Voice of the Heart (31 page)

‘You are being unfair,’ she gasped, positioning herself determinedly in front of him. ‘You promised to fill me in and you haven’t. Not only that, you’re behaving so strangely I’m beginning to think you’re hiding something. What’s wrong, Norman? You haven’t told me everything, have you?’

Norman gulped several times, striving for control. Finally, he said, ‘No, I haven’t, love.’ He shook his head sadly, and his shoulders sagged with weariness. ‘I was going to tell you everything when we got a little closer to Albany. Honest, I was. I wasn’t going to let you walk into that… that shambles unprepared. I just didn’t want to tell you in the middle of the street…’ He took her hand in his and said slowly, in a lower tone, ‘Terry’s not just sloshed, Katharine. He’s been… Terry’s been stabbed.’

For a moment his words did not seem to penetrate. Katharine gaped at him, uncomprehending, and then a look
of horror washed over her face as his words finally registered. ‘Stabbed,’ she repeated, her voice quavering. She leaned against the wall, trembling from shock, and her heart suddenly began to pound. ‘Is he all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, yes, he’s all right,’ Norman quickly assured her. ‘Sorry for blurting it out like that. I didn’t mean to upset you. He has a flesh wound on his upper arm. Not too deep, thank God. My wife’s there. She used to be a nurse, and she managed to stop the bleeding earlier.’ Norman sucked in his breath, rushed on. ‘The doctor isn’t there. I didn’t send for one.’

When Norman saw the flash of anger and panic on Katharine’s chalky face, he cried hurriedly, ‘I couldn’t, Katharine! The doctor would have had to report the stabbing to the police, and there would be an investigation and lots of lousy publicity. You know what the papers are like when they get hold of something like this!’

‘But are you sure he’s going to be all right?’ Katharine persisted. ‘Really sure?’ she demanded, clutching Norman’s arm, her eyes searching his.

‘Yes, I am. Honest to God, ducks. And so is Penny. I told you, she stopped the flow of blood and was bandaging him when I left. The wound isn’t all that serious. Luckily. By now I hope she’s managed to sober him up a bit.’

For a moment Katharine did not trust herself to speak, as she acknowledged the gravity of the situation, and also grappled with a variety of emotions. Uppermost was her enormous horror. Intrepid though she was, she nevertheless had an overwhelming abhorrence of violence, whether verbal or physical, and when confronted with it she was rendered helpless. Now she felt nauseous, and her head had started to ache. But conscious of Norman’s beseeching eyes, she somehow caught hold of herself. She said slowly, ‘He really can’t go on tonight, Norman, even if he is sobering up. He’d never get through the show.’

Norman agreed. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be able to talk some
sense into Terry. He’ll listen to you. That’s the main reason why I came to get you. You will give it a try, won’t you, love?’

‘You know I’ll do anything to help.’ She hesitated, reluctant to ask the next question. But she screwed up her nerve. ‘Norman, who do you think… stabbed Terry?’

Norman grimaced and shook his head. ‘I couldn’t make head or tail out of what Terry was saying.’

‘You don’t think it was Alexa Garrett do you?’ Katharine’s voice was hushed.

‘No. No, I’m sure it wasn’t,’ Norman asserted, but to Katharine he sounded unconvincing, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze, which was shrewdly assessing.

‘Then who?’ she pressed.

‘I… I… Honestly, I’m not sure.’ Norman thought for a second and volunteered grimly, ‘There was some sort of altercation though. A lot of bloody stuff was broken. John’s going to be in a hell of a rage when he finds out. He lent Terry his flat, out of the goodness of his heart, and now half of his valuables have been damaged, and he’s only been gone for a few weeks.’

‘You don’t mean some of those jade pieces and the porcelain things in the drawing room, do you, Norman?’ Katharine asked, incredulity spreading across her face.

He nodded, unable to respond.

Katharine exclaimed, ‘That’s just awful, Norman. Terrible. John spent years collecting those lovely things, and he was so proud of them. Terry will have to replace everything, that’s all there is to it,’ she concluded firmly.

‘Yes,’ Norman replied. But with what? he thought. Terry’s dead broke and up to his eyes in debt. Not to mention a lot of other rotten lousy problems. Norman was about to confide some of his crushing worries about Terry, but instantly changed his mind. Terry would have his guts for garters if he betrayed any secrets, and besides, Terry’s present condition was the most vital priority just now. Norman said
quickly, ‘Come on then, me old love. Let’s shake a leg. The bloomin’ sand is running out. Don’t be too shocked when you see the boy, Katharine. He’s a bit under the weather.’

‘No, I won’t.’ She took his arm and hurried him down Piccadilly, as anxious as he was to get to the flat.

They were only a short distance from Albany. The entrance was just a stone’s throw away from the Burlington Arcade, and adjacent to the Royal Academy, the famed art gallery. Albany House, built by Lord Melbourne in 1770, had been turned into gentlemen’s chambers at a later date,
pied-à-terre
in the heart of Piccadilly for members of the English aristocracy and men of letters. The chambers, generally referred to as ‘rooms’ rather than flats, had become exclusive and desirable places of residence over the ensuing centuries, and those who lived there considered it a privilege to do so.

Norman ushered Katharine across the courtyard and up the steps to the glass doors which opened into the building. She sneaked a look at him, and saw at once that he seemed calmer now that they had finally arrived. They went in, and were greeted by an ancient uniformed porter, who looked as if he had been left over from the Battle of Balaclava. The stone-flagged hall was shadowy and silent, and their footsteps echoed hollowly as they crossed to a second set of doors at the other end. These led out to the Rope Walk, a covered walkway traversing the entire interior area of the building which was designed in the style of an atrium.

When they reached the door of John’s flat, Norman inserted the key and they went inside together. They were greeted quietly by Norman’s wife, Penny, who was standing in the hall near the drawing room, and it was most apparent she was relieved to see them. Penny, a petite and dainty blonde with pretty features, was pale and her face was tight with worry, but she was coolly controlled.

‘How is he holding up?’ Norman asked.

‘Not too good. He’s very shaky. But fortunately his arm hasn’t started to bleed again,’ Penny responded, summoning a
cheerful tone. She nodded in the direction of the drawing room. ‘Let’s pop in there for a tick, before you see him, and I’ll fill you in.’

Walking into the drawing room, Katharine saw at once that Norman had not exaggerated in the least when he said the place was in a shambles. If anything, he had underplayed the result of the altercation. More like a bar brawl, Katharine commented to herself, compressing her lips. The room, which she had always admired for its beauty and elegance, was in great disarray. Two large Chinese porcelain lamps had been smashed and, with their dented silk shades, had been placed in a corner out of the way; and several small antique tables with broken legs were laid on their sides next to the lamps. A large and extraordinarily lovely Venetian mirror, hanging above the white-marble fireplace, was cracked and splintered down the middle, and John’s collection of prized pink and green Chinese jade ornaments had been reduced to dozens of small pieces. They lay on a newspaper on top of a circular Georgian rent table, looking like a rare jigsaw puzzle about to be reassembled. The pale blue carpet had several cigarette burns and dark splotches where red wine had been spilled, and the same ugly wine stains splattered across the cushions on the pale blue velvet sofa, also streaked down the blue silk draperies at the window.

Katharine was appalled. It was apparent to her that either Penny, or Norman earlier, had endeavoured to clean up and restore a semblance of order, but even so the considerable damage was only too visible. Her eyes swept around the room again, and her face reflected her distress. ‘How could Terry let this happen?’ she cried, turning to Norman who was close behind her.

‘I don’t know,’ Norman murmured miserably. ‘I’ve also been wondering how he could let himself get stabbed.’

Katharine flushed deeply. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. She hadn’t meant to sound so callous, or dismissive of Terry’s injury, certainly more important than broken furnishings. She looked at Penny. ‘
You said Terry was shaky. What do
you
think about his appearing tonight?’

Penny shook her head. ‘I think it would be disastrous, Katharine. I’ve tried to sober him up, and certainly he’s a lot better than he was, but a real hangover’s settling in.’

Norman groaned. ‘I’m at my bloody wits’ end! It’s up to you now, Katharine. Perhaps you’ll be able to persuade him to stay put for twenty-four hours. What he needs is a good kip.’

‘I’ll give it a try,’ she replied. ‘Shall we go in and see him?’ Katharine followed Norman and Penny out of the drawing room. Norman suddenly halted at the bedroom door at the other end of the entrance hall. ‘Perhaps I’d better warn him. Tell him you’re here, Katharine. He didn’t know I’d gone to fetch you.’ He hurried into the bedroom and Penny and Katharine hovered outside the door, which stood open a few inches.

They could hear Norman talking in a low tone, and then Terry’s voice reverberating loudly, as he shouted, ‘Jesus bloody Christ! What did you have to go and do that for? You silly sod!’ There was low murmuring, as Norman attempted to calm Terry down, and then he poked his head around the door and motioned for them to come into the bedroom.

Katharine hesitated imperceptibly before moving forward, realizing that Terry was most probably discomfited because she was seeing him in a disreputable condition: The great lover as the rake.

Penny gave her a little push and she was forced to take a few more steps, and suddenly Terry was in her line of vision. Her heart dropped when she saw him, but she was able to keep her face expressionless, her shock concealed, and her smile barely faltered.

Terry was lying on top of the bedcover, propped up against a pile of snowy white pillows, wearing only black silk pyjama bottoms. His wounded left arm was almost completely covered in bandages, and she noticed that he had
sustained other injuries. His right shoulder and arm were black and blue with angry bruises, and there were ragged vivid scratches on his neck. And apart from his battered body, his appearance was so much worse than she had envisioned, she was further alarmed. Terry looked ghastly. His unshaven face was puffy and swollen and without a drop of colour, and his blue eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed with faint mauve smudges underneath them. He seemed slightly dazed, his eyes glazed, and he had trouble focusing on Katharine. There was an aura of such terrible dissipation about him, Katharine was sickened and yet curiously sad for him.

A pressing question dangled on the tip of her tongue: Who did this to you, Terry darling? But she was unable to utter the words, fearful of exciting him or causing him more pain at this moment. Instinctively she knew, too, that he would not tell her.

‘Hello, Puss,’ Terry said, his voice weak and hoarse, as if his loud shouting of a few seconds before had drained him. ‘Fine pickle I’m in, eh?’

‘Yes, love, it is,’ Katharine answered, producing a radiant smile, one that was also loving. Her voice was softly comforting, as she continued, ‘But it could be worse, you know. You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep. Why, Norman just said to me all you need is a good kip.’ She smiled again, and remarked in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘You’ll be back on stage tomorrow night.’

Gathering the remainder of his diminished strength, Terry pushed himself up on the pillows and positively glared at her. ‘
Tonight!
I’m not missing a performance. Not because of this piddling little scratch. Not bloody likely, Puss.’

Somewhat to Katharine’s surprise, Terry did not sound at all slurred. Quite the contrary, he was enunciating clearly; on the other hand, there was no question in her mind that he was incapacitated. He would not be able to meet the fierce demands placed on him by his taxing role. His hands resting on
top of the bed trembled slightly, and it was very clear to her that the quantity of alcohol he had drunk, lack of sleep, the knife wound and the fight in the drawing room had all taken their considerable toll.

Katharine approached the bed and stood at the foot. She said, in her most commanding voice, ‘You can’t possibly go on, Terry dear. It would be insane to do so. Honestly, you won’t get through the first act, never mind the whole play. Now be sensible.’

‘I’m going on, I told you!’ Terry half screamed, his voice surprisingly vibrant again. ‘I appreciate your concern, Puss, and it was sweet of you to come over,’ he continued, speaking now in a softer key. ‘But I’d be grateful if you ladies would buzz off, so that Norman can help me to get ready. I’m not a blasted zoo tea, you know.’ He fell back against the pillows and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. His hand shook so much he slopped half of the water on the table before getting the glass finally to his parched lips.

‘Just look at you,’ Katharine cried with fierceness, her eyes blazing. ‘You’re trembling like a leaf. You’ll never make it.’

Terry smiled at her grimly and his tone was sardonic. ‘Oh yes I will. I’ve had a hell of a lot more stage experience than you, my pet. Once I’ve done my make-up and get into my costume, I’ll hit the footlights with my usual aplomb. And I’ll be perfectly bloody fine. I’m an old trouper, didn’t you know?’ He laughed wildly.

‘Now listen to me,’ Katharine said. ‘I’m not even going to permit you to go to the
theatre
, never mind hit the footlights. Over my dead body, Terrence Ogden. You’re out of your mind drinking you can try it.’ She paused and the look she gave him was deadly serious. ‘You have a responsibility to the audience! And a responsibility to the rest of the cast. It’s not fair to burden them, and me, with your problems. You know we’d all have to carry you. I don’t mind doing that, but I’m sure the others would resent it. And just think how mortified you’d feel later, for giving a lousy performance. You love
acting too much to give less than your best. I know for a fact that you could never five with yourself, if you behaved disgracefully on a stage. You couldn’t stand the humiliation, for one thing.’ She glared at him, her defiant eyes dared him to contradict her.