Voice of the Heart

  Jake turned, asked for the drink, then handed the vodka to Nick a moment later. They clinked glasses and Jake asked, ‘Is something bothering you, Nicholas?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Apart from looking morose, you’re a bit grey around the gills.’

  Nick laughed. ‘I’m paying for my sins of last night, I’m afraid. Been fighting a hangover all day. But this should fix me up.’

  An understanding smile touched Jake’s lips and he nodded, as if accepting the explanation. He was not sure that he did. The novelist, loitering on the fringes of the crowd, had seemed unduly troubled a minute ago. Jake stole a sidelong glance at him, one which was appraising. The tired expression in Nick’s eyes, coupled with the gauntness of his face, extinguished the puckish quality that was so endearing. But then this change had been noticeable on Tuesday, so much so, Victor had commented on it, and they had both attributed the sombre demeanour to his family worries of the last few months. Jake, deciding not to pry further, said, ‘I wonder what happened to Hilly? It’s going to look lousy if he doesn’t show.’

  Nick, who had been observing Katharine Tempest talking to Terry Ogden, swung his gaze away from her and said, ‘You know he’s never on time for anything. And where the hell’s Gus? He should have been here by now.’

  ‘I don’t blame you for being anxious,’ Jake shot back teasingly, with a provocative grin. ‘She’s a knock out.’

  ‘Who is?’ Nick asked in mock innocence, widening his eyes.

  ‘Diana. Who else? I understand you two have fallen madly in love.’

  ‘Keep it a secret,’ Nick retorted sharply, and took hold of Jake’s arm. ‘I think congratulations are in order. Let’s wander over and give Terry his due.’

  ‘And Katharine hers.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She was wearing an elegant, stylishly-cut black linen dress, with three-quarter-length sleeves and wide revers of starched white cotton, and it was exceedingly becoming to her, emphasized her fragility, the delicacy of her features, made her flawless complexion seem more translucent than ever. Her hair was pulled back from her face, parted in the middle, and the abundant, cascading waves were caught in a black crocheted snood. As they drew closer, Nick saw that she already wore the diamond bracelet, and it sparkled like her brilliant eyes as she lifted the glass of champagne to her bright red lips. She leaned closer to Terry, said something, laughed gaily, and then she caught sight of him, and it seemed to Nick that her eyes frosted over and the smile fled.

  Almost against his own volition, and without understanding why he did it, Nick leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek lightly. ‘You were superb, Katharine.’

  ‘Why thank you, Nicholas,’ she responded coolly, and if she was at all startled by his unprecedented show of affection, small though it was, she did not show it.

  ‘She was bloody marvellous!’ Terry proclaimed.

  ‘And so were you. Congratulations,’ said Nick, shaking the young actor’s hand.

  ‘Thanks, Nicholas. Thanks also for those great words you wrote for me to say.’

  ‘Not mine, I’m afraid. Emily Bronte’s.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you did a splendid adaptation.’ Terry smiled, and took hold of Jake’s elbow. ‘Can I have a word with you, old chap?’ he asked. ‘This’ll only take a moment,’ he added, and drew the producer to one side.

  They were alone. Nick looked down at Katharine and murmured, ‘I said it before, and I’ll say it again. You are Cathy. And you’re unforgettable in the role. Know something else? You’ll always be Cathy in everyone’s minds from now on, just as Vivien Leigh will always be Scarlett O’Hara.’

  She returned his long stare, found she was unable to look away, held by the intense blue gaze focused on hers. She parted her lips, but nothing was forthcoming. Blinking, she took a step backwards, noticed the change in his appearance since she had last seen him in early March. He’s been through a bad time, she thought, instantly seeking the right words to properly convey her condolences. But she baulked, as always nervous in his presence. And so she, who considered thoughtlessness to be the most cardinal of sins, ignored his recent bereavement.

  Instead she considered his last comment and, being leery of him, forever anticipating the caustic jibe, she now reacted adversely. She said huffily, with a light toss of her head, ‘What a terrible remark to make to an actress. You’re implying I’ve only got one kind of performance in me, that I can only play one kind of role. Well, it might interest you to know that Victor and Mark think I’m very versatile as an actress!’

  ‘Look, I didn’t mean it the way you’ve taken it.’

  She cut him off peremptorily. ‘Oh there’s Ossie Edwards! I must go and thank him for being so wonderful to me on the picture. Do excuse me.’ She looked up at him, her turquoise eyes icier than he had ever seen them, but her smile was saccharine sweet—and patently fraudulent. She took several steps in Edwards’ direction, brought her head around and said over her shoulder, her voice dripping acid, ‘And you, my dear Nicholas, will always be remembered for your adaptation of Wuthering Heights.’

  ‘Ouch,’ he muttered, and winced. He watched her walk across the sound stage, looking for all the world like a testy little schoolgirl whose pride was injured because she had had her hair pulled hard by some recalcitrant schoolboy. A faint abashed smile touched his mouth. He realized she had misinterpreted his words in the worst possible way and wished she had not, for whatever he thought of her as a woman, he did admire her as an actress. And then, to his amazement, unanticipated anger washed through him, and his face glazed with coldness. This was the first time he had seen her since Marcia’s death, and she had not bothered to offer him one word of sympathy. Even Estelle Morgan had had the decency to do that. Within seconds the anger was nudged aside by a curious sense of hurt. This so vexed and disconcerted him, he gulped down the remainder of his drink, wondering why he expected anything from her. His intense dislike of Katharine Tempest was reactivated, and more forcibly than ever. He glanced over at Jake and Terry, who were engaged in deep conversation. Cigarette dangling from lips, drink in hand, he meandered off, looking for Jerry Massingham, or any other friendly face he could find.

  ‘Nick darling! Nicky!’

  As he wheeled he caught the gleam of silver-gilt hair, saw the small exquisite face seeking his in the crowd. Diana waved. He waved back, and pushed through the throng to her. She was standing next to one of the cameras with Francesca, looking glamorous in a chic suit of apricot silk and an organza blouse of paler apricot. Her extraordinary hair was plaited and coiled on top of her head like a tiny crown, and this style, combined with her high-heeled pumps, made her look taller than she actually was.

  Her smile, eager and bright and loving, warmed his heart and his bellicose humour dissipated entirely as he grasped her hand tightly, bent over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Hello, my love,’ he said, drawing back, staring down into that tranquil face which had so captivated him from the first moment he had seen it.

  ‘Hello, Nick. Sorry we’re late,’ Diana replied, still smiling at him. ‘Lots of traffic, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I was getting impatient, but now that you’re here everything’s all right.’ He turned to Francesca, hugged her affectionately and murmured, ‘Vic’s tied up with the crew and cast, kid.’

  ‘I assumed he would be. Don’t worry.’ Francesca peered around. ‘I don’t see Katharine. Where is she?’

  ‘Oh she’s somewhere out there… in the madding crowd. Last I saw of her she was talking to Ossie Edwards. Now, my beauties, how about a glass of bubbly? Or would you prefer something else?’

  ‘Champagne would be lovely. Thank you, Nick,’ Francesca said, and Diana nodded in agreement.

  Nick handed Diana his glass, ‘Hold this for me, darling. I’ll be back in a flash. Don’t move. Stay right here, otherwise you’ll get swallowed up by that mob.’ When he returned with their drinks, he found Jake and Terry talking to the girls. Terry had not met Diana when she had come
out to the studios earlier in the week, and Nick saw at once that the actor was being extremely charming and gallant. He’s putting his best foot forward, Nick thought with a stab of irritation, and discovered he was jealous. He smiled inwardly. In jealousy there is more self-love than love, he reminded himself, recalling the line by La Rochefoucauld. He gave the girls their champagne, and as he took his own glass from Diana and met her eyes he was able to relax, even though she half turned and resumed her conversation with Terry. Jake was being attentive to Francesca, inquiring about her father and Kim. Nick positioned himself next to her, listening vaguely, caught up in his own thoughts. He wondered if Jake harboured any suspicions about her and Vic, and decided it was most unlikely, since secretiveness seemed to be Victor’s rule of thumb in this situation.

  He observed Francesca thoughtfully. How lovely she was in the simple white summer frock overpatterned with tiny blue flowers. His awareness of her youthfulness was most acute. She looked so tender, she stabbed at his heart, and suddenly he was afraid for her. Nick blinked and glanced away, his eyes searching out Victor. He spotted him immediately, towering above Katharine, Hilly Steed, Mark and Hilary Pierce, Ginny Darnell and Ossie Edwards. Victor’s gaze was directed towards Nick, and he nodded his head imperceptibly. He knows she’s arrived, Nick thought. He doesn’t miss a trick. Ever.

  Within the space of a few seconds, Victor finally joined them, all smiles and geniality, and after a few words of welcome, a couple of amusing quips, he swept Diana away to be introduced to everyone. Terry excused himself and ambled off, heading for the Pierces, and Jake took his leave also, murmuring he was going to get a refill.

  The minute they were by themselves, Francesca said nervously, ‘Was it a difficult afternoon?’

  Nick shot her a rapid glance, perceiving the tension in her. He squeezed her arm. ‘No, not at all, kid. As a matter of fact, everyone was singularly unruffled, the shooting as smooth as silk.’ He began to give her a blow-by-blow description of the last scene, the quality of the acting, the moving performances he had witnessed. He was unable to keep the excitement and enthusiasm out of his voice, even when he spoke about Katharine’s portrayal. Then he went on to rave about the picture in general, and spent a good ten minutes expounding his opinions of its overall merits. He was about to ask her how her writing was progressing when he became conscious of her drifting interest, realized that she was entirely absorbed in Victor, who was talking to Katharine Tempest. They stood alone, apart from the crowd surrounding Diana, and Katharine was regarding Victor earnestly, her hand clutching his arm so tightly it denoted possession. For his part, Victor was giving Katharine his undivided attention, his expression indulgent and fond, then he laughed with animation, leaned forward and whispered to her. It struck Nick that there was something rather intimate and suggestive about this little scene, at least it could easily be interpreted that way.

  Nick said, ‘He’s not interested in her.’

  Francesca spun to Nick, looked at him curiously. Her face was without expression and difficult to read. ‘I know that,’ she replied, her voice neutral. ‘Still, I do keep realizing—’

  ‘Nor is she interested in Victor,’ Nick broke in, eyeing her for a minute. He noticed that her inscrutable face was in conflict with the anxiety now filling her eyes, and hurried on, ‘In point of fact, she’s not interested in any man. Katharine Tempest is far too involved with herself to give a damn about anyone for that matter. The rest of the world doesn’t exist for her. We’re all dirt under her feet.’

  Francesca was aghast, and she gaped at him. ‘What terrible things to say! You misjudge Kath. You’re making her out to be awfully selfish, and she’s not at all. Anyway, you’re absolutely wrong about her being uninterested in men. Why, she’s practically engaged to my brother.’

  Nick was dumbfounded. He exclaimed, ‘I knew they were dating. But marriage! Good God, that’s an unlikely match!’

  ‘I don’t think it is,’ Francesca replied, her tone frosty.

  Recovering himself promptly, he remarked, with a dry laugh, ‘I can’t imagine why I’m reacting in such a startled manner. Nothing she does would surprise me. Quite the busy little bee, isn’t she?’

  ‘Nicky, you’re being terribly mean and most uncharitable! I’m surprised at you. Kath is truly the most loving human being I know, generous, kind and thoughtful. Furthermore, she is my very dearest, closest friend.’

  Ah, but is she yours? he wondered, and said, ‘Some sister-in-law you’ll be getting. And how do you think she’ll fit into your world? The English aristocracy can be pretty snooty. Snobbish, in my experience. Do you really think they’ll accept her? I doubt it. My God, an actress!’

  ‘Oh don’t be so silly. You’re living in Dick’s days. Those things don’t matter any more,’ Francesca spluttered. ‘Besides, actress or not, Kath is a lady, so stop being disparaging. I don’t like this conversation, I really don’t, Nick.’

  ‘She acts the lady, plays the role to the hilt, I’ll grant you that. Never forget, she is acting. On the other hand, you are one, Francesca, born and bred. There’s a big difference, so don’t delude yourself into thinking otherwise.’

  Deciding to ignore this last comment, Francesca replied with firmness, ‘What I started to say originally, when I saw Vic and Kath so engrossed and obviously talking about the film, was that I realized, yet again, how apart I am from his professional life. Sometimes I feel like a spare wheel, sort of on the fringes and uninvolved in his world. But frankly it never crossed my mind there was anything between them, other than business. I know Kath only has eyes for Kim, and besides, I trust Victor completely.’

  ‘Does he know how lucky he is, Francesca?’

  She smiled, her eyes suddenly clear and untroubled. ‘Do you think he is, Nicky?’

  ‘Sure I do. He’s been blessed, finding you.’

  ‘But I’m the luckiest of all, having him.’ As she spoke her head pivoted on her slender neck. Nick followed her gaze, which had settled on Victor once more. He stood out, larger than life, towering above his worshipful colleagues, one arm flung around Terry’s shoulders. He was laughing unrestrainedly, his eyes irreverent, his startling good looks and masculinity overpowering.

  Nick said, ‘You’re on a fast track with a downhill racer, kid.’

  She swung her head. Her eyes grew enormous and she frowned. ‘What on earth is that supposed to mean?’

  He regretted the remark, was furious with himself. Intended flippantly, it had come out sounding… cautionary. Fuming at his own stupidity, he remained mute.

  Francesca searched his face, shook her head. ‘You’re saying some awfully strange things, Nick, awfully strange indeed…’ Her face had paled.

  ‘Yes, that I am, kid,’ Nick agreed hastily. ‘Forget everything I’ve said in the last half hour. Come on, let’s get another drink and find Diana.’

  Propelling her across to the bar, he asked himself why he was viewing the world through such jaundiced eyes today.

  He had no ready answer. But he made his mind up to one thing: he was going to play everything in a lighter vein, a much lighter vein.

  With fresh drinks in their hands, Nick and Francesca skirted the perimeters of the sound stage, eventually spotting Diana talking to an exotic-looking girl with raven hair and sloe eyes. She was introduced to Nick as Hilary Rayne Pierce, Mark’s wife, and the costume designer on the picture. Apparently they had been discussing fashion, and the conversation continued along these lines for the next few minutes. Nick hovered next to them, sipping his vodka.

  Suddenly, Hilary was excusing herself, saying she must find Mark. Nick thrust out his hand to take hers, was amazed at its iciness, curious considering the heat in the studio, which was stifling. He was about to remark on this, then bit back the comment that had sprung to his lips. ‘It was nice meeting you too,’ he said with a smile.

  Diana stared at Hilary, ‘What a lovely person, Cheska. So charming, and well informed about fashion. She gave me some helpful tips abo
ut buying clothes in London… for the boutique.’

  ‘Yes, she is awfully nice, and I’m glad she was helpful. I told you she would be, Dibs.’

  ‘She’s Indian, isn’t she?’ Nick asked Francesca.

  ‘Anglo-Indian. Her mother is the daughter of some maharajah from a minor principality near Rawalpindi. Her father is Sir James Rayne, and seemingly there was quite a fuss when he upped and left his regiment and married the little Indian princess, or maharanee, or whatever she was. But that was over thirty-five years ago, and the dust has long since settled. Times have changed. Anyway, everyone adores Lady Rayne, and she’s quite a remarkable person. She’s still rather beautiful, and Hilary looks a lot like her.’

  ‘You’re a walking encyclopedia, kid,’ Nick grinned.

  ‘Actually, I’m just naturally nosy,’ Francesca said, her equilibrium now fully restored. ‘Always asking questions. Consequently I’m a fountain of information, most of it absolutely useless.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. And maybe you can supply the answer to another more pertinent question: where is our star taking us to dinner tonight?’

  ‘Now that I don’t know, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You can ask Victor yourself, Nicky darling,’ Diana informed him. ‘He’s making a beeline for us right now.’

  ***

  Victor said, ‘I know you’re upset about something, old buddy, so come on, let’s have it.’ He sat sipping a drink in Nick’s suite at Claridge’s. ‘I know you far too well, Nicky, not to understand something’s amiss. You’ve been very subdued with me for the last five days, ever since the wrap party. Have I offended you in some way?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Nick rejoined hurriedly.

  Victor grinned. ‘You’re a poor liar, kid. Anyway, you don’t have to spell it out for me. I can guess. It’s to do with Francesca, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sort of,’ Nick found himself admitting.

  Victor lit a cigar, sat back, and met Nick’s inspection unflinchingly. ‘I thought as much. I realize I was pretty dismissive about her the other day in my dressing room, but only because it was the wrong moment for that type of discussion. I told you then that I still had a number of concerns about the picture. What I didn’t explain is that I also have a variety of other problems to contend with. Personal problems of a very serious nature.’