Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Fix me a drink, Nick, please,’ Arlene said, breaking the silence.

  ‘Fix your own,’ Nick snapped back. He drained his glass. ‘You never did know how to treat a lady,’ Arlene sniffed. ‘Oh yes I do. When they’re around.’

  ‘Why you bastard—’

  ‘I think you’d best push off, old buddy,’ Victor interjected before Arlene had a chance to castigate Nick further. ‘Tell the boys I’ll get there as soon as I can.’ He stepped up to Nick, took his arm, led him to the door. In a lower key, he said, ‘And tell Frank there’s nothing to worry about, regarding the present deal, our deal.’ He increased the pressure of his fingers on Nick’s arm.

  ‘You bet I will, Vic, don’t worry about Frank.’ Nick assured him in a positive voice. But he looked miserable as he left the suite.

  Victor took a deep breath, steeled himself. Ignoring Arlene, he walked through the sitting room into the bedroom, found his cigarettes and lighter, and stood smoking by the window, meditating on the best course of action to take. He decided to be brisk, matter of fact, polite. Oh yes, very polite. Once he had ascertained her reasons for dropping in on him out of the blue, he would be fairly acquiescent. For tonight anyway, in order to duck out to the dance, using the pretext of the business dinner. With a stab of annoyance, it struck him he would have trouble ejecting her from the suite. She would be there, confronting him, when he returned. No problem about that, he assured himself. I’ll bunk with Nicky or Jake for one night. And tomorrow I’ll send her on her way.

  Assuming a nonchalant air, Victor wandered back into the sitting room. He saw immediately that Arlene had poured herself a drink, and she sat on the sofa sipping it, looking unconcerned, cool and self-assured. He proceeded to the bar, mixed a Scotch and soda, sat down in a chair near the door. He said carefully, ‘Well, why are you here, Arlene?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious. I came to see you, Vic.’

  ‘Don’t call me Vic. You know I don’t like it.’

  ‘So sorry, Victor. I keep forgetting—only dear Nicholas is permitted to use the diminutive. Anyway, it’s great to see you. How’ve you been, honey?’

  ‘Let’s cut the small talk, Arlene, and get to the point.’ He bent forward, resting his arms on his knees, holding the drink between both hands. ‘I think you’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve, landing on me like this when we’re in the middle of a divorce,’ he said, his mild tone belying the coldness of his eyes. ‘But let’s not belabour that point right now.’

  ‘I’m still your wife, Victor, we’re still legally married. Why, the proceedings haven’t even begun yet. So what’s so odd about me dropping in on you?’

  He brushed her question aside with a wave of his hand and said impatiently, ‘What is the purpose of this visit?’

  ‘To see you, to talk to you, without the lawyers fencing us in, pitting us against each other.’

  ‘What can you possibly hope to accomplish, Arlene?’

  ‘I believe we can settle our problems and differences. I also figured we could make a better deal between ourselves, a more equitable deal for both of us, Victor. And it’s so much cosier, honey, when we’re on a one-to-one basis, just the two of us.’

  Her sweet tone, the even sweeter smile, irritated him, but he endeavoured to remain pleasant. ‘I doubt we can settle anything, make any kind of deal. Let’s be honest, the situation is very acrimonious. You and your lawyers have gone too far lately. You’re stretching your luck, Arlene.’

  ‘So are you, honey bunny.’

  He winced at this sickening term of endearment, but asked, ‘What do you mean by that?’

  She shook her head, leaned back, the perpetual smile in place. A sharp and knowing look entered her light blue eyes, and she lifted her hand to smooth her elaborately-coiffed strawberry-blonde hair.

  He sat back himself, his eyes assessing her. Arlene was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that. Her features were perfect, her colouring exquisite. But over the years her beauty had become too polished, too carefully contrived by artifice and cosmetics, exquisite clothes and jewels, which gave her a veneer of sophisticated glamour whilst partially obscuring her natural loveliness. An eight-by-ten Hollywood glossy, he thought sardonically. Her lacquered appearance unequivocally shrieked: Don’t touch. And how many times had she said that to him. He put the drink down on the occasional table and took his time fighting another cigarette before remarking casually, ‘My luck’s not stretched one inch, Arlene. I’m not the one making outrageous demands.’

  ‘Oh, but you are doing outrageous things, honey.’ She laughed lightly. ‘I do marvel at you, Victor. Still playing Don Juan to the hilt.’ Her eyes ran over him, lingered on him suggestively. ‘It must be trying though, having to handle two baby dolls half your age. Rather demanding on you physically and emotionally, isn’t it?’

  Victor tensed in the chair. Trouble, he thought. She’s here to make trouble. He held himself very still, kept his voice even as he said, ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course you do, honey. Katharine and Francesca.’

  The mask he could so easily don slipped onto his handsome face, hiding all expression. He disguised his rising apprehension behind a burst of dismissive laughter. ‘Oh those two. Just kids… just members of Nick’s small group of admirers. Pals, Arlene, merely pals.’

  Suddenly coldness dislodged Arlene’s smile. ‘Come off it, Victor, you’re talking to me, remember! I’ve had your number for years. Katharine Tempest is not merely a pal. She’s under contract to Bellissima Productions and is your current protégée.’

  Arlene held up a bejewelled hand to curtail the interruption on his lips. ‘And don’t start giving me the line about how she’s only a fellow worker, starred in your last picture. I know all that. I also know she’s starring in your bed right now. Along with Lady Francesca Cunningham, daughter of the Earl of Langley, presently tucked away in a villa in Cap Martin. Where, most conveniently for you, your little actress is also a house guest. Tell me, honey, how are you enjoying your delectable sandwich, continental style?’ She cocked her head on one side, smirking. ‘I guess it’s thrilling for a man of your age to bed two young girls at the same time. And best friends yet. How smart of you, Victor. Saves making introductions. Are they a couple of lesbians? Do they give hot shows for you, baby? Is that what gets you going these days?’

  ‘You bitch!’ he exploded, losing his control. He was enraged and horrified by her words, and he half rose from the chair as though to strike her. Then he fell back, his body trembling. He knew a display of temper would be ill advised, and he fought to get a grip on himself, knowing he could not permit her to goad him into saying or doing anything he would regret.

  Choking on his disgust, he said with enormous iciness, ‘What you’re suggesting is preposterous. Where have you been playing since we split up? The gutter?’

  ‘Recognize the territory, honey?’

  ‘You’ve developed a filthy mind, Arlene. Most unbecoming. And I certainly don’t owe you an explanation about my life. We’ve been separated for well over a year now. However, I’m not going to let two decent girls have their reputations besmirched by your revolting talk. Yes, Katharine Tempest is my protégée. It’s no state secret I signed her up… but that’s all there is to it. A business deal. As for Francesca Cunningham, it just so happens her father is a friend of mine. He permitted us to shoot some scenes at their family home. His daughter worked for my production manager when we were on location in Yorkshire, and—’

  ‘I know all about Langley Castle, and what happened on location, Victor, so don’t waste your breath. You ought to be more careful, incidentally, when you go a-courting, Romeo.’ Her eyes mocked him. ‘You’re a world-famous movie star, highly visible at all times, but most especially in small places and in that new Bentley of yours. I’m surprised at you, meeting Lady Francesca at the back gates of the castle, then embracing her so passionately in the middle of Langley Lane, just like the common folk. My, my, V
ictor, you’re slipping. Even her father’s servants know better.’

  ‘Garbage!’ he bellowed, his black eyes flashing with anger, his face congested. ‘Absolute goddamn garbage!’ He took a deep breath, willed himself to say no more. Arlene had always had the ability to provoke him with her vicious tongue. He downed the rest of his drink, stubbed out his cigarette, rose, strode to the bar. He slopped Scotch into his glass hastily, and cautioned himself to resist any further response to her inflammatory pronouncements. His head cleared a little, and he returned to the chair, looking poker faced, even sanguine. But his mind raced. How much did she really know? Did she have facts or gossip? Was she bluffing? Of course she’s not bluffing, he answered himself. His heart sank. He knew suddenly that he was on dangerous ground. Then he smiled inside. He was a much better poker player than she.

  Arlene was watching him keenly, and through feline eyes. ‘You’re more acquainted with garbage than I am, sport,’ she muttered softly, her voice dripping acid. ‘I make it a point of acquainting myself with facts. Cold hard facts. Say whatever you like, but I know you drove Francesca Cunningham to London that particular June afternoon. You arrived in the early evening. I can tell you the exact time.’ She found a small travelling case, carried it back to the sofa. Opening it, she took out a folder of papers, studied them.

  Lifting her head, she went on, ‘Yes, you got to London at ten minutes past eight. The following afternoon you took her to London airport, and that night you and Nick escorted her to dinner with a blonde woman.’ Arlene handed him the folder. ‘Here are the reports of your activities in general, and for the last eleven months.’ She smiled at him, the sweet smile oozing poison. ‘I’m not as dumb as I look, old buddy. I’ve had detectives on you since the day you walked out on me, the day you landed in London. There’s nothing I don’t know about you.’

  Eaten up with curiosity though he was, and nervous, Victor remained, nonetheless, a cool customer. He tossed the folder onto the coffee table with indifference, without even opening it, knowing that to do so would be a fatal error. He glanced at her with amusement and then laughed uproariously—right in her face. ‘Giving a girl a lift to London does not constitute adultery. Neither does signing an actress to a personal contract. Try and make such ridiculous and circumstantial evidence stick in a court of law. You’ll sure have a hard time, honey.’

  ‘Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. But in the process I’ll ruin your aristocrat and your actress. Mud tends to stick, Victor. Your two hide whores won’t be able to lift their heads when I’ve finished with them.’

  For a split second he was blinded by anger, wanted to smash his fist into her silly painted pretty face. Warning signals went off in his head. Keep calm, do nothing, and for God’s sake don’t react, he instructed himself. With a supreme effort he curbed his raging senses. His voice was steady when he said, ‘You not only think dirty and talk dirty, but seemingly you play dirty as well.’

  ‘I learned at the knee of a master,’ she retaliated. ‘Don’t forget I used to be your protégée. I know all about cosy little lunches in your trailer, discussing script problems. Didn’t you call it the happy hour? I recall, and with some pleasure I must admit, how we spent our lunch breaks on location.’

  ‘That was different. We were engaged to be married.’

  ‘Yes indeedy, so we were, and yet I don’t believe you gave me a diamond bracelet, or a pearl choker with a diamond clasp.’ She sat back, a look of smugness on her face. He, in turn, remained motionless. She continued, with a smirk, ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your recent gifts to your juvenile delinquents, the same way you seem to have forgotten sere—’

  He held up his hand. ‘Okay, that’s enough, Arlene. I don’t deny giving presents to the girls, as I gave presents to everybody who worked on the picture. As I always do, and as you well know.’

  ‘I bet nothing else cost as much as the fancy jewellery… from Asprey’s.’ She shook her head. ‘I can understand why you might have a yen for the actress—she’s a looker. But the debutante! Hardly your style, Romeo.’

  ‘Shut up!’ he growled, glaring at her. ‘You don’t have any evidence on me regarding those girls, because there isn’t any.’

  A sudden complacency settled over her. ‘You don’t think all my cards are in that one folder, do you lover? I have much more detailed reports tucked away. Safely tucked away. Anyway, whatever additional evidence I have is, in a sense, beside the point. Once I hand copies of these reports to some of my journalist friends, you’ll be in the mire along with your two beauties. The press will have a field day, Victor.’

  Victor was silent, reflecting on everything she had said. He knew they were not idle threats. He cursed her under his breath. She had infuriated him with her lewd comments about Francesca and Katharine, her outlandish suggestions of sexual decadence on his part. However, he was not particularly surprised about the private detectives. He and Nick had discussed that possibility more than once. All those guys have managed to dig up is circumstantial, and therefore irrelevant, evidence, he told himself. And then he thought: But is it? He was not sure.

  Victor said slowly, quietly, ‘I assume, when you mention your journalist friends, that you’re talking about that dandy hide gang who write scurrilous filth for Confidential?’

  ‘Among others?’

  ‘I’ll sue you and that damned magazine for millions!’

  ‘No, you won’t. No movie star has ever sued Confidential—and won. Besides, you wouldn’t want all the additional publicity.’

  ‘You know, Arlene, you’re pretty stupid. We’re separated. I can date other women if I want. There’s nothing wrong—or newsworthy—in that.’

  ‘But there is a lovely juicy story to be written about your love nest, the threesome you’ve got going—’

  ‘Would you do that to me, Arlene?’ he interrupted fiercely.

  ‘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.’

  ‘Thi
s 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.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  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.