Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Walking into the drawing room, Katharine saw at once that Norman had not exaggerated in the least when he said the place was in a shambles. If anything, he had underplayed the result of the altercation. More like a bar brawl, Katharine commented to herself, compressing her lips. The room, which she had always admired for its beauty and elegance, was in great disarray. Two large Chinese porcelain lamps had been smashed and, with their dented silk shades, had been placed in a corner out of the way; and several small antique tables with broken legs were laid on their sides next to the lamps. A large and extraordinarily lovely Venetian mirror, hanging above the white-marble fireplace, was cracked and splintered down the middle, and John’s collection of prized pink and green Chinese jade ornaments had been reduced to dozens of small pieces. They lay on a newspaper on top of a circular Georgian rent table, looking like a rare jigsaw puzzle about to be reassembled. The pale blue carpet had several cigarette burns and dark splotches where red wine had been spilled, and the same ugly wine stains splattered across the cushions on the pale blue velvet sofa, also streaked down the blue silk draperies at the window.

  Katharine was appalled. It was apparent to her that either Penny, or Norman earlier, had endeavoured to clean up and restore a semblance of order, but even so the considerable damage was only too visible. Her eyes swept around the room again, and her face reflected her distress. ‘How could Terry let this happen?’ she cried, turning to Norman who was close behind her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Norman murmured miserably. ‘I’ve also been wondering how he could let himself get stabbed.’

  Katharine flushed deeply. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. She hadn’t meant to sound so callous, or dismissive of Terry’s injury, certainly more important than broken furnishings. She looked at Penny. ‘You said Terry was shaky. What do you think about his appearing tonight?’

  Penny shook her head. ‘I think it would be disastrous, Katharine. I’ve tried to sober him up, and certainly he’s a lot better than he was, but a real hangover’s settling in.’

  Norman groaned. ‘I’m at my bloody wits’ end! It’s up to you now, Katharine. Perhaps you’ll be able to persuade him to stay put for twenty-four hours. What he needs is a good kip.’

  ‘I’ll give it a try,’ she replied. ‘Shall we go in and see him?’ Katharine followed Norman and Penny out of the drawing room. Norman suddenly halted at the bedroom door at the other end of the entrance hall. ‘Perhaps I’d better warn him. Tell him you’re here, Katharine. He didn’t know I’d gone to fetch you.’ He hurried into the bedroom and Penny and Katharine hovered outside the door, which stood open a few inches.

  They could hear Norman talking in a low tone, and then Terry’s voice reverberating loudly, as he shouted, ‘Jesus bloody Christ! What did you have to go and do that for? You silly sod!’ There was low murmuring, as Norman attempted to calm Terry down, and then he poked his head around the door and motioned for them to come into the bedroom.

  Katharine hesitated imperceptibly before moving forward, realizing that Terry was most probably discomfited because she was seeing him in a disreputable condition: The great lover as the rake.

  Penny gave her a little push and she was forced to take a few more steps, and suddenly Terry was in her line of vision. Her heart dropped when she saw him, but she was able to keep her face expressionless, her shock concealed, and her smile barely faltered.

  Terry was lying on top of the bedcover, propped up against a pile of snowy white pillows, wearing only black silk pyjama bottoms. His wounded left arm was almost completely covered in bandages, and she noticed that he had sustained other injuries. His right shoulder and arm were black and blue with angry bruises, and there were ragged vivid scratches on his neck. And apart from his battered body, his appearance was so much worse than she had envisioned, she was further alarmed. Terry looked ghastly. His unshaven face was puffy and swollen and without a drop of colour, and his blue eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed with faint mauve smudges underneath them. He seemed slightly dazed, his eyes glazed, and he had trouble focusing on Katharine. There was an aura of such terrible dissipation about him, Katharine was sickened and yet curiously sad for him.

  A pressing question dangled on the tip of her tongue: Who did this to you, Terry darling? But she was unable to utter the words, fearful of exciting him or causing him more pain at this moment. Instinctively she knew, too, that he would not tell her.

  ‘Hello, Puss,’ Terry said, his voice weak and hoarse, as if his loud shouting of a few seconds before had drained him. ‘Fine pickle I’m in, eh?’

  ‘Yes, love, it is,’ Katharine answered, producing a radiant smile, one that was also loving. Her voice was softly comforting, as she continued, ‘But it could be worse, you know. You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep. Why, Norman just said to me all you need is a good kip.’ She smiled again, and remarked in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘You’ll be back on stage tomorrow night.’

  Gathering the remainder of his diminished strength, Terry pushed himself up on the pillows and positively glared at her. ‘Tonight! I’m not missing a performance. Not because of this piddling little scratch. Not bloody likely, Puss.’

  Somewhat to Katharine’s surprise, Terry did not sound at all slurred. Quite the contrary, he was enunciating clearly; on the other hand, there was no question in her mind that he was incapacitated. He would not be able to meet the fierce demands placed on him by his taxing role. His hands resting on top of the bed trembled slightly, and it was very clear to her that the quantity of alcohol he had drunk, lack of sleep, the knife wound and the fight in the drawing room had all taken their considerable toll.

  Katharine approached the bed and stood at the foot. She said, in her most commanding voice, ‘You can’t possibly go on, Terry dear. It would be insane to do so. Honestly, you won’t get through the first act, never mind the whole play. Now be sensible.’

  ‘I’m going on, I told you!’ Terry half screamed, his voice surprisingly vibrant again. ‘I appreciate your concern, Puss, and it was sweet of you to come over,’ he continued, speaking now in a softer key. ‘But I’d be grateful if you ladies would buzz off, so that Norman can help me to get ready. I’m not a blasted zoo tea, you know.’ He fell back against the pillows and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. His hand shook so much he slopped half of the water on the table before getting the glass finally to his parched lips.

  ‘Just look at you,’ Katharine cried with fierceness, her eyes blazing. ‘You’re trembling like a leaf. You’ll never make it.’

  Terry smiled at her grimly and his tone was sardonic. ‘Oh yes I will. I’ve had a hell of a lot more stage experience than you, my pet. Once I’ve done my make-up and get into my costume, I’ll hit the footlights with my usual aplomb. And I’ll be perfectly bloody fine. I’m an old trouper, didn’t you know?’ He laughed wildly.

  ‘Now listen to me,’ Katharine said. ‘I’m not even going to permit you to go to the theatre, never mind hit the footlights. Over my dead body, Terrence Ogden. You’re out of your mind drinking you can try it.’ She paused and the look she gave him was deadly serious. ‘You have a responsibility to the audience! And a responsibility to the rest of the cast. It’s not fair to burden them, and me, with your problems. You know we’d all have to carry you. I don’t mind doing that, but I’m sure the others would resent it. And just think how mortified you’d feel later, for giving a lousy performance. You love acting too much to give less than your best. I know for a fact that you could never five with yourself, if you behaved disgracefully on a stage. You couldn’t stand the humiliation, for one thing.’ She glared at him, her defiant eyes dared him to contradict her.

  Terry laughed even more hysterically than before, and cried out dramatically, ‘Ah, my sweet Kate, you’re so young, so idealistic, so filled with noble thoughts…’ He broke off and reached for the glass of water. ‘“Tempt not a desperate man.” Romeo and Juliet. Act… I forget which act, but never mind, my sweet, sweet Kate.’ He flung out his
arm, making a grand gesture, and the water splashed out of the glass on to the sheet. He looked down at the wet patch and shook his head, smiling to himself. ‘Tears. Ah, yes, tears.’ He lay supine on the pillows and murmured, ‘“To weep is to make less the depth of grief.” Henry VI. The Bard always got to the heart of the matter, did he not, my sweet Kate.’ He closed his eyes wearily. The eyelids fluttered and then were still.

  Katharine’s troubled face now met Norman’s, and he shrugged, helpless and resigned.

  Penny said, ‘I think Terry’s falling asleep. Perhaps we should let him rest for a while.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not, Penelope. The wise and wonderful Penn—ell—ohpee,’ Terry cried, opening one bloodshot blue eye and leering wickedly at them.

  Katharine turned to Norman and said carefully, ‘I agree with Penny. Terry’ll feel better in about half an hour, then you can get him ready.’ Aware that Norman was about to protest, she signalled him to be silent with her expressive eyes, and rushed on, ‘Maybe you should run a bath in the meantime.’ Her cool blue glance rested on Terry and she remarked casually, ‘When you’re ready, Norman and I will take you to the theatre. Come on Norman, Penny.’ She swung around and walked across the room, her steps purposeful.

  Thanks, Puss. I knew I could rely on your understanding,’ Terry muttered, raising himself on his right arm. Instantly he collapsed on the mound of pillows, looking more exhausted than ever.

  Norman threw Katharine a questioning look once they were outside, and Penny began crossly, ‘What kind of idea is—’

  ‘Hush,’ Katharine whispered, and pulled Penny after her into the drawing room. Norman followed and closed the door firmly behind him. He leaned against it and said, ‘If you’ve come up with a plan, it’d better be a flaming good one, ducks.’

  Katharine sat down on an easy chair, and smiled faintly. ‘It’s not a plan exactly, only a little common sense. Look, Norman, as long as we argue with Terry about going on tonight, he’ll continue to fight us until we’re blue in the face. So… I think we ought to go through the motions of getting him bathed and dressed. Didn’t you see how docile he became when I suggested that you get him ready?’

  They nodded in unison, and Katharine proceeded, ‘It’s pretty apparent to me that Terry is wiped out physically, and he’s still a bit drunk, you know. That’s why I don’t think he’ll have any juice left in him by the time you’ve got him shaved, bathed and in his clothes. He’s going to be awfully drowsy after a bath, particularly if you make it a hot one. I have a feeling he’ll simply fall apart, and then we can get him to bed without any arguments, or a struggle.’

  Norman smiled for the first time that day. ‘Katharine, you’re a little genius. Of course it’s the only solution. Hell, I wish we had some knockout drops as well.’

  ‘I have some sleeping pills on me…’ Penny began hesitantly, and stopped when she saw Norman’s glowering expression.

  ‘Why the bloody hell didn’t you say so before,’ Norman snapped, staring at his wife in irritation.

  ‘Well, actually, I haven’t had a chance, have I?’ she retorted reprovingly, with a small glare. ‘There’s no need to be so snippy, Norman. Anyway, when you rang me up to tell me about Terry, I threw a lot of things in a shopping bag. A first-aid kit, bandages, aspirin and sleeping pills. I was reluctant to suggest giving him one of those though, because he’s been drinking.’

  ‘Christ, I didn’t think of that,’ Norman answered, looking shamefaced. ‘But one wouldn’t hurt, would it?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Penny went to her shopping bag and pulled out the bottle. She popped it in the pocket of her cardigan and said, ‘We’ll never get him to take it voluntarily, Norman. I’ll have to crush it and put it in a glass of hot milk. He won’t taste it, if I add a bit of sugar.’

  ‘Good idea, love.’ He gave Penny a fond look, and added, ‘And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.’ He jumped up. ‘I think I’d better go and run a bath for him. Back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

  The moment Norman left the room, Katharine turned to Penny and said, ‘This is pretty awful, isn’t it? What’s it all about, Penny darling?’

  Penny bit her lip. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ she murmured.

  Katharine gave her a hard stare. ‘Did Norman tell you anything?’

  ‘No,’ Penny responded, returning the stare with one equally as hard.

  ‘How did Norman find out about the stabbing?’

  ‘Terry had asked him to pick up a suit from his tailor’s and deliver it here. Norman brought it over this afternoon. He found Terry lying on the bed in a pool of blood, drunk as a skunk. He ’phoned me and told me to get over here as fast as I could, and then I believe he tried to question Terry. But he didn’t find out anything. Terry was much worse earlier, unintelligible, from what Norman told me. That’s about it…’

  ‘It’s a good thing Norman had reason to come over here today,’ Katharine said with a small shiver, imagining the consequences if Norman had not arrived on the scene at the right time. She looked down at her hands, and when she lifted her head her eyes held a quizzical look. ‘I asked Norman if he thought Alexa Garrett had done it, and he said no. But he didn’t really convince me. I think Norman suspects her, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Penny responded uncertainly. ‘But I suspect her. I think she’s a bit of a Tartar, that one. I wouldn’t put anything past her. Terry’s had nothing but bad luck since she’s been around. Jinxed him, that she has. I never liked her, stuck-up little piece of nothing. She’s led Terry into bad ways, Katharine. Very bad ways indeed, I don’t mind telling you. But then, Terry never did have much taste in women. Always going for the dolly birds. Except for Hilary Rayne. He should have married Hilary, instead of that last wife of his—Megan. I never liked her either, another stuck-up article, if ever I saw one. Exactly like Alexa. Two peas in a pod, if you ask me, and rotten bloody peas at that.’

  Katharine was taken aback at this second reference to Hilary in one day, and intrigued and inquisitive, remembering Estelle’s comments about the party. She said, ‘Yes, I agree with you, about Hilary. She’s a lovely person. But she’s married to Mark Pierce now, so she’s hardly available for Terry.’

  Penny was startled. ‘Oh, I didn’t know you knew Hilary. Known her long, have you?’

  ‘Not very long, but she’s—’ Katharine cut off her sentence as Norman rushed in. He seemed elated and he grinned at them both and made Winston Churchill’s V for Victory sign with two fingers. ‘I think it’s going to work. I had to wake Terry to get him into the bathroom. Right now he’s sitting in a tub of hot water, looking as weak as a kitten and sounding very groggy. He didn’t even want me to shave him. Why don’t you go and boil the milk, Penny love, and then I’ll try to get him to drink it. After that, it’ll be never-never-land time.’

  Penny hurried out, and Norman peered at his watch. ‘It’s just turning five-thirty, Katharine. Do you want to get off to the theatre?’

  ‘No, I’ll wait for you, Norman. Just to be sure everything is all right. We can go together,’ she said.

  ***

  Norman stood in the wings of the St James’s Theatre, watching the last scene of the last act of Trojan Interlude. And silently he applauded Katharine. She was superb. She had carried the entire play with ease and brilliance and immense flair, radiating her own extraordinary magic, a magic quite unique to her. Peter Mallory, Terry’s understudy, was good, but he lacked Terry’s fire and declamatory ability, and although his performance was sound it was without inspiration.

  If the audience felt a little cheated because of his lacklustre performance, they had been more than compensated by Katharine’s stunning portrayal of Helen of Troy. She had given them everything she had, with every fibre of her being, and Norman decided it was probably her most outstanding rendition to date. She had surpassed herself, had held them in the palm of her hand all night long, and now, as the play drew to its finale, they were her entranced and willing captives
, breathless in their seats, hanging on every word. He suspected there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house when the curtain fell in a few minutes.

  Norman turned and meandered out of the wings, making his way slowly down the stone stairs to the dressing rooms. He had had to come to the theatre tonight, to dress Terry’s understudy, who didn’t have one of his own. In many ways he had been glad to get away from the flat. It had enabled him to clear his head. Terry had dropped off to sleep before he and Katharine left, and Penny had assured him she was capable of coping with any emergency which might arise. Norman had telephoned his wife several times during the course of the play, and to his great relief she had told him Terry was still out like a light, and probably wouldn’t awaken until the next morning. But as a precaution, he and Penny had elected to stay the night there, just in case Terry needed anything.

  And tomorrow he would have a serious talk with Master Terrence. It was long overdue. Norman now chastised himself for not having done so before. He was devoted to Terry, and protective of him, and in the six years he had been his dresser they had drawn extremely close and intimate, were like brothers. Norman, failed and frustrated actor that he was, guarded Terry’s career as he would the Holy Grail, and he was prepared to go out on a limb for him at any time, to ensure his position and standing in the English theatre. Talent such as Terry possessed was rare and precious, and it had to be cherished and nurtured. To Norman it was a national treasure that belonged to the people, to be preserved for them.

  Norman hovered outside Terry’s dressing room, waiting for Katharine to come off stage. He had done a great deal of thinking in the past few hours and had at last resolved to confide in her. She was the only person he dare trust with Terry’s secrets. Norman sighed under his breath. Terry’s troubles were becoming too weighty and complex for him to carry alone, and after the nightmarish day he had spent, he knew he must unburden himself, seek objective advice. And quickly, if he was to avert further disaster. He was not sure she could properly advise him, but sometimes it was simply enough to voice fears. Communicating them to someone else helped to clarify them and often produced solutions which otherwise might have remained elusive. And at least Katharine might be able to make Terry see sense.