. ‘I like to think I do.’

  ***

  It was turned midnight when the last of the guests finally departed. Christian and Diana accompanied them to the front door to say their goodbyes, and Victor and Francesca were left alone in the sitting room.

  Victor, nursing a brandy and smoking a cigar, looked across at her seated on the opposite sofa and began to chuckle.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  He said, his eyes twinkling, ‘Do you realize I was the only person present tonight without a title?’

  ‘Then we have to find one for you immediately,’ Francesca pronounced, smiling with him. ‘I have it! How about King… of the Silver Screen?’

  Victor shook his head emphatically. ‘Not possible, kid. Gable’s the King, and he always will be, even after he’s gone. Nobody, but nobody, will ever inherit that title. I doubt they’d want to. Clark’s a very special guy, much loved, and revered, too, these days. No, there’ll only be one King of Hollywood in everyone’s minds.’

  ‘Will you settle for Prince of the Silver Screen then?’ she ventured, leaning back against the sofa, her eyes soft and loving as she regarded him.

  He smiled, said nothing, stood up and took her glass from the coffee table. He moved across the room to the console. ‘What is this stuff you’re drinking, kid?’

  ‘Pear William, please.’

  Lifting the bottle he poured a generous measure, then held the bottle up, staring at it. ‘How the hell did this pear get in here?’ he asked, swinging to face her.

  ‘I’ll give you three guesses.’

  ‘Well, let me see. A glass blower formed the bottle around the pear. I can see from the disgusted look on your face that the answer’s no. Mmmmm. I have it! It’s a collapsible pear, like one of those ships on a string that goes into the bottle flat, and is then pulled up straight,’ h
e said, obviously teasing her now.

  ‘Only one more guess, Vic, then you have to pay a penalty.’

  ‘That sounds interesting. What did you have in mind?’

  Observing his face as he came back to the fireplace, she started to laugh. She exclaimed, ‘Not what you think, you wretch.’

  He sat down next to her and handed her the glass. ‘Too bad. In that case, I’d better ‘fess up that I’ve known all along that the pear started out very small, and just growed and growed in the bottle. Down the hatch, kid.’ He took a sip of his brandy, retrieved his cigar from the ashtray and puffed on it for a few seconds, then he reached out and touched her face with one finger. ‘It’s nice to have you to myself, Ches. It seems as if I ain’t seen you all evening.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But it was fun, wasn’t it? You did enjoy the dinner party?’

  ‘Sure did.’ He settled back, feeling relaxed and contented and comfortable with her. His eyes roved around the room, and fell on the photographs arranged on the library table behind the sofa facing them. He allowed his gaze to linger, and after a short while, he said, ‘I haven’t wanted to pry, but I gotta admit I’m riddled with curiosity. Ever since I arrived here, I’ve sensed a sort of, well, a kind of mystery, I guess. About your aunt and uncle. Where are they?’

  He got no further. Francesca had stiffened and he felt her sudden tenseness. He saw that the laughter had fled out of her, and seriousness mingled with sadness had crept onto her face. He waited, uncertain whether he ought to continue.

  At last Francesca said, ‘My Aunt Arabella lives in West Berlin.’

  ‘And your uncle? Where is he?’

  She returned his concentrated look, bit her lip and glanced down at her hands. ‘I’d rather not… not talk about it, Vic,’ she said softly.

  ‘We’re not sure where my father is, if indeed he’s alive.’ Christian’s voice rang out clearly as he propelled himself to the fireplace.

  Victor went cold and he held himself very still. He shook his head slowly and lifted his hand, as if telling Christian to say no more. He was acutely embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he apologized, ‘I’m sorry. I’m blundering in again—into something that’s none of my business. Please, let’s forget I ever asked the question.’