Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  He returned to the chair, sat brooding for a while, his shoulders hunched, his refined face without expression. At last he directed his gaze on her. ‘I’d like to ask you something, Katharine.’

  She nodded, bracing herself.

  ‘You’re intelligent. How on earth did you think you could conceal your true identity in view of your burgeoning career in films? Surely you knew you’d be recognized by someone, that the truth would inevitably come out?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you for the longest time.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you?’

  ‘I was waiting for the right opportunity. I’ve been so preoccupied with my work…’ Her voice had dropped to a whisper and it ceased entirely. She twisted her hands, cleared her throat, added in a stronger tone, ‘Don’t forget, I was under a lot of pressure when we were shooting in Yorkshire, and when I went back to London you had to stay at Langley because your father was here with Doris. We’ve hardly seen each other lately. It seemed better to wait until we were on vacation…’

  ‘If only you had told me before,’ he sighed. For a moment Kim was introspective and then he murmured, ‘There’s so much more to love than love itself, Katharine. There must be trust and friendship, especially between two people who are going to marry, who plan to spend the rest of their lives together. By not confiding in me you have violated that trust, Katharine.’

  Softly spoken though these words were, and gently couched, the reproach cut through her like a knife. She looked at him forlornly, her defences down, her huge eyes aquamarine pools in her ashen face and glistening with incipient tears.

  He said urgently, ‘Don’t cry, for God’s sake don’t cry. I can’t stand your tears.’

  ‘No,’ she said, swallowing hard. She reached for a cigarette in the white onyx box, lighting it before he could do it for her. She smoked in silence, avoiding his eyes, her misery running deep.

  ‘Like my father, I believe that liars are basically untrustworthy, and on so many different levels,’ Kim began and leaned in closer to her. ‘Look at me, Katharine,’ he commanded. She did as he asked, and he continued, ‘Generally speaking, one fie begets another he, and another, and so on. Inevitably lying becomes a way of life. There is no place in our family for someone who cannot speak the truth, no matter what the consequences of absolute candour might be. Lying is cheating, you see, and cheating is dishonourable. When you were at Langley you spent a long time looking at our armorial bearings in the stone hall, asked a great deal about our family crest. Do you remember our family motto?’

  ‘Yes,’ Katharine gulped. Kim said no more, sat watching her, and she knew instinctively that he wished her to say the few brief words that composed their ancient motto. Taking a deep breath, she said softly, ‘Au dessus tout: Honneur.’

  Kim nodded, his light eyes compelling in their intensity. ‘And I told you what those words meant… Honour above all. Since the days of the great warrior knights of Langley every Cunningham has lived by that motto. It is our code of behaviour.’ His face became softer, gentler now. ‘There’s a poem by Richard Lovelace to which I’m rather partial, and my favourite lines are these: “I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more.” I think that simple sentence articulates what I am all about as a man.’ Kim fell into silence and then he shook his head slowly, sadly, adding at last, ‘Oh Katharine, Katharine, why didn’t you trust in our love, have faith enough in me to tell me the truth about yourself? Don’t you realize what you’ve done?’

  She stared at him speechlessly.

  ‘You’ve placed us both in die most precarious position with my father.’

  She heard the desperation in his voice. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I suppose I have. Kim, I want to tell you everything. Perhaps then you’ll understand, and not judge me so harshly. Please, please let me explain.’ Her face, so young and tender and earnest, beseeched him. He nodded, and Katharine went on, ‘You see, the whole situation developed because—’ She said no more, turned to look at the glass door.

  Voices penetrated from the terrace. The door flew open. Francesca dashed into the room as though propelled by a whirlwind, followed, in a more sedate fashion, by the Earl and Doris, who each had a glass of champagne in their hands.

  ‘There you are, Kim. Oh good, you’ve found Kath,’ Francesca called gaily. She was halfway across the floor when she came to a sudden halt, staring at them both with a worried frown. ‘My God, whatever’s the matter? You both look so upset.’

  Startled by this abrupt intrusion, neither Kim nor Katharine spoke. Francesca hurried forward anxiously, peering at the two of them more closely. Her concentration was on Katharine, sitting so still in the chair, white-faced and obviously distressed, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. Francesca perceived controlled agitation, felt a sudden uneasiness engendered by her manner. Pivoting on her bare feet to face Kim, his sister cried heatedly. ‘What’s happened? Tell me!’

  Kim was mute. The Earl cleared his throat, walked rapidly to Francesca’s side. ‘Hello, Katharine,’ he said in a voice curiously devoid of expression.

  She inclined her head without meeting his eyes, said nothing.

  David continued. ‘My apologies for bursting in on you so unceremoniously. We weren’t aware you and Kim were in the sun room. We’ll leave you to finish your discussion.’ He took hold of Francesca’s arm firmly. ‘Come along, my dear.’

  Francesca resisted his pressure. ‘But what’s wrong?’ she persisted, her voice rising. ‘I want to—’

  ‘No! Please don’t go!’ Katharine exclaimed, also adopting a fervent tone as she found her voice at last. ‘I would like you to hear what I have to say to Kim, what I was about to tell him when you walked in, David. I want Francesca to hear it as well.’ She cast a swift look in Doris’s direction. ‘And you too, Doris. This concerns you, as much as everyone else.’

  ‘If you wish it, Katharine,’ Doris turned to close the terrace door, came to join them.

  Francesca threw Katharine a questioning look, took the chair adjacent to Kim’s, sat facing her friend. Katharine did not seem prepared to enlighten her further, and so she eyed her brother keenly. He was equally uncommunicative, his face closed and unreadable.

  Once Doris and David had seated themselves together on the other small sofa within the spacious seating arrangement, Katharine addressed Francesca in a low voice tight with emotion: ‘I did something terrible, Frankie, really terrible, perhaps even truly unforgivable. I lied to Kim. And to you, too. To everyone. It was wrong of me, and I see that now—’ She paused dramatically, bit her lip, blinked, bravely fighting back her tears.

  She lowered her head, looked at her hands and exhaled softly. Finally, her head came up. ‘Doris found out about my lies. Quite by accident, of course, and in a way I’m glad she did,’ said Katharine, deeming diplomacy the smartest stratagem. ‘Naturally Doris felt compelled to inform your father and Kim, and I do understand why. She had no choice. Kim has just confronted me, and I was about to give him a full explanation when you walked in.’

  Consternation flashed across Francesca’s face. ‘What did you lie about, Kath?’ she asked with the utmost gentleness, comprehending the other girl’s discomfort and unhappiness, hoping to make Katharine feel more relaxed. But despite her tone, Francesca was exceedingly alarmed by this disturbing disclosure, for lying was tantamount to a crime in her family, whose standards of integrity and rectitude were stringent. No wonder the atmosphere was deadly, charged and reeking with tension.

  Swiftly, in a sudden rush of words, Katharine recounted how she had adopted the name Tempest and gave her reasons for doing so, continuing to direct her words at Francesca, but all the while levelling glances at the Earl and Doris.

  At the end of this short recital, as always springing to Katharine’s defence, and wishing to smooth things over, Francesca endeavoured to make light of the situation. ‘There’s nothing really very odd about Katharine taking a new name, Daddy, a stage name.
’ She smiled winningly. ‘I mean, Victor’s real name is Vittorio Massonetti, and Nick’s great-grandfather changed his name when he emigrated to America. He was a German Jew… with some kind of unpronounceable surname.’

  ‘And how do you know these facts, Frankie?’ the Earl inquired.

  ‘Nicky and Victor told me.’

  ‘Precisely,’ the Earl murmured.

  Katharine winced at his implication. Wanting to be done with all this now, she cried, ‘And I’m not an orphan, Frankie. My father is alive. His name is Patrick Michael Sean O’Rourke. He’s first generation Irish-American, and he lives in Chicago. I also have a brother, Ryan, who is nineteen.’ She leaned back against the sofa. The blue-green eyes were startling in their vividness and depth of colour as they darted to Doris. ‘I’m sure you know of my father. He is chairman of the Taramar Land Development Corporation, the biggest construction company in the Mid-west. He also has vast real-estate holdings… I guess he owns half of Chicago, and he’s heavily involved in politics, a power in the Chicago Democratic Machine. Have you heard of him, Doris?’

  ‘Yes, indeed I have.’ Doris was unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. ‘But I’ve not actually had the pleasure of meeting him,’ she said as an afterthought, experiencing genuine puzzlement. She could not apprehend the reason for Katharine’s prevarication in view of her father’s wealth and standing.

  Neither could Kim. He said slowly, ‘But your father sounds like a prosperous and commendable man, one who is an upstanding member of the community. You obviously don’t have anything to be ashamed of, to hide. Why ever did you tell that… that… silly story about being an orphan? It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘The reason I said I was an orphan is because I feel like an orphan. In fact, I consider myself to be one.’ Katharine let the words hang there, paused a beat, then shook her head from side to side with vehemence. ‘You’re all looking doubtful, but it’s true.’

  No one uttered a word. They stared at her, the mingled incredulity and perplexity growing more pronounced on their faces. Despite the four pairs of questioning eyes zeroing in on her, she did not flinch, was unperturbed as they carefully measured her. She was accustomed to close scrutiny in her profession. Actresses were always in the spotlight… in the centre of the stage…

  Sadness crept onto Katharine’s face, and her eyes grew excessively wistful. She looked beyond these four, her captive audience now, gazing intently at the wall ahead. She had a vision of something extraordinarily lovely, surrounded by a halo of perfect light—her mother’s beloved face. Katharine’s voice rang out with clarity and purity in the hushed room, was pensive yet underscored by the matchless musicality she had made her very own.

  ‘My mother was a great beauty and a great lady and she loved me very much. No child was ever loved more than I, and we were closer than I can possibly explain. She wanted me to be an actress, just as I wanted it, and she believed in me with all her heart and soul. And I… I worshipped her. When I was ten years old she became desperately ill. She died when I was thirteen.’ A sob vibrated in Katharine’s throat and tears welled. She brushed her hand across her eyes, and went on: ‘I was heartbroken, and so terribly alone. My father hated me… it was because of my brother. Ryan wanted to be a painter, and I encouraged this, as Momma had fostered my creative talent. My father was furious with me. He had decided Ryan was going to become a politician. He drove a wedge between us, believing I had too much influence over my little brother. He separated us, deprived us of each other when we had the greatest need to be together. Ryan was sent away to school in the East, I became a boarder at the convent. When I was sixteen, through my aunt’s intervention, my father agreed to send me to boarding school in England. I wanted to get away from Chicago; there was nothing there for me, with my mother in the grave and Ryan beyond my reach. I also knew my father wanted to get rid of me. For ever. So I left, and I’ve never been back. I do not have a family any more.’ The flow of words ceased; she waited.

  A deeper silence seemed to drift through the room and settle there. None had moved whilst she had been speaking, and still they did not stir. Kim and Francesca had been touched and saddened by her revelations and their quickly exchanged glances conveyed their feelings. But neither had the nerve to volunteer a single word for the time being. Both looked at their father expectantly.

  The Earl’s face was impassive, told them nothing. When he did speak his patrician voice was soft, kind. ‘Hatred is a most harsh and powerful word to use, Katharine. Perhaps it’s an exaggeration of your father’s feeling for you. Being so young at the time, a child, I’m certain you misunderstood, believed hatred existed when, in all truth, it did not. I cannot comprehend any father harbouring hatred for his daughter—’

  ‘He did! He did,’ she broke in, her face whiter than ever. ‘He still hates me. Hates me, do you hear,’ she cried excitedly. She had been the recipient of his loathing far too often to doubt it, and the recollection of it sent a tremor through her and her dark lashes glistened with tears.

  ‘Now, now, my dear, don’t upset yourself like this.’ The Earl was appalled at her passionate outburst, and also concerned for her state of well being. Her agitation was only too apparent, and it struck him how much more highly strung she was than he had previously realized. He stole a surreptitious look at Doris, signalling his distress with his eyes. Doris moved closer to him, placed her hand over his lovingly.

  The Earl peered hard at Katharine. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Katharine replied in a more even voice, striving for composure.

  Since she did seem visibly calmer, David continued, ‘I’m afraid I’m still somewhat baffled, despite the things you have told us about your early life. As Kim pointed out, it’s hard to conceive why you would pass yourself off as an orphan. Such unnecessary complications, my dear. How much easier, and more truthful, it would have been if you had simply said you had broken off relations with your father because of a quarrel, and left it at that. None of your friends would have probed too deeply under the circumstances. The English are notoriously uncurious in certain areas and not inclined to be presumptuous. And certainly we would have accepted your story completely, indeed been most sympathetic.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, David,’ Katharine acknowledged in a slightly grudging tone. ‘But I was very upset and miserable when I started classes at RADA. I had suffered the most terrible shame and embarrassment at boarding school in Sussex—you can’t imagine how unhappy I was.’ Her Up quivered and the tears brimmed, slid down her cheeks unchecked. ‘I was the odd girl out. I was the only one who had to spend holidays at school alone with Matron. I had nowhere else to go,’ she whispered, her voice choked. ‘He didn’t want me in Chicago, and my Aunt Lucy was not strong, so she couldn’t have me either. Nobody ever came to visit me at school, or attended parents’ day, or showed up for the school plays and other annual functions. Can’t you understand how humiliated I was… I didn’t have a family who loved me. Not one person who cared. I was unwanted. And very very lonely. It was sheer hell, and I was determined never to go through that painful experience again. So when I enrolled at the Royal Academy I invented a new name, said I was an orphan because I didn’t want to have to make excuses, explain why my father and brother stayed away, were not interested in me. I had to do it. I had to protect myself.’ The tears were falling profusely and she began to sob heart-brokenly, lifting her slender tapering fingers to her streaming face.

  Kim jumped up and joined her on the sofa. He put his arms around her and held her to him. ‘Hush, darling,’ he said tenderly, rocking her, pressing her face to his chest, one hand stroking her hair. He did not care if his father disapproved of this show of concern on his part; his only thought was for Katharine. His anger had dissipated entirely, the last vestiges of his hurt were swept away. He still loved her. He could not give her up.

  Francesca blinked back her own tears. Loving of heart as she was, and sensitive to other people�
�s feelings, she was bereft for her friend. She had always believed Katharine had been exposed to a terrible sadness, and finally this had been confirmed. It occurred to her that Katharine needed their love and understanding, not criticism. After all, her lies had not been that serious. Francesca stiffened in the chair. She, of all people, was in no position to condemn Katharine Tempest. The dismaying thought which had been sparked at the outset of Katharine’s story now nudged itself up to the surface of Francesca’s mind: She was as guilty as Katharine. She had not actually lied about Victor and herself, but only because she had not been questioned. Yet she had been dishonest—she had lied by omission. Sudden remorse assailed her.

  Nervously, Francesca leapt to her feet, announcing to no one in particular, ‘Katharine’s very upset, I’d better get her a drink.’ Hurrying out onto the terrace, she resolved to talk to Vic in the next few days. The time for his ridiculous secretiveness was at an end. Her father must be told they were in love. Approve he might not, of that she was well aware; how much worse it would be if he discovered her underhandedness. Panic raced through her as she contemplated her father’s disappointment in her.

  Doris picked up her glass, asking herself what David’s attitude would be. She was unable to formulate an answer. Katharine’s pathetic little tale had not left Doris unmoved either, nonetheless she cautioned herself to be absolutely neutral, circumspect in what she said.

  Katharine’s sobs gradually abated, although she continued to cling to Kim, finding solace in his closeness. His arms so strongly holding her, his words of gentleness comforting her—these told her he was no longer enraged. Surely he has forgiven me, and Francesca will be supportive too…

  ‘Here you are, Kath dear,’ Francesca said. ‘I’ve brought you a glass of champagne. It’ll make you feel better.’

  ‘Thank you, Frankie. How thoughtful.’ Katharine took the glass, a smile bringing a look of ineffable sweetness to her face. ‘I feel so terrible about deceiving you. I don’t know how to make it up to everyone. You must think I’m the most awful person.’