Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford

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mouth water, and he suddenly realized he was hungry. Once again he tried Nick’s suite, wanting to tell him the trip was all set, and to ask him what he wanted for lunch, but to his sharp disappointment there was still no answer. He stared at the telephone, trying to recall whether they had made a definite date for a snack before the meeting. He could have sworn they had. Perhaps Nick had misunderstood or forgotten. He called room service and ordered a club sandwich and a cold beer, reminding the waiter who took his order that the kitchen had his precise written instructions for preparing the club sandwich exactly the way he liked it. He walked across to the small portable bar and poured himself a Scotch and soda and, returning to the desk, he leafed through the telephone messages, tossing most of them to one side. He re-read the one from Katharine, asking him to call her at the Caprice Restaurant, where she would be until three o’clock. He did so.

      ‘Hello, Victor,’ she said when she came onto the line.

      He laughed. ‘How could you be sure it was me?’

      ‘No one else knows I’m having lunch here. Victor, about tonight. Francesca’s sick and –’

      ‘Yes, I know, honey. Jerry told me.’

      ‘Do you still want to have dinner after the play, as we planned?’

      The thought of eating at midnight suddenly palled on him. ‘Would you mind if I backed out tonight? I think I ought to concentrate on my lines. But hey, honey, I don’t want to leave you high and dry. Listen, I’ll talk to Nicky. Why don’t the two of you have dinner together?’

      ‘Oh no! I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.’ This was said so emphatically he was surprised. There was an imperceptible hesitation at the other end of the telephone before she explained, in a softer tone, ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose on him. Let’s forget it. I don’t mind, honestly, and I should do the same as you, and study my part.’

      ‘Yes, maybe you should, and listen, honey, thanks for being so understanding. I owe you one. Who’re you lunching with?’ he asked, although more out of a desire to be friendly than any curiosity on his part.

      ‘Hilary Pierce and Terry Ogden. It’s a celebration lunch, because we’ll all be working on Wuthering Heights.’

      ‘Another one! Well, have fun, and I’ll talk to you later in the week. We’ll fix a date for supper.’ They hung up, and Victor sipped his drink, his mind revolving around Katharine. She was the most indefatigable young woman he had ever met. Always busy with her lunches, her parties and her dinners. For ever running and doing. For ever in the biggest hurry. By the same token, her social obligations never seemed to interfere in any way with her work. She was a real professional and supremely dedicated to her craft. Victor also suspected that her social life, which she took very seriously, was totally bound up with her ambition, for he had come to understand that she was excessively ambitious and driven and tireless when it came to her career. She seemed to live and breathe it with extraordinary intensity. But there’s no harm in that, he reflected, and she’s a great girl. The best. A fond smile lingered on his face. He had an extremely soft spot for Katharine, and now their lives were going to be entwined to an even greater extent. She had signed the personal contract with Bellissima, and in so doing had placed herself entirely in his hands; for the next few years he would be guiding her career, all aspects of it. He had strongly advised her to do the Beau Stanton picture, following completion of Wuthering Heights, and after listening to him attentively, and reading the script, she had agreed at once to be loaned out to Monarch.

      Some of her questions had been so intelligent, so well formulated, so incisive, he had been taken aback for a moment. He had discovered she had an astute head for business, at least in relation to herself and her career. This had not displeased him, rather she had risen in his estimation. Unlike many other young actresses, Katharine was nobody’s fool when it came to money, and she had shrewdly put a high value on herself and her services. Yes, he said inwardly, the little lady knows exactly where she’s heading. To the top and as rapidly as possible. More power to her, he thought. This was the roughest, toughest business in the world, as he knew from experience, populated with the best and the worst. Hollywood had spawned more than its fair share of opportunistic, ruthless, exigent and venal characters, along with its talented, gifted and dedicated men. Katharine was smart to have her wits about her, even though she would have the benefit of his protection and patronage so long as she was under contract to Bellissima.

      Now he made a mental note to talk to Hilly about the loan-out contract with Monarch when he next saw him. There were several special clauses he wanted included. Victor did not envision any problems with Monarch, since they were delighted that the arrangement had been made with comparative ease, as was Beau Stanton. A week ago, Hilly Steed had flown a print of Katharine’s screen test to the Coast, and Beau had been bowled over by Katharine’s looks and her talent. Who isn’t, Victor thought, and pursed his lips, aware that there was at least one person who was not exactly crazy about Katharine Tempest. The waiter appeared with the club sandwich, correctly prepared, he was glad to see, and the beer was really cold, something of a miracle in England. After Victor had consumed both, he returned all his local calls, spoke briefly to his stockbroker in New York, and finally reached his manager at the ranch near Santa Barbara. They talked for a good fifteen minutes, settled a couple of small problems and then, satisfied that everything was under control at Rancho Che Sarà Sarà, Victor said goodbye. He hurried through into the bathroom to freshen up for the impending meeting, relieved he had been able to attend to most of his urgent business for the entire week in one day.

      Jerry and Jake were the first to arrive. Ted Reddish, the casting director, followed closely behind, and Mark Pierce knocked on the door at precisely three o’clock. They sat around chatting amiably, waiting for Nick to join them. At twenty minutes past three, growing increasingly exasperated, Victor excused himself and went into the bedroom. He tried Nick’s suite again. This time the line was busy. Damn! Victor hurried back into the sitting room.

      He said, to the room at large, ‘I have a feeling I might not have made it clear to Nick that I needed him at the meeting. He’s on the ’phone. I’ll just run along and bang on his door. In the meantime, why don’t you go over the ground we covered this morning, Jake. And Jerry, let Mark take a look at the location pictures. I’ll be right back.’

       Chapter Twenty-Two

      The key was in the door. Victor knocked and opened it, called, ‘It’s me, Nicky,’ and walked in without waiting to be invited.

      Nick was standing in the sitting room with his back to the door, talking on the telephone. ‘All right. Do your best. Thanks. Goodbye.’ He hung up.

      ‘Did you forget the meeting? Everyone else has arrived and we’ve been waiting for –’ Victor began, and stopped as Nick swung around. Nick’s face was haggard and, despite his tan, there was a greyish cast to his complexion.

      ‘What is it, Nicky?’ Victor asked, frowning. He searched his friend’s face. The pain in Nick’s eyes leapt out at him.

      Nick shook his head, lifted his hands in a gesture of futility and sat down on the sofa without answering. He looked as if he was about to say something, but then his mouth drooped and he remained silent. He took a cigarette and lit it shakily, and there was an air of bleakness about him.

      ‘Jesus Christ, Nick, what’s happened?’

      After a moment, Nick lifted his head and sighed. Finally, in a constricted voice he said: ‘I was sitting here. Minding my own business. Working on the new novel. Feeling great. Just sitting here. Working. And then … and then the call came through –’ He was not able to continue and his bright blue eyes darkened. He brushed his hand across them and looked away. He took a long breath. ‘It’s Marcia, Vic. She –’ Once more he paused, the rest of the sentence stuck in his throat.

      Victor’s eyes had not left Nick’s face. ‘What about your sister Marcia, Nicky? Is something wrong with her?’

      Nick moved his

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