Voice of the Heart (90 page)

Opening her eyes and without looking at Katharine, Francesca asked, in a small voice, ‘When? When do you think you got pregnant?’ The internal shaking intensified, held her completely in its grip, and she grasped the arm of the metal chair to steady herself.

‘June. It had to be June.’

‘Then you’re three months…’

‘Almost.’

‘And you can still have the abortion? It’s safe?’

‘Oh yes, darling. The doctor told me I’m all right. Don’t worry about me, Frankie. I’ll be fine.’ Katharine smiled warmly, touched by her friend’s concern for her welfare. Meeting Katharine’s direct gaze, Francesca instantly dropped her eyes, studied her bare feet in great concentration.
I hope she dies. She’s going to kill his child. It should have been mine! My child! I want to die too. I’ve nothing to live for. He’s lost to me. Oh Vic, why did you do this?

Francesca stood up unsteadily, not sure that her trembling legs would hold her. All her strength was ebbing out of her. She moved forward. The sharp pain, somewhere in the region of her heart, was excruciating, a plunging, stabbing pain that came at her in long spasms, knocked the breath out of her. She was blinded by the scalding tears rushing out of her eyes, splashing onto her bare chest and down the front of her bathing suit, and she staggered as she reached the
chaise
.

Katharine was watching Francesca alertly. ‘Are you all right, darling?’ she called. ‘You seemed a bit wobbly just then. Is something wrong? Don’t you feel well?’

Without turning round, Francesca gasped disjointedly, ‘No. Not well. Sick. Dizzy. The heat. The sun.’ She bent over the
chaise longue
, hiding her contorted face, and groped for the towel, pressed it to her streaming eyes. Then after a minute or two she wiped her neck and her chest and shoulders. She was bathed in sweat. Yet she felt dreadfully cold inside. Icy. Numb. So very numb. She dropped the towel, searched around for her dark glasses, put them on very
carefully, very slowly, fumbling like an old blind woman. With the same fumbling uncoordinated movements she lifted the large straw hat from the floor, placed it on her head.

Katharine had risen, was busily pushing the chair Francesca had vacated farther into the shade. ‘I hope you don’t have sunstroke,’ she exclaimed with a quick glance, angling the umbrella. ‘You were sitting in the blazing sun, you silly thing. No wonder you’re suffering now. Shall I go in and get you some aspirins?’

‘No. I’m okay. Thanks.’ Francesca began to walk towards Katharine at a snail’s pace, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, trying to balance herself properly. Unexpectedly, the white marble slabs under her feet tilted upwards to hit her in the face and she braced herself for the impact, not realizing it was she who was falling towards them.

Katharine ran forward, grasped Francesca’s arm tightly, steadied her, kept her upright. ‘Perhaps we’d better go inside,’ she suggested with concern, her face ringed with worry. ‘What do you think? It’s cooler indoors and you could lie down.’

‘I don’t want to lie down, for God’s sake!’ Francesca pulled her arm free impatiently, and with unusual roughness, then seated herself on the chair. ‘And I don’t want any pills either. I’ll drink a little of this lemonade. Don’t fuss, I told you. I’m perfectly all right.’

‘Yes, of course, Frankie dear. Anything you say.’ Katharine also sat down, studying her friend, taken aback by her curt manner, her sudden and unfamiliar brusque-ness. Then she thought: Francesca’s furious with me because of Kim. It’s understandable really. The facts are sinking in and now she is distressed for him, and, not unnaturally, put out with me. Katharine sighed under her breath, asking herself if her candidness had been a grave error.

Neither girl spoke for a while, and finally Francesca questioned in a muted tone, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were involved with him before now?’

Astonishment whipped across Katharine’s face. ‘Oh, Frankie, how could I? I was also seeing Kim…’ She pursed her lips. ‘Perhaps I should have done, since we are very close and we don’t have any secrets from each other. But I was self-conscious and embarrassed because of my relationship with your brother. How could I possibly tell you about my affair with Vic.’

An unintelligible mumble was the only response, and it prompted Katharine to elucidate further. She exclaimed hurriedly, ‘Besides, Victor was funny about our relationship, about it leaking out. You know he’s terrified of scandal, and
paranoid
about
Confidential Magazine
. He insisted on absolute secrecy. You do understand my reasons, don’t you, Frankie?’ Katharine persisted, anxiety welling up in her.

‘Yes.’ Oh
how
I understand. You protected your flanks so shrewdly, Victor, Francesca thought with mounting bitterness.

‘I can’t help feeling you’re mad at me, because of the way I’ve behaved towards Kim,’ Katharine ventured hesitantly, praying she had not lost Francesca because of this convoluted mess with its ghastly ramifications. Being totally ignorant of Francesca’s involvement with Victor, Katharine had no way of knowing that her confidence had created havoc in the other girl. Her frankness was about to trigger the most disastrous consequences imaginable. ‘Why don’t you answer me?’ Katharine’s tenseness took tighter hold, and she was on the verge of fresh tears induced by her friend’s abnormal and unprecedented coolness.

‘Oh sorry, what did you say?’ Francesca asked abstractedly, fiercely trying to hang on to her sanity.

Repeating her questions, Katharine then insisted with great vehemence, ‘I never meant to hurt Kim. You
must
believe that.’

‘Yes… I do.’ Francesca closed her eyes, thankful she was wearing the dark glasses. After a short pause, she began to
speak in a faint and fading voice. ‘Why don’t you want… him to know you’re pregnant?’

‘For all the reasons I gave you earlier, and also because I don’t want there to be any embarrassment between us, or any awkwardness. Don’t forget, I have a professional relationship with Vic, and I mustn’t damage that. My career is in
his
hands. Have you forgotten I’m tied to him contractually, or rather, to Bellissima?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘There’s another thing, too, I’ll be working for him, and with him, for several years, and—’

‘Won’t you feel strange? Being with him constantly… after… after this?’

‘I sincerely hope not.’ Katharine shifted nervously in the chair, crossed her legs. ‘But I would feel extremely uncomfortable if he knew about the baby and the—what I’m going to do. I can’t guess what his attitude would be, so it’s better he knows nothing. I am certain of one thing though, he won’t pursue this romance. I told you, it’s over. I suppose I was just a flash in the pan, as far as he’s concerned. We’re good friends, as we always were, but that’s all, and I’ve every intention of keeping it that way. Strictly platonic.’

‘Yes.’ Francesca tightened her clasped hands and wished the pain would go away. She thought: He has destroyed our love for something which was apparently irrelevant, something
she
terms a flash in the pan! Oh my God! Her heart was splintering.

Desperately wanting to break through Francesca’s reserve, Katharine reached out and rested her hand on the other girl’s arm lovingly. She implored, ‘Please tell me you don’t hate me… because of Kim.
Please
, Frankie. I couldn’t bear to lose
you
.’ Francesca was unresponsive, and Katharine cried, ‘I have to break off with him! It’s the only honourable thing to do!’

There was a small sigh and Francesca nodded. ‘Yes. Anything else would be wrong… unconscionable really.
Kim will recover.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m not upset—about Kim.’ She clamped her mouth shut, afraid to go on, afraid she would blurt everything out. She did not want to reveal her own affair with Victor. It would be too humiliating.

‘Thank God! You’re so important to me, Francesca. I couldn’t stand it if you thought badly of me.’ Katharine dropped her voice, whispered, ‘I wish you were going to be with me in London next week, when I have this operation. The idea of it appals me, and it’s going to be on my conscience for the rest of my life.’ Her voice was choked as she finished, ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to live with myself.’

Francesca no longer had the strength to respond, nor did she care whether Katharine could five with herself or not. Then she swung her head at the sound of footsteps.

‘Mademoiselle Tempest, there is a telephone call,’ the butler announced.

‘Oh. Thanks. Yes,
merci
, Yves.’ She rose, said to Francesca, ‘I won’t be a minute, darling.’

Katharine had followed the butler into the main salon, and yet her presence lingered on the terrace. The scent of her perfume clung to the warm air, and her bell-like voice with its mellifluous intonations reverberated in Francesca’s head. The devastating words she had uttered echoed with maddening clarity and unremitting persistence.
How will I ever be able to forget the things she told me? This is a nightmare, isn’t it?

Francesca knew deep down that this was not so. Her nightmare was the reality. She wanted, suddenly, to get up and walk into the garden and he down in the grass and bury her aching face in its tender green coolness and sob away this pain and wretchedness and heartbreak. But she was immobilized by shock and despair, incapable of moving. Her body was leaden.

‘Frankie! Frankie! Something terrible has happened!’

Yes, thought Francesca numbly, it has. My life is ruined.

‘
Frankie!
’
Katharine shrieked. ‘Didn’t you
hear
what I said?’

‘Yes. What’s wrong?’ Francesca queried in an exhausted voice, not really caring. She blinked behind her glasses, regarding Katharine hovering in front of her, clutching a piece of paper, twisting it between nervous fingers. There was no mistaking the extreme agitation, the ashen face, the eyes flaring with shock.

‘There’s been an accident!’ Katharine cried. ‘A dreadful car crash.
Hilary and Terry
! They’re in the hospital in Nice. That was Norman… Norman Rook on the ’phone. Terry’s asking for me. I have to go to him at once. Try to help in any way I can.’

‘Oh my
God.
’ Francesca sat bolt upright, pulling herself out of her stupor, the import of Katharine’s news penetrating her addled brain. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Pretty bad, from what Norman says. They’re both seriously injured. Hilary is… Hilary is…’ Katharine was unable to get the words out of her trembling mouth. ‘She’s been
gravely
hurt. Worse than Terry. Will you drive me to Nice, darling? I don’t know the roads and I’m not a very good driver anyway.’ Katharine ran to the
chaise
, picked up Francesca’s sundress draped on its frame, brought it to her. ‘Put this on. We don’t have time to change. I know you’re not feeling well, from the heat and the sun, but you’ll just have to—’

‘Of course I’ll drive you!’ Francesca exclaimed. She dragged her listless body out of the chair, took the cotton frock from Katharine, slipped it on. She began to fasten the buttons down the front, saw that her hands shook uncontrollably, and her heart was clattering again. In an unsteady voice she said, ‘Don’t you dunk they’re going to… m-m-make it, Katharine?’

‘I—I hope so. Oh God I hope so.’

They were on the
moyenne corniche
. This ran all the way from Menton to Nice, at the middle level between the coastal road bordering the Mediterranean and the higher mountain route. The butler had advised Francesca to take the
moyenne
, to save time and avoid the heavy traffic, after he had finished giving her directions to the hospital. Monte Carlo had been left behind some time ago. Far below, in the distance, the harbour in the old port of Villefranche was just visible: shimmering white sails fluttering like banners in the wind, flung against the azure backdrop of a cloudless sky… sleek white hulls reposing on a sea that was an aquamarine-tinted mirror… distant images glittering sharply, mirage-like in the relentless sunlight.

Doris had taken the Rolls that morning, and so Francesca was driving the small rented Renault. Although it lacked the immense thrust and power of the other car, she was managing to get the maximum out of it. She had her foot hard down on the accelerator, gunning the engine, concentrating on the road ahead. Neither she nor Katharine had said much to each other since they had left the villa, for both girls were trapped in their thoughts.

Katharine was frantic, her own troubles displaced by her concern for Terry and Hilary, lying in God knows what condition in the hospital. Norman, incoherent from hysteria, had told her so little. Her imagination kept running away with itself, and she could not help envisioning the worst.
Let them be all right, let them be all right
, she repeated over and over again to herself, and she desperately held on to the thought that Terry must be
conscious
, because he was asking for her and had told Norman to telephone her. This brought
a measure of comfort at least. She hardly dared to think about poor Hilary, who, according to Norman, had been thrown out of the car and was the more seriously injured of the two. Katharine huddled farther in the corner of the seat, gazing out of the window, oblivious to the breathtaking scenic view.

By making a stupendous effort, Francesca was in control again, aware that she had to function as normally as possible in this tragic emergency. The accident, whilst not exactly diminishing or obscuring her distress and heartache about Victor, had taken precedence for the moment. True to form, and with uncommon backbone, Francesca had rallied remarkably well, drawing on her inner resources for strength. In the past few weeks she had come to know Hilary and Terry better, and a gentle attachment had developed between her and the costume designer. On Saturday night Francesca had thought what a beautiful couple they made. Hilary’s sweetness had been a balm to her at the dance, and now when she thought of their broken and battered bodies a lump came into her throat, made her heart clench with sadness.

Hunching over the wheel, Francesca pushed the Renault to its limits, wishing the car could fly. If only they had been in the Rolls they would have made Nice in half the time. There was a clear stretch of road ahead and she picked up speed, whizzing along for a while, then slowed with a screeching of brakes as she approached a blind corner. Although she was driving fast, she was less reckless than usual, conscious of the tortuous twists and turns on the
moyenne
, and mindful of the reason they were on their way to Nice in the first place.