The Triumph of Katie Byrne (10 page)

‘Such as what? Give me one.’

‘Well…’ Katie glanced away, biting her lip, looked around the restaurant, and when she brought her gaze
back to the producer, she murmured quietly, and very truthfully, ‘I don’t think I want to live in New York, Mel.’

‘Oh, well then, that’s a different matter.’ Melanie eyed her carefully, thinking, for the umpteenth time, that there was something in her past that troubled Katie. She had asked her several times before if there was a problem, but Katie had always said there was not. Melanie prided herself on her psychological insight into people, as well as her shrewdness and acumen as a theatrical producer, and she was convinced there
was
a problem, a liability perhaps, of some sort. And Katie was apparently unwilling to share it. No actress in her right mind would turn down the role of Emily Brontë on Broadway, in a red-hot hit play from London. Not an actress of Katie’s talent and calibre. Not unless there was…an impediment. There is, and that’s why she doesn’t want to come home to New York, Melanie now decided.

Taking a deep breath, the producer said, ‘I’m signing Georgette Allison for the leading role of Charlotte, and Harrison Jordan for Branwell. Two big stars, as you well know, Katie. That wouldn’t do you any harm, to be in a play with them, now would it?’

Katie reached out, put a hand on Melanie’s arm. ‘I’m so appreciative, I truly am, Melanie. I do want to do it…but I want to be really sure that I can, that I’m up to it before I say yes.’

Melanie nodded, her face softening. She and her husband were very fond of this young woman, and they believed she could be a great actress, a star. If she wanted to be. Melanie said, ‘All right, darling. Let me know tomorrow.’

Xenia Leyburn paced up and down the floor of the study in her house in Farm Street, Mayfair, a cell phone pressed to her ear. She was in conversation with her business partner in New York, and at this moment she was listening intently. Finally, she responded, ‘I’m sure I can do it quickly. I’ll think about it, then I’ll send you an e-mail or fax tomorrow, Alan. But what about the invitations? They have to be done immediately, don’t they?’

She heard a noise, and while continuing to listen to Alan Pearson across the Atlantic, she walked over to the door of the study and looked out. At the sight of Katie Byrne she raised a hand in greeting, then brought her attention back to the phone call. ‘Well, there’s no problem then. None for me either, so let’s talk tomorrow, Alan. Bye.’

Going out into the hall, Xenia watched Katie fastening the chain, shooting the bolt and double-locking the front door. At once she began to laugh, and exclaimed, ‘You don’t have to do that, Katie. This place is safer than Fort
Knox once the alarm’s on! And you should know that by now.’

‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ Katie said, turning around, smiling at her friend. ‘I always lock doors. It’s a habit.’

‘So I’ve noticed,’ Xenia murmured, then, changing the subject, she asked, ‘How was your evening?’

Throwing off her black cape and hanging it in the hall cupboard, Katie said, over her shoulder, ‘The play was wonderful, really great, and then afterwards I met Melanie at the Ivy for supper.’

‘Oh very nice indeed!’ Xenia remarked, and heading towards the kitchen, she went on, ‘How about a cup of tea before we go to bed?’

‘I wouldn’t say no.’ Katie followed Xenia down the corridor, and into the kitchen. Seating herself at a small table in the middle of the room, she added, ‘The cast was wonderful, and the play’s really outstanding, a superb drama. I never knew very much about the Brontës, although I’ve always loved their books.’

After filling the electric kettle with water and turning it on, Xenia joined Katie at the table. ‘In a way, their whole life was a drama,’ she said, ‘so I’m not surprised it translates well to the stage. Actually, they all had quite colourful lives, even though a great deal of their time was spent at Haworth.’

‘Do you know a lot about the Brontës?’

‘Course I do, Katie, it’s local fodder. You haven’t
forgotten I lived in Yorkshire for a great deal of my childhood, have you?’

‘Yes, it had slipped my mind for a moment, since I think of you as International with a capital I.’

Xenia burst out laughing, and pushed her hand through her luxuriant brown hair. ‘Oh yes, Miss Cosmopolitan, sophisticated little me.’ She laughed again. ‘You know very well I’m a country girl at heart.’

Katie shook her head. ‘That’s not
exactly
how I see you! Nor do the rest of your friends, I’m sure. You were travelling the world with your father at the tender age of six, staying in all the best hotels in London, Paris and New York, and living the high life.’

‘Don’t forget Cannes, Nice, Vienna, and L.A.’ Xenia grinned, and then jumped up when the kettle began to whistle. Taking two mugs out of the cupboard, she added tea bags, turned off the kettle and poured hot water into the mugs. ‘I made green tea, is that all right?’

‘I prefer it, thanks.’

Xenia brought the mugs to the table, put one in front of Katie, and sat down. ‘You know, when I was seventeen and just out of school, on my own for the first time, I found the world a difficult place to function in for a while. And I suppose I can only blame that on my father and hotel living.’

Katie frowned at her over the rim of the mug. ‘What do you mean? I’m not really following you.’

Xenia leaned forward and explained: ‘The concierge of every hotel we stayed in was my father’s good right hand, and eventually also mine. Want a letter posted, a reservation made for a plane, a train, a car, a restaurant, a hairdresser, a hotel room in another city, or another country. Call the concierge, he’ll fix it. That was my father’s motto. He truly believed that if you knew the head concierge at the Dorchester in London and the head concierge at the George V in Paris, you didn’t have to worry about a thing. The world was your oyster. Those beloved concierges would simply ease the way for you, wherever you were going or whatever your needs were.’

Xenia paused for a sip of tea, then continued, ‘Do you know, I didn’t have a clue how to post a letter for years. You see, I’d always given my letters to the front desk in a hotel, to a concierge, to be precise.’

Katie grinned. ‘You sound so dismayed, but I think it’s a cute story. Anyway, you weren’t always with your father, if I remember correctly. You once told me that sometimes you were with your mother. Didn’t she ever take you to a post office? Or show you how to cope with the real stuff in life?’

Shaking her head, Xenia explained. ‘First of all, my mother’s family home is in a remote area of Yorkshire, which is where she was living in those days, and where I lived when I was with her. We were staying with her brother, my Uncle William. And secondly, she wasn’t
very well when I was a little girl. I think it was her chronic ill health that actually came between my parents, because she couldn’t function properly. Maybe her illness was psychosomatic…I don’t know. Anyway, because she wasn’t well, I spent a lot of time with Timothy and his sister, Verity, when I was growing up. My mother had spent most of her own childhood with
their
father, so they were sort of like family to me. Tim, Verity, and I occupied a dream world at Burton Leyburn…it’s the most extraordinary house, unique really. Certainly my life there was something of a contrast to life with my fast-travelling, globe-trotting, high-rolling, movie-producer father.’

‘I can well imagine. You must miss him,’ Katie murmured sympathetically, knowing how much she would have missed her own father if he had died.

‘Oh yes, I do miss him. A lot,’ Xenia replied. ‘He was a wonderful father, if a little crazy at times. He was very colourful, you know, Katie, and you’d have loved him. He was so handsome, a Russian émigré, taken out of Russia as a child, just before the Revolution, brought up in Paris and Nice by his mother, living in Hollywood eventually. And horribly addicted to London, Savile Row suits, gambling, and making movies. And to me, of course. He was very adoring of me.’

‘He sounds like quite a character.’

Xenia merely smiled, sipped her tea, remembering with great love and much sadness her beloved father,
Victor Alexandrovich Fedorov, who had died when she was twenty-two.

They sat quietly together, drinking their tea in silence for a few moments. There had been an instant rapport between them when they were introduced by Katie’s Aunt Bridget in New York; for the last two years they had been fast friends and room-mates in London for a year. Although they were from totally different backgrounds, they nevertheless understood each other very well. The silences between them were companionable; and they enjoyed being together.

‘I know you grew up with Tim, but were you in love with him then? When you were a child?’ Katie asked, breaking into Xenia’s thoughts.

Xenia nodded. ‘Oh yes, I was. I loved Tim forever.’

Katie noticed the sad, faraway look in Xenia’s large, transparent eyes and, realizing they were on delicate ground, she changed the subject by saying, ‘Guess what? Melanie introduced me to Christopher Plummer tonight. He was having dinner at the Ivy, and came over to say hello to her.’

‘He’s a remarkable actor,’ Xenia answered. An elegant dark brow lifted, when she asked, ‘Is he going to be in one of her plays?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t think so.’ Katie paused and there was a short silence before she cleared her throat, and went on, ‘Actually, Melanie offered
me
a part tonight.’

‘She
did
? What kind of part?’

‘The second lead in
Charlotte and Her Sisters.
The part of Emily Brontë.’

‘That’s absolutely wonderful, Katie. Congratulations!’

‘Don’t say that yet. I don’t know if I’m going to take it.’

‘You don’t. Whyever not? You should jump at it.’ Xenia threw her a puzzled look, frowning and shaking her head. ‘Why would you even hesitate?’

‘I’m just not sure I can do it. Emily was English, I’m American and –’ Katie cut herself off, looking troubled.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Xenia chastised sharply. ‘Of course you can do it! You’re a talented and gifted actress, and a hard worker. This part’s a snap for you, believe me.’

‘Thank you. But I feel very uncertain about playing this part. I told Melanie I’d like to sleep on it, and give her an answer tomorrow.’

‘I hope that’s going to be in the affirmative,’ Xenia swiftly responded. ‘You’ve got to accept it. Listen, you’re not actually signing the contract tomorrow. You can always get out of it later, if you feel you must. Just say yes for now.’

‘I couldn’t do that, it’s not fair to Melanie.’

Xenia rose, began to walk up and down the kitchen, those beautiful grey eyes of hers growing thoughtful.

Finally, she came to a stop, put a hand on Katie’s shoulder. ‘This is what we’re going to do. You’ll give Melanie Dawson a ring in the morning, and tell her
you’re accepting the part. Then I’ll take you up to Yorkshire tomorrow. For a few days. We’ll get the morning Pullman train from King’s Cross to Harrogate. And we’ll stay with Verity at Burton Leyburn.

‘On Friday or Saturday, I’ll drive you over to Haworth. You can commune with the ghost of Emily Brontë on those wild, untenanted moors she loved so much and where she spent so much time with her dog, Keeper. We’ll visit the Black Bull where Branwell always got horrendously drunk, and stroll around the village streets. We’ll even walk over the moors to Top Withens. It’s a long trek but worth it. It’s a ruin now, but it’s supposedly the house Wuthering Heights was modelled on. We can also spend an hour or so in the parsonage. That’s now the Brontë Museum, and they have many of the Brontë manuscripts on display, including some of the Juvenilia, the stories of Gondal and Angria which they wrote when they were children. All very Byronic and melodramatic, and forerunners of their adult novels.’ Xenia stared at Katie. ‘So don’t you think that sounds great?’

‘Yes…’ Again, Katie seemed hesitant.

‘Listen to me, Katie Byrne. Once you’ve visited where they lived, seen the bleakness of the moors, the stormfilled skies, you’ll understand the Brontës much better, especially Emily. That place is so windswept and harsh it had to have had an influence on them, on their characters, and ultimately on their writing. Also, there are a lot of books on the Brontës in the library at
Burton Leyburn, plenty of reading matter for you. So say you’ll come.’

Katie was silent.

‘Oh come on, say
yes
,’ Xenia cried, growing impatient.

Katie was touched by Xenia’s invitation to Yorkshire and she looked across at her, and finally nodded. ‘It’s really lovely of you to offer to do this for me. But what about your work? I thought you had to put together a big party for the Millennium, and were having problems?’

‘And how,’ Xenia replied. ‘We had no venue for that party, and couldn’t find anywhere that was suitable, or available on New Year’s Eve. Alan and I were beginning to panic, and then today a New York couple who were giving a wedding anniversary party unexpectedly cancelled it. They’re getting a divorce! We were having it at the Plaza Hotel ballroom, and so,
voilà!
Now we have an empty ballroom for our other client. Problem solved. What was worrying Alan a while ago was the theme for the Millennium bash. The Plaza ballroom is such a big room for a private party, but I believe I’ve come up with a theme he likes.’

‘What is it?’

‘I suggested turning the ballroom into a replica of the Winter Palace in St Petersburg. He wasn’t sure about it at first, but then the client just flipped when she heard what I had in mind. I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him I’ll be in Yorkshire, in case he needs me. The great thing
is that I can work on the party theme at Burton Leyburn; that house is bound to inspire me. When you see it, you’ll understand what I mean.’

Katie suddenly realized how important it was to Xenia that they go to Yorkshire where she had spent so much of her childhood. It was obvious from the sudden flush on her normally pale cheeks, the sparkle in those unusual eyes that it had a special hold on her.

‘All right,’ Katie said. ‘I’ll come to Yorkshire with you, Xenia.’

‘And you’ll accept the part of Emily?’

Katie took a deep breath. ‘Okay. I’ll call Melanie and tell her I want to do it, that I’m going to Yorkshire to research the Brontës…I can always cancel when we get back to London.’

Over my dead body, Xenia thought, but she remained silent.