Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection

‘Yes. It’ll be nice to have a vacation, a rest, before I start the Beau Stanton picture. Well, this has certainly been my morning for unexpected news.’

‘Oh, really.’

‘Yes, Terry was also here to make an announcement. He came to tell me he had just signed a contract with Monarch. He’s off to Hollywood too.’ Katharine went on to explain about this, and finished, ‘Anyway, he’s giving a celebration lunch tomorrow, and he’d like you to join us, Frankie.’

‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t, Kath. I’m going up to town this afternoon.’

‘To London?’ Katharine blinked, looking surprised.

‘Yes. Have you forgotten? I told you ages ago that my cousin Diana’s arriving from Paris tomorrow. She’s going to be staying with me for a couple of weeks.’

‘Heavens, I did forget. But I’ve been so preoccupied with my work and with my scenes, everything else has been pushed out of my mind. God, actors are so selfish, so self-involved, it’s terrible. And I’m also very stupid! If only I had remembered, I could have asked Victor to give you a lift. He only just left for London himself, about an hour ago.’

‘Oh,’ Francesca said, and glanced down at her shopping basket. She picked it up and placed it on her knee, searching inside for something. Without lifting her head, not daring to look at Katharine, she continued, ‘Well, that would have been nice, but, in a way, I really prefer to go on the train. I want to check my notes, draft my next chapter. It’s a good opportunity to do a little work.’

‘How is the book coming along, darling?’ Katharine asked with eagerness, as always genuinely interested in Francesca’s writing career.

‘Quite well, actually. Better than I expected, to be honest.’ Francesca took the package out of the basket. ‘This is also for you. I know you’ve become addicted to parkin, so I asked Val to make some for you.’

‘Aren’t you a love. Thanks so much.’ Katharine placed the package on the coffee table, and threw Francesca a wistful look. ‘Then you won’t be at Langley for dinner tonight after all,’ she stated in a tiny voice.

‘No, I won’t, Kath. I’m so sorry about that, but I did promise Diana I’d meet her plane tomorrow morning, and I can’t let her down.’

‘Oh, I know. Still, I was really looking forward to being with you.’

‘Don’t be silly, Kath dear,’ Francesca said softly, seeing the disappointment registering on Katharine’s face. ‘You’ll have Kim entirely to yourself, and that’s much more romantic.’

Katharine twisted the gold signet ring on her little finger, a sense of misgiving invading her. She had counted on Francesca’s presence at dinner, for apart from enjoying her company, she was worried about the prospect of being alone with Kim. His sister always acted as a buffer between them. In a rush, she confided, ‘He’s been awfully annoyed with me. I’ve had to put him off so many times this week. He blames me, when it’s really not my fault at all. He seems to forget I’m in Yorkshire to work. That’s so unfair of him. Also I’ve been under enough strain and pressure without having to cope with his jealousy.’ She sighed. ‘Mark’s tyrannical, Victor’s dictatorial, and as for Kim, well, he’s just plain unreasonable.’

Francesca said nothing. She was on Katharine’s side and filled with sympathy for her, patently aware that she spoke the truth. Mark and Victor were demanding, a couple of slave drivers, in her opinion, and Kim had been exceptionally difficult, impossible really. On the other hand, she did understand her brother’s feelings. She was going through much the same thing with Victor, who had been so involved with the picture, and embroiled in its manifold problems, he had had little time for her.

After a moment, Francesca remarked quietly, ‘I have a feeling Kim realizes he’s been unfair to you, Kath. I had a long talk with him the other day, and told him he was being perfectly boorish, immature, and that he’d better start behaving himself, otherwise he’d lose you. I hope you don’t mind me butting in.’

‘Of course not,’ Katharine said. Her face brightened. ‘I’m grateful. I really am, darling. And perhaps you are right about the two of us being alone. It will give us a chance to talk things out properly, clear the air.’

Francesca, still wishing to play the peacemaker, quickly pointed out, ‘Remember one thing, Katharine. Kim’s in love with you, so it’s only natural he wants to be with you as much as possible. As for being jealous …’ She laughed softly, and continued, ‘You are very lovely, and you’re surrounded by lots of men on the picture. If he weren’t jealous, he’d be abnormal. You can’t hold that against him, can you?’

‘I suppose not,’ Katharine acknowledged, albeit grudgingly. ‘However, I don’t give him any reasons to be jealous, honestly I don’t, Frankie,’ she insisted.

Francesca looked at her fondly. ‘Men don’t always need a reason to behave in outrageous ways. Sometimes they just can’t help themselves.’ Rising, she picked up the basket. ‘You’ll see, everything’ll be fine this evening, and from the way Kim was talking about you yesterday, he’ll be all sweetness and light.’

‘I hope so,’ Katharine replied, getting up from the chair. She linked her arm through Francesca’s and walked with her to the door. ‘I’ll be glad when we get back to London next week. Things’ll be easier then.’ She hugged Francesca, then stood away from her, gazing at her. Quite unexpectedly she felt a rush of warmth in her throat, was filled with the most tender of feelings. Impulsively, she said, ‘You’re the sweetest, dearest friend I’ve ever had in my whole life, Frankie. And the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘And you’re very special to me too, Kath,’ Francesca answered. ‘You’re like the sister I never had.’ Francesca’s face became solemn, reflective. ‘I don’t think that’s really quite the right analogy, because not all sisters are as close and as loving as we are. To me you’re better than a sister, better than a best friend even.’

Katharine’s unique turquoise eyes turned misty, and there was a tremulous quality to her tone as she said, ‘What a truly beautiful thing to say, darling. And that’s exactly the way I feel about you too, and I always will.’

Francesca’s affirmation of her friendship had given Katharine a marvellous sense of security, for approval was essential to her well being. Besides, she genuinely cared for Francesca, and was gratified to know her feelings were reciprocated. And so, after the other girl had left, she was filled with euphoria as she busied herself in the suite, singing gaily whilst she went about various small tasks. Finally she went through into the bedroom to select an outfit to wear to lunch with Terry and Estelle.

Sadly, her happy carefree mood was shortlived. Quite suddenly thoughts of the Earl’s impending marriage to Doris Asternan intruded, forcing everything else to the back of her mind. She hung the blue linen suit on the open door of the wardrobe and sat down heavily on the bed, staring at the suit but not really seeing it at all. And she focused her mind on Doris Asternan.

From the first moment they had met, Katharine had understood instinctively that she was confronting a real adversary. Time had only confirmed this. Doris did not like her at all. Not that the older woman was exactly blatant in her dislike. She strove always to conceal her antipathy behind girlishly-made confidences, and claims of sistership because they were both American. With her acuity of perception, Katharine knew that Doris’s pleasant acceptance of her was entirely counterfeit. The woman did not accept her at all, neither did she approve of her relationship with Kim. Furthermore, much to Katharine’s irritation, Doris was excessively possessive of the Cunninghams, seemed to believe she had an exclusive, relationship with them, and was also their self-appointed protector. This was particularly in evidence when it came to fellow Americans. Katharine recalled how keenly Doris had scrutinized and questioned Victor when they had both been guests at Langley Castle in May. Just as she herself had been weighed up and down, and so assiduously grilled about her early life in Chicago she had been utterly taken aback. But somehow she had managed to sidestep Doris’s probings without it seeming as if she had something to hide.

I don’t have anything to hide, Katharine said to herself, and then groaned out loud. How stupid she had been. She had told a silly little white lie when she had first started classes at the Royal Academy – she had pretended to be an orphan. Repetition had propagated the lie to such an extent she was not only stuck with it, but hamstrung by it. How could she possibly tell anyone the truth now? And why in God’s name had she ever said such a foolish thing in the first place? The answer eluded her.

A wave of self-pity washed over her, but she squashed it before it had a chance to take root. She must concentrate on her most pressing priority, which was rectifying the lie, and the only way to do that was to tell the truth and in so doing clarify the situation about her background.

She grimaced, thinking now of Doris. As a girl friend of David Cunningham’s she had not seemed to be a threat; but as his wife she would have great influence on him.

‘Oh damn,’ Katharine exclaimed out loud, worrying about Doris, wondering how to get around her. Katharine, clever and inventive, turned and turned the problem over in her mind, but no solution was forthcoming. Why had Doris invited her to the South of France? Had it been the Earl’s idea? Could Francesca have suggested it? Was Doris merely attempting to appear generous of nature solely for the Earl’s benefit? Or was Doris setting her up, trying to trap her? This last possibility was so unsettling to Katharine that she brushed it aside swiftly. However, a valid reason for this show of friendliness on Doris’s part remained as elusive as a means of circumventing her, and although she concentrated on both for some time, in the end Katharine gave up in exasperation.

Glancing at the clock, she sprang off the bed. Terry was expecting her in the bar in fifteen minutes and she could not waste any more time dwelling on Doris Asternan and the Earl.

I’ll think things out more carefully later, she told herself. After all, it’s still only June. Slipping out of her skirt and blouse, she put on the blue linen suit, stepped into a pair of bone kid pumps, and then turned to look at herself in the mirror. How pale she looked, and drawn around her eyes. Although she was not over fond of make-up and always used it sparingly, Katharine dipped into several small pots, adding a touch of delicate pink rouge on her high cheekbones, and a film of hazy turquoise eyeshadow on her lids.

Satisfied with the overall effect, she ran a comb through her hair. And she made her mind up to one thing: she must be especially sweet to Kim this evening, and in the weeks to come, conciliatory, charming and adoring. Yes, she must use all her not inconsiderable powers to ensure his complete devotion and abiding love. This was an imperative, and surely it was the key to everything … her inevitable triumph over Doris, her future life as Kim’s wife, as the Viscountess Ingleton. She repeated the title, liking the sound of it, and a happy smiled expunged the worry in her eyes.

The smile was still intact some ten minutes later when Katharine reached the lobby of the hotel and headed in the direction of the bar. In her usual way, she had convinced herself, somewhat unwisely, that she could bend life to her will; in consequence her problems had evaporated completely. And Doris Asternan had been dismissed from her mind.

Chapter Thirty (#ulink_151944d2-fae9-56c1-be80-1088b45b9642)

The huge soaring oak doors of Langley Castle stood wide open. Bright sun poured in through this ancient portal, gilding everything to pure gold, diminishing the overriding austerity of the immense and high-flung great hall built entirely of grey stone. Dust motes rose up, insect like, in these slanting corridors of trembling light, the only motion in the quiescent air, and there was no sound at all except for the faint whispering of the trees outside.

Francesca stood poised on the staircase looking down, gripped for an instant by that sense of the past which so often invaded her at unexpected moments when she was in her ancestral home. Erected in 1360, by one James Cunningham of Langley, a great magnate and warrior knight who fought at the side of the Black Prince, it had remained relatively unchanged since the fourteenth century. Her eyes swept over the suits of armour glinting in the dappled sunshine, focused on the crossed swords mounted over the doorway, moved on to take in the shields and silken banners of their armorial bearings that spilled lively colour onto the sombre walls, settled finally on the huge bowl of flowers on the long oak table, which she had arranged early that morning. Suddenly a butterfly floated in, hovered over the mixed white blossoms, and then fluttered away, a fleeting flash of intense scarlet on the languorous air. The tranquility and beauty of the scene below her was a palpable thing, and it made her catch her breath with delight. On gleaming summer days such as this the castle was the most perfect spot in the whole world to her, and one she never wanted to leave.

Now a tiny frown marred her joyful face, and she thought wistfully: If only Victor did not insist on this continuing secrecy we would have been able to spend the weekend here, instead of rushing off to London. How lovely that would have been. As it was, he was rip-roaring anxious to be gone, could not wait to escape from the Spa Hotel in Ripon, and the rest of the cast and crew. She knew only too well that he had found the past ten days constricting, and although she had not seen much of him, they had talked every day on the telephone. He had grumbled constantly about his lack of privacy, the loss of his free time, meagre as it was, and the tiresome role of peacemaker which had been thrust upon him by Mark Pierce’s curious irrationalities. She exhaled quietly. Victor himself could also be perverse at times, powerful and compelling in his vehement attentions to her when they were alone, detached and coolly indifferent when they were in public. Dismaying though this dichotomy in his behaviour was, most of all she hated the secrecy he was still enforcing. Straightforward of nature, deception did not sit easily on her young shoulders, and she loathed dissembling with Kim and Katharine, especially Katharine in whom she was longing to confide. But she had to abide by his wishes, or perhaps risk losing him if she did not.

The sound of subdued voices penetrated her consciousness. Several visitors were entering the great hall from the Widow’s Gallery where most of the famed Langley Collection was housed. They were escorted by Osborne, the castle guide, who conducted the tours and gave a brief history of the Cunninghams of Langley. Reaching the bottom of the wide stone staircase, she smiled and nodded to them, exchanged a quick word with Osborne before going into the private wing of the castle not open to the public. She crossed the anteroom, hurried through the vast book-filled library and out into the circular hall of their private apartments. This was smaller and cosier than the immense stone hall, panelled in dark wood and furnished with graceful Georgian pieces. Various rooms opened off the hall, and a curving staircase of elaborately carved oak led to the upper floors.

Francesca pushed open the door of the kitchen and poked her head around it. Val, the housekeeper, stood in front of a table near the windows preparing a summer pudding of mixed berries and bread. Francesca said, ‘I’m about to leave, Val.’

The housekeeper swung around quickly, her face lighting up. ‘Righto, M’lady,’ she replied. ‘Now, are you sure you don’t want me to run you into Harrogate to the train?’

‘No, thanks, Val. It’s sweet of you to offer, but you’ve enough to do today. I’ll catch the bus at the end of Langley Lane. I’ll see you next weekend, and don’t forget, my cousin will be with me.’

‘Yes, I know, M’lady. I’m really looking forward to seeing Princess Diana again, and so is Melly. I’ll have everything ready, don’t you fret. I know she likes the Lavender Suite, and it’ll be prepared for her. By the by, I sent Rosemary out to walk Lada, and to cut some flowers for you to take to London. You’ll find her in Frances’s Garden. When you leave will you send her up for lunch please, M’lady?’

‘Yes, of course. And the flowers were a lovely thought, Val. Thanks. Cheerio.’

‘Goodbye, M’lady, and have a pleasant journey.’

Francesca hurried back to the circular hall, glancing at the Victorian grandfather clock in the corner as she did so and realizing she was running late. She picked up her small overnight case and her shoulder bag and went outside, walking rapidly along the paved terrace and down the stone steps at the end of it.

In the distance Francesca could see Rosemary and Lada, the little Bichon Frise puppy Victor had given her in April. Francesca had wanted to call the dog Enchilada, and although Victor had been highly amused, he had said the name wasn’t appropriate for such a pretty little girl. And so they had compromised, agreeing finally on the abbreviation Lada. The dog, now almost six months old, had become Francesca’s shadow, trotting after her devotedly wherever she went. Both she and Victor had become extremely attached to the white ball of fluff, and he had insisted she bring the puppy with them this weekend.

The sunken garden was centuries old and had been designed and built by the Sixth Countess of Langley, the renowned Frances, whose great beauty had been immortalized by Gainsborough and Romney, and to whom Francesca bore such a striking resemblance. For this reason it was often referred to as Frances’s Garden, and today it was ablaze with rafts of intense colour, and aromatic with the scent of June roses, the lavender that grew in profusion along the borders and the delicate mingled fragrances of the perennial summer species now in riotous bloom.

A smile glanced across Francesca’s face as she drew closer. Rosemary, Val’s ten-year-old daughter, was walking Lada around the paved garden paths on the leash, looking sedate and important, a large bunch of roses and other flowers clasped tightly in her free hand.