Читать книгу Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 41

Three months later, Terrence Ogden walked briskly across the ancient Market Place in Ripon, dropped a large manilla envelope in the post box and went into the first tobacconist’s shop he saw. He bought a newspaper and a packet of cigarettes, exchanged a friendly word with the girl behind the counter, and swung through the door of the shop, whistling under his breath.

He headed out of the Market Place, past the Town Hall and the Wakeman’s House, and down the hill at a rapid pace, returning to the Spa Hotel at the edge of town where the cast and crew of Wuthering Heights were staying.

It was a Saturday morning in late June, and the kind of glorious summer day he remembered so vividly from his childhood, but which had been sadly infrequent in the ensuing years. Or so it seemed to him. Terry wondered absently if, in the way that memory can play peculiar tricks, he had simply imagined those golden days of his early boyhood. Perhaps the summers had been as inclement then as they were now. A faintly ironic gleam flashed in his light blue eyes. It was odd how the lovely weather, whether real or a figment of his imagination, was the only pleasant thing he remembered about those poverty-stricken years of growing up in Sheffield. All his other recollections had a desperate, almost Dickensian flavour to them. Empty belly. Patched clothes. Socks so darned they were all darn. Broken-down shoes letting the snow and the rain seep through. Dad on the dole. And when he was working, it was down the pit, filling his lungs full of coal dust. Mam scrubbing and cleaning, washing, ironing, charring for the rich. Old before she was young.

Terry shrugged and blinked and discarded these thoughts. They served no purpose now. Those days were long gone. Times had changed in merry old England and he, thank God, had been able to change his parents’ lives. And for the better. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, feeling healthier than he had in years. Terrence Ogden was also a somewhat chastened man after his drunken brawl with Rupert Reynolds earlier in the year. He was fully conscious that he had had a close call, a brush with death, and he had taken himself in hand, with firmness. If he was not exactly abstinent, he had cut down on his drinking considerably, and had thrown all of his energies into his work. Now he wondered vaguely where Reynolds had skipped off to, where he was hiding. Norman had said he was most likely on the Continent. Not far enough away for me, Terry mumbled under his breath.

‘Hey, Terry, what’s the hurry, me old cock?’

Terry swung around. Jerry Massingham, astride a bicycle, was pedalling down the road as if his life depended on it, his red hair mussed by the light breeze, his coat flapping out behind him. Dressed in an unsuitable heavy tweed suit, a Viyella shirt and a canary-yellow wool tie, Jerry looked like a country doctor on his morning rounds.

‘Good God, Jerry, this is one way to make certain you get a heart attack!’ Terry said as the production manager slowed to a stop and jumped off the bicycle. ‘And what the hell are you doing rushing up and down the country lanes on a bloody bike in the first place?’

‘I like riding a bike, it’s good exercise,’ Jerry informed him, a wide grin creasing his flushed face. He fell into step with Terry, wheeling the bicycle between them. ‘I had to get to the post office before it closed, to send an express package to London. There weren’t any production cars available an hour ago. The second unit’s using them. They’re out on the moors, getting some background shots. And what are you doing abroad at this hour? Taking a constitutional?’

‘I also went to post a letter, and to buy a paper. Besides, it’s turned eleven.’ He gave Jerry a swift look, finished caustically, ‘I don’t normally spend my mornings liggin in bed, contrary to what you might think.’

‘What does liggin mean?’

‘It’s Yorkshire dialect for lying – as in lying in bed wasting the day away.’

‘Is it now. Humph. No offence intended, laddie. I mean about being out and about at this hour. I was merely surprised to see you, considering how whacked you looked at two this morning. Mind you, the night shooting was gruelling, especially hard on you and Katharine. Come to think of it, the rest of the cast were pretty done in by the time we finished. Or so it appeared. Actually, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of a single actor this morning. Usually they’re milling around the hotel when we’re not filming. Have you run into any of your confrères perchance?’

‘No, I haven’t perchance,’ Terry responded with a chortle. ‘I did speak to Katharine earlier, on the ’phone. She sounded full of beans, as usual. She told me half the cast have gone off on a picnic, up to Middleham Castle in Wensleydale. Shades of Richard III, no doubt. He was born there, you know.’

‘They must be made of iron.’

‘Stamina is an actor’s stock in trade, Jerry.’

‘True enough. But a picnic. Ugh! Jolly good luck to them! I saw you do Richard III. At Stratford. Memorable, Terry, memorable.’

‘Thanks, Jerry. It’s a bloody tough role.’

‘Mmmm. Funny though, how you make it look so easy.’ The production manager glanced at Terry and said, ‘We got some damned good footage in the can last night, and providing there are no more mishaps, and the weather holds, we should be able to get out of here next Friday, as planned. That should make you delirious.’

Terry threw Jerry a baffled look. ‘I haven’t minded being on location, mate. As a matter of fact, I’ve quite enjoyed it this time around. I was pretty miserable when we were here in May, but then who wasn’t, with all that rain. Getting sodden to the skin every day is hardly my idea of a joyride.’

Jerry laughed at Terry’s dour expression, his glum delivery. ‘Nor mine. And I wasn’t singling you out in any sense,’ he remarked. ‘We’ll all be glad to get back to London and the studios. A week of final interiors and then it’s a wrap.’

Terry eyed him, a faint smile flickering. ‘Still, despite the problems, and the weather, we’re on schedule and within the budget. That should make you delirious, Jerry.’

‘It does.’ He leaned across the bicycle, and said, ‘You’ve been a real trouper, Terry, taking so much rotten flak from Mark Pierce as good-naturedly as you have. He’s a difficult bugger.’

‘But a great director. I simply put it down to the temperament of a genius. And to be fair, he’s been hard on the entire cast, as well as on me. They’ve been troupers too.’

‘Yes,’ Jerry said quietly. He thought: But Mark’s had his knife in you and to the hilt. He had his own ideas about the real cause of the trouble between the actor and the director. Victor was suspicious and had attempted to get to the root of it, without success. Too much tension, too many undercurrents on this film, Jerry said inwardly. I’ll be relieved when the last bloody frame has been shot.

‘I heard a rumour you’re going to be on the Bolding picture, Jerry. True or false?’

‘Affirmative, old boy. And I’m looking forward to it. A classy production. Shooting in the South of France later this summer. Good cast too.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘And you? Anything in the offing?’

‘A couple of things,’ Terry said cautiously. ‘A play in the West End for starters, if I want it.’

‘Stick to films from now on, Terry,’ the production man advised. ‘You can really cut it, and you come off well on the screen. When I saw the rushes I was most impressed. You’ve brought something very special to the role of Edgar Linton, given it dimension and stature.’

‘Thanks. That’s nice to hear. Especially from you. Getting it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’

Jerry smiled but said nothing and the two men walked on in silence. Within a couple of minutes they reached the entrance to the hotel grounds, and ambled through the gates and up the short driveway. As they drew closer to the front steps of the Spa Hotel, both of them stopped short and glanced at each other swiftly.

‘Our star departs!’ Terry said.

‘Looks like it.’ Jerry’s response was gruff and a flash of annoyance replaced his startled expression as he surveyed the scene ahead. Victor Mason’s gleaming wine-coloured Bentley Continental was parked in front of the door, and Gus was loading the boot with Victor’s expensive luggage.

‘I thought he wasn’t leaving until next week,’ Terry said.

‘So did I. Tuesday to be precise.’

At this moment Jake Watson came through the door and hurried down the steps, his arms laden with cans of film. He carried these to the car and placed them inside on the back seat. Turning, he saw them and waved. ‘Hi, you guys!’

‘’Morning, Jake,’ Jerry said, moving forward quickly, pushing the bicycle.

‘Good morning.’ Terry returned Jake’s wave and grinned. ‘Are we losing our star?’

Jake nodded. ‘Yep. Victor’s about to leave for London.’

‘I wish to hell you’d told me!’ Massingham exclaimed heatedly, his face colouring. ‘If I’d known earlier it would have saved me the bother of getting that package of documents to the post office. Victor could have taken it with him,’ he groused. ‘Racing up and down the roads on this bloody thing is all I need this morning.’ He stomped off to park the bicycle, bristling.

‘Don’t get so hot under the collar, Jer,’ Jake soothed, staring after him, recognizing his nose was out of joint. He probably thought he had been cut out of some top-level decision-making. ‘Victor only decided to beat it an hour ago. I came looking for you, as soon as I knew about his change in plan, but you’d already split.’

‘When’s he coming back? Correction. He’s not, if the luggage is anything to go by,’ Jerry muttered, swinging around to face Jake, glaring at him.

‘That’s right.’

‘It was my understanding Mark needed Victor for an extra scene on Monday,’ Terry remarked carefully, his curiosity aroused.

‘Mark changed his mind,’ Jake said, deciding it would be more discreet to tamper with the truth than tell it the way it really was. ‘He had a breakfast meeting with Victor this morning, to go over the rest of the shooting schedule, and he decided the additional scene would be redundant, a waste of film, and everybody’s time. He’s got far too much footage in the can as it is, he’s over-shot like crazy as he always does, and a lot of it has to end up on the cutting room floor. Victor agreed the scene wasn’t really necessary. It wasn’t in the script in the first place. It’s the one Mark added, you know, when Heathcliff is walking on the moors late at night and thinks he sees Cathy ahead of him … well, the ghost of Cathy. The scene would’ve had to be shot at night, which they wanted to avoid. Also, they both decided it was a bit too esoteric,’ Jake finished, feeling rather pleased with his censored version of the stormy breakfast meeting at which Victor had finally put his foot down.

Jerry Massingham’s attitude changed, and for the better. He grinned delightedly. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. A smart decision. I knew all along we didn’t need that new scene. We’ve got enough mystical bloody mumbo-jumbo in this picture as it is. Not that I would presume to tell Mark how to make his bouillabaisse, of course. Good. It’ll save us some money in the long run.’

Jake said, ‘That’s the spirit, Jer. I was pretty damned sure you’d see the practical side. And listen, bubeleh, I’m sorry you had to sweat it up to the post office, particularly on that antiquated machine.’

‘No harm done, laddie,’ Jerry replied with geniality, his good humour completely restored.

‘Well, you two, I’ve got to push off, I’m afraid. See you later,’ Terry announced and edged in the direction of the steps.

‘Righto, old boy,’ Jerry said, and Jake added, ‘Take it easy, Terrence.’ He put his arm around Massingham’s shoulders and went on, ‘I need to talk to you about a couple of production matters.’

Terry left them with their heads lowered, huddled together near the car, and bounded up the front steps. Inside the lobby he stopped at the desk to inquire if there were any messages, and then took the lift to the second floor. He peered at his watch as he went down the corridor, saw that he was late. Katharine wouldn’t mind, he was sure of that. She had said she was going to study her scenes until he arrived.

He rapped on the door and she opened it almost immediately. ‘Hello, Puss,’ he said.

‘Terry darling!’ she exclaimed. Her eyes swept over him. ‘Don’t you look gorgeous,’ she added, opened the door wider and led him into her suite.

‘Thanks, and I must return the compliment. Night shooting appears to agree with you, from the way you look.’

‘Merci, monsieur,’ Katharine laughed. ‘Come and sit here, it’s lovely and sunny. I just ordered fresh tea, and this funny peppery sort of cake that I simply adore.’

Terry joined her, glanced at the chunks of moist brown cake on the plate and grinned down at her. ‘That’s parkin, Katharine. One of my favourite treats when I was a kid. And it’s ginger you can taste, you silly girl, not pepper. I think I will have a piece, and milk please, not lemon, in the tea.’ He lowered himself into a chair, and announced, ‘I just bumped into Jake. And get this! Victor’s leaving us today.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Katharine replied blithely, lifting the milk jug. ‘He was here a little while ago – to say goodbye.’

‘Naturally.’ Terry chuckled knowingly, a sardonic gleam in his eyes.

Katharine’s dark head flew up and she frowned at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Teacher’s pet … of course he wouldn’t leave without taking his fond farewells.’

‘For what it’s worth, he also stopped off to take his fond farewell of you,’ she retorted in an airy tone. ‘But you were out. So he told me to give you his best, and you’re to “sock it to ’em next week”, quote unquote.’

‘I see.’

‘Oh stop teasing me about Victor, Terry,’ Katharine exclaimed, sounding impatient; but there was fondness in her expression and her turquoise eyes danced with merriment. ‘Victor doesn’t pay much more attention to me than he does to anyone else in the film.’ She smiled dismissively.

‘Oh come on, Katharine!’ Terry spluttered. ‘How can you say that! You have lunch with him practically every day, sit next to him on the set, or with him in his trailer here on location, and he never takes his eagle eyes off you.’

‘But I’m under personal contract to him, or rather, to Bellissima Productions, and anyway I’ve never made a film before. You have. He’s only trying to help me,’ she protested. ‘Besides, you’ve had lunch with him a lot too, and you’ve also been ensconced in the trailer with hi –’

‘Playing poker, Puss.’ Terry’s look was full of speculation. ‘What do you two do in his trailer?’ he asked with a suggestive smirk.

‘Terry! That’s enough! I don’t like the implication, particularly since you know very well I’m dating Kim Cunningham.’

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Puss. I’m only pulling your leg. How is Kim, by the way? I thought he looked awfully morose last night.’

‘He’s all right – I suppose,’ Katharine sighed, her face becoming sombre. ‘I think he feels a bit neglected. He’s made it very difficult for me in some ways. He thought we’d be seeing each other every night while we were shooting in Yorkshire, but that’s been impossible. You know what it’s like at the end of the day. Frankly, I’m drained, and I’ve had my new scenes to concentrate on at night, and my preparations for the next day. Mark’s such a stickler about every single detail, as we’ve all found out. And Victor’s been on my back about getting lots of rest.’ She made a small moue. ‘I haven’t had a great deal of spare time for poor Kim, and I guess he resents it.’

‘The work does come first with you, doesn’t it, love?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed emphatically, and hesitated. ‘But –’ Katharine leaned back, and changing the subject, she said, ‘You sounded so mysterious on the ’phone. I’ve been dying to know why you wanted to see me this morning. Come on, my darling, tell me what this is all about.’

He looked at her carefully, a small smile trickling across his mouth. ‘It seems as though I never stop thanking you these days, Puss darling. That’s why I’m here. To thank you again for another good deed.’

‘What do you mean –’ She stopped abruptly. Her eyes filled with happiness, and she clapped her hands. ‘Oh goody! Hilly Steed! It worked, didn’t it, Terry?’ He nodded, excitement bubbling over in him. ‘Yes. And how! He offered me a three-picture deal with Monarch. The contracts arrived yesterday from my agent. I signed them this morning and posted them a little while ago. It looks as if we’re going to be in Hollywood together, Katharine. I start my first picture under the contract in October, when you’re starting yours. I’ve read the script and it’s bloody marvellous. A superb drama. I’ve got the second male lead, but after the first film I’ll be playing only leading men. So Hilly promised me. He’s got great plans, wants to build me.’ Terry reached out and patted her hand. ‘Anyway, I owe my good fortune to you, love. You started the ball rolling with Hillard, and whatever you said to him obviously made the right impression.’

‘Oh how wonderful, darling! I’m so excited for you, and thrilled,’ Katharine cried, her pleasure and sincerity genuine. ‘And I didn’t do much, Terry. You did it yourself really. You’re marvellous in the picture. Hilly was ecstatic about the rushes –’

‘What did you say to him?’

‘Do you really want to know?’ She did not wait for a reply. ‘I was quite clever really. That day I had lunch with Hilly at Shepperton he was raving about you, and I told him Victor felt the same way. Then I said, “In fact, I think Victor’s going to sign Terry to a personal contract with Bellissima. He believes Terry is going to be very big after Wuthering Heights is released.” I let that sink in, and I could see Hilly was turning rather green with envy. He’s very competitive with Victor, as a producer I mean. Then I delivered my punch line. I sighed, a bit sadly, patted Hilly’s arm in commiseration and said, “What a pity you didn’t think of signing Terrence Ogden first, Hilly. After all, you just missed getting me by a hair’s breadth. It looks as if Victor is about to steal another march on you. Certainly he’s cornering the market on new young talent.” Poor Hilly, he couldn’t finish his lunch. Awfully upset, poor thing. I do believe I ruined his day,’ she laughed. ‘I could see his mind ticking over. He asked me a few questions, also whether you had actually signed with Victor or not. Naturally I was suitably vague. I suggested he call you.’ Katharine sat back, looking sweetly innocent and gratified with herself.

‘You’re incorrigible, Katharine.’ Terry shook his head.

‘Oooh, I know I am.’ She smiled at him prettily, for all the world like a mischievous child. ‘But sometimes it’s fun to be incorrigible. And I did get the desired results, didn’t I?’

‘Yes. And what if Hillard had spoken to Victor first? Then where would you have been?’

Katharine gave him the benefit of a withering look and said, her tone scathing, ‘You don’t know Hilly Street very well. He would never tip his hand like that. I was positive he would approach you immediately, that he would try to cut Victor out, and he was true to form.’ She shrugged. ‘Elementary psychology, my dear Watson.’

‘Quite so, Holmes, quite so,’ Terry responded, taking her cue, amusement tugging at his mouth. He lit a cigarette, observing her through slightly narrowed eyes. There were those who might consider that Katharine had been cunning and conniving. He preferred to think of her dealings with Hillard Steed in less derogatory terms, attributing them to an inveterate shrewdness rather than any form of deviousness. Although this was not the first occasion she had displayed her inimitable brand of astuteness, again he was startled, as he had been in the past. Perhaps this was because her looks belied her intelligence, which he knew to be considerable, as did her air of childlike naïveté, never more pronounced than it was this morning.

Katharine filled the teapot with hot water, and asked, ‘Another cup, Terry?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ He watched her closely, his eyes evaluating. She was wearing a tailored white shirt of fine cotton voile and a navy blue cotton skirt. Both were simple, demure, could only be described as schoolgirl clothes. In point of fact, she did not look much older than sixteen at this moment. A line of Petruchio’s flew into his mind: Yet sweet as springtime flowers. Yes, that was the impression she made today, with her chestnut hair falling in tumbling waves to her shoulders, her eloquent face sparkling fresh, entirely devoid of makeup except for the bright red lipstick she generally favoured, and her eyes so brilliantly alive. A bonny Kate indeed, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, he thought, borrowing from Shakespeare again. But no shrew was she. Just the opposite, for there was a vulnerability about her, a poignancy in her that always tugged at his heartstrings. Yet he knew she had a will of iron, a terrifying self-sufficiency and great tenacity. Perhaps this duality in her personality was the secret of her extraordinary appeal, for it gave her an elusive quality that was intriguing. Once, months back, he had seriously toyed with the idea of sweeping her off the stage, off her feet – both literally and figuratively – and into his bed smartly. But suddenly he had wavered and ultimately he had changed his mind. He was not sure why he had done so, and the moment had passed and he had never felt the impulse again. It no longer mattered. Hilary, his own true love, had come back to him, bringing him priceless gifts of adoration and understanding and belief, making him a whole and complete man once more. Giving meaning to his life.

‘You’re looking terribly serious. Is something wrong, Terrence?’

‘No, Puss.’ A gentle smile, and then, ‘Just wool-gathering, that’s all.’

Katharine returning his smile, took a sip of her tea, put the cup down and said slowly, ‘What about … Hilary?’

How much had she guessed? He felt himself stiffening but he asked casually enough, ‘What about Hilary?’

‘How did she react when she heard about your contract and that you’re leaving for California shortly?’

‘She was overjoyed. She believes that only by going to Hollywood can one truly become an international movie star. And you know Hilary, she only ever wants the best for her friends.’

‘Yes, she’s a lovely person.’ Katharine shifted in the chair, and glanced out of the window. She had been about to remark that Hilary would miss him, but she swallowed these words. Despite their new closeness, there were still some lines she was afraid to cross. There was an imperiousness in Terry, an aloofness that sprang from his natural reserve, held him apart, forbade familiarity of a certain nature. As an actor he was nonpareil, particularly with his brilliant and stunning interpretations of Shakespearean roles, and she was for ever conscious of his prominence and standing in the English theatre, of the reverence in which he was held by his peers, and not unnaturally these considerations served as a further restraint. After a second, Katharine swung her gaze back to him, and asked, ‘And Norman? What did he say?’

‘Aha! Good old Norman! He’s on top of the world for me, of course. And very excited. I’m taking him with me to California, and Penny too; they’re so devoted and loyal, I couldn’t leave them behind. They’re going to be looking after me in their usual loving way. Apart from continuing to be my dresser, Norman’s also agreed to try his hand at being my secretary, and he’ll do a bit of driving. I suppose you could say he’ll be my major domo, or general factotum, whatever,’ Terry grinned. ‘Penny will run the house, a sort of unofficial housekeeper. You see, I’ve decided to rent a place for a couple of years. Hilly thinks Monarch will be able to find something suitable for me, either in Beverly Hills or Bel-Air.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and finished, with a lilt in his voice, ‘I’m really looking forward to this move across the Atlantic. The timing is exactly right, in more ways than one. Do you know where you’ll be camping out, Puss?’

‘Originally Victor was thinking of a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel for me. But then he changed his mind. I think I’ll be staying at the Bel-Air Hotel. He seems to prefer that. I’m not sure why.’ Katharine bent closer. ‘Oh darling, it’s going to be great fun being there together. We will have some fun, won’t we?’ she cried.

‘Yes, course we will, love.’ Terry was thoughtful for a moment, then he remarked, ‘He’s awfully deceptive, isn’t he?’

‘Who is?’ she asked with a tiny frown.

‘Victor Mason.’

‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

‘On the surface he seems to be very easygoing, but he’s not really. Victor runs a tight ship, and he’s tough. Bloody hard-headed actually. Lately I’ve seen him lock horns with Mark Pierce more than once, and it’s not always about the spiralling costs, or the budget, even though money does preoccupy him. He wants things done his way. I suspect there’s a bit of the tyrant in Victor, in spite of his lazy, effortless charm.’

‘You’re right,’ Katharine said, ‘but let’s not forget that he’s the producer, as well as the star. He’s only being professional.’

‘I know that, love, and I wasn’t being critical. I was merely making a few observations, and anyone who underestimates him is a downright fool. Victor’s a damn sight smarter than one expects him to be. And I like him; he’s been pretty decent to me on the picture. Incidentally, talking about your admirers, how does his lordship feel about your impending departure for distant shores?’

Ignoring the innuendo, Katharine said, ‘Kim was a little startled when I first told him, but he’s accepted it now, and I’ll only be gone a few months.’

‘Oh,’ Terry said, taken aback. ‘I hadn’t realized that. I thought Victor would have another film lined up for you, after the Beau Stanton comedy’s finished.’

‘He hasn’t mentioned anything, so I’m sure there’s nothing special on the horizon.’

Terry looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to be leaving, Puss. I have an interview with Estelle Morgan in about ten minutes, and afterwards I’m obliged to take her to lunch. That’s another reason I popped in to see you. I’d like you to join us.’

‘Oh dear, I don’t think I should, Terry. I know Estelle wouldn’t like it. I’m sure she’ll want to be alone with you.’

‘But I don’t want to be alone with her,’ Terry declared. ‘That’s the problem. She makes me frightfully nervous. I keep thinking she’s going to pounce on me at any moment.’ He grimaced and rolled his eyes. ‘A very predatory lady, our Estelle. Be a good sport, say yes. Please, Puss.’

Katharine’s laughter filled the room and she regarded him through merry eyes. ‘Don’t be such a scaredy cat. She’s harmless, and anyway, you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself.’ But noting the plea on his face, she capitulated. ‘Oh, all right, I’ll come and protect you. But I don’t want to be there for the interview. Now that she would regard as an intrusion. She doesn’t like an audience when she’s interviewing a subject, and I have to respect her point of view. She’s right really. Shall we say one o’clock?’

Terry exhaled a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Puss. And one o’clock’s fine. In the bar. That’s where we’re doing the interview, so I’ll –’ Terry paused, his eyes swivelling to the shrilling telephone.

Katharine ran to answer it. ‘Hello, Norman,’ she cried. ‘Yes, he’s here. Just a minute, love.’ She turned to Terry, beckoned to him. He strode over and took the telephone from her, and Katharine returned to her chair. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, listening. Terry had one of the greatest voices on the English stage today, and distinctively his. How many actors had tried to imitate it and failed miserably? Hundreds.

Her lids lifted and she looked more closely at that refined face and at the light blue eyes, so open and guileless. A shiver ran through her and gooseflesh speckled her arms. Terry was such easy prey for the unscrupulous. She was glad Norman and Penny were going with him to Hollywood. They would give him protection. Her gaze pulled back a fraction, and then roved over him swiftly. He was wearing dark grey slacks, a navy blue blazer and a white turtle neck sweater. Tall and lean, he looked casually elegant and debonair. The matinée idol personified, she thought. He would be a sensation in the States, of that there was no doubt in her mind.

Terry said goodbye, dropped the receiver in the cradle, and asked, ‘Why the long stares, Puss? Don’t I look all right for the interview? Should I change, put on a tie?’

Katharine shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly, your clothes are perfect. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sit here and scrutinize you like an insect under a microscope. Actually, I was thinking of the impact you’ll have in Hollywood. You’re going to bowl them over with your talent and your looks. As Victor would say, you’re the whole enchilada, my darling.’

Terry laughed. ‘And as Hamlet would say, “season your admiration for a while”. I’m glad you like my togs. Hilary thinks I look like a German U-boat commander in them!’ He stepped to the door, swung around. ‘I’m going to give a small luncheon tomorrow, at the Red Lion in South Stainley, the marvellous old inn I was telling you about. I’ve invited a few of my close chums in the cast. None of them know about the Monarch contract, but it’s bound to leak out in a few days. So, I thought I’d tell them myself, and it’s a good excuse for a little celebration. We’ll have a real English Sunday lunch, the kind I’ve been promising you since we’ve been here. You know, Yorkshire pud, roast beef and horseradish, roast potatoes and brussels sprouts, the lot. And trifle afterwards. Will you come, Puss? With Kim, of course. And look, bring Francesca along if you want.’

‘Why, Terry, how lovely. Thanks, we’d love to come, and I’ll ask Francesca when she gets here. I’m expecting her in a few minutes.’

‘Good. And I’ll be expecting you in about an hour. Don’t let me down.’ He opened the door and almost collided with Francesca. ‘Sorry, love.’

‘That’s all right, Terry. How are you?’ Francesca asked.

‘Fine and dandy, but late for an appointment.’ He opened the door and let her pass. ‘Toodle-oo,’ he said, waved, and disappeared down the corridor.

Francesca closed the door and came into the room, a striking picture in buff-colour riding breeches, highly-polished black boots, a pink cotton shirt and red silk cravat. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a pony tail and caught at the nape of her neck with a black bow, and her peaches-and-cream complexion looked more perfect than ever. A shopping basket was slung over one arm and she was carrying a large bunch of flowers.

‘Hi, darling,’ Katharine exclaimed, her face wreathed in smiles as she came to meet Francesca. She kissed her on the cheek and went on, ‘I’m so glad you ’phoned.’

Francesca returned her kiss. ‘And hello to you too, stranger,’ she laughed gaily. ‘These are for you. I picked them in the gardens at Langley this morning.’

‘How sweet of you, darling. Thank you so much.’ Katharine took the flowers, buried her face in them. ‘They smell divine. I’d better put them in water immediately. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Do you want coffee, or a drink? I can order something from room service.’

‘No, thanks anyway.’ Francesca put the shopping basket on the floor and flopped into one of the chairs. ‘Since I had to come into Ripon, to get a few things for Melly, I thought I might as well stop by for a few minutes.’

‘I’m so glad you did,’ Katharine called from the bathroom. She returned to the sitting room a moment later, carrying a vase of water, and stood by a side table, arranging the flowers in it. ‘I’ve missed you, Frankie.’

‘I know. I’ve missed you too, Kath. Gosh, I see more of you in London than I do when you’re here on location.’

‘Isn’t it stupid! But Mark has been working us awfully hard. He likes to rehearse every scene like a play, not wing it.’ She stepped back, regarding her handiwork, her head on one side, and then rearranged a few blooms. ‘There, that does it.’

‘It is going well now, though, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes, everyone’s terribly pleased,’ Katharine responded, adopting an off-handed air, not wanting to discuss the film, which had been troubled from the start. She joined Francesca near the windows. ‘Kath …’ Francesca said, ‘come and sit down. I have something to tell you.’

‘You sound excited.’ Katharine gave her a curious look and lowered herself into the chair opposite.

‘Well, yes, I am.’ Francesca’s face was eager with happiness. ‘Daddy and Doris have decided to get married.’

Katharine blanched. ‘But … but … How marvellous …’ She faltered and stared at Francesca blankly, at a loss for words.

Francesca regarded her keenly. ‘You sound funny, Katharine, and not very enthusiastic. I thought you’d be pleased.’ A frown creased Francesca’s smooth brow. She found her friend’s reaction slightly odd.

‘I’m startled, that’s all,’ Katharine exclaimed hurriedly, endeavouring to correct her mistake. ‘I suppose I hadn’t realized it was such a serious relationship. I don’t know how I got the impression, but somehow I always thought Doris planned to go back to the States. I mean, she has such vast holdings there, and she is so very American.’ Katharine laughed nervously. ‘But naturally I’m pleased,’ she now had the good sense to add, even though in all truth she was utterly dismayed. Recognizing it was crucial to allay Francesca’s doubts about her feelings, she reached out and took hold of her hand, squeezing it warmly. Summoning all of her superlative acting ability, and drawing on her immense charm, she said, with that dazzling smile, ‘Oh Frankie, it is exciting. And so wonderful for your father. I’m happy for him, really and truly.’ She shook her head in a reproving way. ‘Kim’s rather naughty. Why didn’t he tell me last night?’

‘He didn’t know then, nor does he know now,’ Francesca explained. ‘Daddy telephoned from the South of France this morning to tell us, but Kim had already left for Skipton. Anyway, there’s going to be an engagement party, at Doris’s villa,’ she hurried on happily. ‘Later this summer, probably in August. Doris is planning to give a supper dance, and everybody’s invited.’

‘What do you mean by everybody?’ Katherine asked, striving to keep her voice light. She wished the tight knot in her stomach would go away.

‘Kim and I, of course, and you too. Oh Kath darling, do say you’ll come. It won’t be the same if you’re not there.’

Katharine managed another of her sparkling smiles. ‘How lovely of Doris to invite me.’ She instantly wondered if, indeed, Doris had extended the invitation, or whether it was solely Francesca’s idea.

‘Doris wouldn’t leave you out! She knows Kim’s potty about you. She also said she’d like you to stay with us at the Villa Zamir at Cap Martin. And for as long as you want. She expects me to spend August there, and I suppose I will. I do hope you can manage a couple of weeks at least, Katharine. It won’t interfere with your preparations for your trip to Hollywood, will it?’

‘No, I don’t think there’ll be a problem. And how really kind of Doris,’ Katharine murmured, amazed at this apparent, but unexpected, show of friendliness from Madame Asternan. ‘When will the wedding take place?’

‘Not until the autumn. November, Daddy said. Here in Yorkshire at the church in Langley. Oh gosh, you’ll be in California. Damn and blast! I hadn’t thought of that. I was hoping we could both be bridesmaids. I was going to suggest it to Doris.’

Katharine began to laugh, picturing, in her mind’s eye, Doris’s face when she was apprised of this particular idea. Me a bridesmaid for Doris. Over Doris’s dead body, she thought with some asperity.

Mistaking her laughter for excitement and pleasure, Francesca said, ‘Even though you won’t be able to be a bridesmaid, I can tell Doris you’ll come to Cap Martin, can’t I?’

‘Yes. It’ll be nice to have a vacation, a rest, before I start the Beau Stanton picture. Well, this has certainly been my morning for unexpected news.’

‘Oh, really.’

‘Yes, Terry was also here to make an announcement. He came to tell me he had just signed a contract with Monarch. He’s off to Hollywood too.’ Katharine went on to explain about this, and finished, ‘Anyway, he’s giving a celebration lunch tomorrow, and he’d like you to join us, Frankie.’

‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t, Kath. I’m going up to town this afternoon.’

‘To London?’ Katharine blinked, looking surprised.

‘Yes. Have you forgotten? I told you ages ago that my cousin Diana’s arriving from Paris tomorrow. She’s going to be staying with me for a couple of weeks.’

‘Heavens, I did forget. But I’ve been so preoccupied with my work and with my scenes, everything else has been pushed out of my mind. God, actors are so selfish, so self-involved, it’s terrible. And I’m also very stupid! If only I had remembered, I could have asked Victor to give you a lift. He only just left for London himself, about an hour ago.’

‘Oh,’ Francesca said, and glanced down at her shopping basket. She picked it up and placed it on her knee, searching inside for something. Without lifting her head, not daring to look at Katharine, she continued, ‘Well, that would have been nice, but, in a way, I really prefer to go on the train. I want to check my notes, draft my next chapter. It’s a good opportunity to do a little work.’

‘How is the book coming along, darling?’ Katharine asked with eagerness, as always genuinely interested in Francesca’s writing career.

‘Quite well, actually. Better than I expected, to be honest.’ Francesca took the package out of the basket. ‘This is also for you. I know you’ve become addicted to parkin, so I asked Val to make some for you.’

‘Aren’t you a love. Thanks so much.’ Katharine placed the package on the coffee table, and threw Francesca a wistful look. ‘Then you won’t be at Langley for dinner tonight after all,’ she stated in a tiny voice.

‘No, I won’t, Kath. I’m so sorry about that, but I did promise Diana I’d meet her plane tomorrow morning, and I can’t let her down.’

‘Oh, I know. Still, I was really looking forward to being with you.’

‘Don’t be silly, Kath dear,’ Francesca said softly, seeing the disappointment registering on Katharine’s face. ‘You’ll have Kim entirely to yourself, and that’s much more romantic.’

Katharine twisted the gold signet ring on her little finger, a sense of misgiving invading her. She had counted on Francesca’s presence at dinner, for apart from enjoying her company, she was worried about the prospect of being alone with Kim. His sister always acted as a buffer between them. In a rush, she confided, ‘He’s been awfully annoyed with me. I’ve had to put him off so many times this week. He blames me, when it’s really not my fault at all. He seems to forget I’m in Yorkshire to work. That’s so unfair of him. Also I’ve been under enough strain and pressure without having to cope with his jealousy.’ She sighed. ‘Mark’s tyrannical, Victor’s dictatorial, and as for Kim, well, he’s just plain unreasonable.’

Francesca said nothing. She was on Katharine’s side and filled with sympathy for her, patently aware that she spoke the truth. Mark and Victor were demanding, a couple of slave drivers, in her opinion, and Kim had been exceptionally difficult, impossible really. On the other hand, she did understand her brother’s feelings. She was going through much the same thing with Victor, who had been so involved with the picture, and embroiled in its manifold problems, he had had little time for her.

After a moment, Francesca remarked quietly, ‘I have a feeling Kim realizes he’s been unfair to you, Kath. I had a long talk with him the other day, and told him he was being perfectly boorish, immature, and that he’d better start behaving himself, otherwise he’d lose you. I hope you don’t mind me butting in.’

‘Of course not,’ Katharine said. Her face brightened. ‘I’m grateful. I really am, darling. And perhaps you are right about the two of us being alone. It will give us a chance to talk things out properly, clear the air.’

Francesca, still wishing to play the peacemaker, quickly pointed out, ‘Remember one thing, Katharine. Kim’s in love with you, so it’s only natural he wants to be with you as much as possible. As for being jealous …’ She laughed softly, and continued, ‘You are very lovely, and you’re surrounded by lots of men on the picture. If he weren’t jealous, he’d be abnormal. You can’t hold that against him, can you?’

‘I suppose not,’ Katharine acknowledged, albeit grudgingly. ‘However, I don’t give him any reasons to be jealous, honestly I don’t, Frankie,’ she insisted.

Francesca looked at her fondly. ‘Men don’t always need a reason to behave in outrageous ways. Sometimes they just can’t help themselves.’ Rising, she picked up the basket. ‘You’ll see, everything’ll be fine this evening, and from the way Kim was talking about you yesterday, he’ll be all sweetness and light.’

‘I hope so,’ Katharine replied, getting up from the chair. She linked her arm through Francesca’s and walked with her to the door. ‘I’ll be glad when we get back to London next week. Things’ll be easier then.’ She hugged Francesca, then stood away from her, gazing at her. Quite unexpectedly she felt a rush of warmth in her throat, was filled with the most tender of feelings. Impulsively, she said, ‘You’re the sweetest, dearest friend I’ve ever had in my whole life, Frankie. And the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘And you’re very special to me too, Kath,’ Francesca answered. ‘You’re like the sister I never had.’ Francesca’s face became solemn, reflective. ‘I don’t think that’s really quite the right analogy, because not all sisters are as close and as loving as we are. To me you’re better than a sister, better than a best friend even.’

Katharine’s unique turquoise eyes turned misty, and there was a tremulous quality to her tone as she said, ‘What a truly beautiful thing to say, darling. And that’s exactly the way I feel about you too, and I always will.’

Francesca’s affirmation of her friendship had given Katharine a marvellous sense of security, for approval was essential to her well being. Besides, she genuinely cared for Francesca, and was gratified to know her feelings were reciprocated. And so, after the other girl had left, she was filled with euphoria as she busied herself in the suite, singing gaily whilst she went about various small tasks. Finally she went through into the bedroom to select an outfit to wear to lunch with Terry and Estelle.

Sadly, her happy carefree mood was shortlived. Quite suddenly thoughts of the Earl’s impending marriage to Doris Asternan intruded, forcing everything else to the back of her mind. She hung the blue linen suit on the open door of the wardrobe and sat down heavily on the bed, staring at the suit but not really seeing it at all. And she focused her mind on Doris Asternan.

From the first moment they had met, Katharine had understood instinctively that she was confronting a real adversary. Time had only confirmed this. Doris did not like her at all. Not that the older woman was exactly blatant in her dislike. She strove always to conceal her antipathy behind girlishly-made confidences, and claims of sistership because they were both American. With her acuity of perception, Katharine knew that Doris’s pleasant acceptance of her was entirely counterfeit. The woman did not accept her at all, neither did she approve of her relationship with Kim. Furthermore, much to Katharine’s irritation, Doris was excessively possessive of the Cunninghams, seemed to believe she had an exclusive, relationship with them, and was also their self-appointed protector. This was particularly in evidence when it came to fellow Americans. Katharine recalled how keenly Doris had scrutinized and questioned Victor when they had both been guests at Langley Castle in May. Just as she herself had been weighed up and down, and so assiduously grilled about her early life in Chicago she had been utterly taken aback. But somehow she had managed to sidestep Doris’s probings without it seeming as if she had something to hide.

I don’t have anything to hide, Katharine said to herself, and then groaned out loud. How stupid she had been. She had told a silly little white lie when she had first started classes at the Royal Academy – she had pretended to be an orphan. Repetition had propagated the lie to such an extent she was not only stuck with it, but hamstrung by it. How could she possibly tell anyone the truth now? And why in God’s name had she ever said such a foolish thing in the first place? The answer eluded her.

A wave of self-pity washed over her, but she squashed it before it had a chance to take root. She must concentrate on her most pressing priority, which was rectifying the lie, and the only way to do that was to tell the truth and in so doing clarify the situation about her background.

She grimaced, thinking now of Doris. As a girl friend of David Cunningham’s she had not seemed to be a threat; but as his wife she would have great influence on him.

‘Oh damn,’ Katharine exclaimed out loud, worrying about Doris, wondering how to get around her. Katharine, clever and inventive, turned and turned the problem over in her mind, but no solution was forthcoming. Why had Doris invited her to the South of France? Had it been the Earl’s idea? Could Francesca have suggested it? Was Doris merely attempting to appear generous of nature solely for the Earl’s benefit? Or was Doris setting her up, trying to trap her? This last possibility was so unsettling to Katharine that she brushed it aside swiftly. However, a valid reason for this show of friendliness on Doris’s part remained as elusive as a means of circumventing her, and although she concentrated on both for some time, in the end Katharine gave up in exasperation.

Glancing at the clock, she sprang off the bed. Terry was expecting her in the bar in fifteen minutes and she could not waste any more time dwelling on Doris Asternan and the Earl.

I’ll think things out more carefully later, she told herself. After all, it’s still only June. Slipping out of her skirt and blouse, she put on the blue linen suit, stepped into a pair of bone kid pumps, and then turned to look at herself in the mirror. How pale she looked, and drawn around her eyes. Although she was not over fond of make-up and always used it sparingly, Katharine dipped into several small pots, adding a touch of delicate pink rouge on her high cheekbones, and a film of hazy turquoise eyeshadow on her lids.

Satisfied with the overall effect, she ran a comb through her hair. And she made her mind up to one thing: she must be especially sweet to Kim this evening, and in the weeks to come, conciliatory, charming and adoring. Yes, she must use all her not inconsiderable powers to ensure his complete devotion and abiding love. This was an imperative, and surely it was the key to everything … her inevitable triumph over Doris, her future life as Kim’s wife, as the Viscountess Ingleton. She repeated the title, liking the sound of it, and a happy smiled expunged the worry in her eyes.

The smile was still intact some ten minutes later when Katharine reached the lobby of the hotel and headed in the direction of the bar. In her usual way, she had convinced herself, somewhat unwisely, that she could bend life to her will; in consequence her problems had evaporated completely. And Doris Asternan had been dismissed from her mind.