to your lovely voice is music to my ears, my sweet. You could read Debrett’s Peerage to me, and I would still be entranced,’ he teased, seating himself next to her.
‘Oh phooey!’ Katharine winked at Francesca, who simply smiled with benevolence, understanding perfectly Kim’s infatuation. She knew that she herself was also rapidly falling under the girl’s spell. Let’s hope that Father will too, she mused, and discovered she wanted him to approve of Katharine just as much as Kim wanted it.
Katharine, who was intrigued by Francesca, now focused her complete attention on her. ‘I hear you’re doing research for a book, that you’re a writer. Now that is fascinating and I’m sure it’s just as difficult as being an actress, if not more so.’
Surprise flicked on to Francesca’s face and she shot a questioning look at Kim, who simply grinned like a Cheshire cat and then shrugged off-handedly. After a moment’s hesitation she said, ‘Yes, I’m researching, and I hope to write my book on Chinese Gordon one day, but I wouldn’t call myself a writer. At least not yet. Ernest Hemingway said a person is not a writer until he or she has readers. So I feel I can’t possibly make that claim until I’m actually a published author.’ She took a small sip of her champagne. Wishing to avert a discussion about herself, for she was both reticent and modest about her talents, she said casually, ‘Do you think Victor Mason is still coming?’
Kim, who had entirely forgotten about Victor, immediately straightened up on the sofa and frowned. ‘I telephoned him earlier this evening to confirm, before I went to pick up Katharine. He said he would be arriving when we did.’ He stared at the ornate ormolu clock on the mantelpiece and shook his head in disbelief. ‘But we’ve been here almost an hour already. Perhaps I had better give him another buzz at the hotel.’
‘I don’t think you need bother. I’m afraid he’s notorious for being late,’ Katharine fibbed. ‘I know he’ll be here any minute.’ This last remark was said with a degree of assurance Katharine did not truly feel. Victor’s absence had been weighing heavily for some time, and she had been hoping it was merely tardiness on his part. Now she was no longer sure this was the case. She would be mortified if he did not come to supper; this could only have one meaning: He was unable to face her because he had not kept his promise to her.
She felt her throat tightening as the tension took hold of her, and although she rarely smoked, she reached for a cigarette in the silver box on the table in front of her.
Kim gave her a light and took a cigarette himself. He blew a smoke ring, peered at his sister, and said, ‘I say, I hope you haven’t got anything spoiling in the kitchen.’
‘No, I haven’t. Everything is under control, Kim. Don’t fuss so. All I have to do is light the oven when Victor gets here. Are you getting hungry, Katharine?’
‘Not really. Thank you, anyway. It always takes me a while to unwind after the performance. Shedding the part.’
‘But I’m ravenous,’ Kim announced. ‘I wouldn’t mind sampling some of that caviar, and the pâté, which you have so conveniently forgotten, Francesca.’
Laughing, Francesca rose. She, who was so beautifully mannered, had indeed forgotten the food she had intended to serve with the drinks. It was a rare lapse. She had been so fascinated by Katharine and engrossed with her, everything else had been swept out of her mind. ‘How awful of me. Please excuse me. I won’t be a minute.’ She flew out of the drawing room, her taffeta skirt crackling as she moved.
The minute they were alone, Katharine turned to Kim and, quenching her rising anxiety about Victor, she said, ‘I think your sister is really lovely.’
‘She likes you, too, I’m sure,’ Kim murmured. He moved closer to Katharine and put his arms around her, kissing her neck and her hair. ‘And that goes for me too,’ he whispered. He felt the warmth of her enveloping him, the delicate perfume of her silky skin intoxicating him, and as always when he held her like this his excitement surged in him.
‘Oh, Katharine, Katharine, I do adore you so,’ and he buried his face against her neck.
Katharine stroked the back of his fair head and returned his embrace, but she said nothing. At this moment Victor filled her mind and one thought turned endlessly against itself: How could he have let her down? She never broke her promises. Men. They were all the same. Untrustworthy. Just like her father, the bastard. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, endeavouring to obliterate the image of him.
After a moment, Kim drew away from her; as he looked down at her nestled in his arms he was overcome by his longing for her. He slowly lowered his mouth to hers, wanting to devour those warm lips. Katharine pushed him back, but with gentleness.
Somehow she managed to find her voice. ‘Please, Kim darling, don’t start this now. Francesca will be back any moment, and how would it look if she catches us necking on the sofa.’ She extracted herself from his tight embrace and stood up, tugging at her skirt and smoothing her hair. ‘I’m surprised at you,’ she pronounced sternly, but the tone was soft.
Kim fell back against the cushions helplessly, groaning out loud. ‘It’s all your fault. You’re a temptress, don’t you know. And the most maddening it’s ever been my great good luck to encounter. What am I going to do with you?’
‘Nothing at the moment,’ she said. ‘But you can get me another glass of champagne.’
He grinned at her good naturedly, pushed himself up off the sofa and brought the bottle. He filled the Waterford flutes, and then eyed the empty bottle, shaking it. ‘Well, this one’s a dead soldier. I’d better put another one on ice. We’ll need it when Victor gets here.’ As he reached the door, he swung around and said, ‘If he ever turns up, that is, which I seriously doubt now. Back in a jiffy, my sweet one.’
Katharine nodded, not trusting herself to respond coherently. Kim had voiced the one fear nagging at her. She turned and rested her hand on the mantelpiece and gazed down into the fire miserably. She had been in control of her own destiny since the age of twelve. She had never relied on anyone for anything, for mistrust was paramount in her nature, and especially so when it came to men. Yet she had broken her own stringent rule and trusted Victor Mason. Damn, damn, damn, she muttered under her breath.
Francesca came in carrying a large silver tray. ‘I hope you’ll try a little of this, Katharine,’ she said. ‘I think I will.’
‘I’m not really hungry, thank you,’ Katharine answered and returned to her place on the sofa.
Francesca seated herself in the chair, and picked up a pearl-handled silver knife. She plunged it into the mound of sturgeon’s roe, so glistening and moist in the crystal dish, spread a portion on a piece of Melba toast and squeezed lemon over it. Smiling, she offered it to Katharine, who shook her head, and then handed it to Kim, who had joined them again.
‘I say, this is superb!’ Kim exclaimed, after devouring it. ‘You don’t have to bother with the cottage pie. This will do just nicely for me.’
Francesca said, ‘Try the pâté too. It’s –’ The shrilling of the door bell caused her to stop. She glanced from Kim to Katharine, arching her blonde brows. ‘Could that be our missing guest at long last?’
Katharine rose with unusual swiftness. ‘Perhaps I’d better answer the door, Kim. After all, you’ve never met Victor.’
