The Triumph of Katie Byrne

The Triumph Of Katie Byrne

Barbara Taylor Bradford

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2001

Copyright © Beaji Enterprises, Inc 2001

The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780007330645

Version: 2017-11-16

This book is for my husband, Bob, with my love and thanks for making everything always so special.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PART ONE Kiss of Death

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

PART TWO Gift of Friendship

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

PART THREE Touch of Love

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other Books By

About the Publisher

PART ONE Kiss of Death

Connecticut, 1989

‘…break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away.’

JOHN DONNE

‘The coward does it with a kiss.’

OSCAR WILDE

Chapter One

The girl sat on a narrow bench, centre stage, her body bent forward, one elbow on her knee, a hand supporting her head. The thinker, deeply thinking, her body language seemed to convey.

She was dressed very simply, boyishly, in a loose, grey, knitted tunic cinched by a black leather belt, worn with black tights and ballet slippers. Her long, reddish-gold hair was plaited, the plaits wound tightly around her head, so that the finished effect was like a burnished-copper cap gleaming under the pin-spot shining down. The girl’s name was Katie Byrne and she was seventeen: acting was her entire life.

She was about to act for her favourite audience – an audience of two: her best friends, Carly Smith and Denise Matthews. They sat on straight-backed wooden chairs in front of the makeshift stage in the old barn which belonged to Ted Matthews, Denise’s uncle. Both girls were the same age as Katie, and had been friends since childhood; all three were members of the amateur acting group at the high school in the rural Connecticut area where they all lived.

Katie had chosen to perform a speech from one of Shakespeare’s plays at the school’s upcoming Christmas concert. It was only two months away, and she had recently begun to rehearse the piece; Carly and Denise were also perfecting their chosen speeches for the same concert, rehearsing with her in the barn almost every day.

Now, at last, Katie lifted her head, stared out into space, and focused her blue eyes on the back wall of the barn, as if she saw something visible only to herself. Taking a deep breath, she began.

‘To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them. To die –’

Abruptly, Katie stopped.

She jumped up off the bench, walked to the edge of the stage, looked down at her friends. Shaking her head, she seemed unexpectedly uncertain of herself, she who normally had such confidence and self-possession.

‘I’m not getting it right,’ Katie wailed.

‘Yes, you are, and you’re wonderful!’ Carly cried, rising, stepping closer to the stage, the stage on which they had started to act when they were children. ‘Nobody does Shakespeare the way you do it. You’re the best, Katie.’

‘Carly’s right,’ Denise agreed as she went to join Carly near the stage. ‘It’s the way you act the words, say them. You make sense out of them, and there’s never been a Hamlet like you.’

Katie burst out laughing. ‘Thanks for your compliment, Denny, but there were a few others before me…Laurence Olivier and Richard Burton, to name a couple of them…they were the greatest classical actors on the English-speaking stage, just as Christopher Plummer is the greatest classical actor today. And listen, I keep telling you, it’s all to do with understanding the meaning of the words, the motivation and intention behind them. And also with punctuation, knowing when to run the words on without pause, and when to pause to breathe…’ She let the sentence trail off, knowing now was not the right time to give Denise another acting lesson.

Returning to the bench, she seated herself, adopted the thinker’s position, which was comfortable for her, and sat ruminating for a moment or two.

Whatever her friends said, however much praise they lavished on her, Katie knew that her performance was slightly off today. Her concentration was not what it usually was, and she wasn’t sure why. Unless it was because she felt guilty at being here this afternoon. Her mother wasn’t well, and she was needed at home to help out. And yet, selfishly, she had decided to steal this time at the barn in order to rehearse the speech from Hamlet, and persuaded her friends to come with her after school.

Then rehearse, a small voice inside her head instructed. She took several deep breaths, relaxed her throat, let the stillness of the stage envelop her, calm her.

Within minutes she was ready, and she launched herself into Hamlet’s soliloquy, her natural self-confidence perfectly in place once more.

Listening attentively, Carly was transported by Katie’s voice, as she always was. There was a lovely resonance to it, full of nuances and feeling. No wonder, Carly said to herself, thinking of the way Katie practised, was endlessly training her voice. They all knew how serious she was about acting. Katie was dedicated, disciplined, and very determined to succeed. Somehow, Katie knew how to act the parts she had chosen without having had too many lessons, while Denise and she sort of stumbled along as best they could. Fortunately, they were improving, thanks to Katie’s relentless coaching and encouragement.

They had first started acting together seven years ago, ten-year-olds with stars in their eyes. Denise’s Uncle Ted had let them make use of the old barn at the far end of his property, and they had created a makeshift theatre out of it. At that time they had made a promise to each other, had vowed they would go to New York one day and start their acting careers in earnest. Making it to Broadway was their big dream. Katie kept promising that the three of them would move to the city once they finished high school, and that eventually they would be stars on the Great White Way. Carly hoped this would come true, that they would have their names in lights, but sometimes she was filled with doubts.

Denise had no doubts whatsoever, and as she sat next to Carly, watching Katie on the stage, relishing her performance, she was absolutely positive that their dreams would soon materialize. Katie was brilliant, there was no question, and they themselves were getting better and better, mostly because of Katie’s intense lessons. When they went to New York they would find an apartment to share, go to acting school, and become professional actresses. It was all going to work, the dream would become reality, she was convinced.

Katie suddenly stood up, moved downstage right, and continued, ‘To die, to sleep – No more, and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep – To sleep, perchance to dream…’

Flawlessly, and without faltering once, Katie went on to complete this most famous of Shakespearean speeches, her well-modulated voice rising and falling as she gave emphasis to certain words, less importance to others. And the quality of her acting was superb; after her initial hesitation, her seeming loss of confidence, she had gone forward sure-footedly.

When Katie was finally finished, she remained motionless for a second or two, her cornflower-blue eyes still focused in the distance, and then she blinked several times before glancing at Carly and Denise. And then she smiled at them broadly, sure in the knowledge that she had managed to get the speech right at last.

Her friends began to clap and cheer and they bounded up onto the stage enthusiastically, hugged her, congratulated her.

‘Thanks,’ she said, grinning in return, and hugging them back. ‘But don’t you think I should rehearse again tomorrow, just to make sure?’

They both drew away and gaped at her in astonishment.

Denise cried, ‘You don’t need another rehearsal! But we do. And you’ve got to help us tomorrow. I’ll never get my Desdemona speech right, and Carly’s still having trouble with her Portia, aren’t you, Carly?’

‘I am a bit.’ Carly sounded miserable. Then her voice changed, became more positive as she added, ‘As for you, Katie Byrne, you’re just awesome.’

‘We’re not going to let you hog the stage tomorrow, ’ Denise announced with a grin, adding in a mock-threatening voice, ‘You’re going to rehearse us, because we still need it. And if you don’t, you might find yourself going off to be a Broadway actress all by yourself!’

‘Never. You’ll both be with me,’ Katie declared, pulling the girls closer, putting an arm around each one of them, glancing at Denise admiringly. Her velvet-brown eyes, full of hidden depths, were sparkling. She was never anything but high-spirited and happy, bubbling with laughter and good humour. She had a kind of golden radiance about her, with her long blonde hair and pink-and-white porcelain skin. She was a genuine All-American beauty, slender, shapely and long-legged.

In contrast, Carly, who had been Katie’s closest friend since they were toddlers, was very different. She was quieter, had a more introspective demeanour, was a little fey at times, and her seductive, rather dramatic looks belied her retiring, gentle nature. Eyeing her, Katie thought that even in her school clothes she looked voluptuous. Carly had a beautiful diminutive figure, and with her short dark curls and pansy-violet eyes had the look of a young Elizabeth Taylor.

With a sudden rush of emotion, Katie felt her abiding friendship and love for them both flowing through her…they were her dearest, her very best friends.

‘It’s the three of us or nothing!’ Katie exclaimed emphatically. ‘And I’ll be glad to rehearse with you tomorrow. But listen up you two, you’re much better than you think. Just remember that.’

Carly and Denise beamed on hearing these words, but neither girl made a comment and, arms linked, the three of them left the stage together.

As they always did, they went through the long-established ritual of sitting at the table drinking a bottle of Coke each. Today they were intent on dissecting Katie’s performance, and generally discussing their parts, their set pieces for the concert. It was Carly who changed the subject, when she suddenly straightened in her chair and said to Katie, ‘Do you think your Aunt Bridget will be able to find us an apartment in New York? Do you really think it’s all going to happen for us?’

Katie nodded. ‘I do. Absolutely. And she said we can stay with her at the loft in Tribeca for as long as we want.’

Denise interjected, ‘Mrs Cooke is sure we’ll be able to get into the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. She even said she’ll help us.’ Denise reached out, squeezed Carly’s arm. ‘Don’t be such a worry wart.’

Carly let out a sigh, then she leaned back in the chair, relaxing, sipping her Coke. After a moment, she said in a reflective voice, ‘Just think, next year at this time we’ll be in the big city, attending drama classes and camping out at Aunt Bridget’s fancy loft.’

‘Hey, it’s not all that fancy,’ Katie exclaimed, grinning at her. ‘But it’s comfortable, I’ll say that.’ She jumped up, headed towards the curtained alcove which they used as a changing room. Pulling the curtain open, she stepped inside, then swung her head, explained, ‘I’ve got to hurry, I’m really late to help Mom with supper.’ She eyed the Portia and Desdemona costumes and other items strewn around haphazardly, and shook her head. ‘I just don’t have time to help you tidy up, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s no problem,’ Carly assured her. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter if it’s messy in here. Nobody ever comes to the barn except us.’

‘Uncle Ted says that after all these years it’s ours.’ Denise looked from Carly to Katie and grinned, then reached for the copy of Othello which lay on the table. She started to flip through the pages of the play looking for the part she was learning.

Katie disappeared behind the curtain; Carly opened The Merchant of Venice, wanting to study Portia’s famous ‘quality of mercy’ speech, wondering if she would ever master it, worrying about it again, as she had for several weeks.

Within seconds, Katie was stepping out of the curtained alcove, wearing her school clothes and struggling into her jacket. ‘See you in class tomorrow,’ she said, as she rushed across the floor to the door.

Denise flashed her bright smile and Carly, looking up, asked, ‘Can you please bring the long black wig tomorrow, Katie? I think it might work for my Portia.’

‘Yes, it’ll look great on you. I’ll bring it to school, Carly.’ She waved nonchalantly over her shoulder as she left the barn.

Chapter Two

Katie closed the heavy barn door behind her and shrugged deeper into her jacket. It had turned cold and she shivered as she hurried up the hill leading to the highway. Her mind was still on Carly and Denise. They were so much better than they realized, good actresses who were accomplished and knew what they were doing. But they didn’t give themselves enough credit, genuinely needed to gain more self-confidence, that was their main problem.

Mrs Cooke, their teacher, who ran the drama group and taught acting at the high school, predicted great things for them all in the next few years, because of their talent, dedication, and willingness to work hard. It pleased Katie that Heather Cooke believed in them with such conviction that she was encouraging their ambition to work in the theatre.

Katie trudged on up the steep slope, continuing to think about her best friends, imagining what it would be like to be living in New York and studying at the academy. She could hardly wait for the time to come and she knew Carly and Denise felt the same way.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw rapid movement close to the mass of rhododendron bushes growing in profusion on the hillside. She stopped abruptly, half turned, stood frowning in puzzlement at the clump of dark-green bushes. But everything was still, silent, and there was no sign of life.

Shrugging dismissively, Katie continued on up the slope, deciding that the dark flash must have been a deer. There were a great number of them in the Litchfield hills, and they were becoming bolder. Everyone’s gardens, her mother’s included, attested to that fact.

Within minutes, the hillside flattened out into a piece of barren land that stretched all the way to the highway. This cut through New Milford, ran up to Kent and the small towns beyond.

Katie paused at the side of the road to let a truck pass, and then ran across to the other side. A second or two later she was on the dirt track that led through the wide meadows behind Dovecote Farm, a local landmark with its picturesque red barns and silos, and, in the summer, lush fields of rippling golden wheat.

At one moment, as she walked along, she glanced up. The sky had turned the colour of old iron, bitter, remote, and forbidding. Dusk was slowly descending and the meadows were beginning to fill with shadows. Wanting to get home as fast as possible, she began to jog down the track, and found herself plunging deeper into the fields. But soon she realized she must slow down. A faint mist was rising, wispy and vaporous, floating in front of her like a grey veil; trees and hedges were rapidly becoming blurred, turning into weird inchoate shapes looming all around her. Having tramped this dirt track from early childhood, her feet knew it well. Nevertheless, she found herself moving at a snail’s pace, growing more cautious, afraid of stumbling in the thick fog.

Far off, in the distance, she heard cows lowing, and even farther away a dog was barking. These distant sounds were reassuring in their familiarity, yet still she felt a loneliness pervading the deserted fields, a strange sense of melancholy, and she was unexpectedly uneasy. It had grown even colder. She pulled her jacket around her chest, moving faster again, growing conscious of the time, as usual worrying about her mother.

It did not take Katie much longer to reach the end of the dirt path, and she finally came to the wide road which led into the area where she lived with her parents and her two brothers, Niall and Finian.

Malvern had been founded in 1799, and it was called a town, but it wasn’t even a hamlet, not really. It was a scattering of houses, a couple of shops, a cemetery, a white church with a steeple, poised on top of the hill, and a recreational hall near the church. To Katie, the white church had always seemed like a brave little sentinel standing guard above the houses nestled so cosily below in a hollow of the hills.

It was with a sense of relief that she hit this main road. She stepped out onto the smooth tarmacadam surface, glancing back at the mist-laden meadows as she did, and she suddenly realized how glad she was to be leaving them behind. There had been something strange, almost ghostly, about those empty fields.

Slowing down as the road swept upwards to the church, Katie began her climb, her pace steady. When she reached the top she stood for a moment looking down at Malvern. She could make out the twinkling lights shining in the windows of the houses scattered across the hillsides, and the mingled smell of woodsmoke and damp leaves floated to her on the chill night air. She was suddenly struck by a sense of an early autumn, and she smiled. Fall was her favourite time of year, when the foliage turned gold and russet and red, and her grandmother baked upsidedown apple tart and cinnamon cakes, and the entire family prepared for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Fall was the beginning of the holiday season which her mother loved so much. As Katie passed the forest of Scotch pine trees on the right side of the road, her nose twitched, assailed as it was by the sharp, pungent smell of pine.

How reassuring everything was now that she was out of the damp meadows. Soon she would be home, where her mother was waiting for her. They would prepare supper for the family, set the table together and serve the food. A loving smile flickered across Katie’s wan face, giving it a touch of radiance, lighting up her blue eyes.

Although Katie loved her two girlfriends and was devoted to them, it was her mother who was the most special person in her life, to whom she was the closest, and whom she idolized. She thought of her mother as a faerie princess from Ireland. Certainly she was beautiful, with her flowing red hair and the bluest of eyes, which Katie had inherited. To Katie, her mother’s voice was mellifluous, warm, soft, resonant, touched with a hint of lilting brogue.

These thoughts of her mother galvanized her, and she began to run once more, her feet flying as she sped down the hill.

Chapter Three

As her parents’ house came finally into full view, Katie was filled with a sudden rush of warmth, a sense of homecoming, and she continued to run, speeding down the road towards home as fast as she could.

Medium in size, and compact, the house sat atop a small hillock set back from the main road, and it was the only home Katie had ever known. She loved it dearly, as did her parents and her two brothers.

Tonight bright lights gleamed in some of the downstairs windows and plumes of grey smoke spiralled up from the chimneys; the house wore an air of friendliness, of welcome, and it appeared to beckon beguilingly.

Katie’s glance swept over it as she climbed the flight of stone steps; these cut down through the green lawn which sloped away from the flagged terrace at the front facing the road.

For a moment she paused to admire the house, and her pleasure in its appearance brought a quick, bright smile to her face. New England Colonial in style, it had a white-painted clapboard façade, dark-green shutters and a slanted, black roof.

The original house dated back to the 1880s, and although its good bones had been retained throughout, some of the interior rooms had either been restored or remodelled by her father.

Michael Byrne prided himself on his knowledge of Colonial architecture, which he had always loved, and, in fact, he had turned his boyhood passion into a profitable business a few years after leaving school. He was one of the few local contractors who had a superior knowledge of Colonial design, and because of this he had managed to find plenty of building and restoration jobs, once he had established himself in business.

Katie’s father and her elder brother, Niall, kept the house looking pristine, and devoted a great deal of their free time to its care and upkeep. It seemed to Katie that they never had a paintbrush out of their hands, and even her younger brother, Finian, the intellectual with his nose permanently in a book, did occasionally put the book down to dip a brush into a pot of white paint. It struck her often that twelve-year-old Finian was now as addicted as the other two males in the family.