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Ryan gulped and opened his mouth but no words came. He glanced up at Katharine, his eyes filled with mute appeal.
Katharine was flabbergasted at her father’s words. If they had been uttered by anyone else she would have dismissed them as boastful idle talk, and to be taken with a grain of salt. But she knew her father meant every word, and she trembled inwardly for Ryan. Her brother was terrified, and with good reason; she tightened her embrace, drew the boy closer to her.
She said, ‘But Ryan doesn’t want to be a politician, Father.’ She could never bring herself to call him the more affectionate Da, as Ryan did.
Patrick glowered. ‘What?’ he demanded in a low tone that was ominous, even threatening. ‘What did you say?’
‘Ryan doesn’t want to be a politician. He wants to be a painter,’ Katharine replied in a quiet but resolute voice. Her father might strike terror in Ryan’s heart, but not in hers. She was not one bit afraid of him.
‘How dare you tell me what my son wants, Katie Mary O’Rourke!’ Patrick shouted, leaping to his feet. His face was brimming with dark colour and there was a dangerous glint in his steely blue eyes.
‘But Ryan is so gifted. Look at this watercolour,’ she cried, undeterred by his displeasure.
‘I don’t want to look at it! I’ll have no more of this sissy stuff in my house. You and his mother! Filling his head with artistic nonsense. It’s going to stop, and right now.’ He strode to the table, struggling with his anger, and snatched up the watercolour. Without glancing at it, he tore it in half, and threw it to the floor.
Ryan stifled a tiny cry, like a small animal in pain, and brought his fist up to his trembling lips. Katharine flinched, and gazed at their father in fascinated horror. With one furious gesture of his large hand, Patrick swept the paint box, the brushes, the jar of water and the sketching pad off the table. He stamped on them, crushing them under his heavy feet. Katharine’s face reflected her disgust, and she thought: He’s a dreadful man. Vulgar and uncouth. He thinks he’s a gentleman with his custom-tailored gabardine suits and hand-made shoes and soft silk shirts, but he’s not. He’ll never be anything but an ignorant peasant. Shanty Irish.
Patrick pointed a long bony finger at Ryan and exclaimed excitedly, ‘Now listen to me, son. There’s going to be no more of this painting. I forbid it, do you hear me. It’s not for a great lad like you. It’s not masculine enough. You’re going to be a politician, Ryan O’Rourke, even if it kills me in the process. And the President of these United States one day. Furthermore, you’re going to start training for it immediately, with dedication and discipline and single-mindedness of purpose. Just like a boxer trains. Do you understand me, son? Have I made myself clear?’
‘Yes, Da,’ said Ryan meekly, still quivering with a mixture of fear and shock, and swamped with unhappiness.
Patrick turned to face Katharine, glaring at her. ‘As for you, young lady, I want no more interference. I’ve had quite enough of you lately. You’re a real troublemaker, not to mention a little liar, Katie Mary O’Rourke. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the unspeakable things you said about your Uncle George. Scurrilous. Disgusting. I never thought a daughter of mine would have such filth in her mind!’
Katharine felt as if the blood was draining out of her, and her legs wobbled. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick, and her large eyes became larger in her face. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead, and she had to clench her fists to control herself. How could her father be so cruel and mean, embarrassing her by saying such frightful things in front of little Ryan. She took a deep breath to control herself and said, in a voice that was surprisingly steady, ‘George Gregson is not my uncle. He’s only your business partner. And I didn’t tell you any lies!’ ‘Go to your room immediately!’ Patrick thundered, harshness and fury bringing a rasp to his voice. ‘How dare you answer me back. You’re impertinent as well as a liar, it seems. And don’t venture downstairs for dinner, my girl. I don’t want to look at your face tonight. Annie will bring a tray to your room later.’
Katharine was rooted to the spot, and automatically, with a sense of protectiveness, she tightened her hand on Ryan’s shoulders. Her father observed this gesture, and commanded imperiously, ‘Stand away from your brother! Stand away! You’re always slobbering over him. It strikes me as you’re turning him into a girl like yourself. Now, go to your room.’
‘I will,’ Katharine retorted with some spirit, walking rapidly across the floor. ‘But not before I’ve looked in on Mother, to see if she wants anything.’
Patrick seemed about to explode, but he said nothing. When she reached the door of the nursery, Katharine stopped and turned her head. She looked directly at her father, and said with cold deliberation,’ I took a message for you earlier. It’s on the desk in the library. It’s from a Miss McGreatly. She said you can call her at the usual restaurant. In the Loop.’
Patrick’s jaw went slack and he stared at her, momentarily stupefied. His mouth tightened into a slit and his eyes hardened, and it was then that she saw the naked hatred on his face. Katharine recoiled, aghast. But she recovered herself at once and stared back at him defiantly, her eyes challenging, and she knew that he knew that she knew exactly what kind of man he was. Something rose up in Katharine like bile, gagging her, and with the child’s wisdom that springs from instinct and blind perception she understood that she was confronting evil. Her blood ran cold, and it was then that the first seeds of bitter purpose were sown in her. She vowed to herself that she would fight her father for Ryan, and for Ryan’s soul, if it took all the days of her life. She did not know that her own hatred blazed out from her young face with such intensity and force that Patrick was staggered by it.
That night Katharine lay in her bed, listening to Ryan’s sobs through the wall. They had started almost immediately, when he had returned from dinner, and they had continued unabated. Her heart ached for him and she longed to go and comfort him. The only thing which prevented her from doing so was the thought of her father’s wrath if he caught her. It was not that she was afraid for herself, for, in all truth, she was not afraid of anything. Her concern was for Ryan. Instinctively, she knew that if she attempted to protect her little brother, her father would take drastic measures, would remove him from her care. With a prescience rare in a girl of her age she understood that things would never be the same in this house ever again. She would have to watch her step, for Ryan’s sake.
But in the end she could not bear to listen to the racking sobs any longer, and she got out of bed and crept to the door, opening it quietly. She peered out. The corridor was dark and silent, and no light filtered out from her father’s room, to her enormous relief. He was either downstairs or he had gone out. To meet Miss McGreatly perhaps. Holding her breath, she ventured forth into Ryan’s room and tiptoed over to the bed. ‘It’s me,’ she whispered, sitting down on the edge. She took him in her arms, and stroked his hair and made gentle hushing sounds. Eventually he calmed a little, and nestled against her, his small arms clamped tightly around her neck.
‘I’m scared, Katie,’ he whispered in the darkness, his body still heaving with dry sobs. ‘I don’t want to be a politician. I want to be an artist. What will I do? I’m so scared of Da.’
‘Hush, honey, don’t get upset again. We’ll think of something.’
‘Why did Da tear up my beautiful painting? I was going to give it to Momma.’
‘I don’t know. Well, perhaps he was angry with me. But you’ll do another for Momma, Ryan, real soon.’
‘No, I won’t,’ he wailed. ‘Da has forbidden it. I’ll never be able to paint again, Katie.’
‘Please, honey, don’t talk so loud,’ Katharine cautioned, and went on with some assurance, ‘And you will paint, we’ll find a way, I promise. Everything is going to be all right.’
‘Are you sure, Katie?’
‘Yes, trust me, honey. Now try to sleep.’ She loosened his arms gently, and made him nestle down in the bed, tucking him in. She sat stroking his hair for a while, murmuring softly to him, until he began to doze. As she stood up, he suddenly roused himself, and clutched her arm, ‘Katie, what did Da mean when he said you’d told him lies about Uncle George?’
‘Shush, honey,’ Katharine whispered, ‘it’s nothing. Now go to sleep.’
‘Yes, Katie,’ he said with his usual obedience. He closed his eyes and curled up into a small ball, and Katharine slipped out.
Long after she had returned to her own room, Katharine was still wide awake, her mind filled with the hateful memory of that day when George Gregson had come to the house. It had been a Sunday. All the servants were off, except for Annie, the housekeeper, who was taking her afternoon nap. Ryan was out with Aunt Lucy, her father was playing golf, and her mother was in the hospital. She had been alone in the house, except for the sleeping woman upstairs. Katharine tried to block out the disgusting details, but they came flooding back, were relentless and distressing, and she lay, mute and shaking, covered in a cold sweat. She saw his ugly congested face. It was drawing closer to hers. She felt his hand on her small breast and the other one sliding up her dress, probing and pinching between her legs.
Katharine now experienced the same revulsion which engulfed her when George Gregson had unbuttoned his trousers and pushed her face down into his lap. She leapt out of bed and flew to the bathroom, staggering to the washbasin, filled with nausea. She leaned over it retching, and she threw up again and again, just as she had vomited on that terrible Sunday, all over George Gregson’s trousers.
Katharine had not told anyone Gregson had molested her, for she was too ashamed and embarrassed, and also curiously afraid. But when he had attempted to waylay her on several succeeding occasions, she had endeavoured to communicate some of her mounting fears to her father. She could not confide in her mother, who was far too sick. Haltingly, choosing her words carefully, Katharine had informed her father about the incident as delicately as possible. To the girl’s amazement, and immense shock and distress, her father had not believed her. He had called her a damned liar. As he had done that very afternoon in the nursery.
Katharine shuddered, wiped her face and drank a glass of water. She ran a bath, pouring in great quantities of the bubble bath her Aunt Lucy had given her. She lay in the water for a long time, and afterwards, when she had dried herself, she covered her entire body with talcum powder and cleaned her teeth three times. Only after this long ritual of cleansing was she able to return to her bed, and finally, as dawn was breaking, she fell into an exhausted sleep.
Contrary to what Katharine had expected, her father made no reference to their altercation at breakfast the next day. Nor did he bring it up in the days which followed. Slowly, things drifted back to normal, and although Ryan was not given new paints, the two children were allowed to spend their days together, and Katharine found herself breathing a little easier. But at the end of the summer vacation their father moved with efficiency and speed, and, to Katharine, with an awful finality. Ryan was packed off to a military academy on the East Coast, and she herself was enrolled as a boarder in the convent where she had previously been a day pupil. One year later Rosalie was dead and buried. Katharine was devastated by grief, and inconsolable; there were times when she so yearned and fretted for her mother that she made herself violently ill physically. It was her Aunt Lucy who eventually brought the thirteen-year-old girl a measure of peace and a semblance of security, through her understanding, compassion and love. The two drew closer together as the next few years passed, and when Katharine was sixteen it was Lucy who prevailed upon Patrick to send the girl to school in England, as Katharine wished. Patrick had readily agreed, as Katharine had known he would. She was well aware that he could not stand the sight of her, or bear her silent accusations, or face her condemning gaze.
After Katharine left the English boarding school, she had gone to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, again through Lucy’s intervention with Patrick. In all this time she had rarely heard from her father, or from Ryan. She attributed her brother’s silence to fear of reprisals from their father if he communicated with her, convinced that he was under Patrick O’Rourke’s thumb. But her Aunt Lucy was a diligent and regular correspondent, and kept her well informed about their activities, and a cheque from her father arrived promptly every month.
Katharine blinked, and straightened up on the white sofa. It was patently obvious her father was paying her to stay away from Chicago. He was glad to be rid of her. Apart from the fact that she knew too much, he was afraid of her influence over Ryan. He would not let anything, or anyone, obstruct his schemes for Ryan, schemes which she had never once been foolish enough to discount, even when she was a child. Her father fully intended to carry them through no matter what the cost, for he craved power, and he believed that Ryan was the key to the greatest power in the land, the Presidency of the United States.
Katharine’s mouth twisted contemptuously. Well, she thought grimly, I’ll show him yet. And when I’m a star and have enough money of my own to support Ryan, I’ll send him to study art in Paris, or wherever he wants to go. This thought galvanized her. She had much to accomplish before that day came, and she could not afford to waste a single moment dwelling on Patrick Michael Sean O’Rourke. The bastard. As far as she was concerned, the die had been cast years before. And she herself had been set upon a course from which she could never deviate, even if she so wished. Saving Ryan and thwarting her father had been intricately interwoven into the fabric of her destiny, had become integral threads in her excessive ambition for herself.
Katharine now picked up the breakfast tray and took it into the kitchen. Automatically, her thoughts turned to the impending screen test, upon which so much depended, and for which she had one week to prepare. She was not especially worried about her performance. What concerned her more was the material she would use. She knew exactly what this should be, but it must be adapted and written out as dialogue, and for this task she needed a professional writer. Her mind began to work with its usual avidity and an illuminating smile spread itself across her face. Why, she could surely solve that little problem over lunch. Providing she was persuasive enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_328e8232-66d1-51f1-871c-c3e03887034b)
At the other side of London, on this same lovely February morning, David Cunningham, the Earl of Langley, sat at his desk in the library of his Mayfair town house, drinking a cup of tea. The Times, and various other daily newspapers, lay unopened, since he had neither the inclination nor interest to peruse any of them. A variety of matters occupied his mind, not the least of which was the large and ominous-looking pile of bills stacked on the leather-bound blotter.
Hell, he thought, I might as well tackle these blasted things first. I certainly can’t deal with any of my other problems just now. Sighing, he began to sort through the pile, pulling out the most critical and pressing. He wrote a number of cheques, made a few calculations and returned the remainder of the bills to the drawer. Most of these were also urgent, but he felt they could safely wait until next month. They would have to wait. ‘I’m always robbing Peter to pay Paul,’ he muttered out loud. A gloomy expression dulled his fine intelligent eyes, and there was an unfamiliar droop to his mouth.
David Cunningham scrimped and scraped and economized in every conceivable way, and yet he was always beset by the most acute financial worries. Income from the estate and farming, as well as other holdings, was continually swallowed up by general overheads, maintenance of the castle and the estate and new farming equipment. He was gradually replacing the old and outdated machinery with more modern pieces, but this was a slow and increasingly costly process. Certainly the new equipment had introduced greater efficiency and improved his farming methods; even so, his latest projections indicated he would not be out of the red and into the black for almost another two years. Until then the cash flow would continue to be an excruciating problem, and what he sorely needed was a little ready cash to put everything on an even keel, but there was scant possibility of getting it. Unless … He could sell the two prize heifers to Giles Martin, a neighbouring farmer who had been pressing him to let them go for almost a year. He had been somewhat reluctant to resort to this measure, since he did not want to deplete the herd, and yet the sale would partially ease his current burdens. Perhaps it was the easiest solution, and one he should not be so ready to dismiss.
David made the decision he had been baulking at for the longest time. By God, he would sell the heifers, and the moment he returned to Yorkshire. In fact, he would telephone Giles later in the day and so inform him. David smiled to himself. And he had better make that call, before he changed his mind again.
He immediately felt a sense of relief, and the heavy constricting feeling in his chest, which he had been experiencing for several hours, now lifted. In general, the Earl was a relaxed, even-tempered man, who had a positive outlook on life, a rare good humour and was unaffected by his daily worries.
He flipped through the morning mail. Not very interesting, except for a letter from Doris Asternan, who was still in Monte Carlo. He read it eagerly. Doris had written to tell him that she was returning to London early next week, having finally found an appropriate, and apparently beautiful, villa on the promontory at Cap Martin. It was near Roquebrune, on the way to the Italian border, and according to the preponderance of adjectives she had used to describe it, the house was nothing short of a palace, set in spacious and exquisite grounds which she said were out of this world. It overlooked the Mediterranean, had its own private beach, a swimming pool and a tennis court. She had already signed the lease and was staying on to interview the present staff, who were available if she wished to engage them for the summer. Doris had rented the villa from a French industrialist for four months, from June through September, and she ended the letter with a reiteration of the generous invitation she had extended previously to himself and his children. They were welcome to spend as much of the summer at the villa as they wished.
David put the letter down and stood up, walking over to the fireplace in long, easy strides. Tall, ramrod straight and elegant, he was proud of his bearing and, at forty-seven, was amazingly youthful looking. His features, typically Anglo-Saxon, were sensitive and refined, his grey eyes eloquent, his complexion fair, as was his hair. He was a handsome man, and he held great appeal for women, who thought his appearance not only romantic but dashing as well. Consequently, he was in constant demand socially, and had he been less moral and discriminating he could easily have been a Lothario of no mean proportions. As it was, his fastidious nature prevented him from taking advantage of the opportunities which were for ever presenting themselves, and he never indulged in random love affairs.
He stood in front of the fireplace, absently staring at the wall of books opposite, thinking about Doris. She had wrought many changes in his life, all for the better, as he was the first to acknowledge. She had given him a rare type of companionship he had not experienced with any other woman since his wife’s death, and a great deal of understanding, devotion, love, and physical pleasure as well. He had come to rely on her constant presence. In fact, he had to admit Doris was now quite indispensable to him. He was not naïve enough to think this circumstance had developed by accident, knowing perfectly well that Doris had diligently set out to make herself wanted and needed. But he did not consider it devious. Every woman strove to weave a web around the man she loved, in an effort to bind him to her irrevocably.
David knew he should marry Doris. He would be a fool not to, and, in fact, he wanted to marry her. Yet he continued to procrastinate, and he was not exactly certain why he did so. She had all the right qualifies, at least those he thought were important in a woman, and she would make a superb wife for him. His own feelings aside, his children approved and had a genuine fondness for her. And, of course, there was her money, which would solve his financial difficulties once and for all. Doris, the thirty-five-year-old widow of an American meat-packing tycoon, was childless, and she made it abundantly clear to him that her immense fortune would be at his disposal if they married. But David Cunningham was not the kind of man who could be influenced by money when it came to the serious business of marriage. In his lexicon this was the least of all considerations. Love and compatibility took precedence with him. Well, he did love Doris, and they were inordinately compatible. But…
The door of the book-lined library was open, and David heard Francesca’s quick light step in the hall. He hurried to the door and looked out. ‘Good morning, my dear.’ There was a lilt in his voice and his eyes instantly brightened.
‘Good morning, Daddy darling,’ she responded and, smiling, reached up to kiss his cheek.
The Earl hugged her to him, and then he stood back. ‘Feeling patriotic today, are you, Frankie?’
Francesca looked at her father nonplussed. He was regarding her with fondness, his eyes twinkling. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked with a slight frown.
‘The colour scheme you’ve adopted this morning.’ His glance swept over her again. ‘Borrowed from the Union Jack, wouldn’t you say?’
Francesca laughed, and swinging around she looked at herself in the mirror, her head on one side. She was wearing a new white cotton shirt, her best navy-blue Jaeger skirt and a navy-blue melton-cloth reefer jacket. ‘I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ she retorted mildly, but nevertheless she unfastened the red-white-and-blue silk scarf tied around her neck and pushed it into her jacket pocket. She turned back to her father. ‘Is that better?’ she asked. Her father’s taste in women’s clothes ran to the subdued, even the dowdy at times, and she knew it was the vivid scarf to which he objected. ‘I just thought the dash of colour would cheer up my outfit,’ she said.
‘You don’t need anything to cheer up your clothes. Your face inevitably does that.’ His smile was tender as he went on, ‘And where are you off to at this hour?’
‘The British Museum.’
‘Ah, yes indeed. Gordon beckons, I’ve no doubt.’ The Earl half turned and stepped into the library. He said, ‘I’d like to talk to you, Frankie, if you can spare me a few minutes.’
‘Why yes, of course I can, Daddy.’
‘Then come in and close the door behind you. I think a little privacy is in order.’
Francesca did as he asked, her gaze resting on him, her face sobering. The seriousness of his tone alarmed her, and she thought: Oh God, there’s trouble brewing. Being extremely close to her father and attuned to his moods, she invariably anticipated him, and she was positive he could only want to talk to her about one of two things: Kim or money. Probably the latter, she said to herself, eyeing the bills and the chequebook on the desk. Suddenly she felt selfish and guilty. Here she was, probably wasting her time researching a book that might never get written, when she could be earning money. Maybe she ought to get a job to help out. But deciding this was not the time to suggest it, she said, ‘You seem awfully worried, Daddy. Is there something wrong? Is it money?’
‘That’s always a problem, my dear. But somehow we always seem to manage, don’t we?’ He did not wait for her response. ‘However, I didn’t bring you in here to talk about the monthly accounts. Actually, I wanted to discuss this new development with you.’
Francesca tensed and her eyes were watchful. ‘New development?’ she echoed. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’
‘Come, come, Frankie, don’t hedge. You’re talking to me. You know perfectly well I’m referring to Kim and Katharine.’
She accepted the gentle reprimand in silence, playing for time. The silence grew, hung between them. The Earl studied his daughter keenly. Finally, he said, ‘I presume your lack of response is an acknowledgement of the facts. I also presume you know Kim is very serious about this girl.’
Realizing she could not remain mute indefinitely, Francesca thought the safest thing would be to repeat Kim’s words to her. ‘Well, Daddy, I’m not sure serious is the right word, but I do think he’s quite keen.’
The Earl laughed knowingly. ‘That’s undoubtedly the understatement of the year! Your brother is madly in love. Even a blind man would know that.’ He leaned forward over the desk. His cool grey eyes, which had narrowed perceptibly, were fixed unblinkingly on his daughter. He asked quietly, ‘And what is your opinion of Katharine, Frankie?’
Francesca’s face lit up at once. ‘I like her enormously! In fact, I took to her the instant I met her. I think she’s a super girl. And to tell you the truth, I thought you did, Daddy. On Monday evening you seemed … well, enchanted, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ Her words held a challenge, as did her gaze.
‘You’re absolutely correct, I was,’ the Earl conceded evenly. ‘Katharine has a variety of assets, all of them most apparent, so I won’t waste time enumerating them. And she is quite the lady – ‘
‘Well, then,’ Francesca interrupted swiftly, her brows lifting expressively, ‘why are you so perturbed?’
David ignored this pointed question by saying, ‘What do you actually know about her, my dear?’
Francesca was startled. ‘Haven’t you talked to Kim about Katharine? I think it’s his place to tell you about his new girl friend, not mine, don’t you?’
‘Indeed I do, darling. And I have spoken to him. Unfortunately he was extremely vague, even a little evasive. To be frank, I decided not to press him for the time being. I felt it would be wiser not to make too much of a fuss, since that would only give the matter tremendous importance in his mind. On the other hand, because I believe he has serious intentions, I do think I should know more about the girl he is apparently thinking of marrying. I intend to have a heart-to-heart talk with Kim when we get back to Langley, but, in the meantime, I thought you might be able to give me a few more facts.’ He waited, and then observing the expression on her face, he added gently, ‘You think I’m putting you in an awkward position, I know, but I’m not really. It was I who brought you up to have a sense of honour, to be loyal, so I would certainly never ask you to betray a confidence. Still, under the circumstances, I don’t think it would be disloyal to Kim if you repeat what he’s told you, or what Katharine has said about herself. I’m hardly asking you to divulge state secrets,’ he finished with a soft chuckle.
Francesca stared down at her hands. Everything her father said made sense. Surely there was no harm in telling him what she knew. It was then she realized, and with a little stab of dismay, that there was hardly anything to repeat. ‘Kim hasn’t confided in me, and neither has Katharine,’ she answered. ‘To tell you the truth, now that I think about it, she hasn’t said much about her life. Here or in America.’
‘I see,’ said David, masking his surprise. He looked at her clear and lovely face, the candid gaze, and he knew she was being her usual truthful self. Until this moment he had been convinced his daughter would be able to enlighten him. She and Kim were extremely close. Obviously she had been kept in the dark. Very curious indeed. Then he wondered why.
Francesca volunteered, ‘I understand from Kim that Katharine comes from Chicago, and that she’s an orphan, poor girl.’
‘Yes, he told me that too. He also mentioned she went to school here and afterwards attended RADA.’ The Earl shook his head in bemusement. ‘Not much to go on, is it?’
‘No,’ Francesca agreed. It struck her how foolish Kim had been. He should have adopted a more direct approach with their father, instead of being close-mouthed, secretive. His posture, so silly and unnecessary, had precipitated an unfortunate situation, one which could only end up being troublesome.
‘Do you think she has any family at all?’ the Earl asked.
‘I don’t think so – ‘ Francesca bit off her sentence and shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t say that, because actually I don’t really know,’ she corrected herself.
David Cunningham stared across the room, his eyes focused on an antique hunting print, a preoccupied expression on his face. After a few seconds, he swung his head to face Francesca. ‘Look here, dear, I’m not passing any judgments on Katharine, nor am I out to create undue problems for Kim. God knows, I have his well being and happiness at heart. And believe me, as of this moment, I don’t have strong objections to the girl. I’m sure she is most admirable, and she might be ideal for him. But, as Kim’s father, I feel I am entitled to some information about Katharine’s background. It’s not much to ask, is it?’
‘No, Daddy,’ Francesca said, understanding his concern. He was being much more reasonable than she had originally anticipated. Voicing the one thing which had chiefly worried her, she ventured tentatively, ‘Then you don’t mind that she’s an actress?’
‘I’m not that old fashioned, my dear,’ David exclaimed with a faint chuckle. ‘And times have changed. Naturally, I would have preferred Kim to have fallen in love with a girl from his own world, but I can’t control his emotions, now can I?’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can.’
‘And anyway, if she and Kim do marry, she would automatically give up her acting career. She would have to, and I hope Kim has made that clear to her.’ David rested his elbows on the desk and brought the tips of his fingers together to form a steeple. He peered over them, and asked, ‘Do you think Tempest is Katharine’s real name, or one she adopted for the stage? I must say, it struck me as being rather theatrical.’
‘Theatrical! How can you say that, Dad? What about your old friend, Lord Londonderry? His family name is Tempest. Well, anyway, Tempest Stewart.’
‘Hmmm. Quite so. However, you haven’t answered my question. Do you think it’s her real name?’
‘I’ve no way of knowing. Why?’
‘Doris comes from Chicago – ‘
‘I thought she came from Oklahoma.’
‘She does, but after her marriage to Edgar Asternan she moved to Chicago, his home town, and lived there for many years. If Katharine’s family was a prominent one, I’m sure Doris would have been acquainted with them. Certainly she would have heard of them, since she was very social and involved in numerous civic activities. It occurred to me she might be able to give me a few salient facts.’
‘Yes, she might.’ Francesca stood up and walked to the window. She glanced out, her mind on Kim. He really was impossible at times. And so thoughtless. Her father had enough worries without this problem to add to his burdens. Poor Dad, he really is troubled, she thought. She turned and said impulsively, ‘Perhaps you ought to ‘phone Doris right now. You never know, Daddy, she might be able to put your mind at rest immediately. After all, it is a small world.’
‘No, darling, I don’t think I will. ‘I’ll wait until Doris gets back next week, and discuss it with her then. I don’t believe there’s that much of a panic’
‘You know best, Dad. And please don’t worry. I’m sure Doris can check out Katharine for you, just like that.’ She snapped her fingers, and her smile was reassuring.
‘Good Lord, Frankie, I don’t want to check the girl out, as you seem to infer! Turn her inside out and upside down! That would be perfectly reprehensible.’ The Earl was genuinely shocked at the suggestion, and went on, ‘As I said, I merely want to know more about her, and her family. Background. That sort of thing. Just the usual sort of information a father likes to have, before he sanctions a serious relationship. Actually, I’m willing to give them my blessing, you know, providing I’m satisfied Katharine is everything she appears to be.’
Francesca went to her father. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him, and said, her cheek against his, ‘Kim and I are lucky to have you as a father.’
‘And I’m lucky to have the two of you,’ David said warmly. ‘Certainly neither of you has ever caused me any trouble. ‘ He looked up at her and grinned boyishly. ‘But then I haven’t given you any either. I’ve never curtailed your activities or poked around in your lives. In fact, I think I’ve always given you a lot of rope. Because I trust you both implicitly. That’s why I can’t understand Kim’s attitude at all.’ He half-smiled at Francesca. ‘I’ve brought you and Kim up to take people at face value, to accept them for their worth on a human level, and not to be influenced by money or power or more worldly things, and I know I was right to do that. At the same time, I expect you both to have common sense, exercise judgment and discretion, and select friends who are at least appropriate – ‘
‘Don’t you think Katharine is appropriate?’ Francesca interrupted, her eyes clouding over.
‘How can I possibly know that, Frankie? On the surface, yes, I would say she appears to be appropriate. But no adult ever comes to us like a newborn babe, without a history, a past. And since I have no knowledge of Katharine’s upbringing, I can hardly make a proper assessment of her, decide whether or not she is suitable for Kim. As a wife that is. I don’t have to remind you of his responsibilities, I know that. On the other hand, have you thought of what Katharine’s life would be like if she married Kim? She would be buried in the country most of the year; a farmer’s wife, albeit a farmer’s wife with a tide, and country living is hardly the most exciting existence, my darling, as well you know. It’s never been your cup of tea. And then again, there are all the duties and responsibilities she would have to take on, with the estate workers, the villagers, the Women’s Voluntary Service, not to mention our rather demanding vicar. Think of the church activities alone – garden fêtes, bazaars, jumble sales, the Harvest Festival, the Christmas festivities, and so many more endless tasks. More importantly, perhaps, does Katharine know what marriage to Kim really entails?’ David shook his head and did not wait for her reply. ‘I doubt it. I’m sure Kim hasn’t bothered to explain the ramifications of his life, just as he hasn’t sought to find out more about her. Personally, I think he’s so damned infatuated he hasn’t given a passing thought to these things. Probably thinks they’re irrelevant and far too mundane. But they’re not. They’re an integral part of his life, as my son and heir. They’re his duty,’ he concluded with a sigh. As an after-thought, he added, ‘You know, he’s been bowled over by Katharine’s looks, and his head is in the clouds. You saw how he behaved at Les Ambassadeurs the other night. He’s quite hypnotized by her. You do agree with that, at least, don’t you, Frankie dear?’
‘I … I … suppose you’re right.’
David adopted a milder tone. ‘I had hoped we were close enough, that you and Kim both trusted me enough, to be open with me, to seek my guidance on important matters in your lives. I thought you knew I would always be fair, and certainly most understanding.’
