Voice of the Heart (25 page)

Katharine swung her head swiftly, and found herself staring at a heavy-set girl with a florid complexion and the brightest of carrot-red hair. She was a vision, if a somewhat eccentric one, in a suit of violent purple and a small emerald felt hat with a long purple feather. What a strange outfit, Katharine thought, but said, ‘Why, yes, I am.’ A crease puckered her brow. For a moment she was at a loss, and
unable to identify the girl. Then she exclaimed. ‘And of course, you’re Estelle Morgan! How are you?’ Katharine extended her hand, smiling warmly. Adept at self-promotion, she was never one to slight a journalist. Even those she considered to be insignificant were treated to a very large and compelling dose of the inimitable Tempest charm, since they might be important one day and therefore useful.

The carrot-haired girl took hold of Katharine’s hand and squeezed it tightly, grinning with delight. ‘I’m feeling pretty dandy. And how lovely of you to remember me, a famous actress like you.’

How could anyone possibly forget you, Katharine thought to herself. But she wisely bit this back, and murmured sweetly, ‘You’re very striking, you know.’

Estelle positively glowed. ‘Didn’t we meet at Lady Winner’s bash, or was it at the Duke’s? Bedford, that is.’

Katharine laughed, inwardly tickled at the unabashed name-dropping, and shook her head, still laughing, ‘No, as a matter of fact, I think we were introduced at the party John Standish gave for Terry Ogden a few months ago.’

‘That’s right! And you looked absolutely ravishing in a little black number and lots of pearls. In fact, I said so to Hilary Pierce, and she agreed you were the chicest, most beautiful woman there. I like Hilary, she’s a lovely girl, although I thought she was behaving in a dippy way that night, didn’t you?’

Katharine’s eyes widened, and she stared back at Estelle, a blank expression on her face. ‘No, I can’t say I did.’

Estelle volunteered, with considerable glee, ‘Oh, but I saw it all! Why, Hilary spent the entire evening drooling over Terry. Mind you, I can’t say I blame her. He’s something to drool over. But I thought, at the time, it was a good thing Mark was off shooting a film somewhere in darkest Africa or India. I think he would have been pretty jealous if he’d witnessed their performance.’

Katharine’s ears had pricked up at the mention of Hilary
Pierce in connection with Terry Ogden. An unlikely combination, she said to herself. She was riddled with curiosity about the incident, but she thought it wiser to curb her inquisitiveness and not probe Estelle for further details. Instead she tucked the information away at the back of her mind, for future reference, and said, ‘I’m afraid I missed that particular scene. Still, I do remember one thing. If I’m correct, you’re a columnist for an American magazine, aren’t you?’

‘What a fabulous memory you
do
have! Yes I write for several American magazines. I’m the roving European correspondent for them, on a freelance basis. I’m mainly covering café society, the
beau monde
, you know, and show business as well.’

It had become apparent to Katharine that Estelle Morgan was intent on hovering and not about to budge, and so she said pleasantly, ‘Would you care for a drink?’

‘Pooh! How super-duper of you. Yes, thanks.’ She heaved herself on to the next stool and, pointing an emerald-gloved hand at Katharine’s drink, cried, ‘What’s that?’

Katharine winced inside at her gaucherie, and said, ‘It’s a mimosa. Mainly champagne and orange juice. Why don’t you try it. It’s delicious.’

‘That’s a fab idea. I think I will.’

Katharine motioned to Joe for two more of the same, and then she focused all her attention on Estelle, radiating charm. She gave her the benefit of that most glittering of smiles, and said, ‘Your job must be lots of fun. Do you find plenty to write about in London?’

‘Sure. But although this is my base for the moment, I do a lot, of flitting around.’ She giggled. ‘Gay Paree. Monte. Biarritz. Rome. Venice. I hit all the high spots, in the appropriate season of course. Chasing the
beau monde
, Katharine.’ She emitted another high-pitched giggle, and asked, ‘I
can
call you Katharine, can’t I?’

‘Naturally,
Estelle
,’ Katharine replied quickly, deciding it
would be smart to cater to the journalist’s most patent desire to be chummy.

‘I thought you were divine in
Trojan Interlude
. Absolutely divine!’ Estelle exclaimed. Her manner was fawning, and she kept giving Katharine admiring glances. ‘I expect you’re going to have a long run in the play, but I must tell you, when I saw you on stage it occurred to me you ought to be in pictures.’ She peered myopically at Katharine, and asked, ‘Any films coming up in the near future?’

‘No, I don’t think so. But then one never knows in this business, does one?’ Katharine murmured. Inwardly she cautioned herself to be cagey with Estelle.

‘No, one doesn’t.’ And unexpectedly Estelle winked in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘I saw you dining with Victor Mason at the River Club a few weeks ago. I wondered at the time if you might be going to make a picture with
him
. Are you his next co-star? Or is this relationship strictly personal?’

Katharine stiffened slightly, irritated by this last remark, but she kept her voice pleasant and neutral. ‘We’re just good friends,’ she answered with a small off-handed smile.

‘That’s the stock remark everyone makes,’ Estelle chortled. ‘I can’t help being nosey, I’m afraid. Occupational hazard. However, I don’t work for
Confidential
, so you don’t have to worry about little old me.’

‘I’m not,’ Katharine replied, a frosty note edging into her voice. ‘And Victor and I really are only good friends, that’s all. Oh, thanks, Joe,’ she added as the drinks materialized in front of them.

Joe moved away, and Estelle picked up her mimosa. ‘Skol!’

Katharine said, ‘Cheers, Estelle.’ She took a small swallow and gave the journalist a long look that was quizzical. After a short pause, she asked cautiously, ‘What made you mention
Confidential
? That’s an awful magazine, devoted to exposés of movie stars and celebrities. There’s nothing to expose about me. Or Victor for that matter. Or the two of us
together, I might add.’ The second this last sentence left her mouth, Katharine silently chastised herself. I’ve said too much, she thought.

Estelle had detected a mixture of concern and genuine puzzlement in Katharine’s manner, and she said in a confiding whisper, ‘I guess you didn’t know, but Arlene Mason is suing Victor for a divorce. I understand she’s the bitch of all time. Anyway, she seems out to make trouble and is demanding a fortune. And I mean a fortune. Under California law she might just get it too. Community property and all that. It seems she has a lot of juicy things to say about Victor’s extra-marital love affairs with a number of delectable ladies, and I do mean juicy! She’s babbling away to all and sundry who will listen, particularly journalists. As I said, most of us think she’s a bitch on wheels, and that she’s out to embarrass Victor by creating a public scandal. But he does happen to have a lot of loyal friends in the press, so she won’t get to first base. But you might warn him that
Confidential
seems to be paying attention to her. In fact, I heard on the grapevine that they’re looking for a journalist to do a piece on him and his romantic activities in merry old England.’

Although Katharine knew Victor was having trouble with his divorce, she was both taken aback and troubled by this additional information. However, uncertain of Estelle’s motives, she concealed her reaction behind a bland façade, and said, after a slight hesitation, ‘I knew about his divorce, but not the details. And I must say, it’s very nice of you to pass on the information about the magazine. I
will
warn Victor. I’m sure he’ll be most appreciative.’

‘My pleasure,’ Estelle said, lifting her drink and glancing about, looking star struck, as indeed she was.

There was a soft disarming smile on Katharine’s lovely face as she regarded Estelle, but her mind was working with icy precision. She was considering the journalist with great objectivity at this moment. Was Estelle sincere in wanting
to warn Victor? Or was she dissembling to cover her own tracks? Estelle might very well be working for
Confidential
herself. Suddenly, instinct and her well-honed perception, told Katharine otherwise. She had already discerned that Estelle was a flatterer, and unctuous, and, very transparently, a sycophant who preferred to make the famous her friends rather than her enemies. She was also a bit dim. Without deliberating further, Katharine made a snap judgment and decided to take a chance on Estelle. It also struck her that if possible she ought to find a way to totally neutralize her, whilst making use of her if she could. Girls like Estelle, who fed off their associations with the famous, were often invaluable, and they never really minded being used. The flatterers feel flattered, Katharine thought sardonically. It appeals to their diminished egos. Makes them feel important.

Shifting her position on the bar stool, and crossing her legs, Katharine drew closer, pinning the other girl with her hypnotic gaze. She said, in a voice as sweet as honey, ‘You know, Estelle, I’ve been thinking about the things you’ve just told me, and perhaps you ought to talk to Victor yourself.’ She paused, and improvising quickly, went on, ‘He’s giving a small supper this coming Sunday. I know he would be delighted if you came with me. Also, you might meet some interesting people you can write about.’ Katharine did not know who these would be, since she had only just thought up the idea of the supper, but she would worry about the guest list later.

Estelle positively glowed. ‘I say, that’s really great of you, Katharine. I’d love it.’ Her dark and avid little eyes glittered like chips of jet. ‘Actually, I think I should write a story about
you
. I heard somewhere that you’re an American. Is that true? You don’t sound as if you are.’

‘Oh, but I am,’ Katharine assured her. ‘It’s nice of you to want to write about me, but I have a lot of other commitments just now. Perhaps in a few weeks.’ Seeing the crushed look on Estelle’s face and deeming it necessary to
appease, she suggested hurriedly, ‘But listen, why don’t you interview Victor? He’s about to remake
Wuthering Heights
. I could arrange an exclusive for you, if you want, Estelle. Since Victor hasn’t made any announcements about the film as yet, it could be quite a
coup
for you. A scoop,’ she finished with a gay laugh.

‘Hey, that’s a terrific idea!’ Estelle fished around in her bag and brought out a card. ‘Here’s my number. Do let me know about the dinner party. What time is it, and where, and all the other details—’ She stopped, staring at the entrance to the club, and then said, ‘I think your lunch date has just arrived. At least, the girl standing over there is looking this way.’

Katharine turned and spotted Francesca near the door. She waved, slipped off the stool and went to meet her. Francesca stepped forward, smiling broadly.

‘There you are, Francesca dear!’ Katharine cried, her face lighting up with pleasure. They clasped hands warmly.

Francesca said, ‘Hello, Katharine. I’m sorry I’m late.’ She was out of breath and flushed.

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’ve not been here very long anyway. Now do come and meet Estelle Morgan, a very dear journalist friend of mine. Estelle, this is Lady Francesca Cunningham.’

Estelle, who was preening at being termed a dear friend, grabbed hold of Francesca’s outstretched hand and pumped it. ‘Delighted to meet you,’ she purred. ‘Well, I see my own date has arrived at long last, so I’ll be on my way. Thanks for the drink, Katharine. See you Sunday.’

Katharine guided Francesca to the stool Estelle had vacated. ‘I’m having a mimosa. It’s very refreshing. Would you like one?’

Francesca said, ‘Yes, thank you. It sounds very festive and just what I need.’ She perched on the stool and looked across at Katharine, smiling, and then she caught her breath, startled yet again by Katharine’s extraordinary loveliness. She thought: Hers is exactly the kind of unforgettable beauty that
has inspired great poets and artists for centuries. It’s romantic and mysterious and heart-stopping in its poignancy. No one could remain unmoved by it for very long, she decided. And once again Francesca found herself entirely captivated by her new friend.

After Katharine had ordered from Joe, she touched Francesca’s arm lightly, affectionately, and her face was happy and radiant as she told her, ‘I’m so glad you could make lunch today. I was dying to see you again, and talk to you.’

‘Yes, so was I,’ Francesca responded with warmth and the same eager enthusiasm. Now her eyes roamed around the club, taking in the elegant décor. She grinned and said, ‘This looks like a rather nice place. I usually go to a grotty greasy spoon for a revolting sandwich when I’m at the BM. Obviously it’s hardly as smart as this.’

Katharine asked with some curiosity, ‘What’s the BM?’

‘The British Museum. My home away from home, as Kim calls it.’

‘Oh yes, of course. Were you there this morning?’

‘Yes. I was doing some digging into the background of Gordon’s siege at Khartoum this morning, when I suddenly bogged down in the worst way.’ She sighed. ‘The more research I do the more I realize what a monumental task I have ahead of me. Hundreds of documents to sift through and read, masses of material to analyse and evaluate.’

‘But Kim told me you have been researching for almost eight months already, and every day!’ Katharine exclaimed, an eyebrow lifting in amazement.

‘Yes, I have.’ Francesca grimaced. ‘And I still have a long way to go before I’m finished. Sometimes I think the book will never get written,’ she wailed. She retreated into silence as Joe arrived with the drinks. Actually she was surprised she had so readily voiced this troubling thought, one that had nagged at her for days, and which she had diligently pushed away in an effort to deny it.

‘Of course you’ll write it!’ Katharine said emphatically, and moved the glass towards Francesca. ‘Try your mimosa. It’ll do you good. Cheers.’