Excerpt of Triumph of Katie Byrne by Barbara Taylor Bradford

Chapter One

The girl sat on a narrow bench, center 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 pinspot shining down. The
girl’s name was Katie Byrne and she was seventeen and
acting was her entire life.

She was about to act for her favorite 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 fellow 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, thatis 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 inbred 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 practiced, 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 theater out
of it. At that time they had made a promise to one
another, 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 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 shrilly, “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 humor. She had a kind of golden radiance about her,
with her long blond 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 demeanor, 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 if diminutive figure,
and with her short dark curls and pansy-violet eyes she
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 worrywart.”

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 focused 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 theater.

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 color 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.