and I was wondering if you would do it for me.’
Francesca looked at her in amazement. ‘Gosh, Katharine, I wouldn’t know how! I mean, dialogue and that kind of thing is way beyond me. Good Lord, I wouldn’t know where to begin!’
Katharine said, ‘Oh,’ in a very small voice. Crushed, she dropped her eyes and stared at the tablecloth.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to help you,’ Francesca exclaimed anxiously, her voice rising. ‘I’d do anything for you, Katharine, I really would. I just don’t know how to write something like that. Honestly, I don’t,’ she persisted, feeling downright mean for refusing. Then she was filled with chagrin. Katharine had shown her extraordinary understanding, and kindness, had been so patient and encouraging. She felt she was somehow letting her new friend down by refusing to accede to this request. She said, ‘Please don’t be upset. I couldn’t bear it. Let’s talk about it at least.’
Katharine lifted her head sharply and smiled beguilingly. ‘I know you can do it! I really do, especially since it’s a long passage from Wuthering Heights. You said on Saturday that you knew the book extremely well.’
‘Yes, that’s true, I do … ‘ Francesca’s brows went up in a quirk. ‘But why do you need me to write something for you? I thought Victor Mason had a finished screenplay.’
‘When I asked Victor for the particular pages I need, he said that I could have them. At first. Later he called me back and told me that Nicholas Latimer was rewriting that whole section of the script, and therefore I couldn’t have them after all.’ Katharine bent her head closer to Francesca’s, and lowered her voice. ‘But I don’t believe Nick is rewriting. Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not Victor being difficult. It’s Nick. I don’t think he wants me to have those pages.’
‘How rotten of him! But surely Victor can – ‘ ‘Nicholas Latimer has a great deal of influence over Victor. It seems to me that anything Nick says goes. They’re as thick as thieves. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear to God they were a couple of fags.’ She burst out laughing when she saw Francesca’s face. ‘Don’t look so shocked. Anyway, they’re not. As I was going to say, their reputations as studs precede them. Nick, in particular, thinks every woman he meets is going to fall flat on her back for him.’ She laughed again, and went on, ‘In any event, Nick probably lied to Victor when he told him he was working on the screenplay, and did it just to thwart me. Victor suggested I do something from Trojan Interlude.’ Katharine shrugged. ‘What could I say. When I told him I preferred to use something that was fresher to me, he said I could select anything I wanted that ran about thirty minutes. I went through Wuthering Heights again, and I really studied the scene I like. And to be honest, it wouldn’t be difficult to adapt.’
‘Which scene is it?’ Francesca asked, her interest aroused.
‘It’s the one where – ‘ Katharine stopped when the waiter approached the table with the food, and then said, ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
Once lunch had been served, Katharine took a few mouthfuls and then put down her knife and fork, suddenly unable to eat. ‘You know something, Francesca, every time I think about that scene I get excited. I know it’s exactly right for the screen test. And I do want Victor to see me playing Cathy, not Helen of Troy. It’s that very moving and dramatic scene, where Cathy comes back from Thrushcross Grange and tells Nelly Dean that Edgar Linton wants to marry her. They get into a long discussion about her feelings for Linton, as opposed to her feelings for Heath-cliff. Nelly tries to stop Cathy, who is being very outspoken. She knows Heathcliff is listening outside the door. But Cathy presses on, and says something about how it would degrade her to marry Heathcliff, because her brother has brought him so low – ‘
‘And then Cathy starts talking about her love for Heathcliff,’ Francesca cut in, her face alive with excitement, her eyes shining. ‘And there are those marvellous lines about their souls. I can almost quote it to you verbatim. Cathy says, “He shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s is as different as moonbeam from lightning, as frost from fire.” Of course I know it, and very well, Katharine. And you’re right. It is dramatic and emotional.’
Katharine had observed Francesca’s enthusiasm, her growing interest, and now she seized the moment. She said, ‘If you look at that particular chapter in the book again, and study it, you’ll see there’s enough dialogue between Nelly and Cathy to create a good thirty-minute scene, which is all I need for the screen test. Listen, Francesca, I know you can do it, and in a very short time. I also thought it would be a change of pace for you, and would get you away from your research for a day or two. Oh please, do say yes,’ she cajoled. She gazed at Francesca, her expression pleading, then finished, ‘I need you, I really do. Please, won’t you give it a stab? The test is so important to me.’ Katharine’s eyes did not leave Francesca’s face.
Francesca bit her lip, unsure of herself. But she did want to help Katharine, to please her, and so she swallowed her uncertainty. ‘Well, all right,’ she said. ‘If. you think I can do it, then I’ll give it a try.’
‘Oh, thank you, Francesca darling! Thank you. I’m so grateful,’ Katharine cried.
‘It might not be right, you know, not exactly what you want, but I promise I’ll do my very best. And you’ll have to tell me how many pages you need, where I should begin and end the scene. I will need a little guidance.’
‘I’ll help you. In fact, I can explain some things over lunch. You won’t find it difficult, because it is all there in the book,’ Katharine assured her.
Francesca nodded and stared at her plate. When she lifted her head she looked slightly perplexed. ‘You seem to have a lot of confidence in me, Katharine. Why?’
Katharine thought for a second, and then she smiled. ‘Instinct,’ she replied.
As Katharine approached the St James’s Theatre, she felt a quickening inside, and her heart beat a little faster, excitement tingling through her in short sharp waves. She always experienced these feelings when she went to work, and never once had they diminished or lessened. The thrill, the anticipation and the expectation mingled to bring a spring to her step, a blithe smile of eagerness to her face, and she increased her pace, hurrying down the alley to the stage door.
For as long as she could remember, the theatre for her had been a place of refuge and her happiest moments had been spent on a stage. When she was ten years old she had appeared in a nativity play at the convent in Chicago, and ever since that time she had known she would become an actress, for her destiny had been truly sealed that day. It was the only life she could bear to live, the only one which had any real meaning, and purpose, to her. In a sense, the magical unreality of the stage was her only reality. She found escape in her roles, bringing to them such belief and intensity, she literally became the characters she played. And it was this extraordinary commitment, total and unwavering, that gave her portrayals the absolute ring of dramatic truth, and was perhaps one of her greatest strengths as an actress. She never failed to touch, to move, and perhaps, more importantly, to convince. Even as a student, her interpretations of classical parts, in particular Shakespearean heroines, were innovative and individualistic, and she brought to them wholly new dimensions which staggered with their brilliance.
Charlie, the stage-door
