Barbara Taylor Bradford – Voice of the Heart (страница 30)

It’s almost like an April morning, Katharine thought with a happy smile, and she decided there and then that she would walk to the restaurant for her luncheon appointment at one o’clock. She debated what to wear and settled on the new outfit her dressmaker had delivered last week. She was mentally reviewing the accessories which would best go with it, when the kettle’s piercing whistle cut into her musings, and she turned off the gas, filled the teapot, put the toast on the plate and carried the breakfast tray into the living room.

Despite the sunlight flooding in through the windows, this room had an air of overwhelming coldness. Essentially, this was induced by the colour scheme and the overall style of the decoration, which was austere. Everything in the room was of the purest white. Gleaming white-lacquered walls flowed down to meet a thick white carpet covering the entire floor. White silk draperies rippled icily at the windows, and white wool sheathed the long sofa and several armchairs. The latter were sleek and modern in design, as was all of the furniture in the room, including two end tables flanking the sofa, a large square coffee table and an étagère set against one wall. These pieces were made of chrome and glass, and they introduced a hard and glittering aspect that further emphasized an atmosphere excessively glacial in its overtones.

There were few accent colours in this setting, so evocative of a frozen landscape, and these were dark and muted tones of steel grey and black, and did little to counteract the chilly monotony that prevailed. Tall pewter lamps on the glass end tables were topped with steel grey linen shades, and the same metallic grey was repeated in the velvet cushions on the sofa and chairs. Black and white etchings of knights in armour, framed in chrome, marched along one wall, while a huge cylindrical glass vase containing spidery black branches stood sentinel in one corner. The étagère displayed a pair of black-lacquered candlesticks sprouting white candles and a black-lacquered Japanese bowl. There were no photographs of family or friends, none of the usual intimate objects that provide evidence of past, treasured memories, or a personal life. The room, in all truth, had the sterility of a nun’s barren and virginal cell, and it echoed the adjoining bedroom, also washed completely in pure white and unrelieved by any contrasting colours whatsoever. Katharine had furnished and decorated the flat herself, and if anyone had told her it was icy and lifeless and intimidating, she would have gaped at them askance. She loved the pristine effect she had so carefully created, considered it to be elegant and sophisticated, saw only beauty in its purity and cleanliness, elements so necessary to her well being.

Hurrying across the room, she put the tray on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. There was a dreamy faraway expression on her face, and as she sipped her tea she allowed herself to drift with her meandering thoughts. Katharine was feeling marvellous. Euphoria and excitement had carried her through the week and now, on this Thursday morning, it seemed to her that every day that had passed since Saturday night had been a huge success.

Both Francesca and the Earl had loved her performance as Helen of Troy, and the dinner at Les Ambassadeurs, with Victor acting as the host, had been memorable. Most important to Katharine, the Earl had taken to her immediately, and she knew he had been charmed, and therefore she did not envision him creating any problems or interfering in her relationship with Kim.

Katharine was not wrong in her belief that the Earl of Langley had liked her. In fact, they had been impressed with each other, the conservative English peer of the realm and the young American beauty, and their easy accord had created a warm and friendly atmosphere, had made for a relaxed evening. Everyone had enjoyed themselves to such a degree that Victor had extended the party into the early hours, and had taken them upstairs to the Milroy to dance to Paul Adams and his orchestra. Katharine, the actress incarnate, had surpassed herself, intuitively striking the perfect balance between reticence and gaiety.

The following day, Victor had taken her to lunch at Claridge’s, the sole purpose being to discuss more fully the screen test, and to enumerate the many differences between acting on a stage and before a camera. He had held forth at great length, offering her many helpful and instructive guidelines. Katharine had been touched by this thoughtful-ness on his part, and grateful to him for his sound advice. He had arranged to meet with her again, for another session before the test itself, which had been confirmed for Friday of the coming week, eight days away. Tomorrow evening the Earl was taking her to dinner with Kim and Francesca, before returning to Yorkshire with Kim at the weekend.

Katharine smiled to herself, and it was a smile of self-congratulation and jubilance. Events were moving with the precision of clockwork; all the plans she had so painstakingly made were coming to fruition. She would marry Kim and become Viscountess Ingleton, and she would be a big international movie star. She settled back contentedly, cuddling down into her woollen dressing gown, hugging herself with joy. Her dreams would soon be realized. There would be no more pain and heartache and grief. Her life was going to be wonderful from now on.

As she sat daydreaming on the sofa, it never occurred to Katharine Tempest that things might be just a little too good to be true, or that something beyond her control might happen to mar these halcyon days. And if such a thought had crossed her mind she would have dismissed it at once, and with a degree of scorn. For unfortunately, Katharine was afflicted with a character flaw that was almost Hellenic in its proportions. She was crippled by hubris, that defect the Greeks defined as the temerity to tempt the Gods, in essence, an excess of overweening pride and the unwavering conviction of personal invulnerability. Being blindly unaware of this blemish in herself, she had no qualms about anything she did, and so she was also quite confident about the result of the screen test. She would be marvellous and Victor would give her the part in the film.

Victor Mason had told Katharine he intended to start principal photography in April, and this starting date suited Katharine admirably. Her contract with the theatrical producers of Trojan Interlude had an ‘out-of-the-play’ clause, and this came into effect after she had been in the play for one year. The year would be up at the end of March and so she could invoke the clause and leave the production to do the film. The shooting schedule was for twelve weeks, with exteriors to be shot in Yorkshire, interiors at one of the major studios in London. Victor had also told Katharine that he planned to have the footage edited quickly, since he wanted the answer print by September. From this master print he intended to strike two more prints, he had gone on to explain. The film could thus be shown in cinemas in New York and Los Angeles, for one week before the end of the year, thereby making the picture eligible, under the rules, for the Academy Awards of 1956. Although Victor would not be putting the film into general distribution until the spring of 1957, he had confided he did not want to miss a chance at the Oscar nominations.

What if she won an Oscar! This prospect was at once so stunning, so electrifying, so dazzling, Katharine felt momentarily dizzy. And because she had that most unique of all talents, the talent for believing in herself, the idea that she had a chance of winning was not at all beyond the realms of possibility in her mind. But even if she did not win an Oscar, Katharine did not doubt that she would be a star when the picture was released. And her success would not only bring her fame on a grand scale, but money, lots of money, a very special kind of power.

A faint white shadow glanced across Katharine’s face, tinging it with unfamiliar bitterness and dislodging the joy which had previously rested there.

Soon, very soon, she would be able to make her moves, put her final plan into operation, and execute it with the sure knowledge that she would be triumphant. A tiny fluttering sigh escaped Katharine’s lips. It was too late to save her mother, but not too late to save her brother, Ryan. Her dearest Ryan. Lost to her for so long. This desire had been one of the prime motivations behind many of Katharine’s actions for the past few years, and just as she was unremittingly driven to succeed in her career, so too was she driven to rescue Ryan from their father’s domination, from his contaminating influence. Sometimes, when she thought of Ryan, panic moved through Katharine and she quivered with fear for him. Ryan was nearly nineteen, and she often wondered to what degree his soul had been poisoned by that man. Had Ryan inevitably become their father’s creature, partially if not wholly? This idea was so repugnant to her, so unacceptable, and so terrifying, she pushed it away fiercely, denying it with silent vehemence; but her resolution to get her brother away from Chicago and to keep him with her wherever she was living, was reinforced more strongly than ever.