Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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Katharine’s laughter filled the room and she regarded him through merry eyes. ‘Don’t be such a scaredy cat. She’s harmless, and anyway, you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself.’ But noting the plea on his face, she capitulated. ‘Oh, all right, I’ll come and protect you. But I don’t want to be there for the interview. Now that she would regard as an intrusion. She doesn’t like an audience when she’s interviewing a subject, and I have to respect her point of view. She’s right really. Shall we say one o’clock?’
Terry exhaled a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Puss. And one o’clock’s fine. In the bar. That’s where we’re doing the interview, so I’ll –’ Terry paused, his eyes swivelling to the shrilling telephone.
Katharine ran to answer it. ‘Hello, Norman,’ she cried. ‘Yes, he’s here. Just a minute, love.’ She turned to Terry, beckoned to him. He strode over and took the telephone from her, and Katharine returned to her chair. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, listening. Terry had one of the greatest voices on the English stage today, and distinctively his. How many actors had tried to imitate it and failed miserably? Hundreds.
Her lids lifted and she looked more closely at that refined face and at the light blue eyes, so open and guileless. A shiver ran through her and gooseflesh speckled her arms. Terry was such easy prey for the unscrupulous. She was glad Norman and Penny were going with him to Hollywood. They would give him protection. Her gaze pulled back a fraction, and then roved over him swiftly. He was wearing dark grey slacks, a navy blue blazer and a white turtle neck sweater. Tall and lean, he looked casually elegant and debonair. The matinée idol personified, she thought. He would be a sensation in the States, of that there was no doubt in her mind.
Terry said goodbye, dropped the receiver in the cradle, and asked, ‘Why the long stares, Puss? Don’t I look all right for the interview? Should I change, put on a tie?’
Katharine shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly, your clothes are perfect. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sit here and scrutinize you like an insect under a microscope. Actually, I was thinking of the impact you’ll have in Hollywood. You’re going to bowl them over with your talent and your looks. As Victor would say, you’re the whole enchilada, my darling.’
Terry laughed. ‘And as Hamlet would say, “season your admiration for a while”. I’m glad you like my togs. Hilary thinks I look like a German U-boat commander in them!’ He stepped to the door, swung around. ‘I’m going to give a small luncheon tomorrow, at the Red Lion in South Stainley, the marvellous old inn I was telling you about. I’ve invited a few of my close chums in the cast. None of them know about the Monarch contract, but it’s bound to leak out in a few days. So, I thought I’d tell them myself, and it’s a good excuse for a little celebration. We’ll have a real English Sunday lunch, the kind I’ve been promising you since we’ve been here. You know, Yorkshire pud, roast beef and horseradish, roast potatoes and brussels sprouts, the lot. And trifle afterwards. Will you come, Puss? With Kim, of course. And look, bring Francesca along if you want.’
‘Why, Terry, how lovely. Thanks, we’d love to come, and I’ll ask Francesca when she gets here. I’m expecting her in a few minutes.’
‘Good. And I’ll be expecting you in about an hour. Don’t let me down.’ He opened the door and almost collided with Francesca. ‘Sorry, love.’
‘That’s all right, Terry. How are you?’ Francesca asked.
‘Fine and dandy, but late for an appointment.’ He opened the door and let her pass. ‘Toodle-oo,’ he said, waved, and disappeared down the corridor.
Francesca closed the door and came into the room, a striking picture in buff-colour riding breeches, highly-polished black boots, a pink cotton shirt and red silk cravat. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a pony tail and caught at the nape of her neck with a black bow, and her peaches-and-cream complexion looked more perfect than ever. A shopping basket was slung over one arm and she was carrying a large bunch of flowers.
‘Hi, darling,’ Katharine exclaimed, her face wreathed in smiles as she came to meet Francesca. She kissed her on the cheek and went on, ‘I’m so glad you ’phoned.’
Francesca returned her kiss. ‘And hello to you too, stranger,’ she laughed gaily. ‘These are for you. I picked them in the gardens at Langley this morning.’
‘How sweet of you, darling. Thank you so much.’ Katharine took the flowers, buried her face in them. ‘They smell divine. I’d better put them in water immediately. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Do you want coffee, or a drink? I can order something from room service.’
‘No, thanks anyway.’ Francesca put the shopping basket on the floor and flopped into one of the chairs. ‘Since I had to come into Ripon, to get a few things for Melly, I thought I might as well stop by for a few minutes.’
‘I’m so glad you did,’ Katharine called from the bathroom. She returned to the sitting room a moment later, carrying a vase of water, and stood by a side table, arranging the flowers in it. ‘I’ve missed you, Frankie.’
‘I know. I’ve missed you too, Kath. Gosh, I see more of you in London than I do when you’re here on location.’
‘Isn’t it stupid! But Mark has been working us awfully hard. He likes to rehearse every scene like a play, not wing it.’ She stepped back, regarding her handiwork, her head on one side, and then rearranged a few blooms. ‘There, that does it.’
‘It is going well now, though, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes, everyone’s terribly pleased,’ Katharine responded, adopting an off-handed air, not wanting to discuss the film, which had been troubled from the start. She joined Francesca near the windows. ‘Kath …’ Francesca said, ‘come and sit down. I have something to tell you.’
‘You sound excited.’ Katharine gave her a curious look and lowered herself into the chair opposite.
‘Well, yes, I am.’ Francesca’s face was eager with happiness. ‘Daddy and Doris have decided to get married.’
Katharine blanched. ‘But … but … How marvellous …’ She faltered and stared at Francesca blankly, at a loss for words.
Francesca regarded her keenly. ‘You sound funny, Katharine, and not very enthusiastic. I thought you’d be pleased.’ A frown creased Francesca’s smooth brow. She found her friend’s reaction slightly odd.
‘I’m startled, that’s all,’ Katharine exclaimed hurriedly, endeavouring to correct her mistake. ‘I suppose I hadn’t realized it was such a serious relationship. I don’t know how I got the impression, but somehow I always thought Doris planned to go back to the States. I mean, she has such vast holdings there, and she is so very American.’ Katharine laughed nervously. ‘But naturally I’m pleased,’ she now had the good sense to add, even though in all truth she was utterly dismayed. Recognizing it was crucial to allay Francesca’s doubts about her feelings, she reached out and took hold of her hand, squeezing it warmly. Summoning all of her superlative acting ability, and drawing on her immense charm, she said, with that dazzling smile, ‘Oh Frankie, it is exciting. And so wonderful for your father. I’m happy for him, really and truly.’ She shook her head in a reproving way. ‘Kim’s rather naughty. Why didn’t he tell me last night?’
‘He didn’t know then, nor does he know now,’ Francesca explained. ‘Daddy telephoned from the South of France this morning to tell us, but Kim had already left for Skipton. Anyway, there’s going to be an engagement party, at Doris’s villa,’ she hurried on happily. ‘Later this summer, probably in August. Doris is planning to give a supper dance, and everybody’s invited.’
‘What do you mean by everybody?’ Katherine asked, striving to keep her voice light. She wished the tight knot in her stomach would go away.
‘Kim and I, of course, and you too. Oh Kath darling, do say you’ll come. It won’t be the same if you’re not there.’