eloquent about the land, and even though she had heard it all before, more or less, she always endeavoured to show real interest. She had come to understand, very early in their relationship, that Kim’s love of the land reached deep into his soul. He was a dedicated farmer, and would be for the rest of his life. Langley, and all it encompassed, was his life.
‘Well, here we are,’ Kim announced briskly, bringing the car to a standstill in Chesterfield Street.
Katharine said, ‘You know, you haven’t told me much about your sister, except that she’s pretty, Kim. Don’t you think- ‘
‘And I haven’t told her much about you either,’ Kim interrupted laughingly. ‘It’s better that way. Neither of you has any preconceived ideas about the other.’
‘But she must know I’m an actress.’
‘She does.’
‘Does she work? Does she do anything special?’ Although Katharine was neither nervous nor apprehensive about meeting Kim’s sister, she did harbour a few reservations, even doubts, about the chances of their becoming close friends. Lady Francesca Cunningham, titled in her own right as the daughter of an earl, might easily be one of those cold, snobbish debutantes so typical of the British aristocracy. The fact that Kim was the exception to the rule in this class-conscious society did not guarantee that his sister was cut from the same cloth. And if this was the case they would have little in common, and there would be no real basis upon which to build a friendship. Of course it wasn’t absolutely necessary for them to become bosom chums, Katharine acknowledged. As long as there was a cordiality between them everything would work out, and certainly it would make the situation much easier to control.
‘From your silence, I gather she’s a lady of leisure,’ Katharine went on lightly. Her fingers curled around the door handle and she made to alight.
Kim reached out and restrained her gently. ‘She doesn’t go to work but she does work hard,’ he explained. ‘She’s a writer. At the moment she’s doing research for an historical biography. She’s always poking around in history books and she’s practically moved into the British Museum. Anyway, she’s kind of artistic, so I know you’ll have lots in common. Don’t worry.’
‘Oh, I’m not in the least bit worried,’ Katharine assured him with a bright self-confident smile, and she meant every word, for few things ever fazed her.
The moment Katharine Tempest entered the drawing room Francesca’s eyes were riveted on her. She found herself staring in astonishment and she thought: This girl is too improbable to be real. Everything about her is improbable. Only Francesca’s good manners prevented her from displaying her startled reaction as she rose from the chair near the fireplace to welcome her guest.
The girl who walked with an easy swinging grace across the floor was obviously in her early twenties, perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. She wore an extremely sophisticated dress, and in consequence, to Francesca, she looked like a little girl dressed up in mother’s clothes. Made of fine black wool crepe, the dress was of mid-calf length, with a draped neckline, a straight skirt and dolman sleeves, and it was unrelieved by any touches of accent colour or jewellery. It struck Francesca that it was the perfect foil for the girl’s looks, and she decided it was exactly right on her after all.
Kim followed closely on Katharine’s heels, smiling broadly, and when they neared the fireplace he stepped forward to introduce the two girls to each other.
As Francesca stretched out her hand she found herself looking into the most extraordinary face she had ever seen. Katharine Tempest was lovely, and breathtakingly so. Her eyes, not blue, not green, but a unique turquoise, made the initial impact, and they were startling in their vividness of colour. They were large and set wide apart, fringed with silky black lashes, and they appeared to swamp her face with radiance.
Francesca thought the girl’s features could not have been more exquisite if they had been chiselled by a sculptor. They were harmoniously distributed in an oval face that was perfectly balanced: a smooth brow, a small straight nose, high cheekbones above hollow cheeks, and a rounded chin. The symmetrical brows matched the rich dark-chestnut hair. This was parted in the centre and cascaded in glossy waves to her shoulders. Her white skin, which was exceptionally fine, was totally devoid of colour, which was why her full mouth, painted with the brightest of red lipstick, seemed all the more striking. Yet it was a child-like mouth, and now, as she smiled, it turned up at the corners to give her a look of innocence. There was also an unusual sweetness in her face that was both poignant and touching. In those first few moments, Francesca could only stand and stare speechlessly at this slender young woman who was accompanying her brother.
It was Katharine who broke the silence.
‘Thank you for inviting me.’ She spoke softly and her gaze was open and friendly as she regarded Francesca with not inconsiderable interest. Aware though she was of her own startling beauty and the impact it made, vanity was not one of Katharine’s chief characteristics. In some ways she was even self-effacing at times, and she strove always to find something special in others, especially those she wanted to like. She said to herself: Kim didn’t do his sister justice. She’s really lovely. The perfect English rose.
‘And I’m so glad you could come,’ Francesca said, returning the smile. ‘Please make yourself comfortable, Katharine. And Kim, why don’t you open the champagne. It’s over there on the chest.’
‘Splendid idea,’ Kim said. He beamed at them both and hurried across the room, rattling the bottle in the silver bucket as he attacked the cork. ‘I think I need a cloth to grip this better,’ he said and went out to the kitchen.
Apart from her physical beauty and unquestionable talent, Katharine possessed that most essential and desirable of all human ingredients, the quality of natural charm, and it was a charm so powerful it was at once dangerous and devastating in its potency. Seating herself on the sofa, Katharine looked across at Francesca and the full force of that charm was now levelled with great concentration in her direction. Katharine smiled. It was her most dazzling smile, guaranteed to disarm, ensnare and enchant.
She said: ‘It’s very nice of you to make supper for us, especially at this late hour. That’s the only problem with being an actress, my world is topsy turvy, and my social life begins when everyone is going to bed.’ She laughed her spiralling laugh. ‘It’s a terrible imposition on my non-theatrical friends, I’m afraid, having to entertain me in the wee small hours. If they want to see me, that is. Sometimes they don’t, and I can’t say I blame them. Not everyone wants to be carousing at midnight, sometimes even later than that!’
‘Oh, I don’t mind, really I don’t,’ Francesca was quick to say. ‘And at least it’s Sunday tomorrow. We can all sleep late.’
Katharine turned and glanced around the room. She was conscious of the beauty of the setting, with its gleaming antiques, the objects of art and the fine paintings. The coral walls gave it a roseate cast, this ambience further enhanced by the lamplight and the fire glowing in the grate. Katharine thought of her little birdcage of a flat, in comparison so sparse and utilitarian. But there was not a shred of envy in her. She was reminded instead of another room, from the happy time of her childhood, before her mother had fallen ill, when her life had been joyous, filled with love and tenderness. It was so very long ago now it might have been a lovely dream, yet Katharine knew otherwise. And it seemed to her that this elegant drawing room in London was just as safe as that other room had been, for it gave
