The Triumph of Katie Byrne (11 page)

They spoke only sporadically on the first part of their train journey to Yorkshire the following day. Xenia was busy with office memos, and Katie was immersed in the homework she had to complete for one of her acting classes at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art.

They ordered lunch about an hour after the train had pulled out of King’s Cross, and when it was served some time later they finally looked up and smiled at each other over their first course.

‘Time flies when you’re doing something you enjoy, doesn’t it?’ Katie murmured with a light laugh.

Although Xenia at first laughed with her, her face quickly changed along with her tone, when she grumbled, ‘I loathe paperwork. Unfortunately, with Bella out sick, I have to do her job as well as mine. On the other hand, I shouldn’t be complaining, since we’re doing so well. Just imagine, when I met you in New York two years ago, I had been in partnership with Alan for only a year. We’ve been really lucky to become what we have in three short years.’

‘But the special events and parties you plan are exactly
that
, Xenia. Special,
very
special. Certainly they’re unique, and you and Alan have a lot of flair between the two of you. So I’m not surprised the company’s been a success.’

‘Thanks, Katie, it’s nice of you to say that.’ Picking up a spoon, Xenia took a few mouthfuls of the oxtail soup she had ordered, then broke off a bit of roll and added a dab of butter.

Katie watched her, wondering how she managed to stay so slender. Xenia was thirty-four, seven years older than Katie, but she didn’t look it. She had an extremely youthful, girlish appearance even though her manner was somewhat sophisticated, and international, in certain ways. She spoke four languages, Russian, English, French and Italian, and was extremely well educated, and knowledgeable about art and literature. And, of course, the movies, having grown up with a father who produced them.

Katie marvelled at her ability to stay slim despite a very healthy appetite. She managed to resemble a model from Paris, was bone-thin, with a boyish figure and long legs. Willowy was the word Katie usually applied to Xenia. Her thick chestnut hair, falling to her shoulders, and her wide-set, transparent grey eyes were her most striking features. Her rather pale heart-shaped face was finely boned, and she had high cheekbones that to Katie seemed to have a Slavic slant.

Or perhaps that’s just my imagination, Katie now thought, eyeing Xenia surreptitiously as she plunged a fork into a piece of tomato and ate it.

Katie had frequently wondered about Xenia and her past, for it was obvious that parts of it were shrouded in mystery. Katie had only ever asked her one personal question – about her mother – and had been instantly rebuffed.

Ever since that time she had left it to Xenia to choose when to confide in her. And often she did. All of a sudden Katie felt an unexpected stab of guilt; who was
she
to mentally criticize Xenia? She had never been particularly forthcoming about her own life, and she supposed she might appear a bit mysterious and secretive to Xenia.

‘I spoke to Verity. Early this morning,’ Xenia suddenly announced, looking directly at Katie. ‘She goes riding every day, usually at the crack of dawn, so I had to catch her before she went galloping off across those endless fields, jumping hedges and putting herself and her horse to the test. Anyway, she’s glad we’re coming, and she’s sending Lavinia to pick us up at the station in Harrogate.’

‘Who’s Lavinia?’ Katie asked curiously.

‘The daughter of Verity’s cook, Anya. She was born in the village and grew up at Burton Leyburn. Now she does a bit of secretarial work for Verity. And sometimes other little jobs, like collecting guests from trains, that
sort of thing. But she’s actually an artist by profession, and a good one, too.’

Katie nodded, picked up her glass of water, and sat back as the waiter removed her salad plate. When they were alone, she said, ‘By the way, I took your advice, Xenia, and called Melanie Dawson. She was thrilled when I accepted the role of Emily Brontë. But I’m going to feel terrible if I don’t take the part.’

‘I’m not going to listen to such talk as that, my friend. So just shut up.’ The moment these words left her mouth Xenia was embarrassed and looked chagrined. Shaking her head, she said, ‘My Russian grandmother would turn over in her grave if she heard me speaking to you like that, Katie. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s okay, and you weren’t rude, Xenia.’ Katie paused, and then asked, ‘Did you spend a lot of time with your Russian grandmother?’ She hoped Xenia would not snap her head off as she sometimes had in the past. Questions about Tim and her family in particular were apparently forbidden, and rendered her speechless.

‘When I was little, yes,’ Xenia responded in a level voice, and continued, ‘My father used to take me to Paris and Nice to see her. She was quite remarkable, and very beautiful…well, I could see how beautiful she’d been as a young woman. She was still rather striking, quite an imposing old lady in very many ways. A
grande dame
is the best way to describe her, I think. Grandmother died in Nice when I was seventeen, a few months after I’d left
Lady Eden’s school in London…’ Xenia grinned at her, and added, ‘And oh boy, what a stickler
she
was about manners. Worse than my grandmother, if that’s at all possible.’

The waiter returned with their omelettes and green salads, and their conversation became desultory once again as they ate their lunch. When they had finished the main course, they both skipped dessert, settled for black coffee, no sugar, and then went back to their papers.

Katie finished her homework quickly, but Xenia was engrossed in her office papers and did not lift her head for some time. Settling herself in the corner of her seat, Katie sat gazing out of the window, watching the countryside flying past as the express train rolled on towards Yorkshire.

At one moment she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, drifting with her myriad thoughts. She found herself wondering about this house where they were going to stay, which apparently meant so much to Xenia. Katie had no idea what to expect, although she did have the impression that it was large. When Xenia talked about it she usually did so in terms of people – Pell, Verity’s gardener who had, not green thumbs, but magical green fingers. And there was Dodie, the housekeeper, who believed she had psychic powers, and Pomeroy, the ancient bootboy, who wasn’t actually the bootboy any more, because there weren’t that many boots to clean. And just a short while ago Xenia had
mentioned Anya, the cook, and her daughter Lavinia, born in the village, living at the house, a secretary to Verity but really a painter. Seemingly, Verity lived alone, except for this odd assortment of helpers, and her longstanding boyfriend, Rex Bellamy, known to everyone as Boy, who sometimes stayed with her. Curious mixture, Katie thought, just before she dozed off, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the train and the warmth in the carriage.

The train screeching to a halt and sudden activity in the dining car made Katie sit up with a sudden jolt. Blinking, she glanced across at Xenia. ‘Are we there?’ she asked. ‘Is this Harrogate?’

‘No, Leeds. Big industrial city. Used to be the centre of ready-made clothing until they started making cheap suits in Hong Kong, or whatever. Still, it’s thriving again. Leeds, I mean. Financial centre of the north, and a very big student town. Leeds University has become one of the most coveted places to study.’

Katie nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve read quite a lot about that.’

‘Yes, it’s happening here.’ Snapping her briefcase shut, Xenia put it on the seat next to her, glanced around the carriage and then leaned forward over the table. Looking intently at her friend, Xenia said, ‘There’s something I want to tell you. Actually, in a sense I want to apologize to you, Katie, for not telling you the truth. Well, look, I didn’t really lie to you, I simply omitted to tell you something, and Verity always says that that’s a form of lying.’

Katie stared back at Xenia. ‘I’m not sure if I agree with Verity, but tell me.’ When Xenia didn’t say anything, Katie said again, ‘Tell me what it is.’

Xenia still remained silent, but her eyes did not leave Katie’s face.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable under this sudden and peculiar fixed scrutiny, Katie murmured, ‘You can tell me
anything
, I’d never be upset. Why do you look so worried? It can’t be all that bad. Or is it?’

Swallowing, Xenia replied quietly, ‘I’m not divorced from Tim.’

‘Oh.’ Katie sat back, astounded.

‘I let you think that, Katie. Actually, you assumed I was divorced when I told you I used to be married,’ Xenia rushed on. ‘Of course, I allowed you to make that assumption because it was easier for
me.
For you to think I was a divorced woman saved me from having to say anything else. And I didn’t –’

‘You mean you’re still married to Tim, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Oh no. No, not that at all. I don’t mean that…’ Taking a deep breath after this slight pause, she finished, ‘Tim is dead. He was killed in a ghastly accident. But I never tell anyone this, because then the sympathy starts, and the condolences, and I get terribly sorrowful again, and weepy, and nothing gets done because I fall totally apart. But I wanted you to know now, because at Burton Leyburn everything is out in the
open, obviously. And within hours, no, perhaps even minutes, you’d know Tim was…no longer alive, and then where would I be?’

Katie reached out, put her hand over both of Xenia’s, clasped together on top of the table. ‘I’m so sorry…it must’ve been heartbreaking for you. And you’re not to say another word. When and if you feel like talking about it, I’m here for you. You’re my friend, and I care about you, so if you want to unburden yourself feel free to do so.’

‘You’re very kind, Katie.’ Xenia took hold of Katie’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You probably think I’ve been secretive.’

‘Oh no, not at all,’ Katie answered softly, knowing that she was the secretive one because she had not told Xenia anything about her past.

The young woman who met them at Harrogate railway station was so stunning, so arresting in appearance, Katie did a double take as she hurried towards them down the platform. She was about five feet seven in height, very slender and delicately boned, with dark hair cut short and sleek.

There was a gamine quality about her, and she seemed vaguely familiar to Katie, although they had never met before. Lavinia was dressed in black wool capri trousers, ballet slippers and a turtle neck, this all-black ensemble enlivened by a short swing jacket of bright red wool.

After Lavinia and Xenia had embraced affectionately, Xenia brought Katie forward and introduced the two young women. They shook hands, said a cordial hello, and as Katie stared into the pretty woman’s smiling face she immediately understood why Lavinia appeared to be so familiar. She was a dead ringer for a young Audrey Hepburn, had the same large, expressive dark eyes, heavy, though shapely brows, and a soft fringe falling onto her forehead.

After their introduction, Lavinia waved her hand airily, and exclaimed, ‘Come on, let’s go! Verity instructed me to have you back in time for tea, and you know what her afternoon teas mean to her, don’t you, Xenia? They’re something of a ritual these days, and not to be ignored.’

Not waiting for Xenia’s comment, she swung around, beckoned to the porter, who by now had stacked their luggage on a trolley, and propelled them along the platform like a bustling sergeant major. Her take-charge manner was still in evidence as she swept forward, leading the way out of the station and into the nearby car park.

Within seconds the porter was loading the luggage into the boot of a burgundy-coloured, vintage Bentley Continental drop-head coupé with a weathered beige leather hood. Katie noticed what looked like a small family crest painted on the rim of the driver’s door, just below the window. She tried to make out the symbols without success, and was instantly filled with curiosity.

‘Why don’t you sit in the back, Xenia,’ Lavinia now suggested. ‘Then you will be able to point out special landmarks to Katie.’

‘What a good idea,’ Xenia agreed, glanced at Katie and winked, then promptly opened the car door.

‘Wouldn’t you prefer to be in the front with Lavinia?’ Katie asked.

‘No, I’d like to be your tour guide. And she and I will
catch up on the local gossip later. Lavinia loves to play chauffeur, don’t you, darling?’

Lavinia’s light laugh rang out in the cool October air, but she made no comment, got into the car and turned on the ignition, obviously anxious to be on her way. Once the others were settled in the back, she pulled off the brake, sailing forth out of the car park and into Harrogate’s busy streets.

They were soon in the centre of town, and Xenia glanced at Katie, then tapped the window. ‘Look, that’s the Stray over there, a piece of common ground which has grown rather famous over the centuries. It looks awfully bare right now, but in the spring hundreds of crocuses bloom, make a carpet of purple, yellow and white. And just down there are the gates into the Valley Gardens, famous for their magnificent flowers in summer. I used to go for walks there with my mother when I was a little girl.’

Katie followed the direction of Xenia’s gaze and simply nodded. She thought she had detected a note of sadness, or perhaps wistfulness, in her friend’s voice when she’d mentioned her mother. Katie decided to change the subject, and, looking at Xenia, she said, ‘I’ve been noticing the lovely architecture…Harrogate’s quite old, isn’t it?’

‘Oh yes, and the terrace of houses we’ve just passed dates back to the Georgian period. Actually, Harrogate has a number of elegant terraces like that, and crescents
and squares. Some are Victorian and Edwardian, as well as Georgian. The town was once a famous spa, Katie, and some really lovely houses and villas were built, along with
very
grand hotels.’

From the front seat, Lavinia interjected, ‘Katie, did you ever see a movie with Vanessa Redgrave and Dustin Hoffman called
Agatha
?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Katie responded, frowning, trying to remember. It sounded familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it. ‘Anyway, why do you ask?’

‘Because it was filmed in Harrogate, in the seventies,’ Lavinia answered her. ‘And the actual events it was based on really did happen here, fifty years earlier. The story goes that in 1926 Agatha Christie disappeared. There was a big hue and cry. No one knew where she was. Then a bit later she was spotted at the Old Swan Hotel here, where she was registered under the name of Theresa Neele. After she’d been found, her publishers said that overwork had caused her to have a nervous breakdown. And that when she had seen a travel poster, at a railway station, advertising the beauties of Harrogate, she had simply taken a train up here. It was all very mysterious, like one of her novels.’

Katie now stared out of the window again, admiring the beauty of this ancient country town, wishing they could stay longer to walk around the streets. It had an old-fashioned, quirky charm about it that captivated her. The only excursions out of London she had made
in the year she had been living in England had been to Stratford-upon-Avon. Rural areas intrigued her and she wanted to explore the bucolic spots that abounded.

Xenia cut into her thoughts, when she remarked, ‘The town is very old, Katie; in fact I think it dates as far back as the 1300s. In any case, mineral wells were discovered here in 1571, and that’s when people started to come to take the waters. Eventually, the Royal Pump Room was built, also the Royal Baths, where people took treatments for all kinds of ailments. Eventually, Harrogate became the most advanced centre for hydrotherapy in the world. Apparently, there was also quite a smart social scene here, and anyone who was anybody visited Harrogate – kings, queens, princes, princesses, dukes and duchesses, maharajahs, politicians, actresses, singers, and writers. You name it, they all came to Harrogate. Even Byron was here once to take the famous mineral waters.’

‘Is it still a spa?’ Katie asked.

‘Not any more. Everything closed down after the Second World War,’ Xenia said. ‘In a way, it’s a shame the old mineral wells have been allowed to fall into ruin.’

‘But the springs are still there, under the ground,’ Lavinia cut in. ‘At least, that’s what Verity says.’

‘Will the wells ever be restored?’ Katie wondered out loud.

‘I don’t think so.’ Xenia shrugged. ‘Modern medicine and proper diets have made this kind of spa redundant.’

As they rolled down the hill and onto a flat tarmacadam road, Lavinia announced, over her shoulder, ‘We’re heading up into the Dales now, Katie. They’re a great beauty spot.’

‘How far is Burton Leyburn?’

‘Not too far,’ Xenia replied. ‘About an hour and twenty minutes, Katie. So sit back and relax and enjoy the countryside.’

Even though it was October the Dales were still green, this gently rolling landscape cut into sections by drystone walls and dotted with sheep grazing. The leaves had not yet fallen and most of the trees were shady green bowers lining the road the car was travelling along at a steady speed.

Katie’s nose was glued to the window, her eyes taking in everything. And she couldn’t help thinking what lush country this was, not what she had expected at all. In her mind’s eye, she had envisaged Yorkshire as bleak and forbidding, but then perhaps it was at Haworth, where the Brontës came from.

Xenia had told her on the train that she had made arrangements for them to go over there tomorrow. The thought of this excursion excited Katie, and she was praying she wouldn’t lose her nerve at the last minute, and step away from the role in
Charlotte and Her Sisters.
She didn’t have to be told it was her big chance at last.

Katie was well aware that if she turned down Melanie
Dawson yet again she might never be offered another part. The famed producer and her husband, Harry, had singled Katie out when they had spotted her in an off-Broadway play several years ago. And they had taken a keen interest in her career ever since then.

It was obvious that they appreciated her as an actress, believed she had talent, otherwise they would not have gone out of their way to keep in touch with her. They had even looked her up in London eight months ago, and shown her a great deal of kindness, taking her to plays, then for supper afterwards at the best restaurants.

Katie turned her head, looked out of the car window once more, her eyes on the countryside as they drove on, heading for Burton Leyburn. They had already driven through various villages and the ancient cathedral city of Ripon. Now they were almost at Middleham, at least so the signpost told her.

How calm it is here in these ancient places, she thought, and instantly envisioned New York. She bit back a sigh, and wished she didn’t feel so reluctant about going back there. It was this which was at the root of her indecision about accepting the part in
Charlotte and Her Sisters.

She knew very well that the role was a great one for her, the best she’d ever been offered. And, apart from her worry about adopting an English accent, she knew she could handle it. Certainly the role of Emily was exactly
right for her; the other parts Melanie had dangled in front of her had been all wrong.

Yes, playing Emily Brontë on Broadway would truly launch her acting career into the big time. She just wished she was not so alarmed about returning to New York. Her chest tightened and the familiar fear rushed through her. She took a deep breath, tried to turn away from her troubled past, the painful memories, and sat staring out of the window blindly. She did not see the landscape any more, only the faces of Denise and Carly, gone from her in life but forever in her heart and mind. Taking another deep breath, she leaned back against the car seat, waiting for the anxiety to recede, as it would eventually.

Xenia said, ‘When we get to the top of the next hill, just ahead of us, we’ll be in Middleham. Quite a famous beauty spot around here, and an area of Yorkshire that’s saturated in history.’

‘I’ve heard of Middleham,’ Katie answered, forcing her voice to sound normal. ’I know that Richard III grew up there at the castle, and somewhere I read that it was once known as the Windsor of the north.’

‘That’s right, and it was indeed the seat of power. A great deal of power, actually. And it was in the hands of one man, the most powerful man in England in those days. He was known as the Kingmaker, Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, a Yorkshireman, and the last of the great feudal barons and magnates. He really did have more power than King Edward IV, his young
cousin, whom he put on the throne of England after the War of the Roses. You see –’ Xenia cut herself off, and exclaimed, ‘Look, Katie, over there! Those are the ruins. Slow down a bit, Lavinia, so Katie can see them properly.’

Lavinia dutifully did as she was told and brought the car almost to a standstill as they drove very slowly past the castle. She said, ‘If you want to look around Middleham, I’ll bring you back another day, Katie. But right now I’ve got to race back to the house. Verity’s waiting for us.’

‘I understand,’ Katie replied, peering out of the window, straining to see the famous ruins. They appeared eerie and mysterious, the shattered battlements wrapped in deepening shadows as the cold northern light began to dim.

Involuntarily she shivered, drew herself into her loden coat, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone. She tried to throw off the irrational feeling of apprehension that suddenly gripped her.

Once they left the ruined castle behind them, the car began a steady climb up the hill which led out of Middleham. In a short while they were on a winding road that flowed across the top of the moorland. The sun of earlier had long since disappeared, but up here the sky was a soft, pale blue, and filled with great scudding white clouds blown along by the gusting wind. A few birds wheeled and turned against the puff-ball
clouds, solitary inhabitants of the empty, rolling moors of Coverdale.

Eventually the twisting road straightened out, then slowly fell away, and they were descending into the lush green valley below. It was a valley marked by stands of ancient trees, and pastures sectioned by drystone walls. And through this verdant valley ran a narrow silver ribbon of a river wending its way towards the North Sea.

Ten minutes later the car was approaching another village. And this time the signpost announced that they were about to enter Burton Leyburn.

Katie glanced at Xenia quickly. ‘We must be there!’

‘Not yet. The house is outside the village.’ She grinned at Katie. ‘You sound impatient to get there.’

‘I suppose I am. What you’ve told me about it has made me very curious.’

Xenia smiled enigmatically, but made no further comment.

Burton Leyburn was small, pretty, picturesque, a classical Yorkshire Dales village, clustered with houses made of local grey stone. Many of the gardens were filled with flowers which hinted at an Indian summer just passed, although the majority of the blooms were of russet, gold and amber hues, mostly chrysanthemums, a favourite at this time of year.

Katie noticed several small shops, a post office, a pub called the White Hart, and a lovely old grey-stone church
with a square Norman tower and stained-glass windows. But there were very few people about and no cars in evidence: it looked to her like a deserted spot.

When she voiced this thought, Xenia and Lavinia both burst out laughing, and Lavinia said, ‘But it’s tea time, Katie, and everybody’s at home tucking in.’

At the end of the main village street, Lavinia turned left, slowing her speed in order to ease the car down the narrow lane. But within seconds she was pulling onto a much broader road, and she did not slow her speed until they arrived at tall and elaborate black-iron gates. They were impressive, daunting, set between huge stone pillars, the latter surmounted by stone stags.

The gates were closed, and Lavinia exclaimed, ‘Hang on a minute, Pell must have locked up already. I’ll have to go and punch in the code.’

‘I’ll do it, it’s easier,’ Xenia exclaimed, and alighted swiftly. Skirting the bushes, she went to the metal stand which held a key pad and punched in numbers. A second later she was getting back into the Bentley.