Voice of the Heart (57 page)

‘A wind was blowing up when we came out of the forest, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad,’ Francesca told her, and then stopped in her tracks, exclaiming, ‘Oh Diana, how pretty Tutzi looks after her bath. Or is it Lutzi? I always get them mixed up, they’re so alike.’

‘It’s Lutzi,’ Diana said. Hearing his name, the dog glanced up at her, then leapt off her lap and raced towards Francesca, for all the world like a small woolly lamb as he gambolled across the floor. When the dog reached Francesca, he reared up on his hind legs and danced around her, pawing her affectionately and squeaking in excitement. Francesca bent down to fondle him, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘Yes, yes, I know,’ she laughed gaily. ‘I’m happy to see you too, Lutzi.’

Victor stood watching her in fond amusement. ‘What a gorgeous little animal.’

‘But we mustn’t forget his sister,’ Francesca interjected. ‘She’s just as beautiful as Lutzi. Where is she, Diana?’ Her eyes swept around the room. ‘They’re never far apart, those two.’

Diana nodded in the direction of the sofa. ‘She’s over there, squashed behind the cushions, observing us with great curiosity, as usual.’

Victor spied the dog, strode across the floor and sat down on the sofa. He picked her up in his large hands, holding her in front of his face. ‘Hello, Tutzi,’ he said. ‘I see you’re another fluffy little number. A real powder puff,’ he chuckled. The dog began to lick his hand, and Victor grinned at Diana and said, ‘I’ve never seen dogs like these. What’s the breed?’

‘Bichon Frise.’

Victor frowned, puzzlement on his face. ‘Afraid I’ve never heard of it.’ He glanced down at the dog, noting the silky fur, the unusual tail resembling an ostrich feather, the long
floppy ears, the black button of a nose, and the huge round eyes, sparkling like black diamonds. ‘She is a beauty,’ he enthused, and placed the dog on his lap. He began to scratch her head, still smiling broadly.

Diana was pleased by Victor’s loving reaction to her pets, and she told him, ‘They’re marvellous little dogs, Victor. Bright, intelligent and gay, with endearing habits. And although they’re rather pretty to look at, they’re also quite feisty. Like you, I’d never heard of Bichon Frises until Francesca told me about them. They’re her favourite dogs. A friend of hers in Yorkshire breeds them, and Lutzi and Tutzi are from the same Utter. I got them a couple of years ago when I was staying at Langley Castle. They were just ten weeks old, and so adorable I couldn’t resist them.’

‘Oh, so they’re an English breed,’ Victor said, continuing to fondle Tutzi, who had settled down with him contentedly, enjoying the attention.

‘No, as a matter of fact, they’re not. The Bichon comes from the Mediterranean region, the Spanish mainland to be exact. At least, that’s where they apparently originated. And they’re an ancient breed, dating back to the time of Cleopatra.’

‘No kidding,’ Victor exclaimed. ‘Tell me more about them. I’m crazy about dogs.’

Diana laughed dismissively. ‘I’ve been known to wax eloquent about them for a full hour, so perhaps you’d better not get me going on the subject now.’

‘Listen, I meant it. I’ve never seen such gorgeous dogs in my life. I’m very curious about them, so come on, fill me in,’ Victor insisted.

‘Well, all right, a potted history, but that’s all. It seems that Spanish sailors took the dogs abroad, around the fifteenth century, mainly to the Canary Islands, Tenerife in particular. That’s why they were known as the Bichon Tenerife for centuries. Later, the sailors used them for sale or barter at the Italian ports, and they became popular pets with the
Italian nobility. In the sixteenth century, after the French invaded Italy, the returning soldiers brought the little Bichon back to France. The dogs were court favourites during the reigns of Francis the First and Henry the Third. Fragonard often depicted them in his portraits of the French aristocracy, and actually, so did Goya, in his paintings of the Infantas of Spain, who also favoured the Bichons. During the reign of Napoleon the Third, in the middle of the eighteen hundreds, they also enjoyed great popularity, but they fell out of fashion in the early part of this century.’ Diana paused, lit a cigarette, and continued, ‘For a while the Bichon became a sort of little nomad, cavorting through the streets, accompanying the organ grinder and delighting everyone with his merry disposition and friendly personality. As a matter of fact, Bichons became extraordinarily talented trick dogs and performed complicated routines at fairs. They even went into the circus.’ Diana laughed. ‘Believe it or not, Victor, they
are
very acrobatic, given half a chance.’

‘And how!’ Francesca reiterated. ‘You should see the way Tutzi and Lutzi take flying leaps on and off my bed. And usually late at night, when I’m trying to sleep. Not only that, I can never get rid of them. They’d be happy to frisk around with me until dawn.’

‘I can’t say I blame them.’ Victor winked at her, and his smile was so wickedly suggestive, Francesca flushed. She turned her head, cursing herself for having given him such a marvellous opportunity to tease her.

Diana, who had not missed this small exchange, hid her amusement at them both, and went to join Francesca on the sofa. She said, in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘How do you like your tea, Victor? With milk or lemon?’

‘Lemon, please. So they became circus dogs. Mmmm. Very interesting.’ He ruffled Tutzi’s crown of, hair. ‘No wonder I had such an instantaneous affinity with them. Fellow entertainers, eh?’ Diana and Francesca smiled with
him, but before either were able to comment, he went on, ‘And then what happened?’

Diana poured the tea, and proceeded to explain, ‘Just after the First World War they became very popular again as pets, but it wasn’t until the early thirties that serious breeding programmes were started and the French Kennel Club admitted the Bichon to its Stud Book—’ Diana broke off and gaped at him. ‘Oh God, Victor, we got started on the dogs and I forgot all about the ’phone call. For you—from a Mr Watson. Actually, you only just missed him by about fifteen minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ Victor said, taking the cup from her, asking: ‘Does Jake want me to call him back?’

‘No. He gave me a message. He asked me to tell you that your suitcase will be here no later than tomorrow afternoon. He’s sending it by the film service Monarch use for delivering cans of film.’ She handed Francesca her cup, and added, ‘It’s being brought here directly, by a special courier.’

‘You didn’t send for your dinner jacket!’ Francesca gasped, looking at Victor disbelievingly, yet knowing at once this was exactly what he had done. She was flabbergasted, and it showed in her face. ‘Or go to all that dreadful expense just for Diana’s birthday party tomorrow. It wasn’t
necessary
, really it wasn’t.’

Victor was taken aback by her quiet vehemence. He wondered why she sounded so put out. ‘I also needed a few other things I’d forgotten, as well as my dinner jacket, kid,’ he answered, his manner mild. He addressed Diana. ‘I hope the guy finds this house okay. Did you give Jake directions?’

‘I started to do so, then I realized it would be very difficult for anyone to find this house easily, even a cab driver from Salzburg, who might well know something about the area. So I suggested to Mr Watson that he instruct the courier to take a taxi from the airport to the boutique I own in Königssee. From the shop he can telephone here, and Manfred will go down and pick up your suitcase.’

‘Hey, you’re terrific Diana. Smart thinking. Thanks a lot.’

‘It was rather gallant of you, sending for your dinner jacket for my little celebration. But Cheska’s right, it wasn’t necessary. I’d intended to ring all of my friends tonight, to tell them not to dress after all.’

‘So Francesca explained earlier. But I didn’t want to be the one to spoil your elegant evening. After all, you’ve been planning it for weeks apparently, and part of the fun on these special occasions is getting all gussied up, isn’t it?’ He smiled wryly. ‘If the men don’t wear their tuxedos, then you girls won’t be able to show off your pretty gowns, now will you?’

‘No, we won’t, that’s true. How sweet of you to be so considerate.’ Diana beamed at him, picked up a silver knife and cut a large chocolate layer cake topped with a mountain of thick whipped cream and decorated with cherries. ‘Do try this, it’s absolutely scrumptious.’

‘I’ll bet it is,’ he said with a grin, and then grimaced. ‘And it’s undoubtedly very fattening. I’ve got to stay trim for the picture. But okay, why not. Make it a small piece though, please.’ After a short pause, he remarked, ‘Can you give me the dope on the Jenner? What kind of a downhill run is it? And what are our skiing plans for tomorrow?’

Diana filled him in about the Jenner in detail, and the two of them were soon embarked on a long discussion about the skiing they would do the following morning. Francesca sat back, sipping her tea, not paying much attention to their conversation. She was regarding Victor from under her lashes, her mind turning things over. How ridiculous and extravagant, she thought. Only a Hollywood film star would do such a crazy thing… Imagine, having his dinner jacket flown in just for a party, just for
one
evening. Such a flagrant waste of money, so alien to her nature and her upbringing, appalled her, and unexpectedly she experienced a tiny flash of irritation. But it dissipated almost at once, and
she felt mean for having spoken so sharply to him a moment ago. If any other man had made such a grand gesture, she would have pronounced him a show-off and pretentious, but in all honesty she could not pin these labels on Victor. Instinctively she knew he had not given the merest thought to what it would cost, or the impression he would make. He never did, it seemed. He had simply wanted to please… please Diana, and perhaps even her. And it
was
gallant, she admitted, thinking of Diana’s words.

Francesca moved her position on the sofa, but continued to sneak furtive glances at him. He fascinated her more than ever. There were so many different sides to him. She wondered if she would ever truly know him, this complex and baffling man who resembled a small boy at times. She thought then of the gentleness that he had displayed with the dogs, and this made her smile inside, filled her with additional warmth towards him. She remembered something her father had once said, about gaining insight into a person’s character by watching their behaviour with dogs. Her father had gone on, ‘Better still, study the dog and the way it reacts towards a human, and you’ll get an even better picture of the person. Dogs
know
character.’ Yes, they do, she mused. It’s instinct, and it never fails.

Now her eyes were glued to Victor, and if he was aware of her intense appraisal, he was not permitting it to show. He was still talking about skiing, with great authority, and Francesca could not help noticing that Diana, a crack skier of championship standards, was hanging onto his every word. Francesca blinked, suddenly seeing Victor Mason through objective eyes, as Diana herself was undoubtedly seeing him at this very moment. He was extraordinarily handsome with his tanned, virile face, black wavy hair and expressive eyes. He exuded vitality and energy and sex appeal, his shoulders massive, his body powerfully built and showing to advantage in the black cashmere sweater. He was dressed entirely in black, and this dramatized his
dark good looks. True glamour, she thought, that’s what he possesses in such abundance. He was lolling on die sofa, draped across it in his usual fashion, one arm flung along its back, the other wrapped around Tutzi, his long legs crossed, his whole frame relaxed, and he was laughing as he spoke animatedly to Diana. More than ever conscious of him, Francesca shivered, remembering his kisses, his intimate caresses in the gazebo, his promise and its implications. She dropped her eyes, and poured herself another cup of tea, aware that her deepest feelings were bound to be showing in her face. She wasn’t very clever about masking what she felt, and most especially with him.

‘I do hope there’s some tea left.’

Christian’s vibrant voice penetrated Francesca’s reverie, and she swung her head, smiling at her cousin, who was poised in the doorway. ‘Hello, darling,’ she cried, relieved to see him. ‘And yes, there’s masses.’

As Christian wheeled himself up to the fireplace to join them, Victor added, ‘Plus a very lethal chocolate cake.’ His smile was jovial, but his eyes clouded over. He recognized that he and Francesca were really trapped now. They would not be able to retreat upstairs quite as quickly as he had planned, because of Christian’s arrival. Victor lit a cigarette and racked his brains for a way to escape with grace—and speed.

Victor took the stairs two at a time, sped along the corridor and stopped at the door of Francesca’s room. He opened it and went inside swiftly. He closed it firmly behind him and leaned against it, staring at her, a look of incredulity on his face. ‘Your timing is about as good as mine, kid! I couldn’t believe it when you asked Christian to show me the gun collection.’

‘Neither could I,’ she laughed a little nervously, her embarrassment of earlier returning. She gave him an apologetic grin, and went on, ‘It just popped out, before I could stop myself actually, and then you were stuck. And you looked so aghast, and furious with me, I had to flee. Sorry.’

‘You should be sorry. Jesus, I spent the last half hour trying to concentrate on what he was telling me about those lousy guns, and my mind was up here with you,’ he spluttered, merely feigning exasperation now.

‘You’re lucky you’ve escaped so quickly. My dear cousin generally takes an hour, sometimes even two, once he gets going on the history of that particular collection. He’s very thorough.’

‘I’ll say he is,’ Victor laughed, realizing she was teasing him, just as he was teasing her. He did not move, but remained near the door, looking at her intently. She was seated on the sofa near the fire, still wearing her yellow ski outfit. The room was filled with dusky shadows, for only one small reading lamp had been turned on, but a fire burned brightly, was casting a warm glow around her, bringing her into focus. In the flickering light from the flames she resembled a delicate statue sculpted from pure gold. Her hair was combed loose, was shot through with dancing fights,
and it fell in shimmering swatches around her face. Her skin seemed to have been polished to a golden sheen, was iridescent, and her large hazel eyes were the colour of tawny topazes, clear and bright.