Читать книгу Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 29

‘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.

Quite suddenly she saw everything with such vivid clarity she almost jumped off the sofa in her excitement.

She held herself in check, but she was unable to disguise the jubilant smile spreading across her face. ‘Norman, I have it! The only solution, and to every one of Terry’s problems.’ She sat up, as straight as an arrow, her hands tightly clenched in her lap and her smile turned into one of immense confidence.

Norman gave her a long and questioning look. ‘All of them?’ he asked, his doubtfulness apparent.

Katharine’s radiant smile widened. ‘Yes. Yes, I know how to turn Terry’s life around, and almost immediately.’

‘If you do, it’s nothing short of a bloody miracle, that’s all I can say,’ Norman said grudgingly, still doubting. ‘Let’s have it then.’

‘Do you remember my talking to Terry a few weeks ago? About his playing the role of Edgar Linton in Victor Mason’s remake of Wuthering Heights?’

Norman, who was giving her his total concentration, inclined his head without comment, uncertain of what was on her mind.

Katharine continued spiritedly, ‘As you know, Terry turned it down. At the time I thought he was being foolish. Now I realize just how foolish. Terry has an out-of-the-play clause in his contract, so he could leave Trojan to do the film without any difficulty. I know, too, that Victor would pay him well, because he really and truly wants Terry in the picture, is ever so anxious to get him. Perhaps Victor would pay as much as seventy thousand pounds, maybe even more –’

‘Christ!’ Norman cut in excitedly, ‘as much as that!’ He was overwhelmed at the thought and quickly lit a cigarette. A surge of hope shot through him, and he picked up his gin and tonic and took a long swallow, his eyes glued on Katharine. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘I’m all ears.’

‘So, Norman, don’t you see, if Terry made the film he would be able to solve his terrible financial problems practically immediately, and for only a few months’ work. He’d even have some money to spare. Now, listen, Norman, there’s more to it … the film’s going to be made mostly in Yorkshire, which means Terry would be out of London for a number of weeks. Far away from Alexa and her cronies, and in turn, that might help to solve his drinking pr –’

‘You don’t know Alexa, ducks,’ he exclaimed with a hollow laugh. ‘She’d be tearing after him with the speed of a fox fleeing the bloody hounds.’

‘I’m sure there are ways to cope with her, Norman. For instance, I could talk to Victor, say she was a troublemaker, and get him to ban her from location. He listens to me.’

‘That’d be a bit difficult, love.’ Norman gave her a small wry smile. ‘It’s still a free country here, you know. This ain’t the USSR. You can’t stop somebody going to Yorkshire, even if you can keep them off a set. Besides, that one’s as tough as Old Nick, and she has a skin like an alligator. She’d be hard to control; you mark my words, Katharine, I know what I’m talking about. She’s led Terry a merry dance ever since he’s known her, the little bitch. Alexa does what she wants, when and how she wants, and nobody stops her.’

‘Don’t be so sure of that, Norman. I think she’s the least of our problems actually. It seems to me money is the most pressing …’ Katharine’s sentence dangled in mid-air. She stared hard at the dresser as another idea streaked through her active brain. ‘Norman …’ she began, ‘what if Terry was … was under someone else’s influence, you know, someone he really respected …’

‘Like who?’

‘Hilary.’

Norman shot bolt upright on the sofa and gawked at her in stupefaction, ‘Hilary! Stone the crows, Katharine, you’re out of your tiny mind. She’s married to Mark Pierce now.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ Katharine responded in a cool voice, which sounded slightly superior. ‘But Victor is hoping to sign Mark to direct the picture. Hilary’s bound to go on location with him, and if she does, she can easily keep an eye on Terry. I’ve always thought Hilary was a stable, down-to-earth girl.’ She gave Norman a knowing smile, and then, stabbing in the dark, she fibbed, ‘You see, Norman dear, I happen to know that Hilary is still very fond of Terry, and vice versa, so don’t deny it.’

Where the hell does she get her information? Norman asked himself, baffled.

‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’ Katharine persisted.

‘In certain ways, yes,’ Norman admitted a trifle reluctantly. ‘But only on a fraternal basis,’ he hastened to add. ‘Still, Hilary might not go on location with Mark. She doesn’t always.’

‘There’s a way around that,’ Katharine remarked, again with such self-confidence Norman had no alternative but to listen and give her the benefit of any doubts.

‘Victor is looking for a really talented costume designer, and Hilary’s as good as any in London. If I recommend her, I know he’ll sign her for the picture too,’ Katharine finished on a triumphant note, inwardly congratulating herself. She knew this to be inspired, and she wished she’d thought of it before. She couldn’t wait to suggest it to Victor.

Norman was not only filled with astonishment but a considerable amount of admiration as well. This girl really was staggering. ‘Blimey, Katharine, you’ve certainly thought of everything.’ He grinned at her, feeling as if an enormous weight had been lifted, and then his face fell. ‘But Hilary’s away. I’m not sure when she’s coming back to town. You see, I tried … tried reaching her today.’

‘I understand, Norman. To help with Terry. Of course. But surely we can easily find out when she’s returning, can’t we?’

‘I’ll try. And Terry does listen to her,’ he found himself confiding. ‘Takes notice of her, always has. And, as I said, they have a good relationship these days, the sort of brother-and-sister type. And Mark doesn’t seem to object to their friendship. It’s platonic now, of course,’ he felt bound to reiterate.

‘I have Hilary’s number. I can call the house, if you like,’ Katharine suggested. ‘Personally, I think she’d jump at the idea of designing the costumes for Wuthering Heights. After all, it’s going to be a major film, and the credits would be marvellous for her. Not only that, she’d be working with her husband. She likes to collaborate with him, I know. She’d also be working with Terry.’ Katharine gave Norman a coy glance from underneath her dark sweeping lashes and smiled wickedly. ‘Her favourite actor, no doubt.’

Norman had to laugh. He rubbed his hand over his chin, thinking hard, and then he laughed more heartily than before, immensely tickled at the mere thought of thwarting Alexa Garrett, of extracting Terry from her clutches. ‘This here combination of yours is highly complex,’ he ventured. ‘Bloody dicey, in fact. But it just might work. Christ, it just might! If we’re lucky,’ he added as an afterthought.

Katharine sat back, inwardly hugging herself with delight, a smile ringing her mouth. ‘So you’ll help me to talk Terry into doing the picture?’

‘You’re on, duckie,’ Norman exclaimed, coming to a decision.

Stretching out her hand, she said, ‘Then let’s shake on it, Norman.’ They clasped hands tightly, both grinning broadly, happy to be conspirators, albeit loving and well-intentioned ones determined to save Terrence Ogden from Alexa Garrett and also from himself. Katharine went on, ‘I think we should have another drink. To … seal the deal?’

‘Good idea, love. Make mine a light one though. I’ve got to be off in a tick. Penny’s waiting for me at John’s flat.’

Katharine picked up their glasses and rose. Halfway to the door she paused and spun around. ‘That reminds me, there’s another thing I can help you with. I think. I’d like you to stay a few minutes when Kim arrives. It just occurred to me, he might be able to help you sort out the damage at John’s place. Suggest how you can get the furniture, carpet and curtains fixed, and also tell us where to find replacements for the broken items. Without the whole thing costing the earth. He knows a lot about antiques and art treasures, Norman.’

‘Okay,’ was Norman’s laconic response. ‘But wait a tick! How are you going to explain the damage in the first place?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Katharine said, airily dismissive. ‘We’ll tell him Terry had a party, and that two of the more boisterous guests got into a fight. Kim doesn’t have to know the gory details. And actually, he’s not likely to ask.’

‘Right you are,’ Norman said. He leaned back, and he relaxed for the first time that day. And he prayed that Katharine’s scheme would work. There were too many ifs involved to permit Norman absolute peace of mind. On the other hand, her suggestions did have a degree of plausibility, and she sounded so confident and so sure of herself, perhaps she would be able to pull them off successfully. Apart from that, he didn’t have any better or brighter ideas himself, so they might as well put hers into operation. What did they have to lose? Nothing, he decided. Then Norman superstitiously crossed his fingers, closed his eyes and said three sincere Hail Marys under his breath.