Voice of the Heart (6 page)

She did not want anything to disrupt or threaten her orderly and contented life. The life she had so painstakingly created with Harrison and his family. A life she enjoyed, and was comfortable living, and one she was determined to protect at all cost. Nelson was correct in his assessment of her former friend. Wherever Katharine Tempest went she dragged trouble in her wake. No, Katharine could not be permitted to enter her life again.

A sigh of deep sadness broke the heavy silence in the shadow-filled room. She and Katharine had been so very
close once, inseparable for years, until that ugly denouement when everything had erupted so explosively and the loving friendship had ended abruptly, and with acrimony. They had not seen each other since that day, over ten years ago, and during this time Francesca had schooled herself not to think of Katharine, and eventually, as the years passed, she had succeeded in achieving her goal. And she had forgiven Katharine long ago, forgiven her for so many things, in the wisdom of her own growing maturity. But seemingly she had not forgotten. She understood that now.

Memories began to assail her. Memories of other times, other places, other people. She endeavoured to push them aside, clearly recognizing that memories were ineluctably treacherous. Particularly memories of Katharine, for they were shrouded in a web of turbulent emotions and raw feelings, and they evoked pain, the pain of Katharine’s own treachery and betrayal of her. But Katharine had not always been like that. Not in the beginning. She had been different then. They had all been different at that point in time.

At that point in time
. Francesca repeated the phrase to herself, and she thought: There is no past, no present, no future. Time is not circumscribed. Albert Einstein proved that time is a dimension. The fourth dimension. Therefore all time exists
now
.

The decades dissolved. It was a gradual dissolve, like a film running in slow motion before her eyes, and everyone was in perfect focus, and brilliantly captured on the film of her memory—the way they were then. And the year 1956 was as real to Francesca as it had been twenty-three years ago.

It was now.

‘Don’t be an old stick-in-the-mud,’ Kim said with a genial smile, lolling nonchalantly against the door frame. ‘You just said you don’t have a date this evening. Come on, Francesca, be a good sport.’

Francesca was seated behind the large cluttered desk in the upstairs study of their father’s London house. She put down the pen she was holding and leaned back in the chair, regarding her brother with affection. She was amazed to discover that for once in her life she did not feel like being a good sport, not even for her adored Kim. She had been working all day, and now, in the late afternoon, she was exhausted yet determined to finish what she had set out to do that morning. Her brother’s unexpected arrival had surprised her, so absorbed was she in her papers.

Conscious he was waiting for a response, she shook her head, and said in a weary voice that was also surprisingly firm, ‘I’d like to help you, Kim, but I simply can’t. I have to finish this research. I really do. I’m sorry.’

‘You and your mouldy old books!’ Kim exclaimed in good-natured exasperation. ‘Whenever I see you these days you’re peering into them as if your life depended on it. Who cares about Chinese Gordon anyway? If the old geezer hadn’t been dead for hundreds of years I’d say you had some sort of girlish crush on him. I don’t see the point—’

‘Gordon hasn’t been dead for hundreds of years,’ Francesca interrupted mildly enough, but her eyes were intense. ‘Seventy-one years, to be precise,’ she went on, ‘and anyway, you know very well I am going to write a biography about him one day.’

‘You’re wasting your time, my girl. Nobody will buy it.’

‘Yes they will!’ Francesca retorted fiercely, her weariness instantly dissipating. ‘There are a lot of people who are interested in British history, and a great soldier and hero like Chinese Gordon. I intend to take a fresh approach, to delve into the psychology of the man. It will be a modern study, and I’m going to write it in such a way it will make very popular reading. Father agrees with me. He thinks it will work, and that it might even be commercial. So there, Kim Cunningham!
Shoo!
Go away and leave me in peace.’

Kim was taken aback by her vehemence, and he realized, for the first time, that she was in earnest about the book, a project she had talked about for some months. Inwardly he reproached himself for his remark, which had been made in an off-hand manner, and thoughtlessly so. He had not only given offence, but hurt her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Apart from being his sister and very dear to him, Francesca was his best friend and confidante, and they had always been inseparable.

He tried to be conciliatory. ‘I’m sorry, Francesca darling. I didn’t mean to be dismissive. Father is undoubtedly right.’ He flashed her a wide smile tinged with self-mockery. ‘What do I know about books? I’m not blessed with intellectual capacities, like you and the old man. You’ve got all the brains in the family, my love. What’s a dull farmer like me to do?’ He grimaced and went on, ‘My only excuse is that I didn’t quite understand how serious you were about the book. I will be supportive, I promise. Truce?’

Francesca managed a watery smile and a nod, not trusting herself to speak. She buried her head in the papers, so that he would not see her incipient tears.

Aware of her discomfiture, Kim wisely remained silent. He positioned himself in front of the fireplace, warming his back, his long legs spread wide apart, his hands thrust into the pockets of his tweed jacket. Made of fine cloth and tailored in the best Savile Row tradition, this had long since seen better days, was worn and out of shape. But Kim had
such an air of distinction about him, wore the jacket with such panache, its shabbiness was hardly noticeable.

Adrian Charles ‘Kim’ Cunningham, the 14th Viscount Ingleton, who would one day become the 12th Earl of Langley, was not handsome in the given sense of that word; however, a number of unusual qualities combined to lift him out of the ordinary. He was a pleasant-looking young man, with a fair complexion, light brown hair that was soft and straight, and a sensitively-wrought face whose chief characteristic was one of gentleness. His personality was most apparent in his generous mouth, always touched with laughter, and in his liquid grey eyes, which were, for the most part, illuminated by kindness, humour and goodwill. They rarely flashed with anger or temperament, for Kim was easy-going and placid by nature.

He had inherited the tall, lean build of his ancestors, but his slender-looking frame was deceptive. Blessed with a grace and elegance unusual in a man, he carried himself with extraordinary self-assurance that bespoke his breeding and his centuries-old lineage. All in all, at twenty-one, he was so prepossessing, so sincere, and so good natured, everyone, and most especially young women, found him to be an engaging friend and companion.

As he stood reflectively gazing at the tips of his shoes, waiting for his sister to compose herself, Kim was thinking of one young woman in particular, and wondering how to persuade Francesca to agree to his plans for that evening. After a moment he said, ‘Well, if you feel you must work, I suppose you must. But it is Saturday night, and to tell you the truth, I thought it would be fun for you to meet this girl. You’re always telling me that you love cooking and find it relaxing.’

Francesca, who had been making a show of sifting through the papers scattered across the desk, lifted her head quickly. ‘You mean you want me to cook dinner, as well as act as your hostess for drinks! Gosh, you do have a cheek,’ she
spluttered, her eyes widening. ‘And what would I cook? We’re on a tight budget this month! I only bought enough groceries for the two of us for the weekend, and I skimped at that. I thought you had accepted Aunt Mabel’s invitation to go to Gloucestershire tonight, and were not coming back until after lunch tomorrow. I’d counted on it, in fact. That’s why I was so surprised when you strolled in like the lord of the manor and made your announcement.’

Kim groaned and rolled his eyes upwards, ‘I don’t know who gave you that idea. About Gloucestershire, I mean. Not I. Dotty old Aunt Mabel
indeed
. No, I am staying in town, my sweet.’ He smiled at her affectionately. ‘Come on, please say yes. It’s ages since you’ve had any fun. It’ll do you good, Frankie.’

‘Don’t think you can worm your way into my good graces by calling me Frankie. I don’t like that nickname anymore.’

‘That’s a sudden change of heart. You used to insist I call you Frankie.’

‘When I was small and wanted to be a boy like you. Because I worshipped you, misguided child that I was. It may interest you to know I don’t worship you in the way I used to, and certainly
not
today.’

Kim grinned. ‘Oh yes you do. Just as I adore you and always will.’ He strode over to the desk and perched on the edge, looking down at her, tenderness flooding his eyes. It occurred to him that Francesca appeared more delicate than ever, and her classical English face, with its finely-drawn features, seemed smaller and slightly pinched and pale. After studying her for a few seconds he decided it was the bulky navy blue fisherman’s sweater she was wearing and her hair style that gave her such an air of attenuated fragility. She had swept her blonde tresses on top of her head and fastened them with antique tortoiseshell combs into a loose kind of pompadour, and this seemed far too heavy for her slender column of a neck. It was an old-fashioned hairdo, harking back to the Victorian era, yet it was oddly becoming on her.
A strand of hair had fallen over one of her eyes and he leaned forward and gently tucked it into place.

‘There, that’s better,’ he said and kissed her cheek. ‘You’ve also got ink on your neck.’ He tweaked her ear fondly, and continued, ‘I wonder, how can I bribe you, Frankie?’

‘You can’t,’ she answered, adopting a brisk tone. She picked up her pen purposefully. ‘I must finish this research today, Kim, and I am absolutely not going to do any cooking. So stop being a perfect pest.’

Kim decided he must persevere. ‘Look here, Francesca, if this girl weren’t so special I wouldn’t ask you to do this, honestly I wouldn’t. But she is a super girl. You will love her. So will Father—I hope. I’m going to take her to Yorkshire soon. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to meet her first. Tonight.’

Francesca was startled by this statement and her face changed. She gazed at her brother with interest, her eyes searching his. This was the first time he had ever suggested taking one of his innumerable girl friends to Langley. Such an exception to his own rigid rule changed everything. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re serious about her?’ she asked, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.

‘I’m not sure that’s the right word,’ Kim said, returning her unblinking stare. He rubbed his chin, reflecting, and finished, ‘But I am keen. Very keen, in fact, and I think I could get serious about her, yes.’

In these few seconds Kim had succeeded in gaining his sister’s undivided attention. Being overly-protective of him, she was about to pronounce him too young to be serious about any girl, and quickly changed her mind. It might alienate him, or even worse, push him farther into the girl’s arms. Kim had a tendency to be impetuous at times, and she did not want to unwittingly trigger a situation that might easily get out of hand. Instead she asked, ‘Who is she? What’s her name?’

A beatific smile settled on Kim’s bright young face, and he
coloured slightly. ‘Katharine. Katharine Tempest,’ he said, and waited expectantly. When he observed Francesca’s blank expression, he added with a knowing look, ‘
The
Katharine Tempest.’

Francesca frowned. ‘Sorry, Kim, but I’m afraid I don’t know her. You sound as if I should. Oh, wait a tick, is she related to the Tempest Stewarts? I used to go to dancing class with Lady Anne. You know, the school in Eaton Square with the crazy Russian ballet mistress.’

Kim threw back his head and laughed. ‘No, she isn’t related to Lord Londonderry. Far from it. I don’t suppose I should expect you to know who she is. You’ve always got your face pushed into a history book, living in the past. God, what am I going to do with you, Frankie?’ he asked. ‘Katharine Tempest is a fabulous young actress who is literally wowing them every night in one of the biggest hits in the West End. She is young, beautiful, talented, charming, intelligent, warm and witty. In short, she is absolutely—’

‘Too good to be true, by the sound of it,’ Francesca suggested dryly, smothering a small amused smile.

Kim grinned at her in a sheepish fashion. ‘I know I sound like a babbling idiot, but if only you would meet her, you’d find out for yourself. She really is very special.’

‘I believe you. But I’m not so sure Father will welcome her with open arms. An
actress
. Gosh! You know how stuffy he can be at times—’ Her voice trailed off and she thought for a minute. ‘Perhaps you
had
better pass her off as a Tempest Stewart, at least in the beginning, until the ice is broken. But let’s get back to the point. If she is starring in a play, how can you invite her to dinner?’

‘She’ll come after the play.’

‘That means we’ll be having dinner at eleven o’clock, or even later! Oh, Kim, you are incorrigible.’

‘When we go to the theatre with the old man we always dine afterwards. There’s nothing strange about that.’

Francesca groaned. ‘Look, I’m very tired. I don’t think I
could make the effort tonight. But I’ll compromise, since I
would
like to meet her. I’ll make something light for you, and have a drink with you when she arrives. Then I’ll disappear to my room. You would enjoy that much better anyway. You can have a lovely romantic supper
à deux.
’

‘It’ll be a romantic supper
à trois
, I’m afraid,’ Kim responded glumly. ‘She’s bringing some chap with her. That’s another reason I wanted you to join us, to make it a foursome.’