Voice of the Heart (109 page)

‘Wednesday,’ he answered, kneeling in front of the fire, attempting to rekindle it. ‘Today’s Thursday. Do you mind getting the ice, Frankie, while I struggle with this?’

‘Of course not.’ She turned, edged towards the hall.

Nick started to laugh. ‘You’re clutching poor Lada as if her life’s in danger! Leave her here, darling, and for God’s sake take the leash off.’

Francesca laughed with him, looking embarrassed. She unfastened the leash, took it off, and said, ‘It’s silly, I know, but I always feel… well, I feel as if there’s something, some presence, lurking in this house. I can’t explain it… perhaps it’s the atmosphere.’ She shrugged. ‘You probably think I’m as batty as Kathar—’ Her voice faltered, and she stared at him aghast, shook her head slowly, apologized, ‘Oh Nick, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that Katharine is crazy.’

His smile was faint. ‘She
is
teetering on the edge again though, and you know it. Sometimes I think she’s really flipped out. As for the house, I know what you mean about this pile of rubble. I’ve always hated the place. It
does
have an unpleasant atmosphere, an air of gloom and doom. Now, scoot, go and get the ice and I’ll pour us two stiff drinks. Vodka as usual?’

‘Please. With tonic. Why don’t you give Mrs Jennings a call?’

‘I thought of that in the garden. I’ll get on to her now. And listen, kid, while you’re in the kitchen see if there’s some cheese and crackers. I’m starved.’

‘That’s a good idea. I’m a bit hungry myself.’

Nick stood up and went to the desk. Sitting down, he found Mrs Jennings’ number and dialled it quickly. The line was busy. Damn, he mumbled impatiently, picked up a pencil and began his usual doodling on a scratch pad, making interlocking triangles. He kept trying the number, his exasperation increasing. Finally the line was clear and he experienced enormous relief when he heard the housekeeper’s voice. Nick spoke to her for over ten minutes,
listening carefully, nodding to himself, asking pertinent questions. He rubbed his eyes wearily when he at last hung up.

Francesca was mixing their drinks. She said, ‘From what you were saying, I gather Katharine fired Mrs Jennings today.’

‘Yes. And she’s terribly upset about it. Apparently Katharine flew into a screaming rage early this evening and for no good reason. She became abusive and dismissed Mrs Jennings, as of tomorrow. Mrs J. wasn’t about to spend another minute in the house, so she told me. She downed tools, flung off her apron and marched out. And she won’t be coming back. Renata
is
off today; she asked to go into Manhattan to see her cousin who’s visiting from Italy.
She’ll
be back tomorrow.’

‘And Kath? Did Mrs Jennings know anything?’

‘She said Kath was dressed up when they had the row, was ready to go out to a dinner, or a party, the housekeeper wasn’t sure which. Seemingly Kath had words with Renata as well, yesterday that is. She had her pressing dress after dress all day, uncertain what she would wear tonight.’ He sighed. Same pattern, he thought and stared down at the pad.

‘How
odd
that Kath should go out! She knew we were arriving. Oh hell, it’s par for the course, I suppose. And at least we’ve accounted for the household.’

‘Not quite. We don’t know where Kath is.’

‘Come and have this drink, darling,’ Francesca urged, observing his worried expression. ‘I’m sure she’ll be back soon.’

‘Yes,’ Nick responded absently. His eyes were glued to the pad. Just below his doodlings were deep indentations of writing which had penetrated through onto the sheet of paper from the previous page. This had been torn off, and he noticed the ragged uneven edge at the top of the pad. He peered at the indentations under the light and read:
Michael. Thursday. Seven. Greenwich
. There were several numbers under these words, but they were so indistinct that he could not make them out.

‘Nick, what
are
you doing over there?’

‘Just a minute, Frankie. I think I’ve found a clue. Does Katharine know a man called Michael who lives in Greenwich?’

‘I don’t think so.
Why
?’

‘Look at this.’ He held out the pad to her. ‘She wrote something down and the impressions are here on the new page.’

Francesca agreed it was Katharine’s handwriting, and said, ‘The numbers aren’t very clear. Shade over them with a pencil. The lead should make them stand out.’

‘Hey, good girl, now they
are
very legible,’ Nick exclaimed, tossing the pencil aside. ‘I bet you it’s a ’phone number.’ He grabbed the receiver, pausing to say, ‘We shall now find out who the mysterious Michael is, and whether Katharine is with him in Greenwich.’

Clutching his arm, Francesca cried, ‘Wait a minute, Nicky. Look, I know you’re angry with Kath, and understandably so. It’s irresponsible of her, going out without leaving a note, worrying us like this. But you’ll only blow up at her, if she is at this number, create additional problems. She’s been so paranoid lately, thinking people spy on her. Especially you. It’ll look much better if I call, ask to speak to her.
Please.
’

He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Be my guest, kid.’ Rising, he handed her the telephone and strode over to the fireplace.

Francesca dialled, waited. A hint of surprise flashed in her eyes briefly. ‘Sorry, wrong number,’ she murmured and replaced the receiver carefully, averting her face, unable to look at Nick.

‘Why in the hell did you hang up so quickly?’ he demanded furiously, frowning at her. ‘How do you know it was a wrong number?’ When she was unresponsive, Nick said quickly, ‘And why did you look so surprised?’

Francesca walked back to the sofa slowly, endeavouring to hide her shock, wondering whether to tell him a white he. But if she said she had reached a restaurant or a bar in Greenwich he would not believe her. And knowing him, he would dial the number himself. She could not permit him to
do that under any circumstances. Clearing her throat, she said softly, ‘I think it was a butler who answered.’

‘
And?
’

Francesca sank onto the sofa, her misery acute. ‘He said—’ The words choked in her throat, and she cleared it again, more nervously. ‘He said… The butler said… “Lazarus residence”.’

For a split second Nick seemed not to understand. He gaped at Francesca. His eyes held a startled expression. And then he exploded. ‘Goddamn it to hell! I might have known! That son of a bitch has been sniffing around her for years.’ He clenched his right hand, smashed his fist into the open palm of his left, and hard. ‘Goddamn it, I’m going to call that bastard right now and let him have it. As for Katharine,’ he shouted, ‘I’m going to wring her neck. I’ve warned her about him.
Warned her repeatedly.
’ He moved with swift agility, racing to the desk in a fulminating rage. Reaching for the telephone, he yelled, ‘She knows how I feel about that monster. How could she do this to me?’

Francesca flew after him, grabbed his arm, tried to drag him away from the desk. He held his ground, but was unable to shake free of her tenacious grip. He clutched at the ’phone as Francesca, in turn, clung to him desperately, her eyes wide and pleading. ‘For God’s sake don’t do this, Nick! Please, please, don’t call there! You’re jumping to conclusions. The wrong conclusions!’

Nick continued to wrestle with her, his face flushed and blazing with anger. ‘Let go, Frankie. I know what I’m doing!’ The telephone crashed to the floor, the chair tipped over, the desk lamp wobbled precariously. Unexpectedly, Nick let his arms fall limply to his sides and ceased his struggling. He stared at Francesca and shook his head slowly. ‘You’re right, kid,’ he muttered and bent down, picked up the ’phone, righted the chair.

Francesca, breathing heavily, took his hand. ‘Let’s talk this over quietly,’ she gasped, and drew him back to the
fireside. After pressing him down onto the sofa, she brought their drinks and seated herself opposite. ‘Don’t judge her, Nicky, not without having all the facts. Her presence in Mike Lazarus’s house means absolutely nothing, and you know it. This could be a perfectly innocent evening. After all, he does own Monarch, and he’s in the picture business in a big way these days. Katharine is a superstar. And she has been edgy about not working lately, has indicated to me that she’s ready for a project. Perhaps he wants her to do a film for Monarch.’

Nick peered at Francesca through the haze of their cigarette smoke. ‘Do you really believe that?’ he asked with a sarcastic laugh.

‘It’s a strong possibility,’ she hedged, not certain what to think, aware that she had been dismayed when she had heard that particular name a moment ago. In a firmer tone, she added, ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s why she’s over there.’

‘Don’t be naïve, kid.’

She ignored his disdainful tone and said, ‘What did you mean, when you said he’s been sniffing around her for years?’

‘Exactly that. As chairman of the board of the conglomerate that owns Monarch, he doesn’t normally get involved with the movies they make. He leaves that to the head of production. He’s only interested in balance sheets, the bottom line, profits. But he was parked in his office at the studio—and never off the set incidentally—when she made that film for Monarch in 1964. Look, Frankie, I was out there with her. I know he was ogling her, sucking up to her the entire time. I turned a blind eye. I’d no choice. And I—’

‘Katharine couldn’t possibly be interested in
him
! She was most likely being polite because of his position, tolerating him—’

‘Tolerating him my goddamned foot!’ Nick bellowed, and
then fell back against the sofa, looking shamefaced. ‘Sorry, Frankie, I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Let me calm down for a minute, get a hold of myself.’

She nodded, and he finished his cigarette, staring into the fife morosely. A number of things were clicking into place in his shrewd and agile mind: A comment Victor had made years ago was suddenly very meaningful; and a recent chance remark of Jake Watson’s likewise assumed new significance. He signed under his breath, looked across at Francesca. ‘I’m sure she saw a lot of Lazarus last summer, you know, when she was dubbing the Far East picture at Twentieth after she got back from Ceylon. I read a story in the
Hollywood Reporter
… about a lavish party Lazarus had given at his new house in Bel-Air Estates. It said Katharine was the guest of honour. I was dumbfounded. After all, she knows how much I hate that slimy bastard. I remember thinking it was disloyal of her to socialize with him, when she didn’t have to do so for business reasons.’

‘Didn’t you ask her about it?’

‘Sure. When she got home I mentioned it in passing, in an off-handed way, as usual treading on eggs around her, not wanting to upset her. She denied she’d been at the party, said she
had
accepted, not wishing to offend him, but then cancelled at the last minute.’

‘But you didn’t believe her, did you?’

‘Not really, Frankie. Still, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, since she was so stable. I let it go.’ He leaned forward. ‘You’ve been concerned about her lying and the way she’s been disappearing at the oddest times over the last few months. What you don’t know is that none of it is new to me. She was behaving like that immediately before she went to Ceylon.’

‘Oh Nicky, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I guess I was being protective.’ After enumerating some of these baffling incidents, he remarked, ‘I’m beginning to
think she was involved with Lazarus then, perhaps even as far back as 1964, when she made the film for Monarch. Just as I’m sure she’s involved with him now.’

Francesca said swiftly, ‘I think that’s a hasty assumption. You have no real evidence.’

‘I’m not shooting from the hip, kid!’ Nick smoked for a moment, his eyes narrowed. ‘When I ran upstairs to check the bedroom earlier, I saw a number of empty jewel cases on the dressing table. I’ve never seen them before. They’re brand new. I’m putting two and two together, and coming up with Lazarus.’

Francesca stared at him, her brow creasing, her expression puzzled. ‘She could have bought—’

‘But I
know
she didn’t,’ he asserted. ‘Besides, the stuff was purchased at Van Cleef’s in Beverly Hills. She’s not been out there for a year. And she always shows me everything, asks my opinion before making a final decision. And it’s the Lazarus style. That joker has always decked his women out in expensive baubles. Don’t you remember Hélène Vernaud and her emeralds?’

‘Yes. Whatever happened to Hélène? Did he ever marry her?’

‘Are you kidding!’ Nick laughed derisively. ‘Lazarus never marries his women, he simply discards them when he gets tired of their charms. Thank God for Hélène’s built-in survival kit. She married an English duke and is sitting pretty. I thought you knew.’

‘Yes, I do remember, now that you mention it.’ Francesca grimaced. ‘I can’t picture Kath with Lazarus. Ugh! Beauty and the Beast. Why would she be interested in him?’

‘
Money.
’

‘But Katharine’s a millionairess.’

‘Yeah. But Lazarus is one of the richest men in the world, in the same category as Ludwig and Getty. Katharine’s millions are pin money in comparison to his billions. And I didn’t mean money
per se
. Perhaps I should have said his
power
,
his
clout
. And what about the studio? She would love to have that as a little plaything.’

Francesca was silent, pondering, scrutinizing Nick. He sounded calm enough and certainly his initial fury had died down, and yet she saw the strain on his face, the pain in his eyes. He was chain smoking, occasionally tapping his foot, which he only did when he was excessively agitated. Wanting to alleviate his worry, she now said, ‘Neither of us should jump to conclusions, as I said earlier. Let’s wait to hear what Kath has to say. There’s a good explanation, I’m positive.’

‘She’s been spending a lot of time out here lately. This is supposed to be a weekend retreat not a permanent residence,’ Nick said, as though musing out loud. ‘And don’t forget, she is alone here, free as a bird, and
I’m
out of the way. She can do anything she wants. And Lazarus has a house in Greenwich. Convenient, eh?’