God! No!’ Victor stared at Nick stupefied. Speechlessly he sat down heavily in the chair opposite, and a numbing coldness washed over him. Very slowly, he said, ‘I don’t understand … we spoke to her the other day.’ He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘What happened?’ He faltered, was incapable, at this moment, of saying another word.
Nick said dully, ‘A freak accident. Marcia was walking down Park Avenue on Sunday afternoon. Yesterday. Going to my mother’s. A stinking lousy car went out of control. Mounted the sidewalk. It slammed into Marcia at full force. They got her to the hospital at once. She was still alive. But the internal injuries …’ He shook his head. ‘She died at five o’clock this morning.’
Victor’s face reflected his shock. ‘Oh Nick, Nick, I’m so sorry. So very sorry. What a tragic, senseless thing to happen.’
‘Why her, Vic?’ Nicky demanded, anger spilling out of him. ‘In God’s name, why?’ His tone rose. ‘She was only twenty-two. Twenty-two, for Christ’s sake! Her life was just beginning. She was only a baby, and she was so full of life, and good, and loving, and generous in every conceivable way. And she never hurt anybody in her life. It’s not fair, Vic!’
‘I know, Nick, I know.’ Victor’s voice was gentle and understanding. He bent towards Nick. ‘What can I do for you? How can I help you to –’
Nick seemed not to hear these words. He cried ‘God damn it! God damn it to hell!’ Grief and rage took hold of him and he began to pound the back of the sofa with his clenched fist, and his face was ringed with a wrenching hurt.
Watching him, Victor flinched, and he wondered desperately how to assuage Nick’s suffering, but he knew he could do nothing. His heart went out to his friend, and then it clenched with sorrow and he was besieged by a terrible helplessness.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Nick cried. ‘I just can’t. I keep telling myself it’s some awful mistake.’ He leapt to his feet, staring directly at Victor, ‘My baby sister. She’s … she’s gone.’ He half ran across the floor in the direction of the bedroom.
Victor followed him, propelled by a need to help Nick, seeking words of consolation. But words were meaningless, utterly worthless. He shivered involuntarily, remembering. Remembering Ellie.
Nick was in the bathroom, standing with his head pressed against the tiled wall, his shoulders hunched over, his narrow shoulder blades protruding through the thin blue cotton shirt. He looked so vulnerable, young and defenceless, and Victor wanted to take Nick in his arms and comfort him as one would a small child in distress. But he did not move. He knew Nick was struggling to contain his emotions, wishing to be strong, fighting back his tears, believing tears were unmanly. But Victor knew the ability to weep was rooted in immense strength, had nothing to do with weakness at all.
‘Let it out, Nicky,’ he finally said from the doorway. ‘Let it out. Don’t hold the grief back like this. It won’t do you any good. Please, Nicky.’ He walked in and put his hand on Nick’s shoulder.
There was a muffled gasp and Nick leaned closer to the wall, hiding his face, and then unexpectedly he spun around to face Victor, his expression baffled, beseeching. A sob rose up in him and he brought his hands to his face. Victor stepped closer and put his arm around Nick, and again there was nothing he could say except, ‘I’m here, Nicky, I’m here, old buddy.’
After a while, Nick regained some of his self-possession. ‘I’ll be all right, Vic,’ he muttered, forcing the words out. ‘I’ll be all right.’ He moved away from Victor and grabbed a towel, pressing it to his face. His voice was low as he said, ‘Let me be for a while, Vic.’
‘Sure, Nicky.’ Victor went back into the sitting room and flung himself into the nearest chair disconsolately. Automatically he lit a cigarette and sat smoking. He was filled with deep sadness. He understood why Nick found his sister’s death hard to believe. He was having a problem comprehending it fully himself. Death was always unacceptable to those left behind to grieve, but in this instance it was the unexpectedness of it, the senselessness of the accident, which so appalled.
Marcia, that tall, lovely girl, sunny and outgoing in disposition, the replica of Nick, with the same blonde hair and his clear blue, mischievous eyes. To Victor, Marcia had always been a golden girl, bubbling with irrepressible laughter and optimism about life. He had grown extremely attached to Marcia over the years, and they had become great buddies when she had come out to the ranch to spend part of her summer vacations with Nick and him. His sons, Steve and Jamie, had also been smitten with her, following her around like devoted puppy dogs, and she had reciprocated their youthful adoration with a tenderness that had been infinitely touching to him. He had spoken to her only on Saturday. Saturday night for God’s sake, and from this very suite. It did not seem possible that she was lying in some hospital morgue in New York. He closed his aching eyes, recoiling from the horror of it.
Nicoletta, named for Nick, had been one year old on Saturday, and the family had gathered at Marcia’s apartment for the child’s first birthday party. Nick, the baby’s godfather, had telephoned New York, wanting to be part of the celebration even from long distance, anxious to speak to his beloved Marcia, and to make certain the gifts for his little niece had arrived in time. What a happy occasion it had been, and who could have known it presaged such sorrow. Victor thought of the child, motherless now, and of Hunter, Marcia’s young husband, and of Nick and Marcia’s parents. He stubbed out the cigarette and dropped his head in his hands, endeavouring to marshal his troubled thoughts.
Victor jumped up, shaking himself, making a supreme effort to quell the despondency which had descended on him, and with great deliberation he walked around the room, turning on all the lamps. He forced his mind to work on practicalities. Apart from being grief-stricken, Nick was suffering from shock, and it was obvious that someone had to set the wheels in motion to get him back to the States immediately. He would have to do Nick’s thinking for him. Victor ran the priorities through his head: plane reservation. Packing. Gus to take them to the airport. Car at Idlewild when Nick arrived.
Oh God, the production meeting. Victor grimaced. They were all waiting for him back in his suite. He had better speak to Jake at once. He moved forward to the desk, intending to call Jake, when Nick walked into the sitting room.
Nick’s eyes were red-rimmed, but they were dry, and on the surface he appeared to be calmer and in control of himself. ‘Sorry I broke down like that, Victor. I’d been pushing the grief back ever since I heard. You unplugged the dam.’
Victor nodded, understanding. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best, Nicky,’ he said. He went over to the sideboard, poured Scotch into two glasses and carried them over to the coffee table. ‘Come and sit down, and drink this. Then we’d better get you organized, and quickly. When are you planning to leave for New York? Have you made a plane reservation yet?’
‘That’s the problem,’ Nick replied. ‘I went to all the airlines at lunch time. I’m having trouble getting out of here tonight. I was talking to PAN AM when you arrived. They’re fully booked. So are TWA and BOAC. I’m on standby with those three.’ He picked up the Scotch and drank most of it in one gulp.
Victor said, ‘I’d better get Jerry to handle the reservation, and I’ll tell Jake to go ahead with the meeting.’
‘Oh hell, Vic, the meeting went right out of my mind. I’m sorry –’
‘Forget it,’ Victor interrupted. He reached for the ’phone and asked for his suite. Jake answered. Victor said, ‘You’ll have to have the production meeting without me, Jake. Nick’s had very tragic news. His sister has been killed in a car accident. I’m going to stay with him until he leaves.’ There was a silence as Victor listened, and then he murmured, ‘Yes, yes, Jake. Thank you. I’ll tell him. Now, let me speak to Jerry a minute, please.
‘Hello, Jerry,’ Victor said. ‘Jake told you about Nick’s sister? Yes, thank you. Look, Nick’s having problems getting a plane to New York tonight. He’s on standby with PAN AM, TWA and BOAC. Can you pull any strings? Rustle up a seat?’ Victor waited, nodding to himself. ‘Great. Great. Get to it right