Voice of the Heart

Act One Downstage Right 1956

‘The most decisive actions of our life … are most often unconsidered actions.’

ANDRE GIDE

CHAPTER FIVE

‘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 goodnatured 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.’

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.’

‘How can I rustle up dinner for four! I’ve only got enough for one. Me,’ Francesca wailed. ‘And anyway, who’s the spare bod she wants to drag along? Who am I supposed to charm in the early hours of the morning? And why does she have to bring him at all?’

‘Because he doesn’t know many people in London, and she’s kind of taken him under her wing.’ Kim gave her a careful look, and then smiled. ‘And when I tell you who he is, I don’t want you to faint. Promise,’ he demanded, his eyes twinkling.

‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.’ Francesca airily dismissed such a preposterous idea. ‘And why should I faint, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Most women would. The spare bod, as you call him, is Victor Mason. And I know that even You know who he is.’

Francesca was not unduly impressed. ‘Of course I do. The whole world knows him, or rather, of him. I must say, this is a bit of a departure for you, isn’t it, an actress and a film star from – ‘ Francesca stopped abruptly and stared at Kim as another thought occurred to her. ‘You haven’t invited them already, have you?’

‘I’m afraid I have.’

‘Oh Kim!’ She considered the meagre supplies in the kitchen with dismay.

Kim put his arms around her and hugged her to him. ‘Hey, come on, you silly goose. Don’t get upset. It’s not that important. I just didn’t stop to think, that’s all. I asked Katharine to dinner tonight because I wanted you to meet her very badly. She suggested inviting Victor, not only because he’s at a loose end, but to even it out. We both thought you’d like to meet him, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I can see it was a mistake. We’ll do it another evening. Look, I’ll put them off.’

‘You can’t do that. It’s so rude, and especially at this hour.’ Francesca pulled away gently, and sat back in her chair. ‘I’m sorry to sound like a spoil-sport, Kim dear. I know I must get on your nerves, always nagging about money. But everything is so, so … well, such a struggle at times. Daddy doesn’t have a clue about anything except Langley. The amount he allocates for running this house is next to nothing. I usually have to use the bit of money from Mummy’s Trust for food and some of the bills, and that’s still not – ‘

‘You’re not supposed to do that!’ Kim interjected fiercely. ‘The Trust money is for your personal use. Pin money. And I realize it’s just a pittance. Does the old man know what you’re doing?’

‘No, and you mustn’t tell him! He has enough to worry about, what with running the estate and everything. And if he knew he might just close up the house here for economical reasons. Then I’d have to move to Langley with you and Daddy. It’s not that I don’t love you both,’ she went on rapidly, ‘I do. But I don’t want to be buried in the wilds of Yorkshire all year round, and besides, I have to be near the British Museum for my research. Anyway, I don’t mind using my money, really I don’t. I only mentioned it to you so you would understand the situation.’

‘I do understand. And as far as the dinner is concerned, well, let’s forget it.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll take them to a restaurant. We could go to Le Matelot in Elizabeth Street.’

‘Even that would be far too expensive. Let me think a minute.’

Kim walked over to the sofa and flopped down on it, all the gaiety washed off his face. ‘So much for the bloody British aristocracy,’ he said disconsolately. ‘At least the impoverished side of it.’ He ran his hand through his hair, and muttered, ‘It’s a hell of a thing when a chap can’t afford to take a couple of chums to dinner.’ And then his face instantly brightened. ‘Perhaps with a bit of luck Victor Mason will pick up the bill.’

‘Kim, that’s positively awful. We may be impoverished, but we’re not spongers. Remember, you invited them.’

‘I have the money I was saving for a pair of new riding boots.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I could blow that.’

‘I won’t let you! You know, I could make a rather splendid breakfast. After all, we are going to be eating late. I could prepare omlettes fines herbes, or maybe a kedgeree. How does that sound to you? Do you fancy either?’ Kim pulled a face and Francesca nodded in agreement. ‘You’re right. That’s out then.’

‘Do you think Father would object if I nipped out to Fortnum’s and charged a few goodies to his account?’

‘He might not, but I certainly would, especially when the bill came in.’ Quite unexpectedly, a broad smile spread across her face and she straightened up in the chair. ‘I’ve just thought of something!’ She jumped up, rushed out of the room and plunged down the staircase at breakneck speed.

‘What is it? You sound as if you’ve had a brainstorm,’ Kim called, racing after her. Francesca halted at the bottom of the stairs and turned to look up at him. ‘I have indeed. Follow me, Macbeth, down into the dark, dark dungeons. And thank God for Doris!’ She beckoned histrionically and disappeared. Still mystified, Kim followed her into the cellars underneath the house. He found her in the large pantry next to the wine cellar, rummaging through a wicker hamper.

‘What have you got there, Frankie?’

Francesca went on rummaging. ‘A Fortnum and Mason hamper. You just jogged my memory about it. Doris sent it to us at Christmas. Don’t you remember? There are still a few things left. Father gave it to me to bring back here after the holidays. I also raided the larder at Langley and put in some of Melly’s bottled fruits. I’d forgotten all about it.’

‘Good old Doris. She never does anything by halves.’

‘Look what I’ve found,’ Francesca cried excitedly, her eyes shining. ‘Caviar! Only a small pot, I’m afraid, but it is Beluga. There’s a tin of pâté de foie gras Strasbourg, a crock of aged Stilton cheese with port, and three tins of turtle soup.’ She examined the label. ‘I say, quite a posh brand too. It’s got sherry in it.’ Francesca flipped down the lid of the hamper and patted it possessively. ‘I’m taking this up to the kitchen. It’s certainly part of the dinner. Why don’t you poke around in the wine cellar. I’m sure there are some bottles of champagne left from your twenty-first, and it would be nice to have it with the caviar.’

A few minutes later Kim joined her in the kitchen, a smile of triumph on his face, a bottle of champagne in each hand. ‘You were right. Moët & Chandon.’ He displayed them gleefully and then sat down at the table and eyed the items Francesca had removed from the hamper and arranged in front of her. ‘Is there going to be enough, do you think?’ he asked doubtfully.

‘It’s a beginning at least. I thought we could have the champagne before supper. I can stretch the caviar with chopped eggs and chopped onions, and lots of Melba toast, and serve the pâté as well. The turtle soup will do very well for starters, and I can make a green salad to go with the Stilton. We can finish with the bottled fruit and cream.’

‘And what do we eat after the soup and before the pudding?’ Kim teased. ‘You’ve forgotten the main course. Or is that all you intend to serve?’

‘No, of course it isn’t, silly,’ Francesca said with a smile. ‘I have some minced beef in the refrigerator. I was going to make a cottage pie with it, for my supper tonight. If I buy some more beef I can make a larger pie for all of us. Do you think Victor Mason ever had so lowly a dish as cottage pie?’ She grinned at her brother. ‘I suppose there’s always a first time for everything. He’ll probably think it quaint and very English.’

‘I’m sure Victor Mason will be more impressed with the cottage pie than with the caviar. Isn’t that what movie stars eat for breakfast every day? Tell you what though, I’ll bring up some really good wine later. The Ninth might have been a spendthrift, but he did leave us one of the best cellars in London. What about a Mouton Rothschild?’

‘That will be lovely, Kim. In the meantime, would you mind going to Shepherd Market for me, before the shops close?’

‘Of course not, and I’ll pay for whatever we need. I have a few quid.’ Observing her expression he laughed and shook his head. ‘No, it’s not from the riding boots money.’

Francesca busied herself with a shopping list and Kim’s gaze returned to the items spread on the table, his eyes reflective. He lit a cigarette and smoked in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly he said, ‘Has Father mentioned Doris to you lately?’

‘No, why do you ask?’ Francesca spoke without looking up.

‘She’s been noticeably absent from Langley of late. I wondered if they’d had a row, or even a parting of the ways.’

His sister raised her head, her brows drawing together. ‘Not that I know of; in fact, I spoke to Doris only last week. She’s gone to the South of France.’

‘Good God, in February. Whatever for?’

‘To look for a villa for the summer. She wants to rent a large one, she told me, so that we can all go and stay with her. So I’m quite certain everything is perfectly all right.’

‘I wonder if Father will marry her?’

Francesca did not respond immediately. She herself had ruminated on this possibility from time to time, for it seemed to her that Doris Asternan had become a permanent fixture in her father’s life. Her mind turned to Doris, the nice American widow whom she and Kim liked so much. She wondered if Doris did have expectations, and then smiled to herself at such an old-fashioned word. It was more than likely. Her father was attractive, charming and good natured like Kim, and the title was tempting to most women, but particularly so to an American. He was quite a catch really. And what of her father? He had grieved for their mother for a number of years after her death, and then quite suddenly there had been a steady flow of women, whom he seemed to quickly lose interest in – until Doris. She wondered.

‘What do you think, Frankie? Will the old man make a trip down the aisle with Doris?’ Kim pressed.

Francesca shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. Daddy hasn’t made me his confidante, and neither has Doris, for that matter.’