Free Power of a Woman by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

them. Larry Olivier, Jack Hawkins, Duke Wayne, Bill Holden, but most especially Rich. God, we had some splendid times together. He was such an extraordinary man, an extraordinary talent. I remember when he was in Hamlet in the fifties. I think it was 1953, when he was with the Old Vic. Claire was in it with him, played Ophelia to his Hamlet. They were fabulous together. I went up to Edinburgh to see it, to see them. Rich was bloody marvelous.
    Miraculous .” There was a moment’s pause, and then Derek added softly, “I always envied him his voice, you know.”
    “You did!” Miles sounded surprised, and he threw Derek a curious look. “But your voice is wonderful.
    Everybody remarks about it, Derek.”
    “Thank you, Miles, however, it’s not as great as Burton’s was. Rich had…well, probably the greatest voice that’s ever been heard on the English stage. It was a thrilling voice, and it was much more sonor-ous and emotional than Larry’s, in my opinion anyway. It was the Celt in him, the 86 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
    Welsh in him, we love words so, us Welsh do. And as they always say in our native valleys of Wales, he had a bell in every tooth. Usually they say that about a singing voice, but it can be applied to a speaking voice as well, you know. As far as Rich was concerned, that is. His voice literally rang with feeling, and I for one could listen to him for hours.”
    “As we all could, and did,” Blair reminded him.
    “I think I’d better check with Cappi about lunch,”
    Stevie exclaimed, and rose, began to walk across the great hall. “I should find out how things are progressing. And anyway, they probably need a bit of help in the kitchen.”
    “I’ll come with you, darling,” Blair murmured, and followed her daughter.
    Chloe called, “Do you need me, Mom?”
    “No, darling, we can manage, I’m sure,” Stevie answered over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.
    Derek strolled across to the tray of drinks on a large Jacobean chest, picked up the bottle of white wine, and swung to face Miles, showing him the bottle. “Need yours topped up?”
    “No thanks, Gramps, I’m fine.”
    Derek poured himself another glass of the wine and then walked back to the fireside. He sat down on the sofa next to Chloe and, glancing across at Miles, he asked, “How’re the sets coming along for The King and I ?”
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    “Pretty good, actually. It’s a fabulous play to work on, and I can really give my imagination free rein with this one. Temple bells and Buddhas, carved elephants, exotic fabrics, lots of gold and silver. And jewels. And vivid colors. All of those things that help to recreate the palace in Siam are really very visual, and have tremendous impact from the stage.
    And, I have to say, the costumes are sensational, especially Anna’s…all those lovely floating crinolines.”
    “As a musical, it does take a lot of beating because it is such a fabulous play to look at, quite aside from listen to.” One of Derek’s brows lifted eloquently as he now asked, “How’s Martine Mason faring? How is she as Anna?”
    “She’s good, Gramps, and so is Ben Tresner as the king. He may not be Yul Brynner, and Martine’s certainly no Deborah Kerr, but I think we’ve got a winning package.”
    “And therefore a hit, presumably.”
    “From your mouth to God’s ears, Gramps!” Chloe exclaimed.
    The two men exchanged amused looks and laughed.
    Cappi appeared suddenly in the great hall and beckoned to Chloe. “Your mother wants you to come and help us, nothing too complicated. We just need another pair of hands for a few minutes.”
    “I don’t care if it is complicated, you know I’m very good at complicated things,” Chloe shot back, 88 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
    and ran across the room, exclaiming to her brother and grandfather, “Excuse me, I won’t be long, and please don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”
    Again they laughed in amusement. Derek