Voice of the Heart (82 page)

‘Like to try me on for size,
sport
?’

Victor sighed. ‘Why? In God’s name
why
, Arlene?’

‘Because you’ve caused me undue heartache and pain… and suffering. I guess I feel the need, the very urgent and pressing need, to hit back at you.’ She reclined against the cushions, striking a pathetic pose.

‘Wipe the Camille expression off your face, Arlene. It only makes you look ridiculous. You never were much of an actress,’ he said, and laughed, knowing the thrust was cruel. That it was true did not make it less cruel, but he didn’t care. She had asked for it. He scoffed mockingly, ‘You can’t damage
me
. I’m too big, too well established. You’re only going to hurt two innocent girls.’

‘So.’

Victor stood up and strolled to the small chest at the far side of the room. He took out a box of his favourite Monte Cristos and spent a few seconds clipping off the end of one and striking a match. His back was to her and he sneaked a look at his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. How the hell was he going to get out of here?

Deciding now to take a different tack, to bring this discussion to a close, he sat down, puffed on the cigar, said, ‘I’m prepared to be very generous with you, Arlene. Make a good settlement. I originally offered you three million dollars, plus ten thousand alimony a month for five years, whether or not you remarry. Two weeks ago my lawyers offered your lawyers another five hundred thousand, as part of the settlement. I’ll make it a round million, and I’ll throw in the Bel-Air house. Surely that will help to ease your pain.’

She shook her head negatively.

‘Isn’t that enough for you?’

‘No,’ Arlene gave him a long searching stare then dropped her eyes. They rested on the folder. She picked it up, leafed through it, stared at him again, and thoughtfully so. She said, ‘These reports are mild in comparison to the others in my possession.
They
are lethal. I know bad publicity doesn’t worry you, Victor, but as you yourself said it would certainly create problems and embarrassment for those two… young ladies, particularly the Earl’s daughter. Think about that, and most carefully.’

‘This is blackmail.’

‘No, honey, it’s pragmatism,’ she smiled.

Victor straightened up in the chair, his brows drawing together in concentration. ‘Let me get this straight. Apart from what I’ve already offered you, I’ve also got to throw in my ranch and fifty per cent of the company, in return for these reports, in return for a peaceful divorce, free of any scandal, no names mentioned, no women cited. Am I right?’

‘No, not really.’

Her voice was so soft, her face so unexpectedly gentle, Victor held his breath, wondering what she was about to spring on him next. He waited. She waited. Their eyes met. Finally Arlene blinked and looked away.

At last she brought her eyes back to his face, and said
slowly, ‘I don’t want the settlement, the alimony or the Bel-Air house. Neither do I want Che Sarà Sarà or fifty per cent of Bellissima Productions.’

He said coolly, ‘Then what do you want, Arlene?’

‘You, darling,’ she whispered.

His jaw dropped. Staggered, he sat back in the chair, staring at her speechlessly.

For the first time in her life, Francesca knew with absolute certainty that she looked truly beautiful this night.

She gazed at herself in the cheval mirror, and a smile of unalloyed happiness illuminated her face. The girl who stared back from the glassy depths did not look like her at all, yet she loved this new image, one which was partially Katharine’s creation.

Earlier in the evening, Katharine had come to her room and worked on her hair, parting it in the centre and brushing it into a pageboy. Burnished to a lighter, brighter hue by the sun, it fell in sleek golden swatches around her face. Simplicity itself, the pageboy, nevertheless, had a degree of elegance without being over sophisticated, and it was becoming to her. Her face looked different too, for Katharine had insisted on helping with her make-up as well. A brushing of rouge emphasized her high cheekbones; a trace of gold shadow brought out the topaz lights in her tawny eyes; mascara darkened her blonde lashes. These few expert and professional touches delicately underscored her natural attributes, gave additional depth to her features.

Stepping back, Francesca nodded to herself, delighted with her appearance, and most especially with her new evening gown. She had been captivated the moment she had seen it in the Model Room at Harte’s in Knightsbridge. It was a cloud of gossamer peach organza, layers of it forming a bell-like crinoline below a strapless bodice moulded to her figure. Tiny crystal beads had been stitched in random clusters all over the skirt, and the long matching stole, and they introduced an iridescent gleam to the airy floating fabric.

It was a romantic dreamlike dress, one her father could
barely afford. But he too had been entranced by it, had swept aside her protestations about the price, told her that every other dress she had tried on thereafter paled in comparison. ‘And for once in your life, you’re going to have something pretty to wear, which is not a compromise because of money, or homemade by you and Melly,’ he had insisted with unusual gruffness. Francesca had not argued with him, understanding that the dress she wore to his engagement dance was as important to him as it was to her. It was a question of his love for her, his immense pride, and so much more besides. After the evening gown had been fitted for a few minor adjustments, he had whisked her off to lunch in the grill room of the Hyde Park Hotel as a special treat. A lovely day, she thought, remembering it with clarity and pleasure.

She touched the pearl choker at her neck. The diamond clasp, nestling in the centre of her throat, threw off prisms of sparkling light, and the creamy pearls looked even creamier against her sunburned skin. Victor’s choker is perfect, the gown is exquisite, and I do look lovely, Francesca whispered to herself. She wanted to be especially beautiful for Vic tonight, and so fervently that she had been pent-up and breathless the entire time she was dressing. She could hardly wait for him to arrive, to witness his face when he saw her. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost nine. He would be here soon, very soon now. He and Nicky and Jake had been invited early, to have drinks with the family, since Doris considered them to be part of the inner circle. The other guests would start arriving at ten, when the dance would officially begin, and supper would be served at midnight.

Adjusting the filmy stole around her bare shoulders, Francesca picked up the peach silk evening bag that exactly matched her high-heeled pumps and hurried out. As she moved with lightness and speed down the staircase she was a picture of loveliness and grace, the peach organza floating
around her like a delicate hazy mist, her face shimmering with unrestrained joy, and not a little anticipation.

Gliding out onto the terrace, Francesca was surprised to find it entirely deserted, except for the bartender positioned behind the bar which had been set up at the far end. The terrace furniture had been removed, and small tables, covered with pink-muslin cloths and partnered with gold cane chairs, were scattered around. Every table held a bud vase with a pink or red rose, plus a votive candle in a ruby glass container, and these gleamed rosily, introducing a festive air along with huge pots of flowering plants banked in various corners.

Francesca edged her way through the tables, asked for a glass of champagne, wandered the length of the terrace, admiring the gardens, marvelling at the effect Doris’s team of electricians and caterers had created. Always a source of aesthetic pleasure, with their lush greenery and glorious multicoloured flower beds, the grounds had acquired a fairytale quality that was magical, utterly breathtaking. Lights glowed everywhere, focused attention on the natural beauty of the setting, brought each flower, each leaf startlingly to life. Strings of tiny amber bulbs festooned the trees and bushes; colourful Chinese lanterns hung from branches, swaying gently in the breeze; small spots, strategically placed, washed the stately poplars bordering the walls with a shining radiance. It was the most spectacular scene imaginable.

Francesca scanned the main lawn. A portable dance floor rested in the centre, surrounded by pink-skirted tables set for ten and twenty, and, at the farthest edge, a small bandstand had been erected against the backdrop of the trees. On the adjoining lawn there were several bars, and long buffet tables from which the food would be served. The strumming of a guitar caught her attention and she glanced once more at the bandstand. A number of musicians in evening dress had begun to assemble, taking out their instruments and talking amongst themselves. Doris had engaged a group of
mariachis, and they too had just arrived. It was one of the mariachis, resplendent in a colourful Mexican folk costume, who was playing. Francesca closed her eyes dreamily, thinking of Victor, of being in his arms, of swaying with him on the dance floor. The guitarist suddenly began to sing, his voice echoing across the lawn, rich and melodic, the familiar song stirring poignant memories of recent rapturous evenings spent with Victor.

It was one of Victor’s favourites, one of hers now, a Mexican ballad that was popular on the Riviera this year, and especially with the crowd who frequented La Chunga, a charming restaurant-club in Cannes. Victor loved to go there, to listen to the mariachis serenading, to watch the flamenco dancers. The music washed over her. Francesca’s heart crested with euphoria. What a wonderful evening this was going to be. Romantic. Memorable. So very memorable. Blinking, she lifted her head and looked up. An indigo sky. Clear, cloudless, brilliant with stars and a shimmering crystal moon. A balmy breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the tangy salt smell of the sea to mingle with the spicy scent of the eucalyptus, the sweeter fragrance of honeysuckle and night-blooming jasmine. Francesca thought her heart would burst with love for him, and she knew then, deep within herself, that tonight he would ask her to marry him. She would accept, and when his divorce came through they would be joined in holy matrimony in the picturesque Norman church in the village of Langley, where her father would soon be marrying Doris.

‘All alone, Frankie?’

She swung around, waved to Kim and Katharine who were walking out onto the terrace together. Katharine was dressed in white georgette, and she looked exquisitely dainty and fragile. The gown was an off-the-shoulder style, with a wide frill that fell from the gathered neckline to cover part of the bodice, and the billowing skirt was finished at the hemline with another deep frill. Her chestnut hair tumbled around her face in a mass of waves and curls, held back at each side with rhinestone combs. She wore no jewellery other than the diamond bracelet Victor had given her.

Kim looked his sister up and down when they came to a halt, and whistled. ‘My God, you do look smashing, old thing. Whatever have you done to yourself?’

‘Thanks for the backhanded compliment,’ she retorted sharply.

‘Oh you know what I mean, you silly girl,’ he placated, smiling, his eyes fond and admiring.

‘Don’t pay any attention to this idiot farmer with me,’ Katharine cried, hugging her. ‘You always look lovely, but tonight you surpass yourself.’

‘So do you, Kath.’

The two girls smiled at each other affectionately and Katharine, tucking her arm through Francesca’s, walked her over to the bar, where she asked for a glass of red wine. Kim did the same, and once they had their drinks, Francesca said, ‘Come and look at the gardens; they’re out of this world.’

Kim whistled again, and several times said, ‘Doris certainly knows how to do things, and she doesn’t mind spending her lovely dollars. The grounds are enchanting.’

Katharine agreed, and she and Kim stood surveying the scene, discussing the overall effect, talking about the dance in general.

Francesca took little sips of her champagne, preoccupied with Victor. But although she was caught up in her internal world,
she was a sensitive girl, attuned to others, and very soon began to realize that Katharine was unusually nervous tonight, puffing constantly on her cigarette, drinking the red wine a little too quickly, speaking in a tone that was singularly high-pitched for her. Francesca became aware of Katharine’s extreme pallor, wondered if her friend was not feeling well. She dismissed this idea at once. Unlike everyone else at the villa, Katharine was avoiding the sun because of her impending film. In consequence, her paleness was unique, stood out markedly. Examining that extraordinarily beautiful face more closely, Francesca noticed the faint dark smudges under Katharine’s eyes—tell-tale signs of sleepless nights. I hope everything is all right between her and Kim, Francesca thought, worrying about them. Of course it is, she told herself firmly. The past week had gone smoothly, without incident, and they had laughed a lot, enjoyed themselves. Except for yesterday. Now Francesca remembered Katharine’s unexpected moodiness, the curious agitation which had taken hold of her around mid-morning. She had been morose and uncommunicative all through the rest of the day and well into the evening.

Katharine said, ‘You’re daydreaming, Frankie darling. I asked you what Doris is wearing.’

‘Oh sorry. A gown by Madame Grès. Draped chiffon, with one shoulder. Sort of Grecian, Kath.’

‘And the most incredible necklace you’ve ever seen,’ Kim told them. ‘I saw her a little earlier, and I was positively blinded.’

‘As usual!’ Katharine’s laughter was shrill in the tranquil silence. She thought of Doris with some animosity. How that woman irritated her. Wisely, she went on in a softer voice, ‘I’ve never seen such fabulous jewels. Every piece is unique.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ Francesca agreed. She looked at Katharine with keenness, immediately recalling her nickname for Doris.
Diamond Lil
. It had sounded rather mean when
Victor had repeated it. But Katharine was never mean. Perhaps she thought the name was amusing, Francesca decided, for certainly it was not in this sweet and loving girl to ever be vindictive.