Voice of the Heart

She scrutinized Francesca and exclaimed with enormous conviction, ‘You must pursue your dreams, because without our dreams we have nothing. And then life isn’t worth living.’

Francesca, who had been listening closely, shook her head dismally. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Katharine, but perhaps I just don’t believe in myself enough.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘And it’s a bit arrogant, isn’t it, thinking I can tackle an historical biography of this magnitude, and get it published to boot?’

‘No, it isn’t!’ Katharine declared. ‘You have talent and you’re very intelligent, and hard working and – ‘ She left her sentence dangling in mid-air and broke into laughter. ‘I suppose a lot of people thought I was arrogant, believing I could get the part of Helen in Trojan Interlude. But whatever they thought, and even said to me, I ignored them. And I did get it.’ Her manner became more persuasive than ever. ‘Listen to me, Francesca! If you abandon this project now you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. You’ll never have the nerve or the self-confidence to attempt another book. And you’ll be wasting your talent, just throwing it down the drain, and that would be a terrible crime. You’ll end up feeling bitter about the “might-have-beens” and all you’ve missed. And think of the research you’ve already done. All those months will have been wasted too.’

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Francesca agreed. She was surprised at the extent of Katharine’s concern, her supportiveness and her genuine desire to be helpful. She was also grateful, and she admitted finally, ‘And I believe you hit the nail on the head. I think I have lost my nerve. And the immensity of the work I still have to do frightens me. I keep thinking I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.’

‘And you mustn’t be negative.’ Katharine’s smile was consoling. ‘You know, you’re probably just a bit tired and out-faced by it all. I think you ought to step away from the book, and take a few days off. Spend your time doing something totally removed from the biography. You’ll feel refreshed and raring to go again after a rest.’ Another thought occurred to Katharine. She said quickly, ‘Look, is there anything I can do to help you? Maybe some research. I’d be glad to, honestly I would, if it would make things easier.’

Francesca straightened up on the bar stool and stared at Katharine. She was temporarily at a loss. Unexpectedly, her father’s concern, which he had voiced earlier that morning, popped into her mind. But he had no reason to worry. She was convinced of that now. Katharine was everything she appeared to be, and so much more besides. She was sweet and loving and so unselfish. All the troubling thoughts Francesca herself had had were immediately dispelled, and she was tremendously relieved she had not asked Katharine those leading questions about her life in Chicago, as she had planned to do. Questions she had even rehearsed on the bus on the way from the British Museum. How rude and suspicious and unkind I would have seemed, Francesca thought to herself. Out loud she said, ‘That’s so sweet of you, Katharine. But I’m afraid I’m the only one who can do the research, because I’m the only one who knows what I’m looking for.’ The laughter flickering on her mouth was real as she said, as an afterthought, ‘At least I think I know. Thank you, anyway, for offering. It was a super gesture.’

‘Just give me a yell, if you do need some help,’ Katharine responded with a jaunty grin. ‘Promise me you won’t abandon the book, and that if you do get down in the dumps again you’ll talk to me about it. Promise!’

‘I promise.’

‘I’ll hold you to that. Now perhaps we’d better go in for lunch.’

After they were comfortably seated, Katharine gave the menu a cursory glance, and asked, ‘What would you like?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Francesca answered, her eyes scanning the list of delicious dishes. She was horrified at the prices, and decided to take her cue from Katharine. ‘What are you having?’

‘I’ll most probably have the grilled Dover sole and a green salad.’

Francesca nodded. ‘I think I’ll have that too. It sounds good.’

‘Would you like some wine?’

‘Gosh no! It makes me sleepy during the day.’

Katharine laughed her spiralling girlish laugh. ‘Me too. I’d better refrain as well, otherwise my performance might be off tonight.’ The waiter came to their table and Katharine ordered, and then she turned to Francesca and said, ‘Will you excuse me for a minute, I’ve got to go to the powder room.’

‘Of course.’

Katharine pushed back her chair, stood up and floated through the restaurant, her eyes focused on the arched doorway ahead, quite oblivious of the admiring glances and heads that turned as she weaved through the maze of tables. When she reached the powder room she took a lipstick out of her bag and redid her mouth. She had only been there a few seconds, standing in front of the mirror, when the door burst open and Estelle flew in, looking as if she could hardly contain herself.

Katharine swung around to face her, but before she could open her mouth, Estelle cried excitedly, ‘Katharine, guess what! I’ve stumbled on something terribly important. Pay dirt. The man I’m lunching with told me there is definitely a writer in London who is filing material back to Confidential:

‘My God!’ Katharine stared at Estelle. ‘Is he sure?’

‘Yes, he’s pretty certain.’

‘How does he know?’

‘Peter, that’s the guy I’m with, runs the London office of a top Hollywood publicity company, who handle a number of big stars and some of the top movies. His Los Angeles office alerted him about the Confidential reporter. Right now some of his company’s biggest clients are filming here in London, or in Europe, and Peter’s been told to warn them to watch their step, and keep their feet dry.’ Estelle giggled and rolled her eyes upwards, then proceeded, ‘He’s also been instructed to scrupulously check out every freelance journalist who requests an interview, just to be sure they’re really accredited to the publications they claim they represent.’

‘Are you trying to say he doesn’t actually know who the reporter is from Confidential?’

‘You don’t think writers who work for that magazine would be foolish enough to announce it, do you? Every door would be slammed in their faces! And anyway, they usually use a phony by-line, so they are hard to check out properly.’

‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ Katharine acknowledged quietly. Then she asked, ‘Does your friend know whether it’s a man or a woman?’

‘He thinks it’s a man. Peter’s been racking his brains to narrow it down, but he’s not been able to pinpoint anyone. Actually, that’s why he mentioned it to me. He thought I might have heard who it was on the grapevine, but I haven’t. I didn’t even know they had someone based in London. Anyway, I think you’d better mention it to Victor immediately. Put him on his guard. It’s more than likely he’s one of the current targets, because of his bitchy wife’s big mouth.’

‘I will. Thank you, Estelle. You’ve been really terrific, alerting me to all this. I won’t forget it, and neither will Victor. Look, I’ve got to get back to the table. I’ll call you tomorrow, and let you know about Sunday. Thanks again, Estelle darling.’

‘Any time, Katharine,’ Estelle beamed, suffused with self-satisfaction about the way she was so cleverly cementing the relationship. ‘I’m only too glad to help if I can.’

When she returned to the table, Katharine sat down and said with an apologetic laugh, ‘Sorry I was so long, but I ran slap-bang into Estelle, and I’m afraid she can be awfully garrulous at times. But she’s quite a good sport, and I didn’t want to offend her.’

‘Oh, that’s perfectly all right,’ Francesca replied. ‘I do understand. Thank you for listening, Katharine. And for the marvellous pep talk. You helped me a lot, and I’m going to take your advice. I’ve decided to take a few days off, and make a new start on the book next week.’

Katharine was delighted. ‘I’m so glad, Francesca. And listen, any time you need a sounding board, I’m here. Incidentally, when I was in the ladies room it struck me you ought to have a literary agent. I assume you don’t have one. Or do you?’

‘No. And to be honest I wouldn’t know where to get one either. Anyway, I don’t have a manuscript to show at this moment.’

‘I realize that. On the other hand, it might be a good idea to talk to a few agents, and see what they say. Later, when you’ve finished the book, you’d be better off using a literary agent, rather than trying to sell it yourself. At least I know that much.’ She paused and then excitement animated her. ‘I know what we can do. We can ask Victor to get you one.’

‘No!’ Francesca cried, and flushed with embarrassment, realizing she had snapped at Katharine, and without good reason.

Katharine gave her a peculiar look, but merely shrugged. ‘Then I suppose I could ask Nicholas Latimer. He’d never do anything for me, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind helping you.’

‘Why wouldn’t he do anything for you?’ Francesca asked with a confused frown. ‘He was very charming at Les Ambassadeurs on Monday night. I thought he liked you enormously. He certainly behaved as if he did.’

‘Oh but he doesn’t,’ Katharine said with a cool and knowing smile. ‘He is pleasant, and he teases me a lot, and behaves as if he’s my best buddy. But haven’t you noticed his flat blues when he’s talking to me?’

‘Flat blues? What do you mean?’

‘His eyes. Flat and blue and hard. His mouth might be smiling, but his eyes drip ice. I know he hates my guts.’

Francesca was flabbergasted. ‘Oh but surely you’re wrong, Katharine! I would have noticed. Anyway, I can’t imagine anyone hating your guts,’ she pronounced with certainty. ‘And please don’t ask him for any favours for me. I don’t want you putting yourself in an awkward position. And as I said, I don’t need an agent at the moment.’

‘No, I suppose you don’t,’ Katharine answered. ‘Anyway, we can always hold Nicholas Latimer in reserve, I guess. Incidentally, talking of favours, I was going to ask one of you – ‘

‘Would you like the fish off the bone, madame?’ the waiter interrupted, displaying the sole with a splendid flourish.

‘Yes, thank you very much. Would you, Francesca?’

Francesca nodded, and when the waiter was out of earshot, she said eagerly, ‘What kind of favour, Katharine?’

Katharine leaned across the table and explained. ‘I need someone to write the material I want to use for the screen test, and I was wondering if you would do it for me.’

Francesca looked at her in amazement. ‘Gosh, Katharine, I wouldn’t know how! I mean, dialogue and that kind of thing is way beyond me. Good Lord, I wouldn’t know where to begin!’

Katharine said, ‘Oh,’ in a very small voice. Crushed, she dropped her eyes and stared at the tablecloth.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to help you,’ Francesca exclaimed anxiously, her voice rising. ‘I’d do anything for you, Katharine, I really would. I just don’t know how to write something like that. Honestly, I don’t,’ she persisted, feeling downright mean for refusing. Then she was filled with chagrin. Katharine had shown her extraordinary understanding, and kindness, had been so patient and encouraging. She felt she was somehow letting her new friend down by refusing to accede to this request. She said, ‘Please don’t be upset. I couldn’t bear it. Let’s talk about it at least.’

Katharine lifted her head sharply and smiled beguilingly. ‘I know you can do it! I really do, especially since it’s a long passage from Wuthering Heights. You said on Saturday that you knew the book extremely well.’