The Triumph of Katie Byrne (20 page)

New York – Connecticut, 2000

‘Alas I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me – wilt thou? Open thine heart wide…’

E
LIZABETH
B
ARRETT
B
ROWNING

‘With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gather’d to thy heart.’

A
LICE
M
EYNELL

Katie stood alone in the middle of the stage, staring out into the empty auditorium. It was in darkness, and the stage was also dark, except for one pin-spot shining down on her red hair, illuminating her delicate face.

Taking several steps, she sat down on the bench and leaned forward, her right elbow on her knee, her chin resting on her right hand. After a moment, she began:

‘To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep – No more, and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to; ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep – To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause; there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life…’

Katie paused for an instant, to take a quick breath, and
in that infinitesimal moment of silence sudden applause broke out in the auditorium.

Startled, she looked up, her mood of intense concentration broken. She rose and peered out into the darkness, saw sudden movement in the stalls, and then a slender figure came forward, walking slowly down the aisle towards the stage.

A moment later Katie recognized Melanie Dawson.

‘I didn’t know you were there!’ Katie exclaimed. ‘I was certain I was totally alone in the theatre.’

‘Remind me to cast you in the leading role, if ever Harry and I produce
Hamlet
again. That’s one of the best renditions of the soliloquy I’ve ever heard. How about that? Not a bad idea, eh? A female playing Hamlet.’

‘I’d love it,’ Katie replied. ‘But you’ve only heard half of the speech.’

‘I know that. You’re very gifted, Katie, and I’m both thrilled and relieved you took the part of Emily Brontë. Thrilled because I know you’re going to be great in my show; relieved because I would’ve hated to see that talent of yours go to waste.’

‘Thanks for saying that, Melanie, your opinion of me as an actress is so important.’

Melanie was now looking across the proscenium, her face serious, as was her voice, when she said, ‘This part of Emily Brontë couldn’t be more perfect for you, Katie. You’ll see what it’ll do for your career.’

‘I’m glad you like the way I’ve been playing her. I was
worried at first, because my interpretation is not quite the same as Janette Nerren’s is in London.’

‘No, it’s not. But I’ve liked what you’ve been doing, right from the start of rehearsals. It’s the way
you
visualize Emily that makes your performance different. You’ve made
your
Emily Brontë a very modern woman, I guess that’s what appeals to me. But I’ve told you this before. And you know, you were explaining to me why you’re playing her the way you are a couple of weeks ago, and then we were interrupted as usual. So tell me now.’

‘It was a friend in Yorkshire, Rex Bellamy, who helped me to see Emily differently. He’s an expert on the Brontës, and he gave me some insight into her. He didn’t tell me how to play Emily, of course. But he did explain a great deal about her, what she was
really
like, not what others have turned her into over the last hundred years or so.’

‘In other words, he showed you the
real
woman, the woman behind the myth.’

‘Exactly.’

‘It’s working, Katie, as you well know. You’re doing something special up there on that stage.’

‘Emily was very modern, Melanie. Before her time. Independent, extremely go-ahead. She thought she was superwoman, that she could do anything, achieve anything, because of her strength of will. And she emancipated herself, in a sense.’

‘Sounds like quite a few women I know.’ Melanie began to chuckle, looking amused.

Katie joined in that laughter and then she said, ‘I’ll come down off the stage.’

‘No, no, I’ll come up there, and walk back to the dressing room with you.’

A couple of seconds later the two of them were heading backstage, and Melanie was saying, ‘I was looking for you when I got stopped by Paul Mavrolian. He wanted to talk about the lighting. You know what tech week is like. I saw you, out of the corner of my eye, heading for the stage. And when I was finally able to follow you, I realized you were about to perform, so I went down into the auditorium to watch.’

‘I see. But why are you looking for me? Do you want to talk to me about something?’

‘Yes. You’ll have to meet Selda Amis Yorke tomorrow. For your final costume fittings. You should go to her studio tomorrow morning, then get back here as soon as you can for rehearsals.’

‘Okay, I will. And thanks again, Melanie.’

‘You’ve already thanked me.’

‘I know, but I am so aware of your faith in me…I promise I won’t let you down.’

‘I know you won’t.’

Maureen Byrne was busy dusting the living room of Katie’s small apartment in New York when the phone
began to ring. Immediately she picked it up and said, ‘Hello?’

‘Is that you, Katie?’

‘No, it’s her mother. Who’s this?’

‘Oh
hello
, Mrs Byrne. How
are
you? This is Grant…Grant Miller.’

‘Hello Grant…Katie’s not here. She’s at rehearsals.’

‘Of course, how stupid of me. I keep forgetting she’s in the Brontë play. What time do you expect her?’

Maureen hesitated. She really couldn’t stand Grant Miller, and it took a great deal of her self-control to be civil to him. He was a bore with a face. His claim to fame, no doubt, although Katie had always said he had talent. Clearing her throat, her good manners kicking in, Maureen finally answered. ‘I guess she gets out of rehearsals about six.’

‘That sounds about right…ten until six. Those mandatory eight hours the producers make one work, tough, tough, Mrs Byrne. And I can only say, oh boy, am I
glad
I’ve moved out of the theatre and into the
movies.
’

‘Have you really, Grant?’ Maureen tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice, but she wasn’t sure that she had. ‘Can I give Katie a message?’

It was his turn to clear his throat. ‘Well, er, I’m not really sure, Mrs Byrne…I hate leaving a message. I really should talk to Katie about this…’

There was a sudden silence.

Maureen could hear him breathing at the other end of the phone. Reaching for the pen, sliding the small white pad towards her, she said in a brisk voice, ‘Give me your number, please. I’ll have her call you when she gets home. If she’s not too tired.’

‘I’m in Beverly Hills,’ he replied, and rattled off ten digits. ‘But as I just told you, Mrs Byrne, I don’t like to leave a message about a sensitive subject, so –’

‘You never said it was a sensitive subject, Grant,’ Maureen cut in.

‘It is though, you see…Look Mrs Byrne, maybe I should explain to you, and then you can give me
your
input, tell me what you think.’

‘Go ahead, Grant.’

‘It’s like this Mrs Byrne…I’m getting married. Now this will come as something of a shock to Katie, I know, and I don’t want her to take it too hard, get upset.’

Maureen was silent.

After a moment, he cleared his throat again, more nervously than before, and asked, ‘Are you there, Mrs Byrne?’

‘I am, Grant.’

‘It’s just…Well, look, I don’t want Katie to be hurt. How will she react?’

With relief, I’m certain of that, Maureen thought. But she said, in a no-nonsense tone, ‘Oh, don’t worry about Katie’s reaction, she’s totally involved with the play right
now. She’ll be the first to wish you much happiness. As I do. Goodbye, Grant.’

He was mumbling his goodbye as she hung up swiftly.

Good riddance, Maureen thought, staring at the phone, and then she whirled away, gaily flicking the feather duster over the bookcase, suddenly feeling like humming a tune for the first time in ages. But instead of humming she began to laugh. Michael had always said Grant Miller was pompous and he had just proved it.

How like Grant Miller to imagine Katie would be upset because he was about to marry. Ego, she thought, what an ego that man has. She and Katie were as close as they had always been, if not closer these days, and her daughter had confided, over a year ago now, that the relationship with Grant was going nowhere, that it was over, as far as she was concerned.

And Katie had moved on. Not to another man, unfortunately, but she had finally taken a decisive step and accepted a part in a Broadway show at long last.

Maureen was relieved about that; also relieved that Katie had returned to America. She had understood her daughter’s need to get out of New York, her desire to go to London to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Katie was very enamoured of English acting and actors, wanted to hone her own acting talent in the place she considered the best.

She and Michael had been more than willing to support her financially through this period, just as they had taken over this apartment while Katie was absent.

Her sister, Bridget, had found it for Katie, when she had first come to New York to study. It was on West End Avenue in the Seventies, in a small building with a doorman, safe, very convenient, and accessible to Broadway.

When Katie had announced her intention to go to London last year, Bridget had cautioned Maureen not to allow Katie to vacate the apartment. ‘She’ll be back before you know it, and this is rent-controlled, a bargain she’ll never find again. It will even be a bargain if and when the building goes co-op. And that
will
happen, you’ll see. So hang on to it, even if you have to take it over yourself.’

She and Michael had listened to Bridget and done exactly that, which had turned out to be an excellent move on their part. In the past year, during Katie’s absence, they had frequently driven into Manhattan to spend the weekend, go to the theatre or the movies, to shop, and have a meal with Bridget. And even Niall used the apartment from time to time, on quick trips to the city on business.

Niall.
Her eldest child. Maureen worried about him. He was twenty-nine and still not married, much to her disappointment. She’d always thought that by now she would’ve had at least one grandchild. But Niall wasn’t
even courting anyone special. Lots of girlfriends, though. Safety in numbers.

She didn’t worry about Fin. Her youngest was twenty-two and loved Oxford University, where he would graduate next year. He always struck her as being totally in harmony with himself, in control, at ease with his academic accomplishments, which were considerable. Not taking them for granted
exactly
, but accepting them in the most natural way. A bit of a loner, of course, but then Katie and Niall had made him that, not always allowing him into their tight circle of two. Fin was forever going forward, though. No, he’s not a worry at all, she thought. But then again, Fin was not as badly affected by the tragic events of ten years ago as Katie and Niall were.

Maureen sighed, and glanced at the photograph on one of the bookshelves.

Katie, Carly, and Denise.

The photograph had been taken when they were sixteen. At Katie’s Sweet Sixteen Party. She put the duster down on the desk, reached for the photograph in its dark wood frame, held it in both her hands, staring down at their faces. So young, so innocent, so tender.

Unexpectedly, tears sprang into Maureen’s deep blue eyes as she thought of their great promise…it had been stolen from them so viciously.

Katie was alive, but the violence had left its terrible
and very damaging imprint on her daughter. And on Michael and Niall and Maureen herself.

The violence
had
shattered their lives, turned everything upside-down, but she and Michael had managed eventually to recoup. And if Michael had thrown himself into work, as an antidote to pain, then they had all reaped the benefits of his actions ultimately. Because he had made a grand success. That little building and contracting company he had started all by himself, when he’d left school, wasn’t so little any more; if anything they had too much work, according to Niall. He was a full partner now with his father, and a very astute businessman as it turned out.

There were many newcomers in their area, mostly New Yorkers who sought weekend homes in the Litchfield hills, and traditional American Colonial was the favoured architectural style. Whether it was a remodelled old home brought up to modern standards, or a brand-new version, it was designed by Michael and built by their thriving family company.

Maureen was well aware that her daughter was the one who had suffered the most, never really recovering from the horror and grief of Denise’s murder, Carly’s unconscious state. It had stalled her acting career, slowed her down…in all ways. Until now.

At last Katie had found the courage to take this part, and perhaps now her whole life would change for the better. And it had struck Maureen, only the other day,
that Katie seemed to be accepting New York for what it was…a great and exciting metropolis, like no other place on earth.

Katie had not been happy in New York in the past, mostly because she had no special friends, in Maureen’s opinion. In many ways, she had clung to her aunt. Bridget had been happy to take her niece under her wing, and they had grown close. Bridget had never married, and so Katie had been like the daughter she had never had.

Maureen was grateful that her sister had looked after Katie. But it had never really worried her that her daughter was out on her own, living in the big city. Katie was sensible, smart, and she could look after herself very well. It was Katie’s presence in Connecticut that caused Maureen concern, put her on edge. For unlike Michael and Mac MacDonald, and even Katie herself, Maureen did not believe the murderer had left the Malvern area.

She knew, deep within her Celtic soul, that he was still there, somewhere close, leading the life he had always led. Whether he had killed any more young women she did not know. Certainly there had been no more murders in the area, to her knowledge. And in any case, Mac would have told Michael if there had been. Still, that did not necessarily mean he hadn’t killed again in the past ten years.
Somewhere else.