Voice of the Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Yes, she told me about both trips, as a matter of fact. She liked Mexico, but Africa captured her heart. She kept saying she wanted to go back there, spent hours talking to me about the beauty of the landscape, the vastness, the skies at night, the simplicity of the people, the animals. She was almost poetic about pink flamingos hovering over some extraordinary sapphire lake. And—’ Francesca frowned, glanced at Nick as another thought intruded. ‘Wasn’t Kath on the Coast that summer?’

  ‘Yes. She made a picture for Monarch, after we returned from Mexico. I was with her, at her house in Bel Air, just before she sold it. Why? What are you getting at, Frankie?’

  ‘This may sound very odd to you, darling, but it suddenly struck me that Kath has always been a bit funny when she’s returned from California. At least in the last four years I’ve been around to witness it.’

  ‘How? In what way?’

  ‘Certain traits seemed more pronounced, as if they had accelerated. You know, she was more moody, jittery and tense than usual, and vague. No, distracted is a much better word. And she was frequently quite snippy with me.’ Francesca stared into the distance, her face thoughtful, concentrating on her memories of those periods. ‘It’s funny how one is inclined to push troubling things out of one’s mind, and I realize I’ve been doing that for ages. Nick, I recollect something else very clearly now—my own behaviour towards Kath when she came back from the Coast. She always made me nervous, and it took me weeks to relax with her, to be my normal self. It was as if she transmitted something very intense and disturbing to me. And there was the strangest look in her eyes. Katharine’s eyes are very beautiful—that unique turquoise colour—and they’re very expressive. But they were different then, I don’t know how to describe them. They held a burning light, no, a gleam, better still, a febrile glitter, a sort of wildness.’ Francesca bit her lip. ‘You’re looking doubtful, but it’s true. You can’t possibly think I’m imagining all this.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Nick said in a faint voice. ‘I’ve seen that look in her eyes myself.’ I wish to God I hadn’t, he added inwardly.

  There was a silence. Francesca took a sip of her coffee and reached for a cigarette.

  Lighting it for her, Nick murmured, ‘The many complexities of the human mind…’He shook his head wearily. ‘Katharine is quite a study, I’ve got to admit.’

  ‘I don’t know how you’ll ever persuade Kath to see a psychiatrist, Nicky darling, but I think you must try.’

  ‘Oh yes, I agree. And if she listens to anybody, it’s me.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s going to be rough though.’

  Francesca peered at him, mused out loud, ‘I wonder if she would have interfered between Ryan and me if she weren’t so disturbed?’

  ‘Yes, I wonder. Still, she is meddlesome by nature, Frankie.’ He gave her a wry little smile. ‘You know, we’ve spent the entire lunch talking about Kath, not touched on your problems at all.’

  Francesca thought: But I don’t have any problems, not when I really think about it. And her heart tightened as she contemplated the difficulties ahead of Nick. She said, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’ve acquired some resilience over the years.’ She leaned into him, kissed his cheek. ‘As well as a very special man for my dear dear friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nicky.’

  ‘You don’t have to, Beauty. I’m always here for you, as I once promised you at Langley. Now, I’d better get you home. You’ve got to pack.’ He motioned to the head waiter for the bill, remarking, ‘Incidentally, I’m taking you to the airport tomorrow night.’ She started to protest, and he exclaimed, ‘No, no, don’t give me any arguments, Frankie.’

  ***

  The discussion about Katharine remained foremost in Nicholas Latimer’s mind for the next couple of weeks, long after Francesca had flown to France. He was pleased he had broached the subject that day at La Grenouille. Airing his concern had brought a measure of relief, especially since Francesca had voiced her own worries, opinions which paralleled his private assessment of Katharine’s present mental state.

  There had been times, of late, when Katharine had so rattled Nick he had begun to doubt his own sanity. The fact that Francesca and Hilary had also observed her debilitation, and considered her to be in need of professional help, confirmed his judgment, diminished his confusion and reinforced his resolve to take proper action when Katharine returned from the Far East. Since he was neither in the middle of a novel nor a screen-play, he had plenty of time on his hands, and this complex and patently disturbed woman, whom he dearly loved, wholly absorbed him, dominated his thoughts. He would sit for hours reflecting about her, endeavouring to understand her, to pinpoint the cause of her current problems.

  The comedy she had made with Beau Stanton in the autumn of 1956 was shown on television late one night, and Nick found himself watching it totally engrossed. When it was over, his thoughts settled on Hollywood, and the ambience that prevailed in that glittering, power-ridden, crazy town of fantasy and flim-flam. He had never been fond of it, regarded it as the company town if there ever was one, insular and boring, and so inbred it fed upon itself. To Nick it was a place of twisted values and false perceptions, where money, sex and status, fame and power abundantly flourished, were the tyrannical masters that dictated and controlled so many lives. He saw it as the one spot on this earth where the gaudy and the vulgar, the flamboyant and the sleazy rubbed shoulders with, and sometimes overshadowed, the talented and the dedicated, the sincere and the honest. Many a performer had come to grief in its shallow shallows. Victor, who had never been a permanent resident, preferring the quieter regions of Santa Barbara, had once said: ‘Hollywood is a great big back lot. All façade. So don’t take it seriously, old buddy. It’s only skin deep.’

  Later scrutinizing its inhabitants, he himself had come to realize that Hollywood was actually a state of mind. Had Katharine not understood that? Had she been deluded into thinking it was the real world and not sham? Had she been affected by the Hollywood syndrome? Nick ran the years through the computer in his head. In the beginning she had been under contract to Bellissima Productions, and Victor had protected her. She had therefore been insulated, and also isolated from the monsters that roamed the jungles of Hollywood and Vine and Sunset Boulevard; and Beau Stanton, as her husband, had flung an impenetrable fence around her, a fence called the Hollywood Establishment, that highest echelon of movie society which was reserved, snobbish and cliquish. And eminently proper. Between 1959 and 1962 Katharine had been constantly abroad, either on location or with Francesca in England and Europe. On her return to Bel-Air she had always kept herself aloof, apart from the riff-raff, whether by calculation or happenstance he was not sure. Most likely by choice, now that he thought about it. There was a conservative streak in Katharine’s nature, Nick was well aware, and this had been apparent in her mode of living during her years in California. He had noted it many times. She had led a relatively quiet existence, kept a low profile, resisted the local pressures, elected not to fly high and fast. And she had never recklessly spent money for the sake of spending it. In a town where flash was the norm she had been understated to the point of drabness, at least by Rodeo Drive standards. She had bought jewels and furs and couture clothes, but never foolishly, nor to excess. He knew too that her money had been well invested and that she watched over it diligently, with an eagle eye, her mind quite clear and sane when it came to finances. Victor had taken her to a staid old-fashioned accounting firm in 1956, and they still handled her business. Through their good advice, and her own shrewdness, she was a millionairess many times over.

  Yes, he decided, she did avoid the Hollywood pitfalls, came out of there with a minimum of scars. Then why does Francesca think she behaves strangely every time she returns from the Coast? This was an enigma to him, and he wished he had questioned Frankie more thoroughly. And yet the more he thought about her remark the more he was convinced she was wrong. Something else had wrought the changes in Katharine. But what
exactly?

  This question haunted Nick for one whole night as he prowled around the house, too preoccupied and overwrought to sleep. At one moment it occurred to him that disorders of the mind did not develop suddenly, overnight. They grew gradually. He pondered Katharine’s childhood, her relationship with her father, the loss of her mother, her preoccupation with Ryan. His mind swung to her vile experience with Gregson, her father’s condemnation of her, her obsessive nature. His thoughts ran on and on and he weighed everything he knew about her, and he came to the conclusion that her trouble was rooted in her early years. Surely this was the answer.

  The following morning, seeking the proper enlightenment, Nick went out and bought a stack of books on mental illness, concentrating particularly on dementia praecox. For the next few days he read them avidly and with care, all the while asking himself if Katharine really was suffering from schizophrenia. Finally he had to acknowledge that he was out of his depth, and eventually he started to make discreet inquiries about reputable psychiatrists, knowing that he must formulate some sort of plan to prevent himself from going mad with worry about her. Being a well-informed man, Nick had heard of R. D. Laing’s revolutionary work in psychiatry and he began to amass a wealth of material on the specialist’s method of treatment, which he held in reserve for a future date.

  As the weeks passed, Nick often found himself dwelling also on certain other aspects of Katharine’s character as demonstrated by her behaviour in recent months, trying to fathom why she did incomprehensible things. He had withheld several facts from Francesca, had carefully edited himself over lunch at La Grenouille, not simply because of an intrinsic sense of privacy, but also from loyalty and devotion to Katharine. How could he tell Frankie that Kath really was an inveterate liar? And there was no denying that she was. The saddest part, to Nick, was that Katharine lied about the most inconsequential things. It occurred to him one morning that perhaps she could not help herself, and he wondered if lying was simply a nasty habit dating back to her youth, and not a manifestation or symptom of mental derangement.

  Even more worrying to Nick, however, was another habit Katharine had acquired prior to her departure for Ceylon. She had taken to disappearing for long periods. On these occasions her transparently bogus explanations had astounded him, and they would have been laughable had the situation not been serious. When he questioned her about her lengthy absences, she either said she had been to church or to return a book to the library, at times when churches and libraries were closed. Furthermore, he was well aware she did not borrow books from any library anywhere, and had told her she was being preposterous in spinning such yarns and expecting him to believe her. Not in the least fazed, she had resolutely stuck to her story. Finally he had thrown up his hands in despair and frustration. Not long afterwards, she had truly frightened him when she had not arrived for dinner at his townhouse one evening, as arranged. After telephoning her every fifteen minutes for two hours without getting a reply, he had grown alarmed and had rushed up to her apartment on Seventy-Second Street. They had keys to each other’s homes, and he had let himself in, filled with anxiety, wondering what he would find. But the apartment was empty. Katharine had wandered in around midnight, looking exhausted and distracted. Taken aback to find him waiting for her, she had vehemently denied that they had had a dinner date, had flown into a tantrum of no mean proportions, and had accused him of spying on her and reading her private papers. Realizing there was nothing to be gained by fighting with her, Nick had gone home, pressing back his own anger, and not a little fear, asking himself if she was spinning down into total madness. The following morning, Katharine had been her usual remorseful self, had apologized profusely, begged him to forgive her, promised it would not happen again. And she had behaved impeccably until she had left to make the film.

  Now, as he contemplated these two new habits, it unexpectedly crossed his mind that she might be lying and disappearing for a valid reason: another man. He gave it serious consideration and dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Apart from the fact that she was not promiscuous by nature, she had retained a degree of frigidity, and Nick was aware sex was not a driving force in her life.

  The possibility that she was indeed having an affair did not enter his head again for another year.

  ***

  By the middle of July, as Katharine’s return to the States grew closer, Nicholas Latimer’s apprehension intensified. At the end of the month, she flew, with the rest of the cast and crew, from Ceylon to Hong Kong and then on to California. After post-production dubbing at the studio, she finally travelled back to New York.

  The minute he met her at the airport he knew she had changed yet again. She was like her old self, not at all disturbed, and calmer than she had been for months. She had obviously enjoyed her stay in the Far East, and the film had gone extremely well, without a hitch. There was a lovely bloom on her, a freshness and vitality about her which staggered Nick. Dubious about it lasting, he nonetheless camouflaged his anxiety and his surprise, and treated her as if nothing had happened prior to her leaving. Once more, he soon found himself enchanted by her, held in her thrall. Very slowly he began to relax, but he did not let down his guard entirely. He watched her. And he waited.

  Nick also wisely bided his time before telling Katharine about Ryan and Francesca, explaining only that Francesca had left earlier than planned for her vacation in the South of France. Only when Katharine was completely rested and settled in her apartment did he finally mention the break-up.

  Genuinely astonished and upset, Katharine had telephoned the villa in Monte Carlo immediately. As he listened to her speaking to Francesca, Nick was convinced she was being forthright. Although he could only hear one side of this conversation, it was not difficult to piece together the facts. Within minutes Nick decided Ryan had undoubtedly shifted the blame, just as he had originally suspected. From the things Katharine was saying to Francesca, she had merely pointed out the drawbacks in the relationship, the religious difference, and had asked Ryan to think most carefully before making any decisions which would be irrevocable.

  ‘And there’s something else, Frankie darling,’ Katharine exclaimed into the ’phone, ‘I told Ryan that if he ever did anything to hurt you he would have to answer to me! I’m really going to let him have it when I see him. He’s behaved abominably towards you. I can’t begin to tell you how furious lam.’

  Smoking on the sofa, Nick looked out of the window, nodded to himself, thinking Ryan had been a coward, and an underhanded one at that. He was relieved Francesca was free of him finally. Another more suitable man would soon come along.

  A few days after this telephone call, Nick arrived at Katharine’s apartment to find her engaged in a violent verbal battle with her brother, who had stopped off to see her during a quick visit to Manhattan. Grimacing, Nick retreated rapidly into the privacy of Katharine’s bedroom and did not emerge until Ryan had left, when he was positive the family feathers had stopped flying.

  Controlling her anger, and looking grave and thoughtful, Katharine informed Nick that she had finished with her brother, had washed her hands of him. ‘I’m leaving him to God—and Patrick O’Rourke. If he can handle both,’ she had said quietly, shaking her lovely head. ‘I can’t cope with him any more, darling. He’s impossible. He is weak. I told him not to bother coming around here any more.’

  Nick nodded, said nothing, not giving this statement much credibility. She had had altercations with Ryan many times, and had always been the first to seek reconciliation. But as the weeks passed and she made no move to contact her brother, Nick began to believe she had spoken the truth. He chided himself for thinking the worst, for suspecting her of deviousness and lying. In fact, Katharine had not displayed these dismaying traits at all since her return. Her disposition continued to be tranquil; she was considerate and affectionate. If she was sometimes strangely quiet and unusually subdued, even abstracted on occasion, she gave him no real cause for concern. This pleased Nick. However, h
e was not foolish enough to think her present behaviour signified a sudden recovery from all that ailed her. He was fully aware that at best Katharine was still a troubled woman.

  At the end of September, Francesca came back, and it was like old times that particular fall. The friendship between the two women had not been damaged in any way whatsoever, and they were as close as they had ever been. Ryan O’Rourke might have never existed, or so it seemed to Nicholas. Francesca was delighted with the change in Katharine, and as October drew to a close she told Nick she thought they had probably exaggerated Katharine’s mental problems, blown them out of proportion. They were standing in her living room, where a party for Doris and her father was in progress. ‘Kath seems awfully normal to me, Nicky, and very well balanced, wouldn’t you say?’

  Nick nodded his agreement as he followed Francesca’s gaze. Katharine was talking to Hilary Ogden and the Earl. This night she had never looked more beautiful, in a simple black velvet dress and a diamond pin and earrings he had never seen before. Her chestnut hah was drawn back from her face and knotted in a low chignon in the nape of her neck. The warmth of the room had brought a light pink blush to her pale complexion and her turquoise eyes were gay and sparkling. He dragged his eyes away and said, ‘I thank God every day, Frankie. I don’t know what happened when she was in the Far East, but she came back much more peaceful.’ He laughed lightly. ‘I can’t say why I feel this, but I think something affected her there.’