Voice of the Heart (124 page)

Francesca said, ‘I’m so glad you met with Katharine, Vic, and that you’re friends again. She really had some awful years in London, when she was undergoing psychiatric treatment.’

‘Yes, Nick told me a few things. Anyway, I’m not one to hold a grudge. We all did some very foolish things in those days. Youth! Not that I was so young. I should have known better. I was forty, after all.’

She glanced at him, smiled. ‘You don’t look very different really. Your face is craggier, but you still have the most marvellous tan I’ve ever seen on anyone.’

‘Thanks for the kind words. But I’ve also got a lotta white hair, kid.’

‘Very distinguished, those white wings at the sides. Oh, that’s the door-bell. Nick and Katharine.’ She pushed herself up and was walking across the floor when Nick hurtled into the room as white as a sheet, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. He closed the door behind him swiftly, and stood staring at her.

‘Nicky, whatever’s the matter?’ she cried, filling with alarm.

‘Oh Frankie, Frankie, she’s gone! Goddamn it, she’s gone! Checked out. No message. Nothing. How will I ever
find
her?’

Victor had risen. Concern registered on his face. He strode over to them, took hold of Nick’s arm and led him to a chair. ‘Calm down, old sport. Ches, get Nicky a drink please. Vodka or wine?’

‘Better make it vodka,’ Nick mumbled.

Francesca hovered over him, squeezing his shoulder several times. ‘Rest a moment, Nick dear. You seem out of breath.’

‘I ran all the way here. I thought perhaps she’d told you everything. On the ’phone maybe, that she had moved in here.’

Victor caught Francesca’s eye, raised a dark brow, looking as baffled as she did. He gave Nick the vodka, took hold of Francesca’s hand, led her with him to the sofa. ‘Now, Nicky, I think you’d better start at the beginning,’ Victor said.

Nick took a deep breath and told them both the shocking news Katharine had broken to him last night. They were as stunned and as distressed as he was. Several times his voice broke during the recounting of the details, and he had to blow his nose constantly as he fought the tears. Victor interrupted several times, asking medical questions, nodding his head, following carefully. Halfway through the trying and heartbreaking recital Francesca began to weep quietly, brushing her eyes with her hands. Victor put his
arm around her, fished in his pocket for his handkerchief, handed it to her.

At last Nick stopped, lit a cigarette and drank some of the vodka. He went on, ‘That brings me up to the point when I left her at the Lazarus apartment. I came to see you, Vic, then picked her up there at time-thirty, went back with her to the Carlyle. I left this morning at six, because I had to finish reading galleys of the new novel. I wanted them out of the way, so I could concentrate on Kath for the next few months. She was awake when I left. I told her I’d pick her up at ten minutes to one to come here for lunch. When I got to the Carlyle at that time she’d checked out. Around ten o’clock, the desk told me. No forwarding address, no message. I can’t understand it. I must find her. Don’t you see, she needs me.
Why?
Why did she do this?
’ He sprang up, walked to the window, stood staring out, his shoulders hunched.

‘Oh my God, the package!’ Francesca exclaimed, also leaping to her feet. Earlier she had placed it on a chair near the door, and now she ran for it, took it to Nick. ‘This came for you when I was out this morning.’

He took it, ripped at the paper with shaking hands. ‘It’s Kath’s hand writing,’ he gasped. The paper was finally removed and he was holding an orange-coloured Hermes box. He recognized it immediately. The box had contained her favourite style of handbag, the Kelly she always carried, and he himself had bought it for her only a few weeks ago. He snatched at the lid. Inside were three small Tiffany boxes, three envelopes and, in the bottom, resting on a layer of tissue, a blue leather-bound book. He looked at the embossing on the front:
To V.L. from K.T
. He replaced the book, grabbed the letter addressed to himself, tore the envelope, searched for his glasses, stood reading, the tears welling, slowly trickling down his cheeks. ‘There are letters here for you,’ he mumbled, his voice cracked with emotion, and he moved to the far end of the living room, hiding his
face from them, pain ripping through him. He was swamped by a sorrow he could not endure.

Victor collected the Hermes box and returned with it to the sofa, filled with sadness for Nick, and compassion and grief for Katharine, who had deserved a far better fate, whatever she had done to them all so long ago. He and Francesca read their letters, sat holding them, their faces vacant, not speaking, as benumbed as Nick, remembering so much.

The door opened and Val appeared. Francesca looked at her, shook her head, and the housekeeper quickly retreated. The sound of the door opening had roused Nicky, and he rejoined them near the fireplace. He said to Francesca, ‘Read the letter she wrote to you… I mean read it aloud. I want to know what she said. Please, Frankie.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She blew her nose, began shakily, in a quavering voice:

Francesca halted, her voice trembling uncontrollably. She wiped her eyes with Vic’s handkerchief, and went on:

Francesca wept unashamedly, and Victor’s eyes were full as he took her hand, held it tightly in his. ‘Can you light me a cigarette, please,’ Francesca whispered, turning a tear-streaked face to him.

He did so, and glanced worriedly at Nick, who was huddled in the chair. It seemed to Victor that his friend had atrophied before his eyes. He said, ‘Take a drink, Nicky.’

‘Yes. Read your letter to me, Vic, please. I must know…’

Victor picked up the letter Katharine Tempest had written and scanned it again, almost afraid to begin. He took his
horn-rimmed glasses from the end table, put them on, cleared his throat:

Victor placed the letter on the table, took off his wet glasses and went to Nick. He put his arm around him, held him close. ‘I trust her, Nicky. Wherever she has gone she will be safe. Please don’t try to find her. Let it be the way she wants it.’

Nick nodded. His throat ached with suppressed tears and the tearing pain inside him was monumental. He began to pace the floor, oblivious to Francesca and Victor, trying to think, his mind reeling with shock and despair. He could not conceive that he would never see her again, never hear her laughter, or gaze into her glorious turquoise eyes, or hold her in his arms. So absorbed was he in his inner conflict he was not aware that Francesca and Victor had left the room.

When they returned some fifteen minutes later he was still roaming around the room, looking lost and stricken.

Victor said, ‘I think we should do as she wishes, Nicky. So does Ches.’

Nicky stared at them, drawn at last out of his benumbed state. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes.’ He went to the Hermes box, took out the blue Tiffany boxes, each one marked with a name. He handed them to Francesca and Victor. ‘She wants me to give you these. She asked me in her letter.’ He swallowed. ‘Thank you for reading yours. I cannot read mine to you… it’s very personal.’

‘Oh Nicky, we don’t expect you to,’ Francesca exclaimed softly. She opened her box. There was a tiny diamond heart on a chain, similar to the one Katharine often wore. Last week, she and Kath had gone to Tiffany’s to buy an identical heart for Vanessa, and she had admired it. Francesca held it in her hand tightly, incapable of speech, and she wept again for her friend.

For Victor, Katharine had found old Roman coins which had been dipped in gold and made into cufflinks. He stared at them blindly, his black eyes awash with sorrow. What a tragedy, he thought. Poor sweet Kath. Only forty-four.

Nick said dimly, ‘She was always after me to get a pair of lapis lazuli cufflinks. To match my eyes, she used to say.’ He opened his hand, displayed his gift, and turned away, remembering suddenly the story she had told him about the two old biddies in London.

Victor lifted Francesca’s hand, and patted it tenderly,
folded his own around it. ‘We must have strong and happy memories of Katharine, and I say again, we
must
do all she wishes. Nick, you’ll come to the ranch, won’t you?’

‘Yes, I will. And I’ll bring my son. Just as my beloved Kath wanted it.’

‘Will you come with us too, Ches?’ Victor asked.

‘Of course, Vic. Nicky needs me.’

Victor inclined his head, and he smiled at Francesca. His eyes held hers for the longest moment. He thought: I was her first love. Perhaps, with a little luck, I will be her last. Later, when all this is behind us. And then, under his breath he said: Che sarà sarà… what will be will be.

‘But when the days of golden dreams had perished,

And even despair was powerless to destroy,

Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,

Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy.’

E
MILY
B
RONTË

The gardens at Ravenswood were so vibrant with colour and life, and fragrant with the mingled scents of the varied flowers, Katharine caught her breath as she walked down the lawn towards the bosky glade. She passed the giant pink floss tree and paused to admire its beauty, touching a rosy blossom gently. How tender it was, and perfectly made.

She drifted on, down the sloping lawn and past the swimming pool, until she came at last to her favourite spot. She settled on a rustic wooden chair, took a new packet of cigarettes from her pocket and lit one. Her doctor in London had asked her to cut down on her smoking. But she had wondered, for the last few months, what difference it made now.

She closed her eyes, but for only a moment, wanting to drink in the loveliness surrounding her. The house gleamed white and shining in the distance, and somewhere birds lifted their voices in warbling song and there was a rush of wings as the flock swept upwards into the lucent air, soared towards the incandescent azure sky. She sighed. It was peaceful here, so far away from the noise and clatter of the turbulent world.

Soon Beau would return. She had not let him know she was coming. And Beau had gone to play golf, so Tabella, his housekeeper, had told her when she had arrived a short while ago from New York. Her decision to come here had finally been made last night, as Nick had lain in an exhausted sleep in her arms. She thought of her most beloved Nicky and her heart stirred softly within her. She prayed he would go with Victor and Frankie to the ranch. He, too, would perhaps find a kind of peace there with them and his son. And
her own child would join her next week, to stay as long as it was appropriate. Mike had promised. A smile flashed across her exquisite face. For weeks she had hidden her secret from Nick, from everyone. It had been the best acting of her life. And now it must continue for a while, this, her last performance. For Beau. He must not know. Not yet. Her gaze settled on the house. She had come to Ravenswood as a young bride. She had come back now to die.