Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford

of course there was Victor, who was going directly to the house in Chesterfield Street. She sighed. Having paid punctilious attention to every detail and carefully contrived this entire situation, she was now hoist by her own petard. If only my throat weren’t so sore, she said to herself, sliding the pure-silk-and-lace slip over her head. God, I hope I’m not really getting a chest cold.

      This thought was so alarming it propelled her across the room to the dressing table. She pulled open a drawer and took out the bottle of cough medicine she kept there. She was sparing with the mixture because it had a high alcohol content, and on several occasions it had made her a trifle whoozy. She gulped down the medicine and grimaced.

      Lowering herself into the chair, Katharine leaned forward and examined her face in the mirror. At least she looked in perfect health, and she recognized she must do everything in her power to ensure this state of well being. Under no circumstances could she permit herself to become sick. The next few weeks were going to be the most important weeks of her life. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with her plans, so diligently and painstakingly formulated. Nothing and nobody.

      How hard she had strived to arrange everything to her advantage, to manipulate events, to make her dreams come true. They had to come true. They just had to! Her face, so tender and young, tightened with intensity and her heart raced as she envisioned her triumph if she succeeded in all that she planned. Not if but when, she chastised herself firmly. She was not even going to acknowledge the possibility of failure.

      Still preoccupied with her rapidly moving thoughts, Katharine brushed out her hair, carelessly stuck two combs at each side, pulling it away from her face, and filled in her mouth with lipstick. Without even a cursory second glance at herself she rose and went to the wardrobe. She slipped on the black dress, stepped into the black suede pumps and added the turquoise silk scarf at her neck before pulling on the black wool coat. She took a pair of white gloves from the drawer, picked up the black suede handbag and glided to the door.

      For a moment her hand rested on the knob. She let her body go slack, and took several deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling for a few seconds. And then drawing on all of her inner resources and every ounce of energy she could muster, she straightened up, stiffened her back and threw back her head. Consummate actress that she was, Katharine was able to summon any facial expression and mood at will, and she assumed a demeanour that was carefree and vital before stepping out into the corridor. And her step was remarkably determined as she mounted the stone stairs.

      Kim, who was hovering near the stage door chatting to Charlie, the doorman, excused himself and rushed forward when he saw her approaching. ‘Katharine darling, you look absolutely ravishing!’ he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

      ‘Thank you,’ Katharine said, giving him a glowing smile. She squeezed his arm affectionately and looked up at him through sparkling eyes. ‘Sorry I kept you waiting.’

      ‘Don’t give it another thought,’ Kim replied quickly. ‘And at least it’s stopped raining. It was coming down in torrents when I arrived.’

      ‘Good night, Charlie,’ Katharine called as Kim bustled her out of the door.

      ‘’Night, Miss. And ’ave a nice evening.’ Charlie nodded in Kim’s direction. ‘And you too, yer lordship.’

      ‘Good night, Charlie. And thanks so much for entertaining me.’

      The door slammed behind them and Kim took hold of Katharine’s arm, hurrying her down the narrow alley adjoining the theatre. ‘Let’s get to the car before it starts pouring again.’

      ‘Tell me, Kim, how was old Charlie managing to entertain you?’

      Kim chuckled. ‘He was regaling me with marvellous stories about the “stage-door Johnnies” he has known in his time. He was frightfully funny, and even a bit risqué.’

      ‘Oh, and does he think you’re one?’ Katharine asked. ‘Are you his idea of a modern “stage-door Johnny”?’

      ‘Most probably!’ He glanced down at her. ‘I must say, old Charlie is very devoted to you, Katharine.’ He hesitated before adding. ‘And so is Terrence Ogden. He stopped to exchange a few words with me when he was leaving, and he positively raved about you. He also seemed a bit curious about this evening and our plans. He said he had wanted us to join him at the Buxton, that he had invited us.’

      Katharine experienced a small jab of astonishment, and thought: invited us indeed. She said slowly, ‘Yes, he’s having a few chums to supper.’

      ‘Well, you do agree, don’t you?’

      ‘Agree about what, Kim?’

      ‘That Terry is devoted to you.’ Kim coughed behind his hand, and his voice was gruff as he ventured, ‘Actually, I think he has a crush on you.’

      Laughter bubbled up in Katharine at the absurdity of this idea, and she was unable to suppress it. She looked up at Kim, her eyes crinkling with merriment. In the faint light from the street lamp she noticed the look of gloomy consternation on his face, and knew she must reassure him instantly.

      ‘Of course he doesn’t! He was only raving about me tonight because I helped him out in the second act. He almost blew his lines. And as for the invitation, well, he was just trying to be sociable, that’s all.’ Katharine was not sure she believed her own words. Perhaps Kim was correct in his assumption. If so it would explain Terry’s churlish attitude after she had refused the invitation, and his comment about Victor also. But she had no intention of confirming Kim’s suspicions. Rather, she had to allay them, and immediately. ‘Anyway, Terry is in love with Alexa Garrett. They are having a wild and highly-publicized romance, don’t you know?’

      ‘I see,’ Kim said, sounding less than convinced, even though he knew she was being truthful. He had seen items about Terry and Alexa in the newspapers. On the other hand, Terry had spoken very possessively about Katharine, and in a manner which disturbed Kim. ‘Why does he always call you Puss?’ Kim asked, striving for an off-handed tone without much success. ‘It seems awfully familiar to me.’

      This comment momentarily floored Katharine, and she was about to point out that the theatre, by its very nature, bred familiarity, but changed her mind. She was aware of Kim’s tenseness, and sensing the question sprang from a spark of jealousy rather than any oblique criticism of her, she explained, ‘Because when I was a student at RADA, Terry saw me play Cleopatra in Caesar and Cleopatra. He thought I was decidedly feline, and has called me Puss ever since.’

      ‘Oh,’ Kim murmured, at a loss for words. He looked at her through the corner of his eye and said, ‘I didn’t know you had been friends with Terry for that long. I thought you met him for the first time when you went into the play.’

      ‘I’m not sure what you mean by that long, Kim. I’ve only been out of the Royal Academy a couple of years. Anybody would think I’m a decrepit old woman, the way you talk,’ she laughed.

      They had arrived at the car. Kim released her arm and went to unlock it. He returned and helped her in, then slid into his seat, and he was oddly silent as he drove up the Haymarket and into Piccadilly, heading in the direction of Mayfair. After a while Katharine touched his arm lightly and there was a soft expression on her face. ‘Terry’s not interested in me, at least not romantically, Kim. Honestly.’

      ‘If you say so,’ Kim replied grudgingly. It was not Katharine’s fault that Ogden had behaved like an ass earlier, and here he was being surly with her.

      The last thing Katharine wanted was for Kim to be in a jealous frame of mind this evening because of its extreme importance to her. She needed his goodwill; furthermore she did not want him to be prickly or difficult with Victor present. She said carefully, ‘Even if he were attracted to me in that way, it wouldn’t matter to me. For the simple reason that I’m not interested in Terrence Ogden. Not the least little bit.’ She laughed disdainfully. ‘I know too much about actors and their monumental egos to get entangled with them, my love. Besides, you know I’m not fickle. How could I possibly care