Voice of the Heart (121 page)

‘What’s happened?’ she asked, sinking into a chair.

‘I had a ’phone call about half an hour ago. From Nelson Avery, Frankie’s brother-in-law. He’s spending the weekend in Virginia with Harry and Frankie and—’

‘Not
Frankie
! Has something hap—’

‘No, no,’ Nick exclaimed quickly. ‘It’s Harrison. He had a heart attack this afternoon. He’s in Bethesda. Frankie’s with him. She asked Nelson to call me.’

‘Oh Nick, this is terrible. How bad is it?’

‘Bad. He’s had two seizures in the last couple of years, and he’s no youngster. I keep forgetting that. He looks so damned good for his age. But he’s got to be in his middle seventies.’

‘Poor Frankie. This is awful for her, just awful.’

‘Yes,’ Nick said, sitting down, searching for his cigarettes. ‘I’m afraid this means we have to cancel the dinner on Monday. Obviously Frankie’s not going to be back in New
York by then. I’m sorry. I could tell from your voice, when we spoke yesterday, that you were excited she wanted me to arrange it. But…’He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

‘We’ll do it the following week, whenever, as soon as things settle down.’ She proffered him a faint smile. ‘Her gesture was enough, in a sense, just knowing she feels we can be friends again makes me terribly happy.’

‘Francesca has always been blessed with great generosity of spirit. There’s not an ounce of meanness in that woman’s body. I hope you don’t mind, but I repeated a few of the things you’d told me about the last nine years, and she was heartsick for you, Kath. So filled with sympathy.’

‘Yes, she would be. She’s a very special person. I wish there was something we could do for her right now, but I suppose there isn’t, except send her good thoughts and our prayers. And to her husband too.’ Katharine had moved to the edge of the chair, and she said, ‘Would you like a drink, Nicky?’

‘Am I keeping you?’

‘No, of course not,’ she smiled, glancing over her shoulder at the sideboard. ‘There’s vodka, Scotch, sherry, various things over there. Or I could order a bottle of wine.’ She rose purposefully. ‘I think I will. I’d like a glass myself.’

‘That’s a good idea.’ He watched her as she went to the ’phone, thinking how good she looked. Goddamned glorious, he said under his breath, his eyes taking in the stylish Adolfo suit of bright red wool trimmed with navy, the navy silk shirt, the gleam of gold chains and milky pearls against the soft fabric. The chestnut hair was shorter than he had ever seen it, deftly curled around her face, but it suited her. Her composure and tranquillity seemed to reach out to him, and he felt himself relaxing.

‘Room service is pretty good here,’ she informed him, returning to the chair. ‘The wine will be up in a few minutes.’ Lolling back and crossing her legs, she asked, ‘And how are things with you otherwise, Nicky?’

‘Pretty good. Carlotta’s still in Venezuela, my son is fantastic, and the work has been going great.’ He leaned forward, eagerness streaking across his face. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me in the last few days. It’s as if the floodgates have opened. I’ve been turning out ten pages a day on an average. Good pages too. If I can keep it up the novel’s going to be finished sooner than I expected.’

‘That’s wonderful to hear. I’ve read all of them you know.’

‘And?’ His brows lifted and he stared at her intently. ‘I loved each and every one. You’ve never been better, Nick.’

‘Thanks.’ He beamed, looked pleased as he sat back.

There was a knock on the door and Nick jumped up. ‘I’ll get it.’ When they were alone again and sipping their wine a few minutes later, he picked up the conversation where he had left off. ‘Have dinner with me, Kath.’

‘Oh Nicky, I’d like to, but I can’t.’ His face dropped, and she said, ‘I invited Estelle, and not too long ago either. I can’t very well cancel it now. Why don’t you join us? I thought we’d eat in the Café Carlyle.’

‘Terrific suggestion—about joining you. But I’ll take you both out. I’m not wearing a tie, and I don’t feel like a fancy-schmansy joint. We’ll go to Elaine’s. What time is Estelle due?’

‘Eight o’clock.’

‘Oh good, we can catch up on our lives some more.’ He started to laugh.

Said Katharine, ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Estelle’s going to drop in her tracks when she sees
me
sitting here. She’s very romantic. I think she secretly hopes we’re going to get back together again—’ He thought: Oh Jesus, why did I say that? He stared at Katharine and she stared back, and there was an awkward silence.

Then Katharine laughed. ‘No, she won’t. She knows you’re spoken for, Nicky.’

I’m not, he said inwardly, and was momentarily shaken by his thoughts. He grinned to hide his sudden confusion. ‘That won’t stop Estelle conjecturing. Anyway, if we’re going to Elaine’s I think you should change. It’s not that you don’t look beautiful, you do. Something more casual would be more in order though.’

‘I’ll change now. It won’t take a minute. Excuse me.’

‘Sure. And I’ll make a reservation, nine-fifteen, nine-thirty okay with you? There’s not much point going before then.’

‘Fine, darling.’ She disappeared into the bedroom. After calling the restaurant, he glanced at a number of framed photographs on the desk, picked up one of a child with reddish-gold hair and Katharine’s exquisite, fragile face. Vanessa, he thought, and smiled as he put it down. There was a colour shot of Ryan, another of Francesca and Katharine taken in the South of France. They stood, arms entwined, on the terrace of the Villa Zamir. He peered at their tender faces. How young, how vulnerable they looked. A lot of water’s sluiced over the old waterfall since then, he sighed, and wondered why he had not noticed the pictures the other day. Either he had been too preoccupied or they had not been here. He sauntered around the room familiarizing himself with it. Katharine had always had a knack of making any place her own, filling it with small personal things. Apart from the photographs there were lots of fresh flowers, a bowl of fruit, smaller dishes of mixed nuts, magazines, books and several Rigaud perfumed candles. On an impulse he lit them all, poured himself another glass of white wine, returned to the sofa.

He reached for a cigarette but the packet was empty. Rising he strolled to the bedroom door, which was half open. He tapped lightly. ‘Kath, do you have any cigarettes in there? I’ve run out.’

‘Oh yes, Nicky. Come in, I’m dressed.’

‘You’ve been fast,’ he said, almost added, faster than you used to be, but stopped himself in time. He nodded
approvingly. She was wearing a tailored white silk shirt and a pair of powder-blue wool trousers.

‘Oh yes, I’m a quick-change artist these days,’ she laughed, turned back to the mirror, remarked, ‘There are some cigarettes in the box on the bedside table. Your box.’

Instantly he knew what she was referring to, and he was surprised. He was even more flabbergasted when he saw his own face staring up at him from a framed photograph next to the lamp. I’ll be damned, he thought, but made no comment. He lifted the silver box, gazed at the many variations of her name engraved across its lid, and muttered, ‘So you kept this.’

‘Yes,’ she answered lightly and swung to face him. ‘I have everything you ever gave me. Including this, which I wear all the time.’ She dangled the pendant in front of her, the large square-cut aquamarine and the diamonds glittering in the light. Putting it around her neck, she struggled with the clasp.

He placed the box on the bedside table. ‘Here, let me do that.’

‘Oh thanks.’

The clasp was small and it took him a moment, and he was a moment longer securing the safety catch. As he hovered over her, he was filled with the perfume of her, unexpectedly moved by the close proximity of her. His hands brushed against the soft downy skin on the back of her neck and he was shocked at the effect this had on him. An urgent forgotten desire flooded through him, brought the heat to his face, and as he stepped away, reached for the cigarette box, his hand trembled slightly.

‘I’ll be out in a minute, Nicky,’ she said, running a comb through her hair.

‘Take your time.’ He almost ran back into the living room clutching the box.

He stood smoking by the window, the wine glass in his hand, staring out across the rooftops of Manhattan, his
mind on Katharine. What was it about her that created this raging excitement in him? And after all these years, all the heartbreak and anguish she had caused him. It was some elusive quality he could not put his finger on, and yet it was a powerful and compelling force. His reaction to her a second ago had been intensely emotional, and surprisingly physical. Katharine had the ability to turn him on without even trying. She made him feel like a twenty-five-year-old stud, whilst Carlotta turned him off. Very off, he thought. Just before she had left for Venezuela she had told him he was impotent. Oh you’re so wrong, lady. And then he realized he had not felt this good for years. Not since he had left Katharine’s life. Twelve years. And you’re back where you started, Latimer. His heart sank. And then it lifted. He didn’t care. In fact, he was glad. Our destinies
are
entwined, he mused. We
have
been propelled towards each other again—inexorably. I cannot fight that, nor can I fight my emotions. What has to happen happens.

‘By the way, Nicky, I feel awful. I never asked about your parents. How are they?’ Katharine asked, walking in from the bedroom, sitting down.

He pivoted at the sound of her voice, joined her. ‘My mother’s wonderful; so is my father really. He hasn’t been well this past week, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. Old age basically. I’ve got to face the fact that he’s going to die soon. Nobody lives for ever.’

‘No, they don’t.’ She smiled. ‘But he could go on for a number of years yet. Ninety-year-olds are not unheard of, you know.’

‘That’s true.’ His eyes rested on her, roved over her, and he nodded slowly, ‘You really are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.’

She blushed and laughed. ‘Thank you. But you’re changing the subject. We were talking about—’

‘My parents, I know. Hey, listen, I want you to come and
visit them. They’d love to see you, Kath. They were always so fond of you.’

‘I’d like that. Next week?’

‘I’ll arrange it. Perhaps we’ll all have dinner.’

The ’phone rang, and Katharine jumped up. ‘Yes, let’s,’ she agreed. ‘That’s probably Estelle.’ She answered on the third ring, said, ‘Hello? Oh yes, send her up. Thank you.’

Nicky began to laugh. ‘Shall we play a joke on Estelle?’

‘What kind of joke?’ Katharine frowned.

‘I’ll go into the bedroom, take off my jacket and shirt and stroll out bare-chested. That should give her—’

‘Nicky, no!’

‘Better still, I’ll climb into bed.’ He rose, headed for the bedroom, struggling out of his coat, laughing uproariously.

‘Please, don’t!’ Katharine cried, running to him, grabbing his arm. ‘It’ll be all over town tomorrow. Even if we tell her it’s a joke, she’ll never believe it.’

‘She can print it in her magazine for all I care.’

Katharine stared at him aghast. ‘But—what about Carlotta? You’re in love with her…’

‘Negative.’ He shrugged himself into his sports jacket, gazed down at her, saw the puzzlement and confusion in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, pressed her head close to his chest. ‘How could I possibly be in love with anyone else when you’re alive and well somewhere in this world. It’s only you. It’s only ever been you, my darling Caitlin, my sweet sweet Cait,’ he murmured, using his old pet name for her.

‘Oh Nicky, no! We mustn’t, we can’t.’

He noticed that despite her strenuous protestations, she clung to him. ‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘Give me one good reason?’

There was knocking on the door. ‘That’s Estelle,’ Katharine laughed nervously. ‘Now promise to behave yourself.’

‘I’ll consider it.’

Minutes later Estelle Morgan was still bouncing up and
down like a rubber ball in front of him. Her strident laughter filled the room, and she kept saying, ‘Nicholas! Nicholas! This is great, just great! It’s wonderful to see you. Oh my, are you two—?’

‘No,’ Katharine interjected. ‘We’re
not
. Now, come and have a glass of wine.’ She linked her arm through Estelle’s, drew her into the seating arrangement, explained softly, ‘We’ve had some bad news.’ Katharine told Estelle about Francesca’s husband, and the journalist sobered at once, adopted a more decorous demeanour.

Estelle said, ‘That’s dreadful. I’m sorry. As you know, Francesca Avery’s not my favourite person, but I don’t wish her any harm. Too bad. Really too bad. Thanks,’ she said to Nick, taking the glass from him.

As usual, Estelle was full of news and chit-chat about the rich and the famous, and she kept Nick and Katharine well entertained for the next half hour. At nine o’clock, Nick suggested they should leave for the restaurant.

‘Of course. I’ll get my bag and a jacket.’ Katharine moved towards the bedroom.

‘I’ll call the house,’ Nick announced, also rising. ‘There might be a message from Nelson Avery.’

To Katharine’s consternation he followed her into the bedroom. Once they were inside and out of Estelle’s earshot, she hissed, ‘Honestly, Nick, what’s Estelle going to think.’

‘Stop worrying. Besides, I do want to call Nanny privately, from this ’phone.’ He took her hands in his, bent down, kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Can I tell Nanny I’ll be home late? Very very very late?’

‘I—I—Oh Nicky, I don’t know what to say.’

He laughed and let go of her hands.

Katharine picked up her bag and a mink jacket lying on the bed and fled without another word.

He lifted the telephone, dialled, stretched out on the bed and eyed his photograph on the bedside table. She’ll have me in person tonight, he thought, and then said, ‘Oh hello, Miss
Jessica. Have you heard from Mr Avery?’ His child’s Nanny informed him there had been no telephone calls at all. ‘Fine. I’ll check in with you later. I’m going out to dinner now with friends. I’ll be home late tonight, very late.’

Obelisks of brilliant right pierced the dark sky. An opaque moon dodged in and out between the wind-blown clouds. April rain skittered against the window. Katharine stood in the darkened bedroom, her face pressed against the cool glass, staring out at the magical skyline of Manhattan, listening to the metallic pinging of the rain, the sound of Nick’s quiet breathing as he dozed.