Voice of the Heart (45 page)

‘Let it out, Nicky,’ he finally said from the doorway. ‘Let it out. Don’t hold the grief back like this. It won’t do you any good. Please, Nicky.’ He walked in and put his hand on Nick’s shoulder.

There was a muffled gasp and Nick leaned closer to the wall, hiding his face, and then unexpectedly he spun around to face Victor, his expression baffled, beseeching. A sob rose up in him and he brought his hands to his face. Victor stepped closer and put his arm around Nick, and again there was nothing he could say except, ‘I’m here, Nicky, I’m here, old buddy.’

After a while, Nick regained some of his self-possession. ‘I’ll be all right, Vic,’ he muttered, forcing the words out. ‘I’ll be all right.’ He moved away from Victor and grabbed a towel, pressing it to his face. His voice was low as he said, ‘Let me be for a while, Vic.’

‘Sure, Nicky.’ Victor went back into the sitting room and flung himself into the nearest chair disconsolately. Automatically he lit a cigarette and sat smoking. He was filled with deep sadness. He understood why Nick found his sister’s death hard to believe. He was having a problem comprehending it fully himself. Death was always unacceptable to those left behind to grieve, but in this instance it was the unexpectedness of it, the senselessness of the accident, which so appalled.

Marcia, that tall, lovely girl, sunny and outgoing in disposition, the replica of Nick, with the same blonde hair and his clear blue, mischievous eyes. To Victor, Marcia had always been a golden girl, bubbling with irrepressible laughter and optimism about life. He had grown extremely attached to Marcia over the years, and they had become great buddies when she had come out to the ranch to spend part of her summer vacations with Nick and him. His sons, Steve and Jamie, had also been smitten with her, following her around like devoted puppy dogs, and she had reciprocated their youthful adoration with a tenderness that had been infinitely touching to him. He had spoken to her only on Saturday. Saturday night for God’s sake, and from this very suite. It did not seem possible that she was lying in some hospital morgue in New York. He closed his aching eyes, recoiling from the horror of it.

Nicoletta, named for Nick, had been one year old on Saturday, and the family had gathered at Marcia’s apartment for the child’s first birthday party. Nick, the baby’s godfather, had telephoned New York, wanting to be part of the celebration even from long distance, anxious to speak to his beloved Marcia, and to make certain the gifts for his little niece had arrived in time. What a happy occasion it had been, and who could have known it presaged such sorrow. Victor thought of the child, motherless now, and of Hunter, Marcia’s young husband, and of Nick and Marcia’s parents.
He stubbed out the cigarette and dropped his head in his hands, endeavouring to marshal his troubled thoughts.

Victor jumped up, shaking himself, making a supreme effort to quell the despondency which had descended on him, and with great deliberation he walked around the room, turning on all the lamps. He forced his mind to work on practicalities. Apart from being grief-stricken, Nick was suffering from shock, and it was obvious that someone had to set the wheels in motion to get him back to the States immediately. He would have to do Nick’s thinking for him. Victor ran the priorities through his head: plane reservation. Packing. Gus to take them to the airport. Car at Idlewild when Nick arrived.

Oh God, the production meeting. Victor grimaced. They were all waiting for him back in his suite. He had better speak to Jake at once. He moved forward to the desk, intending to call Jake, when Nick walked into the sitting room.

Nick’s eyes were red-rimmed, but they were dry, and on the surface he appeared to be calmer and in control of himself. ‘Sorry I broke down like that, Victor. I’d been pushing the grief back ever since I heard. You unplugged the dam.’

Victor nodded, understanding. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best, Nicky,’ he said. He went over to the sideboard, poured Scotch into two glasses and carried them over to the coffee table. ‘Come and sit down, and drink this. Then we’d better get you organized, and quickly. When are you planning to leave for New York? Have you made a plane reservation yet?’

‘That’s the problem,’ Nick replied. ‘I went to all the airlines at lunch time. I’m having trouble getting out of here tonight. I was talking to
PAN AM
when you arrived. They’re fully booked. So are TWA and BOAC. I’m on standby with those three.’ He picked up the Scotch and drank most of it in one gulp.

Victor said, ‘I’d better get Jerry to handle the reservation, and I’ll tell Jake to go ahead with the meeting.’

‘Oh hell, Vic, the meeting went right out of my mind. I’m sorry—’

‘Forget it,’ Victor interrupted. He reached for the ’phone and asked for his suite. Jake answered. Victor said, ‘You’ll have to have the production meeting without me, Jake. Nick’s had very tragic news. His sister has been killed in a car accident. I’m going to stay with him until he leaves.’ There was a silence as Victor listened, and then he murmured, ‘Yes, yes, Jake. Thank you. I’ll tell him. Now, let me speak to Jerry a minute, please.

‘Hello, Jerry,’ Victor said. ‘Jake told you about Nick’s sister? Yes, thank you. Look, Nick’s having problems getting a plane to New York tonight. He’s on standby with
PAN AM
, TWA and BOAC. Can you pull any strings? Rustle up a seat?’ Victor waited, nodding to himself. ‘Great. Great. Get to it right away. Call me back as soon as you know something. Oh and Jerry, Gus will be checking in imminently. Tell him to come over to the hotel and wait. I’ll want him to take us to the airport later, but he’d better be on hand in case there are any errands to do.’ He hung up, his hand resting on the receiver.

Nick said, ‘Please, Vic, go back to the meeting. I’ll be fine.’

‘Are you crazy? I’m staying with you until you step onto that plane. I wouldn’t let you be alone. Jerry said to tell you how sorry he is, Nick, as you probably gathered.’ Victor did not wait for a response, but hurried on. ‘He says he’s got a terrific contact at BOAC, and he’s calling him right now. We’ll get you out, don’t worry. Now, have you eaten anything at all today?’ he asked, his tone brisk.

‘No.’ Nick made a face. ‘I don’t think I can get anything down.’

‘You ought to try. This might be the last chance you have to eat for a number of hours. How about some soup at least. You should put something inside you.’

‘Okay.’ Nick could not be bothered to argue, and he also
knew Victor was right. It would be an interminable flight and when he arrived in New York there would be his parents and Hunter to comfort and sustain. And the ritual of death, of mourning, would begin. He closed his eyes.

Victor observed him in silence, and with concern, and then he picked up the ’phone. When room service finally responded he ordered hot consommé, two soft-boiled eggs, toast and coffee. He put down the receiver, poured another Scotch for Nick, and took it over to him.

‘Here, drink this, old buddy. It’ll do you good,’ Victor said in the softest of voices, handing him the glass. ‘Would you like me to fly to New York with you?’

‘God no, Vic! Thanks anyway, and it’s wonderful of you to offer, but I’ll cope.’ There was a faint darkening in Nick’s face, and then it became very still. He said slowly, ‘Does it ever get any easier to bear?’

‘Yes. Eventually. You bear it because there’s no alternative.’ Victor’s eyes rested briefly on Nick, were gentle in their wisdom and compassion. He looked towards the window, plunged for a moment in his thoughts, and then he went on, ‘Death is the absolute loss, Nick. And so you come to accept it, hard as that is to do. It’s not like a lost love or a broken friendship, which perhaps can be regained in the future. Death is final.’ He clenched his hands together in his lap, and the look he gave Nick was full of love and friendship and sympathy. ‘I went crazy with grief after Ellie died, as I’ve told you before. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about her, for years, and I still think about her now, and very often. In a way she lives on in me, and in the boys. I’ve derived a degree of comfort from that, although perhaps you’re not able to understand what I mean at this moment. Your grief is too raw, and perhaps I shouldn’t even bring it up now… it’s cold comfort really… ‘His voice trailed off, and he sat back, wondering if he had said far too much, and far too soon.

Nick did not speak, and sat back, staring abstractedly at the wall, brooding to himself, a vacant look in his eyes.
He took a sip of the drink eventually, and pulling himself together, he said, ‘I’m grateful you told me to get some of my grief out, Vic, because I’m going to have to clamp down on it for a while. My parents, Hunter, they’re devastated. They’re going to need my courage. I’m going to have to be strong for them, to help them get through this.’

‘Yes,’ Victor said, ‘yes, I know.’

Nick stood up. ‘I think I’d better attempt to pack.’ He went through into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe door, looking over his clothes, seeking a dark suit. For the funeral.
Marcia’s funeral
. His hand trembled as he reached for the hanger. He blinked back the sudden rush of tears and wished then that the memories of Marcia would go away. But they kept flooding back relentlessly—things he had not realized had been important to him until now. It was curious how the trivial could mean so much, could be so significant and also so crippling in the crushing pain it caused.

***

They did not talk much on the way to London airport. Occasionally Victor stole a surreptitious look at Nick, but said nothing, not wishing to disturb him, preferring instead to leave him to his own ruminations.

Nick’s expression was tight and sombre, and a deadly calm had settled over him. He was exercising an iron-clad control, preparing himself for the ordeal awaiting him in New York. He had been able to subdue his own grief temporarily and was drawing on all his inner resources for courage and in order to give consolation and support to his parents and Hunter.

All of a sudden, just before they reached the airport, Nick said, in a dim, yet oddly contained tone, ‘Religion is ridiculous, isn’t it?’

Startled from his own reverie, Victor looked across at him with interest. ‘What do you mean?’

Nick said, ‘What I really meant was, religious prejudice is ridiculous. I was thinking of my father and how he objected
to Hunter because he wasn’t Jewish. He didn’t think Marcia should marry him. In fact, he fought their relationship right up to the day of the wedding. But in the end, Hunter Davidson III, a goy and therefore not appropriate as a husband for my sister, turned out to be a better son to my father than I ever was—’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Victor interrupted swiftly.

‘Well, Hunt went into the bank, which is more than I did, and he abides by all the traditions my father holds dear, leads a very proper and conservative life, is totally dedicated to his work, is devoted to my parents. He not only turned out to be a marvellous husband, but he also gave my father a grandchild, which is another thing I haven’t done.’

‘But your father is very proud of you, Nick, and of your achievements.’

‘Yes, I suppose he is now, but he would have been much
happier
if I’d followed in his footsteps, if I’d conformed. After my brother Ralph was killed at Okinawa, I inherited his mantle. Dad set his heart on my becoming a banker, carrying on the family tradition and one day heading the family bank, leading a very upright life. He expected me to marry a nice Jewish girl, have a couple of beautiful kids, join all the right clubs—’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘I think I disappointed him in so many respects.’

Victor said, ‘But you chose to go your own way, Nicky, and dwelling on all this now serves no good purpose. Parents do have enormous expectations of their children, but usually they are expectations which cannot be met under any circumstance. Not only that, parents can’t live their children’s lives for them. Even thinking that this is possible is unrealistic, leads to nothing but resentment, bitterness and eventual heartache. Maybe your father was disappointed initially, but he’s too wise not to understand that permitting you to do what you wanted to do has brought
you
happiness and fulfilment. And basically, all most parents ever want is for their children to be happy.’

‘I guess you’re right.’
Nick leaned forward and glanced out of the car window. ‘We’re almost at the airport,’ he said. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, Vic. We have to sit
shivah
for at least three days after the funeral, and I think I should stay on in New York for a few weeks. To be with my father and mother.’

‘Yes, you must, Nick. And please don’t worry about the film. Mark Pierce loved the script, and if there are any changes they’ll only be minor.’

‘You can always call me, should there be any problems, and I’ll dictate the revisions. I can—’ Nick inhaled quickly. ‘Oh God, Vic, I’ve just remembered our trip to Klosters. I’m sorry. You were really looking forward to it.’

‘Hey come on, Nick, that’s not important. We’ll do it another time. Don’t worry about me. You’ve enough to contend with right now. And remember, if you need anything, just pick up a ’phone. Are you sure I can’t arrange a limousine to meet you at Idlewild?’

‘Positive. Thanks for offering though. When I spoke to Hunt, to let him know my arrival time, he said he’d send my father’s car and driver.’

‘Okay.’

As the Bentley slid noiselessly to a standstill at the terminal entrance, Nick turned to face Victor. ‘Don’t come in. You’ll be surrounded. You know what it’s like when you show that ugly mug of yours.’ He grabbed Victor’s hand. ‘Thanks, Vic, thanks for everything.’

Victor grasped Nick by the shoulders and hugged him affectionately. ‘So long, Nicky.’

On the drive back to London Victor Mason sat immersed in his thoughts, which mostly centred on Nick Latimer. He thought of the long and lonely journey he was about to embark on, of the tragic reason for his unexpected return to the States, of the sorrowful period of time ahead of his friend. Victor was still having trouble reconciling himself to Marcia’s death. It was inconceivable that she was gone.
How unpredictable life was, how precarious, and there were no guarantees about anything. Except for that ultimate guarantee. Death. We’re all so vulnerable, so fragile. We’re here one moment, gone the next. He thought of the hours he wasted on inconsequential things, hours which once frittered away could never be regained nor relived, and he was filled with regret about the precious time he had so carelessly squandered in the past.