Voice of the Heart

  Vanessa straightened up, jumped off the sofa, raced across the floor. ‘Hi, Daddy!’ she cried flinging herself at him. ‘Everything’s neat neat neat! Mom’s going to stay in New York and we’re going to see each other all the time and it’s going to be great great great! And Mom’s staying to dinner.’ The girl swung around. ‘You are, aren’t you, Mommy?’

  Katharine smiled, looked at Mike, not knowing how to respond. Vanessa pivoted to her father, grabbed him round the waist unceremoniously. ‘Hey, Pops-Pops, Mom’s waiting for you to invite her!’

  Hugging his daughter to him, Mike said, ‘Will you stay, Katharine, my dear?’ His voice was pleasant and he was smiling lightly, but his eyes were frigid and unsettling.

  ‘Thank you, Michael. I’d like that very much,’ Katharine responded, thinking she had never seen a more unlikely pair than Michael and Vanessa Lazarus.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Katharine sat at the desk in the living room of her suite at the Carlyle. She picked up the felt-tipped pen and began to write in her neat meticulous script. After marking the page with the date and the time, she filled the sheet of thick smooth paper with her impressions of the day, her thoughts and her feelings about all that had happened in the last few hours.

  Thirty minutes later, she put down the pen and closed the book, turned the key in the small brass lock. The book was ten inches by ten inches, bound in soft kid, the colour of the leather resembling the deep deep blue of lapis lazuli. On the front, gold embossed letters read: To V.L. from K.T. Early in December of 1978, when Katharine had decided to return to the States, she had gone to Smythson’s in Bond Street and had the book custom-made to her specifications. It was not a diary as such, but rather a notebook of memoirs and intimate, wandering thoughts, often simple everyday happenings, and each entry truly revealed the woman. It was intended for Vanessa, at some time in the future when she was a little older, and Katharine hoped the notebook would be illuminating, would help her daughter to understand her on a variety of levels, to know her better. When she had been undergoing psychiatric treatment, and at a stage when she was recovering, Edward Moss had suggested to Katharine that she write in this manner, using the exercise as a kind of catharsis. She had quickly acquired the habit, enjoyed expressing herself through words. And later she had hit on the idea of producing her ‘hours of the day’, as she called the notebook, for her child.

  Returning the book to the drawer of the desk, Katharine stood up, stretched and walked over to the sideboard. After filling a tall glass with Perrier and ice she went into the bedroom, made herself comfortable on the bed and picked up the telephone. Her first call was to her brother at his house in Georgetown. They chatted about generalities for a while, and Ryan reiterated his invitation, tried to cajole her into coming to Washington at the end of the coming week. He was anxious for her to meet his wife Anne, and his two small children, Toby and Patricia. Katharine declined graciously, made a tentative date for the middle of February, and they hung up. She spoke to Estelle Morgan, invited her for dinner that evening, then glanced at her watch. It was six-ten, three-ten in California, the ideal time to reach Beau.

  Katharine had a great deal to report about her activities of the last three days and the time she had spent with Vanessa. ‘She’s very endearing,’ she told Beau. ‘In some ways not a bit like I expected. Singularly unspoilt, despite her father and all that money. Precocious, but not in a bratty way, you know, rather old-fashioned. I call her my little old lady. And she’s very outspoken, sometimes unnervingly so, fast on the draw too.’

  ‘Kids today are very sophisticated,’ Beau laughed. ‘They even make my jaw drop at times, and I’ve seen and heard more than most. And her father? How’s he been behaving himself since he agreed to the visits?’

  ‘So far so good, but remember I saw him on Wednesday… today’s only Saturday. Not much time to really judge. But he’s been pleasant, in a removed sort of way, removed with me, I mean. He’s perfectly marvellous with his daughter. They’re pals, if you can believe such a thing. I think he just might have mellowed a little.’

  Beau Stanton hooted at the other end of the line. ‘Now that is hard for me to believe.’

  ‘But it’s true, darling. He took us to lunch today at Tavern on the Green, and actually cracked a few jokes. Vanessa says the most outrageous things to him, calls him Pops-Pops, teases him unmercifully. He takes it in his stride. They have a good relationship, Beau, which I’m pleased about. I also think he’s been a good father. She’s a gay little thing, fairy-like, and whimsical. And, most important, very natural. You’d think I’d been around continually and not absent for so long. She behaves as if we’ve never been apart, which has put me at ease. We’re getting to know each other, and I adore her. She’s pretty too, much prettier than those photographs I showed you—the snapshots Mike sent to England last year.’

  ‘Any child of yours would be beautiful, Monkey Face,’ Beau murmured. ‘So it looks as if you’ll be staying in New York for a while. Yes?’

  ‘I think so, Beau.’

  ‘I’m pleased things have been working out so well for you,’ Beau said, genuinely delighted for her, if somewhat disappointed for himself.

  ‘So am I!’

  They continued to speak for another half hour. Beau reported his news, gossiped about old acquaintances whom he had seen on his recent trip to Beverly Hills, and regaled her with a few amusing anecdotes, as always loving the sound of her lilting ageless laughter. He promised to call her in a few days, and Katharine replaced the receiver, rested her head on the pillow, her thoughts instantly turning to Vanessa. My little sprite, she mused, golden and bright like a shiny new penny. Vanessa had admired the tiny diamond heart she had been wearing on Friday. I must get one for her. I’ll go to Tiffany’s…

  She jumped, startled from her reverie by the shrilling telephone, reached out for it. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi. It’s me. Nicholas.’

  ‘I know it’s you, Nicky,’ she laughed. ‘Don’t you think I know your voice after twenty-three years.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then he said in a rush, ‘I’ve been trying to get through to you for ages. And I—’

  ‘What’s wrong, Nicky?’ Katharine broke in, well acquainted with the particular inflection now echoing in his voice.

  He chose to brush over the question, asked, ‘Would it be an intrusion if I came up? I’m in the lobby. Or if there’s someone with you, could you come down for a minute? It’s important.’

  ‘I’m alone. Please do come up.’

  The telephone went dead. She stared at it worriedly, wondering what was troubling Nick, then ran to the dressing table, smoothed her hah with the brush, straightened her shirt and put on her jacket. Hurrying into the living room, she found her shoes under the desk and stepped into them as Nick rapped on the door.

  She let him in, took the overcoat slung over his arm, placed it on a chair, looked at him questioningly. Nick pecked her cheek, said, ‘Sorry to burst in on you like this, Kath, but when I couldn’t get through I decided to run up here.’ He paced into the middle of the floor, swung to face her. ‘I thought you might be going out to dinner, and I wanted to catch you before you left.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve just had some rotten news.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, sinking into a chair.

  ‘I had a ’phone call about half an hour ago. From Nelson Avery, Frankie’s brother-in-law. He’s spending the weekend in Virginia with Harry and Frankie and—’

  ‘Not Frankie! Has something hap—’

  ‘No, no,’ Nick exclaimed quickly. ‘It’s Harrison. He had a heart attack this afternoon. He’s in Bethesda. Frankie’s with him. She asked Nelson to call me.’

  ‘Oh Nick, this is terrible. How bad is it?’

  ‘Bad. He’s had two seizures in the last couple of years, and he’s no youngster. I keep forgetting that. He looks so damned good for his age. But he’s got to be in his middle seventies.’

  ‘Poor Frankie. This
is awful for her, just awful.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nick said, sitting down, searching for his cigarettes. ‘I’m afraid this means we have to cancel the dinner on Monday. Obviously Frankie’s not going to be back in New York by then. I’m sorry. I could tell from your voice, when we spoke yesterday, that you were excited she wanted me to arrange it. But…’He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

  ‘We’ll do it the following week, whenever, as soon as things settle down.’ She proffered him a faint smile. ‘Her gesture was enough, in a sense, just knowing she feels we can be friends again makes me terribly happy.’

  ‘Francesca has always been blessed with great generosity of spirit. There’s not an ounce of meanness in that woman’s body. I hope you don’t mind, but I repeated a few of the things you’d told me about the last nine years, and she was heartsick for you, Kath. So filled with sympathy.’

  ‘Yes, she would be. She’s a very special person. I wish there was something we could do for her right now, but I suppose there isn’t, except send her good thoughts and our prayers. And to her husband too.’ Katharine had moved to the edge of the chair, and she said, ‘Would you like a drink, Nicky?’

  ‘Am I keeping you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she smiled, glancing over her shoulder at the sideboard. ‘There’s vodka, Scotch, sherry, various things over there. Or I could order a bottle of wine.’ She rose purposefully. ‘I think I will. I’d like a glass myself.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ He watched her as she went to the ’phone, thinking how good she looked. Goddamned glorious, he said under his breath, his eyes taking in the stylish Adolfo suit of bright red wool trimmed with navy, the navy silk shirt, the gleam of gold chains and milky pearls against the soft fabric. The chestnut hair was shorter than he had ever seen it, deftly curled around her face, but it suited her. Her composure and tranquillity seemed to reach out to him, and he felt himself relaxing.

  ‘Room service is pretty good here,’ she informed him, returning to the chair. ‘The wine will be up in a few minutes.’ Lolling back and crossing her legs, she asked, ‘And how are things with you otherwise, Nicky?’

  ‘Pretty good. Carlotta’s still in Venezuela, my son is fantastic, and the work has been going great.’ He leaned forward, eagerness streaking across his face. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me in the last few days. It’s as if the floodgates have opened. I’ve been turning out ten pages a day on an average. Good pages too. If I can keep it up the novel’s going to be finished sooner than I expected.’

  ‘That’s wonderful to hear. I’ve read all of them you know.’

  ‘And?’ His brows lifted and he stared at her intently. ‘I loved each and every one. You’ve never been better, Nick.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He beamed, looked pleased as he sat back.

  There was a knock on the door and Nick jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’ When they were alone again and sipping their wine a few minutes later, he picked up the conversation where he had left off. ‘Have dinner with me, Kath.’

  ‘Oh Nicky, I’d like to, but I can’t.’ His face dropped, and she said, ‘I invited Estelle, and not too long ago either. I can’t very well cancel it now. Why don’t you join us? I thought we’d eat in the Café Carlyle.’

  ‘Terrific suggestion—about joining you. But I’ll take you both out. I’m not wearing a tie, and I don’t feel like a fancy-schmansy joint. We’ll go to Elaine’s. What time is Estelle due?’

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘Oh good, we can catch up on our lives some more.’ He started to laugh.

  Said Katharine, ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Estelle’s going to drop in her tracks when she sees me sitting here. She’s very romantic. I think she secretly hopes we’re going to get back together again—’ He thought: Oh Jesus, why did I say that? He stared at Katharine and she stared back, and there was an awkward silence.

  Then Katharine laughed. ‘No, she won’t. She knows you’re spoken for, Nicky.’

  I’m not, he said inwardly, and was momentarily shaken by his thoughts. He grinned to hide his sudden confusion. ‘That won’t stop Estelle conjecturing. Anyway, if we’re going to Elaine’s I think you should change. It’s not that you don’t look beautiful, you do. Something more casual would be more in order though.’

  ‘I’ll change now. It won’t take a minute. Excuse me.’

  ‘Sure. And I’ll make a reservation, nine-fifteen, nine-thirty okay with you? There’s not much point going before then.’

  ‘Fine, darling.’ She disappeared into the bedroom. After calling the restaurant, he glanced at a number of framed photographs on the desk, picked up one of a child with reddish-gold hair and Katharine’s exquisite, fragile face. Vanessa, he thought, and smiled as he put it down. There was a colour shot of Ryan, another of Francesca and Katharine taken in the South of France. They stood, arms entwined, on the terrace of the Villa Zamir. He peered at their tender faces. How young, how vulnerable they looked. A lot of water’s sluiced over the old waterfall since then, he sighed, and wondered why he had not noticed the pictures the other day. Either he had been too preoccupied or they had not been here. He sauntered around the room familiarizing himself with it. Katharine had always had a knack of making any place her own, filling it with small personal things. Apart from the photographs there were lots of fresh flowers, a bowl of fruit, smaller dishes of mixed nuts, magazines, books and several Rigaud perfumed candles. On an impulse he lit them all, poured himself another glass of white wine, returned to the sofa.

  He reached for a cigarette but the packet was empty. Rising he strolled to the bedroom door, which was half open. He tapped lightly. ‘Kath, do you have any cigarettes in there? I’ve run out.’

  ‘Oh yes, Nicky. Come in, I’m dressed.’

  ‘You’ve been fast,’ he said, almost added, faster than you used to be, but stopped himself in time. He nodded approvingly. She was wearing a tailored white silk shirt and a pair of powder-blue wool trousers.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m a quick-change artist these days,’ she laughed, turned back to the mirror, remarked, ‘There are some cigarettes in the box on the bedside table. Your box.’

  Instantly he knew what she was referring to, and he was surprised. He was even more flabbergasted when he saw his own face staring up at him from a framed photograph next to the lamp. I’ll be damned, he thought, but made no comment. He lifted the silver box, gazed at the many variations of her name engraved across its lid, and muttered, ‘So you kept this.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered lightly and swung to face him. ‘I have everything you ever gave me. Including this, which I wear all the time.’ She dangled the pendant in front of her, the large square-cut aquamarine and the diamonds glittering in the light. Putting it around her neck, she struggled with the clasp.

  He placed the box on the bedside table. ‘Here, let me do that.’

  ‘Oh thanks.’

  The clasp was small and it took him a moment, and he was a moment longer securing the safety catch. As he hovered over her, he was filled with the perfume of her, unexpectedly moved by the close proximity of her. His hands brushed against the soft downy skin on the back of her neck and he was shocked at the effect this had on him. An urgent forgotten desire flooded through him, brought the heat to his face, and as he stepped away, reached for the cigarette box, his hand trembled slightly.

  ‘I’ll be out in a minute, Nicky,’ she said, running a comb through her hair.

  ‘Take your time.’ He almost ran back into the living room clutching the box.

  He stood smoking by the window, the wine glass in his hand, staring out across the rooftops of Manhattan, his mind on Katharine. What was it about her that created this raging excitement in him? And after all these years, all the heartbreak and anguish she had caused him. It was some elusive quality he could not put his finger on, and yet it was a powerful and compelling force. His reaction to her a second ago had been intensely emotional, and surprisingly physical. Katharine had the abili
ty to turn him on without even trying. She made him feel like a twenty-five-year-old stud, whilst Carlotta turned him off. Very off, he thought. Just before she had left for Venezuela she had told him he was impotent. Oh you’re so wrong, lady. And then he realized he had not felt this good for years. Not since he had left Katharine’s life. Twelve years. And you’re back where you started, Latimer. His heart sank. And then it lifted. He didn’t care. In fact, he was glad. Our destinies are entwined, he mused. We have been propelled towards each other again—inexorably. I cannot fight that, nor can I fight my emotions. What has to happen happens.

  ‘By the way, Nicky, I feel awful. I never asked about your parents. How are they?’ Katharine asked, walking in from the bedroom, sitting down.

  He pivoted at the sound of her voice, joined her. ‘My mother’s wonderful; so is my father really. He hasn’t been well this past week, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. Old age basically. I’ve got to face the fact that he’s going to die soon. Nobody lives for ever.’

  ‘No, they don’t.’ She smiled. ‘But he could go on for a number of years yet. Ninety-year-olds are not unheard of, you know.’

  ‘That’s true.’ His eyes rested on her, roved over her, and he nodded slowly, ‘You really are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.’

  She blushed and laughed. ‘Thank you. But you’re changing the subject. We were talking about—’

  ‘My parents, I know. Hey, listen, I want you to come and visit them. They’d love to see you, Kath. They were always so fond of you.’

  ‘I’d like that. Next week?’

  ‘I’ll arrange it. Perhaps we’ll all have dinner.’

  The ’phone rang, and Katharine jumped up. ‘Yes, let’s,’ she agreed. ‘That’s probably Estelle.’ She answered on the third ring, said, ‘Hello? Oh yes, send her up. Thank you.’

  Nicky began to laugh. ‘Shall we play a joke on Estelle?’