Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection

‘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 thinking 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 live 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.

Terry laughed even more hysterically than before, and cried out dramatically, ‘Ah, my sweet Kate, you’re so young, so idealistic, so filled with noble thoughts …’ He broke off and reached for the glass of water. ‘“Tempt not a desperate man.” Romeo and Juliet. Act … I forget which act, but never mind, my sweet, sweet Kate.’ He flung out his arm, making a grand gesture, and the water splashed out of the glass on to the sheet. He looked down at the wet patch and shook his head, smiling to himself. ‘Tears. Ah, yes, tears.’ He lay supine on the pillows and murmured, ‘“To weep is to make less the depth of grief.” Henry VI. The Bard always got to the heart of the matter, did he not, my sweet Kate.’ He closed his eyes wearily. The eyelids fluttered and then were still.

Katharine’s troubled face now met Norman’s, and he shrugged, helpless and resigned.

Penny said, ‘I think Terry’s falling asleep. Perhaps we should let him rest for a while.’

‘Oh no, I’m not, Penelope. The wise and wonderful Penn – ell – ohpee,’ Terry cried, opening one bloodshot blue eye and leering wickedly at them.

Katharine turned to Norman and said carefully, ‘I agree with Penny. Terry’ll feel better in about half an hour, then you can get him ready.’ Aware that Norman was about to protest, she signalled him to be silent with her expressive eyes, and rushed on, ‘Maybe you should run a bath in the meantime.’ Her cool blue glance rested on Terry and she remarked casually, ‘When you’re ready, Norman and I will take you to the theatre. Come on Norman, Penny.’ She swung around and walked across the room, her steps purposeful.

‘Thanks, Puss. I knew I could rely on your understanding,’ Terry muttered, raising himself on his right arm. Instantly he collapsed on the mound of pillows, looking more exhausted than ever.

Norman threw Katharine a questioning look once they were outside, and Penny began crossly, ‘What kind of idea is –’

‘Hush,’ Katharine whispered, and pulled Penny after her into the drawing room. Norman followed and closed the door firmly behind him. He leaned against it and said, ‘If you’ve come up with a plan, it’d better be a flaming good one, ducks.’

Katharine sat down on an easy chair, and smiled faintly. ‘It’s not a plan exactly, only a little common sense. Look, Norman, as long as we argue with Terry about going on tonight, he’ll continue to fight us until we’re blue in the face. So … I think we ought to go through the motions of getting him bathed and dressed. Didn’t you see how docile he became when I suggested that you get him ready?’

They nodded in unison, and Katharine proceeded, ‘It’s pretty apparent to me that Terry is wiped out physically, and he’s still a bit drunk, you know. That’s why I don’t think he’ll have any juice left in him by the time you’ve got him shaved, bathed and in his clothes. He’s going to be awfully drowsy after a bath, particularly if you make it a hot one. I have a feeling he’ll simply fall apart, and then we can get him to bed without any arguments, or a struggle.’

Norman smiled for the first time that day. ‘Katharine, you’re a little genius. Of course it’s the only solution. Hell, I wish we had some knockout drops as well.’

‘I have some sleeping pills on me …’ Penny began hesitantly, and stopped when she saw Norman’s glowering expression.

‘Why the bloody hell didn’t you say so before,’ Norman snapped, staring at his wife in irritation.

‘Well, actually, I haven’t had a chance, have I?’ she retorted reprovingly, with a small glare. ‘There’s no need to be so snippy, Norman. Anyway, when you rang me up to tell me about Terry, I threw a lot of things in a shopping bag. A first-aid kit, bandages, aspirin and sleeping pills. I was reluctant to suggest giving him one of those though, because he’s been drinking.’

‘Christ, I didn’t think of that,’ Norman answered, looking shamefaced. ‘But one wouldn’t hurt, would it?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Penny went to her shopping bag and pulled out the bottle. She popped it in the pocket of her cardigan and said, ‘We’ll never get him to take it voluntarily, Norman. I’ll have to crush it and put it in a glass of hot milk. He won’t taste it, if I add a bit of sugar.’

‘Good idea, love.’ He gave Penny a fond look, and added, ‘And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.’ He jumped up. ‘I think I’d better go and run a bath for him. Back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

The moment Norman left the room, Katharine turned to Penny and said, ‘This is pretty awful, isn’t it? What’s it all about, Penny darling?’

Penny bit her lip. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ she murmured.

Katharine gave her a hard stare. ‘Did Norman tell you anything?’

‘No,’ Penny responded, returning the stare with one equally as hard.

‘How did Norman find out about the stabbing?’

‘Terry had asked him to pick up a suit from his tailor’s and deliver it here. Norman brought it over this afternoon. He found Terry lying on the bed in a pool of blood, drunk as a skunk. He ’phoned me and told me to get over here as fast as I could, and then I believe he tried to question Terry. But he didn’t find out anything. Terry was much worse earlier, unintelligible, from what Norman told me. That’s about it …’