Voice of the Heart (78 page)

‘Were you also going to tell me you’re not an orphan?’ he countered, his eyes blazing. ‘As you have pretended to me since we’ve known each other.’ The look he now gave her was full of condemnation and, not waiting for an answer, he cried irately, ‘However you excuse your deceitfulness about your name, you cannot, I repeat
cannot
, deny that you lied to me about your family circumstances, and in the most deliberate way. Tell me, Katharine, how is it possible for you to be an orphan when you have a father?’ His voice simmered with rage. ‘You really have behaved in the most deplorable manner towards me, and frankly I’m appalled. But apart from being shaken and shocked by your duplicity, I’m terribly, terribly hurt.
My
feelings aside, you’ve also abused my sister’s loving friendship and my father’s many kindnesses. I don’t mind telling you,
he
is horrified. In our lexicon, liars are despicable, Katharine,’ he concluded. He lit a cigarette, his hands shaking.

Katharine was ice cold, her stomach muscles taut and knotted.
She had lost her advantage.
However, she was nothing if not shrewd and quick witted and she recognized at once that to be cringing, apologetic and defensive would only weaken her position further, would compound her guilt. And so she went on the attack.

She drew herself up on the sofa, stiffly, and with a degree of regality. She said, with a cool superiority, ‘I think I detect Doris’s hand in this. Spying on a person! Prying into her private affairs! How contemptible! I’m surprised your father doesn’t find that kind of… of…
questionable
activity perfectly reprehensible. I do.
Doris
is the one to be censured, not
I
.’

Kim felt the heat flooding into his face and he cried excitedly, ‘Doris most certainly did not make inquiries about
you. She’s far too sweet and decent to engage in something so lowdown as spying. The information fell into her lap quite by accident—’

‘So I am right! I
knew
it.’ This was said with a flash of triumph, a show of bravado, both false in that Katharine was still somewhat unnerved and groping her way. ‘Let me tell you something else, Kim. I believe you’re wrong. I am convinced Doris went out of her way to investigate my life in Chicago. She was trying to dig up dirt on me. Well, I don’t care, because there isn’t any dirt to dig up. I don’t have anything to hide, as I just told you. There are no skeletons in
my
closet.’

‘I’m not sure what that last crack is supposed to mean, and I’m not going to dignify it with a response.’ Kim glared at her again, his brow furrowing. ‘Do you deny that you have a father who is living in Chicago?’

‘No. It’s true. I had my reasons for doing what I did, and I was going to explain everything to you this weekend, although I concede you may doubt that now.’ Katharine shrugged and a derisive smile rippled across her pretty mouth, making it ugly. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything, it seems. Doris, the master spy, has saved me the trouble. Let her do some more of her filthy digging, and give you another report.’

Kim intensified his stare, indignant, his blood boiling. He curbed the impulse to reach out and shake her. His mouth tightened in aggravation, and he fumbled in his trouser pocket, pulled out a crumpled envelope. ‘I will not permit you to place the blame on Doris when she is guiltless. It just so happens that some weeks ago, when she was in Monte Carlo shopping, she ran into an old acquaintance from Chicago. In passing, Doris mentioned your name, said you were seeing me. It was an innocuous comment, made along with a number of other remarks about her own fife at the moment. The other day, Doris received this letter from the woman, with a clipping from a local newspaper. It’s a
story about you, with photographs of you taken at Langley Castle. When you were filming there. Here’s the letter. Please read it.’

Katharine sat back on the sofa, her hands clenched in her lap, her face obstinate, her eyes defiant. ‘I don’t want to read it.’

‘Then I shall read it for you,’ Kim snapped, enraged by her cavalier attitude, her seeming indifference. He took the letter out of the envelope. He knew the whole epistle by heart, had no trouble finding the relevant paragraph.

‘This is what the friend of Doris writes:

‘The rest of the letter is of no interest to us, Katharine, merely chit-chat about social activities in Chicago.’ Kim stuffed the letter back into the envelope and shoved it in his pocket. He placed the clipping on the table in front of her. ‘You might like to read this later. Estelle Morgan has done you proud, written a glowing account of your talent.’

Katharine was silent, filled with embarrassment and mortification because her deception had been unmasked before she could reveal it herself. How foolish she had been. She
should
have confided in Kim weeks ago. At that time she had planned to tell her story in a way that would have gained
his sympathy, understanding and support; by waiting she had brought his wrath down on her.

Kim expected a statement, some kind of response, and when none was offered he rose and walked to the window. He stared out at the sea blindly. Since his return from Grasse earlier in the week, and his talk with Doris and his father, he had been suppressing his anger and so many other emotions. The letter from Chicago had knocked the wind out of his sails. Not only that, he had been forced to dissemble, to keep up a lighthearted front for Francesca, his cousins, their innumerable guests. Dissimulation, not a natural Cunningham characteristic, had depleted him and he felt drained. Curiously though, now that he had confronted Katharine his rage had lessened. A calm was settling over him.

He returned to the chair, sat brooding for a while, his shoulders hunched, his refined face without expression. At last he directed his gaze on her. ‘I’d like to ask you something, Katharine.’

She nodded, bracing herself.

‘You’re intelligent. How on earth did you think you could conceal your true identity in view of your burgeoning career in films? Surely you knew you’d be recognized by someone, that the truth would inevitably come out?’

‘Yes, I did,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you for the longest time.’

‘Then why didn’t you?’

‘I was waiting for the right opportunity. I’ve been so preoccupied with my work…’ Her voice had dropped to a whisper and it ceased entirely. She twisted her hands, cleared her throat, added in a stronger tone, ‘Don’t forget, I was under a lot of pressure when we were shooting in Yorkshire, and when I went back to London you had to stay at Langley because your father was here with Doris. We’ve hardly seen each other lately. It seemed better to wait until we were on vacation…’

‘If only you
had
told me before,’ he sighed. For a moment Kim was introspective and then he murmured, ‘There’s so much more to love than love itself, Katharine. There must be trust and friendship, especially between two people who are going to marry, who plan to spend the rest of their lives together. By not confiding in me you have violated that trust, Katharine.’

Softly spoken though these words were, and gently couched, the reproach cut through her like a knife. She looked at him forlornly, her defences down, her huge eyes aquamarine pools in her ashen face and glistening with incipient tears.

He said urgently, ‘Don’t cry, for God’s sake don’t cry. I can’t stand your tears.’

‘No,’ she said, swallowing hard. She reached for a cigarette in the white onyx box, lighting it before he could do it for her. She smoked in silence, avoiding his eyes, her misery running deep.

‘Like my father, I believe that liars are basically untrustworthy, and on so many different levels,’ Kim began and leaned in closer to her. ‘Look at me, Katharine,’ he commanded. She did as he asked, and he continued, ‘Generally speaking, one fie begets another he, and another, and so on. Inevitably lying becomes a way of life. There is no place in our family for someone who cannot speak the truth, no matter what the consequences of absolute candour might be. Lying is cheating, you see, and cheating is dishonourable. When you were at Langley you spent a long time looking at our armorial bearings in the stone hall, asked a great deal about our family crest. Do you remember our family motto?’

‘Yes,’ Katharine gulped. Kim said no more, sat watching her, and she knew instinctively that he wished her to say the few brief words that composed their ancient motto. Taking a deep breath, she said softly, ‘
Au dessus tout: Honneur.
’

Kim nodded, his light eyes compelling in their intensity. ‘And I told you what those words meant…
Honour above
all
. Since the days of the great warrior knights of Langley every Cunningham has lived by that motto. It is our code of behaviour.’ His face became softer, gentler now. ‘There’s a poem by Richard Lovelace to which I’m rather partial, and my favourite lines are these: “I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more.” I think that simple sentence articulates what I am all about as a man.’ Kim fell into silence and then he shook his head slowly, sadly, adding at last, ‘Oh Katharine, Katharine, why didn’t you trust in our love, have faith enough in me to tell me the truth about yourself? Don’t you realize what you’ve done?’

She stared at him speechlessly.

‘You’ve placed us both in die most precarious position with my father.’

She heard the desperation in his voice. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I suppose I have. Kim, I want to tell you everything. Perhaps then you’ll understand, and not judge me so harshly. Please, please let me explain.’ Her face, so young and tender and earnest, beseeched him. He nodded, and Katharine went on, ‘You see, the whole situation developed because—’ She said no more, turned to look at the glass door.

Voices penetrated from the terrace. The door flew open. Francesca dashed into the room as though propelled by a whirlwind, followed, in a more sedate fashion, by the Earl and Doris, who each had a glass of champagne in their hands.

‘There you are, Kim. Oh good, you’ve found Kath,’ Francesca called gaily. She was halfway across the floor when she came to a sudden halt, staring at them both with a worried frown. ‘My God, whatever’s the matter? You both look so upset.’

Startled by this abrupt intrusion, neither Kim nor Katharine spoke. Francesca hurried forward anxiously, peering at the two of them more closely. Her concentration was on Katharine, sitting so still in the chair, white-faced and obviously distressed, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.
Francesca perceived controlled agitation, felt a sudden uneasiness engendered by her manner. Pivoting on her bare feet to face Kim, his sister cried heatedly. ‘What’s happened? Tell me!’

Kim was mute. The Earl cleared his throat, walked rapidly to Francesca’s side. ‘Hello, Katharine,’ he said in a voice curiously devoid of expression.

She inclined her head without meeting his eyes, said nothing.

David continued. ‘My apologies for bursting in on you so unceremoniously. We weren’t aware you and Kim were in the sun room. We’ll leave you to finish your discussion.’ He took hold of Francesca’s arm firmly. ‘Come along, my dear.’

Francesca resisted his pressure. ‘But what’s wrong?’ she persisted, her voice rising. ‘I want to—’

‘No! Please don’t go!’ Katharine exclaimed, also adopting a fervent tone as she found her voice at last. ‘I would like you to hear what I have to say to Kim, what I was about to tell him when you walked in, David. I want Francesca to hear it as well.’ She cast a swift look in Doris’s direction. ‘And you too, Doris. This concerns you, as much as everyone else.’

‘If you wish it, Katharine,’ Doris turned to close the terrace door, came to join them.

Francesca threw Katharine a questioning look, took the chair adjacent to Kim’s, sat facing her friend. Katharine did not seem prepared to enlighten her further, and so she eyed her brother keenly. He was equally uncommunicative, his face closed and unreadable.

Once Doris and David had seated themselves together on the other small sofa within the spacious seating arrangement, Katharine addressed Francesca in a low voice tight with emotion: ‘I did something terrible, Frankie, really terrible, perhaps even truly unforgivable. I lied to Kim. And to you, too. To everyone. It was wrong of me, and I see that now—’ She paused dramatically, bit her lip, blinked, bravely fighting back her tears.

She lowered her head, looked at her hands and exhaled softly. Finally, her head came up. ‘Doris found out about my lies. Quite by accident, of course, and in a way I’m glad she did,’ said Katharine, deeming diplomacy the smartest stratagem. ‘Naturally Doris felt compelled to inform your father and Kim, and I do understand why. She had no choice. Kim has just confronted me, and I was about to give him a full explanation when you walked in.’

Consternation flashed across Francesca’s face. ‘What did you lie about, Kath?’ she asked with the utmost gentleness, comprehending the other girl’s discomfort and unhappiness, hoping to make Katharine feel more relaxed. But despite her tone, Francesca was exceedingly alarmed by this disturbing disclosure, for lying was tantamount to a crime in her family, whose standards of integrity and rectitude were stringent. No wonder the atmosphere was deadly, charged and reeking with tension.

Swiftly, in a sudden rush of words, Katharine recounted how she had adopted the name Tempest and gave her reasons for doing so, continuing to direct her words at Francesca, but all the while levelling glances at the Earl and Doris.

At the end of this short recital, as always springing to Katharine’s defence, and wishing to smooth things over, Francesca endeavoured to make light of the situation. ‘There’s nothing really very odd about Katharine taking a new name, Daddy, a stage name.’ She smiled winningly. ‘I mean, Victor’s real name is Vittorio Massonetti, and Nick’s great-grandfather changed his name when he emigrated to America. He was a German Jew… with some kind of unpronounceable surname.’