Voice of the Heart Read online

  ‘I’m sure Victor Mason will be more impressed with the cottage pie than with the caviar. Isn’t that what movie stars eat for breakfast every day? Tell you what though, I’ll bring up some really good wine later. The Ninth might have been a spendthrift, but he did leave us one of the best cellars in London. What about a Mouton Rothschild?’

  ‘That will be lovely, Kim. In the meantime, would you mind going to Shepherd Market for me, before the shops close?’

  ‘Of course not, and I’ll pay for whatever we need. I have a few quid.’ Observing her expression he laughed and shook his head. ‘No, it’s not from the riding boots money.’

  Francesca busied herself with a shopping list and Kim’s gaze returned to the items spread on the table, his eyes reflective. He lit a cigarette and smoked in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly he said, ‘Has Father mentioned Doris to you lately?’

  ‘No, why do you ask?’ Francesca spoke without looking up.

  ‘She’s been noticeably absent from Langley of late. I wondered if they’d had a row, or even a parting of the ways.’

  His sister raised her head, her brows drawing together. ‘Not that I know of; in fact, I spoke to Doris only last week. She’s gone to the South of France.’

  ‘Good God, in February. Whatever for?’

  ‘To look for a villa for the summer. She wants to rent a large one, she told me, so that we can all go and stay with her. So I’m quite certain everything is perfectly all right.’

  ‘I wonder if Father will marry her?’

  Francesca did not respond immediately. She herself had ruminated on this possibility from time to time, for it seemed to her that Doris Asternan had become a permanent fixture in her father’s life. Her mind turned to Doris, the nice American widow whom she and Kim liked so much. She wondered if Doris did have expectations, and then smiled to herself at such an old-fashioned word. It was more than likely. Her father was attractive, charming and good natured like Kim, and the title was tempting to most women, but particularly so to an American. He was quite a catch really. And what of her father? He had grieved for their mother for a number of years after her death, and then quite suddenly there had been a steady flow of women, whom he seemed to quickly lose interest in—until Doris. She wondered.

  ‘What do you think, Frankie? Will the old man make a trip down the aisle with Doris?’ Kim pressed.

  Francesca shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. Daddy hasn’t made me his confidante, and neither has Doris, for that matter.’

  ‘She’s certainly preferable to some of the others he’s had in tow. And at least Doris has pots and pots of money. Millions of lovely dollars.’

  Francesca could not help laughing. ‘As if that would influence our father. He’s too romantic by far. He’s looking for true love.’

  ‘Christ! At his age! Well, I suppose there’s life in the old dog yet.’

  ‘Kim, he’s only forty-seven. You make him sound ancient.’ She thrust the shopping list at him. ‘Come on, you lazy old thing. Do the shopping for me, and leave Doris to Daddy. I have better fish to fry than to sit here gossiping with you.’ She glanced at the battered alarm clock on top of the refrigerator. ‘It’s almost five. The butcher will be closed if you don’t hurry. And I’d better prepare the dining room table and start on some chores. Now that you’ve so cleverly managed to manoeuvre me into giving this dinner, I might as well push the boat out for you.’

  Kim stuffed the shopping list into his pocket and stood up. ‘Thanks for going to all this trouble for me, Frankie. I really appreciate it.’ He headed for the door. When he reached it he turned around and grinned at her. ‘And you know, with Doris’s goodies and a few bottles of the Ninth’s vintage wine, we’re not going to seem so poverty-stricken after all.’

  ***

  The house in Chesterfield Street, where Francesca lived most of the year, had been the London residence of the Earls of Langley for some sixty-six years, having been purchased in 1890 by Francesca’s great-grandfather, the Ninth Earl. It was a typical Mayfair town house, situated in a row of almost identical houses, tall and narrow with a relatively simple architectural façade. The exterior appearance belied the interior: graceful charming rooms, considerably larger and more generously proportioned than the narrowness of the house suggested. In particular, the reception rooms on the main floor were singularly elegant, with high ceilings, wide windows and handsome Adam fireplaces of carved oak or marble. The rooms on the second, third and fourth floors grew increasingly smaller the closer they came to the roof, but even these had a special charm of their own.

  The spacious drawing room, a handsome book-lined library, and the dining room opened off a small square entrance hall, where a lovely old staircase with a carved oak banister rose to the upper floors. Beyond the dining room there was a large family kitchen, somewhat old-fashioned in design, but relatively efficient since Francesca had partially modernized it with a new Aga stove and a refrigerator. ‘They look a bit incongruous. Out of place, wouldn’t you say,’ her father had ventured cautiously on first viewing the shiny new objects. Francesca had glanced proudly at her innovations, raised an eyebrow and pronounced, ‘But they work, Daddy.’ Recognizing that her tone discouraged further discussion, the Earl had murmured, ‘Quite so, my dear,’ and retreated to the safety of the library. He had fled, the next day, to Yorkshire. The additions to the kitchen were only part of the refurbishing of the house, which Francesca had plunged into, flouting her father’s wishes. He was, for the most part, opposed to her plans, considering them far too elaborate, and far too costly.

  For all of his adult life, Francesca’s father, David Cunningham, the Eleventh Earl of Langley, had been striving to make ends meet. At an early age he had wisely come to the conclusion that he could not recoup the considerable fortune his grandfather, the Ninth Earl, had frittered away on mistresses and merrymaking and the high-stepping living that was obligatory for that charmed circle who were members of the Marlborough House Set of the Edwardian era. Keeping pace with, and in step with, Edward Albert, the Prince of Wales, had brought ruin to more than one noble house of England. If the Ninth Earl had not exactly ruined the Langley family with his extravagant living, he had certainly made considerable inroads into their immense wealth, before he had died at the age of fifty-five in the delectable arms of his twenty-year-old mistress, literally in flagrante delicto.

  The task of replenishing the almost-denuded family coffers was one that David’s father, the Tenth Earl, had undertaken with enormous relish and only a fair amount of success. Whilst he had not decreased their worth, neither had he made them newly prosperous. He had merely plugged the dam, so to speak. And then, towards the end of his life, he had plunged into a financial venture, one highly speculative in nature, which he was convinced would enable him to restore the fortune his own father had so carelessly squandered. The failure of the scheme brought him up short and doused his enthusiasm for any type of further business activity that might endanger his family’s future. He had enjoined David, the present Earl, not to follow his example. ‘Preserve what we have,’ he had implored. His son, who had never harboured any desire to indulge in the tricky game of financial wheeling and dealing, considering it too risky by far, had willingly acquiesced at once, since he was simply adhering to the decision of his youth.

  Death duties, the running of the vast estate in Yorkshire, the education of Kim and Francesca, and maintaining the style of living his position dictated continually stretched his resources to the limit. However, although David Cunningham was cash poor, he was land rich. The Yorkshire estate covered hundreds of miles of fertile farming acres, forests and parklands. In more than one sense the situation was ludicrous, but even if he had wanted to, David could not have sold off any of the land. Or, for that matter, any of the family’s other properties, comprised of Langley Castle, the Home Farm, the tenant farms, or the valuable antique furniture, Georgian silver and paintings, many by some of the great English masters. Although the Langley Collection
included bucolic landscapes by Constable and Turner, that unsurpassed water-colourist being also represented by several of his marine paintings, the collection was most especially renowned for its superb examples of the work of such inimitable and celebrated portraitists as Sir Peter Lely, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Gainsborough and George Romney. In the main these were full length, life-size depictions of the Langley ancestors, presented with grace and charm in all of their elegance and finery. However, the Langley Collection, other properties and possessions and the land were either entailed or in trust. Furthermore, the Earl’s own natural instincts and inclinations would have prevented him from plundering the estate; also, he took his promise to his father seriously and he wanted to keep the holdings intact for new generations of Cunninghams.

  In consequence, from an early age, Kim and Francesca had been brought up to understand and accept their responsibilities to their great family name and their ancient heritage. Scrimping, saving and making do whenever possible had become a way of life; thrift was the byword of then-youth; and keeping up the proper front on virtually next to nothing was so ingrained in them it was now second nature.

  The maintenance of the Yorkshire estate, the castle, the Home Farm and the tenant farms were the first priorities, took precedence before anything else. There was rarely, if ever, any spare money available for luxuries, and one luxury the Earl deemed totally unnecessary was the redecoration of the Chesterfield Street house, despite Francesca’s arguments to the contrary: arguments which had increased as she had become ever more conscious of such things. And so the house had deteriorated into shabbiness over the years, and by 1955 it was in such a sorry state it was almost beyond redemption.

  Early in January of that year, three months before Kim’s twenty-first birthday, their father had announced he planned to give a birthday party for Kim at Langley Castle in March. He also explained that he fully intended to do more entertaining in London than was his usual habit, during this important and significant year when his only son and hen-came of age. In essence, the Earl made it perfectly clear, he was determined to launch Kim into London society in the manner only fitting for a man of his standing. Francesca had once again viewed the London house with concern, worried about its dilapidated condition and disreputable appearance, in view of her father’s plans for Kim. She had immediately launched another highly voluble campaign for its refurbishing, but to her surprise her father had been coldly adamant in his refusal to accede to her wishes. She had told him angrily, and in no uncertain terms, that he was not only being cavalier in his attitude, but downright unfair to Kim. He had shrugged, uninterested in her opinion and unmoved by her words, and he told her, with unusual firmness, never to broach the subject again. It was then she decided to take the matter into her own hands, and risk the consequences of her father’s disapproval.

  Francesca owned a diamond ring, an heirloom passed down through generations of women on the maternal side of the family. She had inherited it upon her mother’s death, and for years it had reposed in their bank vault in London, along with other pieces of jewellery and a seventeenth-century diamond tiara which had been worn by successive Countesses of Langley on State occasions in Westminster Abbey, all part of the family trust. Francesca had taken her ring to a leading dealer in antique jewellery, who had promptly offered to purchase it for a thousand pounds.

  When he heard about this decisive and unprecedented action on the part of his daughter, who was then only eighteen, the Earl had been outraged. However, since the ring belonged to Francesca, and was not part of the Langley Trust, he could merely voice his objections not act upon them. Finally, Francesca’s logical reasoning and persuasiveness, not inconsiderable, had brought him round, if only to a degree. Realizing she had engaged in an enterprise that threatened his authority, and knowing she had acted presumptuously, Francesca had been astute enough to ask her father’s permission to use the money for the redecoration of the house, it being his property.

  The Earl had given his blessing, albeit reluctantly, believing it to be a ridiculous extravagance. Later he did confess he thought her gesture was admirable and touching. Kim had been overwhelmed by her unselfishness, but, understanding her obstinate nature, he had not wasted time protesting, and by then it was already too late. He had thanked her profusely and then shown his appreciation by plunging into the transformation of the house as energetically and enthusiastically as she.

  There was barely enough money to do everything required, and Francesca portioned it out in the most practical way, stretching the thousand pounds as far as she could. She had the roof and the exterior walls repaired, the interior walls replastered wherever this was necessary, and she put in new pipes and electrical wiring. The remainder of the money from the ring was used for what she termed ‘my cosmetic job’, and it was exactly that. The scuffed parquet floors in the dining room, the library and the drawing room were refinished and polished; the wall-to-wall carpets in the bedrooms and the upstairs study were shampooed; and the draperies and slipcovers still in good repair were dry-cleaned. Francesca threw away the worn Oriental carpet which had lain on the dining room floor since ‘spendthrift Teddy’s’ day, and the slipcovers on the furniture in the drawing room quickly followed suit. The Aubusson carpet in this room was sent to a restorer of old tapestries and rugs, where it was hand-cleaned and painstakingly repaired. To Francesca’s delight it came back looking like the lovely museum piece it was. The Hepplewhite and Sheraton furniture in the two reception rooms, family heirlooms and valuable, were also repaired and refinished to their original beauty.

  To save money, Francesca and Kim undertook the painting themselves. Wearing old clothes, surrounded by ladders and buckets, and amidst peals of laughter, the two of them happily set about the task, splashing as much paint on each other as on the walls. But they succeeded in doing a relatively professional job, working down from the upper floors to the drawing and dining rooms. Francesca selected fir green for the dining room, repeating the colour of the leather upholstery on the Hepplewhite chairs, and used pristine white paint for the doors, chair rail, and mouldings to offset the dark green walls. The drawing room, which she and Kim had always thought looked barren and cold, acquired a wholly new appearance when the grubby ivory walls were washed with a dark coral paint that was almost terra cotta in tone. Her only purchases, other than the paint, were yards and yards of moss green velvet for new curtains and slipcovers in the drawing room, white damask for the dining room curtains, various pieces of coloured silk for cushions, and new shades for the lamps.

  Francesca’s father had a great sense of fair play, and when he at last viewed the finished results he was quick to congratulate her on the miracle she had performed, and his pride in her knew no bounds. The family heirlooms were shown to advantage for the first time in years, and he also had to admit that her improvements had given the house a new graciousness, whilst enhancing its actual value as well. The Earl conceded it was more valuable than ever before, and could readily be turned into cash, being neither entailed nor part of the trust. It struck him that Francesca had shown great foresight, and he determined to repay the thousand pounds as soon as possible. That May, on her nineteenth birthday, he presented her with the gold filigree and topaz necklace which had been made for the Sixth Countess of Langley in 1760. However, this was only on loan to her until his death, when it would pass to Kim, since it was part of the trust.

  ***

  Now, as she stood in the doorway of the drawing room on this Saturday evening in February, a year later, Francesca smiled with pleasure. The room looked truly beautiful. Kim had lighted the fire an hour earlier and the logs were crackling brightly in the huge carved oak fireplace, the sparks flying merrily up the chimney. He had also drawn the curtains to shut out the depressing drizzle and dampness of the cold evening, and turned on the leaf-green Chinese jade lamps shaded in cream silk.

  The atmosphere was inviting and the lovely old furniture gleamed in the refracted fight. The coral-tinted wall
s made the perfect backdrop for the classical Hepplewhite Pembroke tables, a large Sheraton bookcase with glass doors, made of mahogany inlaid with fruitwoods, and for those bucolic English landscapes brushstroked in variegated greens and blues. These were now most effectively set off by their newly-gilded wood frames, enterprisingly touched up by Kim with a pot of gold-leaf paint. Rafts of the new moss-green velvet rippled at the three stately windows, and covered two large sofas and four armchairs, and this verdant colour added to the richness of the scheme. The green sofas were enlivened with cream, coral and blue cushions, which Francesca had made from the remnants of silk, whilst her great-grandmother’s collection of Meissen and Wedgwood ornaments introduced additional fragile colour accents on the wood surfaces.

  After another admiring glance, Francesca moved briskly across the Aubusson carpet, heaped more logs on the fire, plumped up the cushions, checked the cigarette boxes and then hurried back to the dining room to finish the table she had started earlier that evening. She took four white linen napkins from the Hepplewhite sideboard and placed one at each setting, put out several silver ashtrays and a silver condiment set, and added wine and water glasses, moving rapidly around the long oval table. When she stood back to regard her handiwork she suddenly wished she had some flowers for a centrepiece. But they were so expensive at this time of year and quickly died, and the two four-arm silver candelabra were certainly elegant with their tall white candles. She decided the table looked quite beautiful as it was and did not need any further embellishment.

  Francesca turned to go into the kitchen just as Kim walked in, humming under his breath. He stopped, let out a long low whistle of surprise, grabbed her hand and twirled her around, continuing to whistle in a wolfish tone.

  ‘You look positively ravishing, old thing,’ he said, stepping away from her, his eyes bright with approval.

  ‘Thank you. But are you sure I’m not a bit too dressy?’ she asked anxiously.