Voice of the Heart. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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Voice of the Heart - Barbara Taylor Bradford

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at his satisfaction. ‘I’m also going to sign her to a contract with Bellissima Productions. You see, I have a sneaking feeling Katharine Tempest is going to be a big star one day, although I wouldn’t say that to anyone else but you until after I’ve seen the test. Look, trust me. I know what I’m doing. From the very first moment I met Katharine I have felt that she has that – that indescribable thing, that IT. Charisma. Star quality. Whatever you want to call it. If she can project this quality to the camera, and I hope she can, then she’s home free. She’ll be very, very big. If she can’t – ‘ He pursed his lips regretfully. ‘Well, she’ll go on being a brilliant actress. On the stage.’ Now he chuckled, his eyes merry. ‘I don’t know why you haven’t spotted this quality in her yourself.’

      ‘As a matter of fact, I have. But – ‘ Nick’s voice trailed off and he lifted his shoulders in a weary gesture. ‘Look, Vic, I have to repeat that Lazarus will never go for the idea of an unknown actress in this role, however good she is. He seems hell bent on getting a big female movie star to play opposite you. You know something else? I have a strong suspicion he’s going to arrive in London before you can blink. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he’s here already.’

      Victor rose and poured himself another Scotch. ‘I might as well tell you, I’ve been seriously thinking of dumping Lazarus.’ This was uttered with casualness, indifference even, and he looked unconcerned. ‘In fact, the thought’s been hovering at the back of my mind for a couple of weeks. He’s an autocratic, interfering bastard. A megalomaniac. And just because he runs a giant multinational corporation doesn’t mean he knows how to produce a movie, although he undoubtedly believes he does. But he’s a rank amateur in our business. It has struck me innumerable times lately, and quite forcibly, that I’m letting myself in for a lot of headaches if I take him into Bellissima Productions. Or rather, let him invest in the picture. I’m sorry I ever got involved with him, to tell you the truth. And what I’ve just heard from you makes me more wary than ever. I think I have to lose him, and quickly.’

      ‘Jesus, Vic! That would be great. But how are you going to get rid of him? I thought you had a contract.’

      ‘A contract was drawn between Bellissima Productions and Lazarus, but I haven’t signed it yet. There were a couple of clauses in it that bothered me, and I sent it over to my solicitor here. A copy has also gone to my lawyer in Beverly Hills. I’m waiting for their opinions before I sign. So you see, I can dump him any time I want, without fear of repercussions. As yet, Mike Lazarus hasn’t invested a nickel, you know. So basically, he has no claims whatsoever. I’m still in the driver’s seat.’ He settled back, looking smug.

      ‘But how will you finance the picture without him?’ Nick asked worriedly.

      ‘Ah, and therein lies the rub, to quote good old Will Shakespeare. To be honest, I don’t know right now. I hadn’t wanted to go to one of the majors for financing as well as distribution, but I might have to in the end. Anything is better than Lazarus. Metro might be interested. What do you think?’

      Nick frowned. ‘I honestly don’t know. They might not be too excited by a remake of Wuthering Heights. Did you see that story in Variety a couple of weeks back? The exhibitors were sounding off about remakes, and in very strong terms. They think they are box office poison, that people aren’t interested in them.’

      ‘Oh come on, sport, forget it, and let me worry about the timeliness of the picture, the money, and all that jazz. I think Hélène’s information about Lazarus has spooked you a bit. For God’s sake, don’t let’s get depressed about that joker. I’ll find a way to pull the deal together. Now, why don’t we get out of here? I’d like some fresh air and a brisk walk. Shall we mosey on up to the Connaught Hotel for lunch? It’s the whole enchilada on Sunday.’

      ‘That’s a great idea,’ Nick said, trying to sound cheerful.

      ‘Give me five minutes to get dressed. And help yourself to another drink while you’re waiting.’

      ‘Thanks, I will.’ Nick stood up and walked over to the bar cart, deep in thought. He turned. ‘I say, Vic, can I ask you something?’

      ‘Sure.’ Victor paused at the bedroom door, his hand resting on the knob, conscious of the gravity in Nick’s tone.

      Nick’s face was unusually solemn. ‘Assuming you definitely decide not to go ahead with Mike Lazarus as your main backer, what will you do if you can’t get financing from one of the majors, such as Metro, Twentieth or Warners?’

      A thoughtful look drifted across Victor’s face, and he cleared his throat. ‘I’ll have to abort the production. Cancel the picture. I’ll have no alternative,’ he said with some deliberation, having already confronted this possibility and made his decision. ‘The pre-production money will go down the drain unfortunately, but there’s not much I can do about that. And thank God it won’t cripple Bellissima Productions. It can be written off as a tax loss.’ He sighed lightly. ‘C’est la guerre, old buddy.’ He gave Nick a lopsided grin and went through into the bedroom.

      Cancel the picture, Nick thought, staring after him, staggered, disbelieving. After all the hard work they had put into it. Jesus Christ! Not only the pre-production money would go down the drain, but a year of their lives as well. Yet Nick knew Victor meant every word. Things were always carefully evaluated and well thought out before he made a judgment. His decisions were nothing if not judicious and pragmatic.

      Nick felt his own sharp disappointment as he considered the screenplay he had laboured on so diligently and with such love these past endless months. He knew it to be one of his best pieces of writing, and he suddenly felt sick at heart at the idea of its never seeing the light of day.

      You’re being selfish. You’re only thinking about yourself, he muttered, carrying his drink over to the window. He parted the curtains and looked out, but saw nothing except a dim blur of grimy buildings washed in wintry sunlight. But a lot of other people will be disappointed too, thought Nick sadly, not the least Victor, who had dreamed of making Wuthering Heights for the longest time, was aching to play Heathcliff for the sheer challenge the role offered to him. Nick knew Victor wanted to stretch his talent, was weary of being thought of simply as an immense presence on the screen.

      He and Victor would recover from their disappointment relatively quickly, as would the production team, and move on to other projects. Victor had several offers for future films lined up, and he himself had a new novel fermenting in his head, and was anxious to start working on it as soon as possible. Yes, he and Victor were lucky in that respect. They would cut their losses, lick their wounds and walk away reasonably unscarred. But what of Katharine Tempest? She was staking everything on the screen test and the role in the film. It was a rare chance for her to catapult herself into the big time with unusual speed. Without Victor and this film it could be years before she was offered another such incredible break. If ever. Undoubtedly Katharine had put all her chips on this roll of the dice. She could win big. Or lose hard. And if she lost she would be devastated. Nick knew all of this although he had never been the recipient of any confidences from her. He simply knew it through intuition.

      Nick let his thoughts dwell on Katharine. He understood why Victor saw great potential in her as a movie actress. Nick was not blind to Katharine’s attributes, which were manifold. However, conversely, his personal reaction to her was quite different from everyone else’s. Her extraordinary beauty had not beguiled him, nor had her enormous charm captivated him. In essence, she had failed to touch him as a man, and very simply he was not sure of her as a woman. Nick had detected an inherent coldness in her personality. It was a frigidity really, and, to him, this seemed all the more peculiar in view of her apparent sensuality. Except that instinctively he felt this was a façade she presented to the world, was bound up with her looks and had nothing

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