Voice of the Heart (22 page)

At the other side of London, on this same lovely February morning, David Cunningham, the Earl of Langley, sat at his desk in the library of his Mayfair town house, drinking a cup of tea.
The Times
, and various other daily newspapers, lay unopened, since he had neither the inclination nor interest to peruse any of them. A variety of matters occupied his mind, not the least of which was the large and ominous-looking pile of bills stacked on the leather-bound blotter.

Hell, he thought, I might as well tackle these blasted things first. I certainly can’t deal with any of my other problems just now. Sighing, he began to sort through the pile, pulling out the most critical and pressing. He wrote a number of cheques, made a few calculations and returned the remainder of the bills to the drawer. Most of these were also urgent, but he felt they could safely wait until next month. They would have to wait. ‘I’m always robbing Peter to pay Paul,’ he muttered out loud. A gloomy expression dulled his fine intelligent eyes, and there was an unfamiliar droop to his mouth.

David Cunningham scrimped and scraped and economized in every conceivable way, and yet he was always beset by the most acute financial worries. Income from the estate and farming, as well as other holdings, was continually swallowed up by general overheads, maintenance of the castle and the estate and new farming equipment. He was gradually replacing the old and outdated machinery with more modern pieces, but this was a slow and increasingly costly process. Certainly the new equipment had introduced greater efficiency and improved his farming methods; even so, his latest projections indicated he would not be out of the red and into the black for almost another two years. Until
then the cash flow would continue to be an excruciating problem, and what he sorely needed was a little ready cash to put everything on an even keel, but there was scant possibility of getting it. Unless… He could sell the two prize heifers to Giles Martin, a neighbouring farmer who had been pressing him to let them go for almost a year. He had been somewhat reluctant to resort to this measure, since he did not want to deplete the herd, and yet the sale would partially ease his current burdens. Perhaps it was the easiest solution, and one he should not be so ready to dismiss.

David made the decision he had been baulking at for the longest time. By God, he would sell the heifers, and the moment he returned to Yorkshire. In fact, he would telephone Giles later in the day and so inform him. David smiled to himself. And he had better make that call, before he changed his mind again.

He immediately felt a sense of relief, and the heavy constricting feeling in his chest, which he had been experiencing for several hours, now lifted. In general, the Earl was a relaxed, even-tempered man, who had a positive outlook on life, a rare good humour and was unaffected by his daily worries.

He flipped through the morning mail. Not very interesting, except for a letter from Doris Asternan, who was still in Monte Carlo. He read it eagerly. Doris had written to tell him that she was returning to London early next week, having finally found an appropriate, and apparently beautiful, villa on the promontory at Cap Martin. It was near Roquebrune, on the way to the Italian border, and according to the preponderance of adjectives she had used to describe it, the house was nothing short of a palace, set in spacious and exquisite grounds which she said were out of this world. It overlooked the Mediterranean, had its own private beach, a swimming pool and a tennis court. She had already signed the lease and was staying on to interview the present staff, who were available if she wished to engage them for the summer.
Doris had rented the villa from a French industrialist for four months, from June through September, and she ended the letter with a reiteration of the generous invitation she had extended previously to himself and his children. They were welcome to spend as much of the summer at the villa as they wished.

David put the letter down and stood up, walking over to the fireplace in long, easy strides. Tall, ramrod straight and elegant, he was proud of his bearing and, at forty-seven, was amazingly youthful looking. His features, typically Anglo-Saxon, were sensitive and refined, his grey eyes eloquent, his complexion fair, as was his hair. He was a handsome man, and he held great appeal for women, who thought his appearance not only romantic but dashing as well. Consequently, he was in constant demand socially, and had he been less moral and discriminating he could easily have been a Lothario of no mean proportions. As it was, his fastidious nature prevented him from taking advantage of the opportunities which were for ever presenting themselves, and he never indulged in random love affairs.

He stood in front of the fireplace, absently staring at the wall of books opposite, thinking about Doris. She had wrought many changes in his life, all for the better, as he was the first to acknowledge. She had given him a rare type of companionship he had not experienced with any other woman since his wife’s death, and a great deal of understanding, devotion, love, and physical pleasure as well. He had come to rely on her constant presence. In fact, he had to admit Doris was now quite indispensable to him. He was not naïve enough to think this circumstance had developed by accident, knowing perfectly well that Doris had diligently set out to make herself wanted and needed. But he did not consider it devious. Every woman strove to weave a web around the man she loved, in an effort to bind him to her irrevocably.

David knew he should marry Doris. He would be a fool
not to, and, in fact, he wanted to marry her. Yet he continued to procrastinate, and he was not exactly certain why he did so. She had all the right qualifies, at least those
he
thought were important in a woman, and she would make a superb wife for him. His own feelings aside, his children approved and had a genuine fondness for her. And, of course, there was her money, which would solve his financial difficulties once and for all. Doris, the thirty-five-year-old widow of an American meat-packing tycoon, was childless, and she made it abundantly clear to him that her immense fortune would be at his disposal if they married. But David Cunningham was not the kind of man who could be influenced by money when it came to the serious business of marriage. In his lexicon this was the least of all considerations. Love and compatibility took precedence with him. Well, he
did
love Doris, and they
were
inordinately compatible. But…

The door of the book-lined library was open, and David heard Francesca’s quick light step in the hall. He hurried to the door and looked out. ‘Good morning, my dear.’ There was a lilt in his voice and his eyes instantly brightened.

‘Good morning, Daddy darling,’ she responded and, smiling, reached up to kiss his cheek.

The Earl hugged her to him, and then he stood back. ‘Feeling patriotic today, are you, Frankie?’

Francesca looked at her father nonplussed. He was regarding her with fondness, his eyes twinkling. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked with a slight frown.

‘The colour scheme you’ve adopted this morning.’ His glance swept over her again. ‘Borrowed from the Union Jack, wouldn’t you say?’

Francesca laughed, and swinging around she looked at herself in the mirror, her head on one side. She was wearing a new white cotton shirt, her best navy-blue Jaeger skirt and a navy-blue melton-cloth reefer jacket. ‘I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ she retorted mildly, but nevertheless she unfastened the red-white-and-blue silk scarf tied around her
neck and pushed it into her jacket pocket. She turned back to her father. ‘Is that better?’ she asked. Her father’s taste in women’s clothes ran to the subdued, even the dowdy at times, and she knew it was the vivid scarf to which he objected. ‘I just thought the dash of colour would cheer up my outfit,’ she said.

‘You don’t need anything to cheer up your clothes. Your face inevitably does that.’ His smile was tender as he went on, ‘And where are you off to at this hour?’

‘The British Museum.’

‘Ah, yes indeed. Gordon beckons, I’ve no doubt.’ The Earl half turned and stepped into the library. He said, ‘I’d like to talk to you, Frankie, if you can spare me a few minutes.’

‘Why yes, of course I can, Daddy.’

‘Then come in and close the door behind you. I think a little privacy is in order.’

Francesca did as he asked, her gaze resting on him, her face sobering. The seriousness of his tone alarmed her, and she thought: Oh God, there’s trouble brewing. Being extremely close to her father and attuned to his moods, she invariably anticipated him, and she was positive he could only want to talk to her about one of two things: Kim or money. Probably the latter, she said to herself, eyeing the bills and the chequebook on the desk. Suddenly she felt selfish and guilty. Here she was, probably wasting her time researching a book that might never get written, when she could be earning money. Maybe she ought to get a job to help out. But deciding this was not the time to suggest it, she said, ‘You seem awfully worried, Daddy. Is there something wrong? Is it money?’

‘That’s always a problem, my dear. But somehow we always seem to manage, don’t we?’ He did not wait for her response. ‘However, I didn’t bring you in here to talk about the monthly accounts. Actually, I wanted to discuss this new development with you.’

Francesca tensed and her eyes were watchful. ‘New development?’ she echoed. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

‘Come, come, Frankie, don’t hedge. You’re talking to
me
. You know perfectly well I’m referring to Kim and Katharine.’

She accepted the gentle reprimand in silence, playing for time. The silence grew, hung between them. The Earl studied his daughter keenly. Finally, he said, ‘I presume your lack of response is an acknowledgement of the facts. I also presume you know Kim is very serious about this girl.’

Realizing she could not remain mute indefinitely, Francesca thought the safest thing would be to repeat Kim’s words to her. ‘Well, Daddy, I’m not sure
serious
is the right word, but I do think he’s quite keen.’

The Earl laughed knowingly. ‘That’s undoubtedly the understatement of the year! Your brother is madly in love. Even a blind man would know that.’ He leaned forward over the desk. His cool grey eyes, which had narrowed perceptibly, were fixed unblinkingly on his daughter. He asked quietly, ‘And what is your opinion of Katharine, Frankie?’

Francesca’s face lit up at once. ‘I like her enormously! In fact, I took to her the instant I met her. I think she’s a super girl. And to tell you the truth, I thought you did, Daddy. On Monday evening you seemed… well, enchanted, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ Her words held a challenge, as did her gaze.

‘You’re absolutely correct, I was,’ the Earl conceded evenly. ‘Katharine has a variety of assets, all of them most apparent, so I won’t waste time enumerating them. And she is quite the lady—’

‘Well, then,’ Francesca interrupted swiftly, her brows lifting expressively, ‘why are you so perturbed?’

David ignored this pointed question by saying, ‘What do you actually know about her, my dear?’

Francesca was startled. ‘Haven’t you talked to Kim about Katharine? I think it’s his place to tell you about his new girl friend, not mine, don’t you?’

‘Indeed I do, darling. And I have spoken to him. Unfortunately he was extremely vague, even a little evasive. To be frank, I decided not to press him for the time being. I felt it would be wiser not to make too much of a fuss, since that would only give the matter tremendous importance in his mind. On the other hand, because I believe he has serious intentions, I do think I should know more about the girl he is apparently thinking of marrying. I intend to have a heart-to-heart talk with Kim when we get back to Langley, but, in the meantime, I thought you might be able to give me a few more facts.’ He waited, and then observing the expression on her face, he added gently, ‘You think I’m putting you in an awkward position, I know, but I’m not really. It was I who brought you up to have a sense of honour, to be loyal, so I would certainly never ask you to betray a confidence. Still, under the circumstances, I don’t think it would be disloyal to Kim if you repeat what he’s told you, or what Katharine has said about herself. I’m hardly asking you to divulge state secrets,’ he finished with a soft chuckle.

Francesca stared down at her hands. Everything her father said made sense. Surely there was no harm in telling him what she knew. It was then she realized, and with a little stab of dismay, that there was hardly anything to repeat. ‘Kim hasn’t confided in me, and neither has Katharine,’ she answered. ‘To tell you the truth, now that I think about it, she hasn’t said much about her life. Here or in America.’

‘I see,’ said David, masking his surprise. He looked at her clear and lovely face, the candid gaze, and he knew she was being her usual truthful self. Until this moment he had been convinced his daughter would be able to enlighten him. She and Kim were extremely close. Obviously she had been kept in the dark. Very curious indeed. Then he wondered why.

Francesca volunteered, ‘I understand from Kim that Katharine comes from Chicago, and that she’s an orphan, poor girl.’

‘Yes, he told me that too. He also mentioned she went to school here and afterwards attended RADA.’ The Earl shook his head in bemusement. ‘Not much to go on, is it?’

‘No,’ Francesca agreed. It struck her how foolish Kim had been. He should have adopted a more direct approach with their father, instead of being close-mouthed, secretive. His posture, so silly and unnecessary, had precipitated an unfortunate situation, one which could only end up being troublesome.

‘Do you think she has any family at all?’ the Earl asked.

‘I don’t think so—’ Francesca bit off her sentence and shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t say that, because actually I don’t really know,’ she corrected herself.

David Cunningham stared across the room, his eyes focused on an antique hunting print, a preoccupied expression on his face. After a few seconds, he swung his head to face Francesca. ‘Look here, dear, I’m not passing any judgments on Katharine, nor am I out to create undue problems for Kim. God knows, I have his well being and happiness at heart. And believe me, as of this moment, I don’t have strong objections to the girl. I’m sure she is most admirable, and she might be ideal for him. But, as Kim’s father, I feel I am entitled to some information about Katharine’s background. It’s not much to ask, is it?’