Voice of the Heart (44 page)

His second marriage, like his third, had not been particularly happy, but Lillianne was not a bitch, which was more than he could say for the tempestuous and vituperative Arlene, who was currently on a rampage and hell bent on creating a scandal. He sighed, and asked himself why he had had no luck with women since Ellie’s death. He continually made dreadful mistakes in his private life, which was in constant upheaval, and yet, funnily enough, he never made the same mistake twice in his profession or in his business dealings. But now I’ve turned over a new leaf, he muttered, and brushed away these speculations about wives and women, which were not only a waste of time, but irritating. He glanced at the other two letters from Beverly Hills, which were of no great importance, and reached eagerly for the envelope from the travel agency in Bond Street. He opened it quickly and pulled out two first-class airline tickets for Zurich, and his face lit up.

Next week he and Nick were going to Klosters, via Zurich, on a five-day skiing trip, and they were both like excited schoolboys about to sally forth on their first adventurous spree. Victor, being an intensely physical man and accustomed to the most strenuous of outdoor activities, felt increasingly constrained in London, hemmed in and restless
as his sedentary existence began to create mounting tension in him. Apart from this, he knew he was out of condition, and gruelling exercise and a thorough workout had become imperative. In a sense, he considered the trip to be a medical necessity, since it would be therapeutic in a number of ways. Jake had tried to dissuade him from going, being fearful he would break a leg or an arm and consequently throw the picture off schedule. But he had managed to convince the line producer that he was going solely for health reasons, and not riotous fun or distractions of a feminine nature. Finally, he had had to solemnly promise not to take any chances on the slopes, swearing he would stick to the gentler ski runs.

We’ll see about that, he thought, smiling with pleasure at the prospect of a few days in the Alps. He and Nick had discovered Klosters two years before, actually through Harry Kurnitz, a writer friend of Nick’s, who was an habitué of the place. It was also the favourite gathering ground for a small group of other Americans, all skiing aficionados, in particular the novelists Irwin Shaw and Peter Viertel, and the movie director Bob Parrish.

Victor contemplated the trip with longing. He could hardly wait to leave, remembering how marvellously fit he felt in the mountains, with the cold bracing air stinging his face and the wind at his back as he sped at breakneck speed down the glistening white mountain sides. Apart from wanting the physical exertion which so refreshed and rejuvenated him, and craving the exhilaration and sheer thrill of skiing, he also looked forward to the relaxed evenings of camaraderie. After a day of hard skiing the group gathered in the local tavern, feasted on a few delicious local dishes and then sat around the roaring fire, exchanging exaggerated stories about their prowess in all fields, and drinking cherry-flavoured
Kirschwasser
until dawn broke or they ran out of tall tales.

Thoughts of his favourite Swiss dishes made his mouth water, and he suddenly realized he was hungry. Once again he tried
Nick’s suite, wanting to tell him the trip was all set, and to ask him what he wanted for lunch, but to his sharp disappointment there was still no answer. He stared at the telephone, trying to recall whether they had made a definite date for a snack before the meeting. He could have sworn they had. Perhaps Nick had misunderstood or forgotten. He called room service and ordered a club sandwich and a cold beer, reminding the waiter who took his order that the kitchen had his precise written instructions for preparing the club sandwich exactly the way he liked it. He walked across to the small portable bar and poured himself a Scotch and soda and, returning to the desk, he leafed through the telephone messages, tossing most of them to one side. He re-read the one from Katharine, asking him to call her at the Caprice Restaurant, where she would be until three o’clock. He did so.

‘Hello, Victor,’ she said when she came onto the line.

He laughed. ‘How could you be sure it was me?’

‘No one else knows I’m having lunch here. Victor, about tonight. Francesca’s sick and—’

‘Yes, I know, honey. Jerry told me.’

‘Do you still want to have dinner after the play, as we planned?’

The thought of eating at midnight suddenly palled on him. ‘Would you mind if I backed out tonight? I think I ought to concentrate on my lines. But hey, honey, I don’t want to leave you high and dry. Listen, I’ll talk to Nicky. Why don’t the two of you have dinner together?’

‘Oh no! I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.’ This was said so emphatically he was surprised. There was an imperceptible hesitation at the other end of the telephone before she explained, in a softer tone, ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose on him. Let’s forget it. I don’t mind, honestly, and I should do the same as you, and study my part.’

‘Yes, maybe you should, and listen, honey, thanks for being so understanding. I owe you one. Who’re you lunching
with?’ he asked, although more out of a desire to be friendly than any curiosity on his part.

‘Hilary Pierce and Terry Ogden. It’s a celebration lunch, because we’ll all be working on
Wuthering Heights
.’

‘Another one! Well, have fun, and I’ll talk to you later in the week. We’ll fix a date for supper.’ They hung up, and Victor sipped his drink, his mind revolving around Katharine. She was the most indefatigable young woman he had ever met. Always busy with her lunches, her parties and her dinners. For ever running and doing. For ever in the biggest hurry. By the same token, her social obligations never seemed to interfere in any way with her work. She was a real professional and supremely dedicated to her craft. Victor also suspected that her social life, which she took very seriously, was totally bound up with her ambition, for he had come to understand that she
was
excessively ambitious and driven and tireless when it came to her career. She seemed to live and breathe it with extraordinary intensity. But there’s no harm in that, he reflected, and she’s a great girl. The best. A fond smile lingered on his face. He had an extremely soft spot for Katharine, and now their lives were going to be entwined to an even greater extent. She had signed the personal contract with Bellissima, and in so doing had placed herself entirely in his hands; for the next few years he would be guiding her career, all aspects of it. He had strongly advised her to do the Beau Stanton picture, following completion of
Wuthering Heights
, and after listening to him attentively, and reading the script, she had agreed at once to be loaned out to Monarch.

Some of her questions had been so intelligent, so well formulated, so incisive, he had been taken aback for a moment. He had discovered she had an astute head for business, at least in relation to herself and her career. This had not displeased him, rather she had risen in his estimation. Unlike many other young actresses, Katharine was nobody’s fool when it came to money, and she had shrewdly put a
high value on herself and her services. Yes, he said inwardly, the little lady knows exactly where she’s heading. To the top and as rapidly as possible. More power to her, he thought. This was the roughest, toughest business in the world, as he knew from experience, populated with the best and the worst. Hollywood had spawned more than its fair share of opportunistic, ruthless, exigent and venal characters, along with its talented, gifted and dedicated men. Katharine was smart to have her wits about her, even though she would have the benefit of his protection and patronage so long as she was under contract to Bellissima.

Now he made a mental note to talk to Hilly about the loan-out contract with Monarch when he next saw him. There were several special clauses he wanted included. Victor did not envision any problems with Monarch, since they were delighted that the arrangement had been made with comparative ease, as was Beau Stanton. A week ago, Hilly Steed had flown a print of Katharine’s screen test to the Coast, and Beau had been bowled over by Katharine’s looks and her talent. Who isn’t, Victor thought, and pursed his lips, aware that there was at least one person who was not exactly crazy about Katharine Tempest. The waiter appeared with the club sandwich, correctly prepared, he was glad to see, and the beer was really cold, something of a miracle in England. After Victor had consumed both, he returned all his local calls, spoke briefly to his stockbroker in New York, and finally reached his manager at the ranch near Santa Barbara. They talked for a good fifteen minutes, settled a couple of small problems and then, satisfied that everything was under control at Rancho Che Sarà Sarà, Victor said goodbye. He hurried through into the bathroom to freshen up for the impending meeting, relieved he had been able to attend to most of his urgent business for the entire week in one day.

Jerry and Jake were the first to arrive. Ted Reddish, the casting director, followed closely behind, and Mark Pierce knocked on the door at precisely three o’clock. They sat
around chatting amiably, waiting for Nick to join them. At twenty minutes past three, growing increasingly exasperated, Victor excused himself and went into the bedroom. He tried Nick’s suite again. This time the line was busy. Damn! Victor hurried back into the sitting room.

He said, to the room at large, ‘I have a feeling I might not have made it clear to Nick that I needed him at the meeting. He’s on the ’phone. I’ll just run along and bang on his door. In the meantime, why don’t you go over the ground we covered this morning, Jake. And Jerry, let Mark take a look at the location pictures. I’ll be right back.’

The key was in the door. Victor knocked and opened it, called, ‘It’s me, Nicky,’ and walked in without waiting to be invited.

Nick was standing in the sitting room with his back to the door, talking on the telephone. ‘All right. Do your best. Thanks. Goodbye.’ He hung up.

‘Did you forget the meeting? Everyone else has arrived and we’ve been waiting for—’ Victor began, and stopped as Nick swung around. Nick’s face was haggard and, despite his tan, there was a greyish cast to his complexion.

‘What is it, Nicky?’ Victor asked, frowning. He searched his friend’s face. The pain in Nick’s eyes leapt out at him.

Nick shook his head, lifted his hands in a gesture of futility and sat down on the sofa without answering. He looked as if he was about to say something, but then his mouth drooped and he remained silent. He took a cigarette and lit it shakily, and there was an air of bleakness about him.

‘Jesus Christ, Nick, what’s happened?’

After a moment, Nick lifted his head and sighed. Finally, in a constricted voice he said: ‘I was sitting here. Minding my own business. Working on the new novel. Feeling great. Just sitting here. Working. And then… and then the call came through—’ He was not able to continue and his bright blue eyes darkened. He brushed his hand across them and looked away. He took a long breath. ‘It’s Marcia, Vic. She—’ Once more he paused, the rest of the sentence stuck in his throat.

Victor’s eyes had not left Nick’s face. ‘What about your sister Marcia, Nicky? Is something wrong with her?’

Nick moved his head from side to side as if he was trying to
deny an awful fact, one he found unacceptable. There was another silence before he replied, in a shaken voice, ‘She’s dead, Vic. Marcia’s dead.’

‘Oh my God! No!’ Victor stared at Nick stupefied. Speechlessly he sat down heavily in the chair opposite, and a numbing coldness washed over him. Very slowly, he said, ‘I don’t understand… we spoke to her the other day.’ He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘What happened?’ He faltered, was incapable, at this moment, of saying another word.

Nick said dully, ‘A freak accident. Marcia was walking down Park Avenue on Sunday afternoon. Yesterday. Going to my mother’s. A stinking lousy car went out of control. Mounted the sidewalk. It slammed into Marcia at full force. They got her to the hospital at once. She was still alive. But the internal injuries…’ He shook his head. ‘She died at five o’clock this morning.’

Victor’s face reflected his shock. ‘Oh Nick, Nick, I’m so sorry. So very sorry. What a tragic, senseless thing to happen.’

‘Why her, Vic?’ Nicky demanded, anger spilling out of him. ‘In God’s name,
why
?’ His tone rose. ‘She was only twenty-two. Twenty-two, for Christ’s sake! Her life was just beginning. She was only a baby, and she was so full of life, and good, and loving, and generous in every conceivable way. And she never hurt anybody in her life. It’s not fair, Vic!’

‘I know, Nick, I know.’ Victor’s voice was gentle and understanding. He bent towards Nick. ‘What can I do for you? How can I help you to—’

Nick seemed not to hear these words. He cried ‘God damn it! God damn it to hell!’ Grief and rage took hold of him and he began to pound the back of the sofa with his clenched fist, and his face was ringed with a wrenching hurt.

Watching him, Victor flinched, and he wondered desperately how to assuage Nick’s suffering, but he knew he could do nothing. His heart went out to his friend, and then it
clenched with sorrow and he was besieged by a terrible helplessness.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Nick cried. ‘I just can’t. I keep telling myself it’s some awful mistake.’ He leapt to his feet, staring directly at Victor, ‘My baby sister. She’s… she’s gone.’ He half ran across the floor in the direction of the bedroom.

Victor followed him, propelled by a need to help Nick, seeking words of consolation. But words were meaningless, utterly worthless. He shivered involuntarily, remembering. Remembering Ellie.

Nick was in the bathroom, standing with his head pressed against the tiled wall, his shoulders hunched over, his narrow shoulder blades protruding through the thin blue cotton shirt. He looked so vulnerable, young and defenceless, and Victor wanted to take Nick in his arms and comfort him as one would a small child in distress. But he did not move. He knew Nick was struggling to contain his emotions, wishing to be strong, fighting back his tears, believing tears were unmanly. But Victor knew the ability to weep was rooted in immense strength, had nothing to do with weakness at all.