Karen could never be sure if she began to fall before the spotlight was turned on, or after. Perhaps it was simultaneous, because the audience saw the pale, petrified face in the descending point of white fire; then she crumpled to the floor, to lie like a broken doll in the wider, circular beam of light.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ian ushered the manager and several hovering attendants, out of the manager’s office. Karen occupied the only chair, so he sat on the edge of the desk.
‘Start at the beginning,’ he instructed, ‘and tell me all about it.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Karen, accepting his presence with utter naturalness, although later, when her brain began to clear, she would marvel that her need of him had brought him so swiftly to her side. It had been Ian’s arms that had lifted her off the floor and carried her out of range of all those staring eyes. ‘Mitch said I had a passable voice and he asked me if I’d ever sung professionally. I hadn’t, of course, and—’
‘That isn’t the beginning,’ said Ian. ‘That wasn’t stage fright. I would say it was a collective effort. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think ordinary stage nerves triggered off the memory of a bad experience. Begin there, with the bad experience.’
‘Yes, I’ll begin there. With the storm. You are quite right, it wasn’t the stage or the audience. It was the blackness and the smell of the roses. It became very black, the day of the storm, and there was a bowl of roses on the table. Yellow roses, like those out there tonight. They brought the memory very near. So that when Mitch began to play, it sounded like rain. I don’t know if it did sound like rain, really, but the notes were tinkly and because my mind was keyed up to expect it, it sounded like rain. Then he played an arpeggio which sounded like thunder. No, I’m getting mixed up, the arpeggio came before the rain sound. Then the lightning struck.’
‘I take it the lightning was the spotlight?’
‘Yes, Ian. By that time my imagination was working full power because the spotlight stabbed, just as the lightning had.’
His grave face grew graver still as she described the burning sensation as the tip of white fire touched her skin. The simple act of talking about it pained her and all but stole her voice away. She was mentally and physically exhausted, but even so her fighting chin went up in a desperate bid to conquer this disabling fright-fatigue.
She put her free hand to her forehead. (Ian was holding her other hand, tightly, comfortingly, reassuringly.) Her forehead felt clammy and the room suddenly tilted. ‘Drink,’ coaxed Ian. She felt the thin rim of a glass against her mouth. Her lips slackened to let in a drop of the amber liquid.
‘I’m better now, thank you. Am I having a reaction? I ask because I seem to be talking a lot. I want to talk and talk and talk. It’s a compulsion.’
‘Don’t fight it. Talk is healing. It rids the system of a lot of poison. Talk as much as you want to.’
‘Strange, but I can’t think of anything to say now.’
‘Say what is in your mind at this moment.’
‘You won’t like it?
‘Say it anyway.’
‘Well, I’m thinking about Mitch. I told you you wouldn’t like it,’ she said, noting the bunching of the muscles controlling his mouth. ‘I know about him, by the way, what he did to Val. Not in detail. I know the skeleton of the story, not the flesh. I know her breakdown was the result of his treatment, plus her own vulnerability. Mitch is bad, I’m not saying he isn’t. It’s very bad to ride roughshod over somebody’s ideals for purely selfish reasons. Mitch is very selfish, but I don’t blame him solely for Val’s condition. I think she was gulled by her own susceptibility, and you can’t blame Mitch for that.’
‘Why don’t you say, even you? It’s what you mean.’
‘Perhaps. Do I sound to be reading the lesson?’
‘Do you mean to?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t stop to consider whether she was being wise or unbelievably rash; she disregarded the whipping tightness of his mouth and the insidious drop, not more than a fraction of an inch, of eyelid, and ploughed remorselessly on. ‘I want you to rid yourself of some of that bitterness.’
In truth, he looked more surprised than enlightened, but he appeared to consider the possibility, though with misgivings. ‘You’re not suggesting I should regard him as a friend?’
‘Oh no! That would be impossible. I merely want you to see both sides.’
‘Why?’ He forgot to pinch his mouth and looked—well, approachable. It clued her to say: ‘Because,’—pause to swallow on a dry throat—‘I think when you’ve stopped feeling sorry for me, you’re going to be very angry with me. Not for going into this venture with Mitch. But for not telling you. I think you’ll find the deceit harder to stomach than the action. I think I’m going to get a slap of that bitterness.’
He smiled at that, but still he looked mystified. ‘Why did you, Karen? What did you hope to get out of it? Glamour? Fame? Does every little girl dream of taking the world by storm?’
‘I don’t know about every little girl. I can only speak for two. Val did it for love of a man. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much to recall it, Ian, I don’t know the extent of your involvement, but she adored Mitch. She closed her eyes and he dusted them with stars. She followed him blindly.’
‘And the other little girl? You?’
‘For love. Another sort of love,’ she said, rushing the words out as though glad to be rid of them. ‘The love of money.’
‘That surprises me. I wouldn’t have thought you were mercenary.’
‘I’m not. I needed the money for a specific purpose.’
‘Why didn’t you come to me?’ he enquired in a light clement tone. ‘I would have advanced you any amount within reason.’
She said awkwardly: ‘I’m afraid you don’t understand. I wanted the money for you. To pay back what I owed, so that I could go my own way.’
The smile left his mouth, yet the set of it was neither brooding, nor bitter, but gravely considering. ‘Was that so very important to you, to go your own way?’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’ The words were torn out of her and she felt the sting of his tenderness under her eyelids. Because his tone was levelled with such a lot of patience and no condemnation, her fighting spirit began to wane; her thoughts were reduced to an economical low. ‘I’ve gone through all that torture and accomplished nothing. And do you know who I feel sorriest of all for? I’m being stupid again, I know it, but I can’t help it. I feel sorriest of all for Mitch.’
‘You’re wrong, Karen. I should say a great deal has been accomplished. As far as Mitch is concerned—’ He went to the door and opened it, letting in, besides the draught that blew down the long corridor, a vigorous, hearty, raucous, vibratory assault of sound.
‘What is it?’
‘Audience participation. The stuff they call applause.’
‘You mean—?’
‘Yes, it’s for Mitch.’
She swallowed. ‘With that much appreciation ringing in his ears, I see my sympathy is misplaced. How did it—?’
‘Happen? Because he’s Mitch. Because he’s single-minded, his whole outlook is centred on the one purpose, it’s called ambition; and because he has the gall to make capital of a situation that would have floored anyone but a true pro. And I suspect I’m tiring you,’ he said, detecting the signs of strain and fatigue.
‘Not really. In any case I shan’t be able to relax, not properly, until my curiosity has been appeased.’
He thought over her words, digesting the element of wisdom; nodded, and continued: ‘You folded up like a doll. I was still regaining my breath when Mitch got to his feet and shouted, ‘If my playing does that to the little girl, let’s see what it’ll do for you.’ It was fantastic, really, the way the audience was welded as one. You could feel the tension, hear the shocked gasps until Mitch stood up and said his piece, and then there wasn’t a one among them who wasn’t delighted to be conned. They loved it, they loved Mitch for playing such a trick on t
hem. You see, they believed it was part of the act because that is what they wanted to believe. Everyone craves a happy ending and well, after that icebreaker—which, if I’m any judge will be a permanent feature of the act—Mitch couldn’t put a finger wrong. He’s made what is commonly known as a come-back.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Karen simply, ignoring the return of bitterness in his voice. He felt too deeply to rejoice for Mitch. As far as their own relationship went, she knew the evening had taken its toll. Although he had shown her nothing but kindness, he didn’t for a moment hide the fact that he was displeased with her. How could he be anything else, hating Mitch the way he did? At one time she had hated Mitch almost as intensely, but not now. She felt only pity; it was almost as if he wasn’t worth the greater emotion any more.
‘I think I’m ready to go home, now,’ she said.
On the first part of the homeward journey they hardly spoke. Although the situation had been discussed at length, she felt there was a small but important something that hadn’t been touched on. A detail that eluded her. She went back, trying to resurrect the one thought, action, word that would activate the particular thought, action, word she was seeking.
It had been a funny evening, right from the word go. The dash and scramble to the club, Mitch’s tearful breakdown which had pushed her into something she hadn’t been capable of handling. Ian’s prompt appearance. Odd, how it had only just occurred to her how conveniently near to hand he had been.
Oh! She was remembering that she should have been at the Franks’.
‘How did you find me?’ she managed. Her dismay was acute and comic as she assimilated, digested, wavered between the two obvious courses.
‘What shall I do? Attack? Pretend to be furious. After all, you didn’t waste much time in following me. Or should I defend myself?’
Awarding her full marks for audacity, he said tartly: ‘If the implication is that I didn’t believe your cover story, that I deliberately snooped around, you should certainly look to your defence. You see, after you’d departed, supposedly to visit Angela’s parents, Mrs Franks phoned you. To set up a meeting.’
‘I see. That rather blew my alibi, didn’t it? But,’—she hurriedly retrenched—‘that doesn’t explain how you found me.’
‘Mitch did finalise the arrangement by telephone,’ he pointed out acidly.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, latching on to his meaning. ‘But you’d pre-warned me about my indiscreet habit of doodling. I destroyed the evidence.’
‘Not exactly,’ he corrected. ‘I found it, after a search, screwed up in a tight little ball in the fireplace. I’m only glad nobody felt cold enough to light a fire.’
‘Nobody. Oh, you mean Val!’ The tone of her voice was a mistake, and the tumult of her thoughts pushed her into deeper wrong. ‘I wonder you could bear to leave her.’ It was always the same when they spoke of Val. She put out a prickly antenna of dislike. Yet she would have sworn she didn’t dislike her. It was just that she found it difficult to like her.
She put her back wearily on the seat, turning her face towards the window. Apparently engrossed in the ghostly shapes of the passing hedgerows. A bat flew out of the darkness, somewhere an owl hooted. Her heart felt like lead. No amount of chafing would dispel this new coldness that had crept between them.
‘Don’t take it out on Val,’ he said through taut lips. ‘If you think I shouldn’t have meddled in your affairs, then come right out and say so. Or would that be too straightforward for your crooked little mind? You seem to prefer to dabble in deceit.’ There was a long pause. He spent it regretting his harsh words because he said: ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was unpardonable of me.’
‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘If you remember I said you’d find the deceit the hardest of all to bear.’
‘That wasn’t the hardest,’ he corrected. ‘Oh, I didn’t like being lied to, but I appreciate your difficulty. You could hardly have told the truth.’
The car whispered over the bridge, down the twisty lane and through the stone gates and straight into the garage. They didn’t speak again until he stopped the car, got out and came round to assist her. Then she said:
‘I know it won’t put things right. But I promise never to lie to you again.’
She fancied one eyebrow slid up as he said: ‘So you’re not planning to shoot off first thing in the morning?’
‘No, I made a bargain with myself that I intend to keep. I won’t leave until I’ve paid off my debt. Unless,’—hesitatingly—‘you can’t stand the sight of me any longer.’ He gave her an eloquent look and said:
‘You have some funny notions.’
‘Will you come in for a cup of tea or coffee?’ she enquired briskly, expecting him to say, ‘No, I won’t come in. It’s too late.’ Which is what he did say, but then he added: ‘I’m in a talking mood and I might just waken Val.’ Whereupon he placed a finger across her lips to prevent the usual acerbic come-back. But she wouldn’t have this time because, incredibly, it certainly wasn’t her doing, the mood had swung the other way and she wasn’t going to let her quick tongue sour it. ‘So why don’t you come up to my room?’ he invited.
‘For a cup of coffee?’
‘Or tea. Or to talk. Or not to talk.’
There are moments in life when everything is wrong, and moments when everything is right. The stars are crisper and brighter in the sky, so bright you think they can’t possibly fade. But they do, reminded a tiny inner voice. Every star must fade for the coming dawn.
‘I wish. I wish.’
‘What do you wish?’ he asked, taking her hand and leading the way up the steps at the side of the garage. ‘I wish I could delay tomorrow.’
His quarters consisted of a bedroom and a tiny kitchenette. Karen threw off her coat and went to fill the kettle. It wasn’t until she was standing at the cooker that she realized she was still wearing her Mandy get up. She wished she hadn’t taken off her coat. She felt his eyes travel her low scooped out back and was conscious of how much of her tights the costume revealed.
‘Was it strictly for the money?’ he asked, as if that question tormented him.
‘What else?’
‘You’re a woman. You should know the answer to that.’
‘If you mean, was I in love with Mitch, the answer is no.’
‘I didn’t imagine you were in love with him. I thought—’
‘What did you think?’
‘Well, Mitch has a quality that draws the opposite sex. An animal attraction. It’s possible to want to make love to a person without being in love.’
‘There wasn’t anything like that. Anyway, it’s over now. I give you my word I won’t see him again.’
‘I’m glad. Tea, or coffee?’
‘Tea please.’
As he reached for the tea caddy, she reached for two cups. Their hands collided. Then they were in each other’s arms. His hands were caressing her back, her neck, stroking her hair. His lips found the fluttering pulse at her temple, the hollow of her throat, her lips. Yet there wasn’t a part of her mind or body that didn’t react to the ecstasy of it. It was like being struck by lightning all over again, an encounter she would never forget, only the hundred per cent current flowing through their bodies was unbelievable delight. With touching egotism she felt that never before had two people been able to create such beautiful magic.
The spluttering of the kettle parted them. ‘Do you want that tea?’ She knew from his voice that he was as moved as she was. ‘No . . . I. . . ought to go.’
He made a quick, urgent move towards her and she was electrified by the thought that he wasn’t going to let her go. As a second wave of passion was released within her, she waited impatiently agog, wondering how she had survived all those years without him.
But his hands were doing a double quick retreat, and she was being bundled into her coat. ‘If I can’t see so much of you,’ he said. ‘I might just be able to let you go.’
She
said through gritted teeth: ‘You must be made of steel.’
The weight of his hands pressed down on her shoulders and she was being masterfully swivelled round to face the door. He whispered throatily into her hair: ‘Think that if you like. Some day I’ll prove to you that I’m not.’
He planted a kiss on the nape of her neck, for her to take with her, to cherish. Then he let her go with warming reluctance. As she sped across the paved yard she saw that the stars were beginning to fade. Soon it would be dawn.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Karen was cooking breakfast when Ian crept softly into the kitchen. He turned her round and kissed her full on the mouth. His glance, penetrating, with a light salting of mischief, raked her face. ‘You look as if you positively enjoyed that.’
‘I did,’ she replied promptly, sheer astonishment crisping her tone. For some reason she’d thought the light of day would strip away the warmth and tenderness. She could still scarcely believe it had happened; that it was still intact was a source of throat-drying, speech-stealing delight. Only, she wished she could lose the lump in her throat and overcome this new, hampering shyness.
He was noticeably amused. ‘I’ve never before known you to be short on words. You must be one of those people who are most articulate in anger.’
‘And you would know all about that,’ she retorted, her new-found voice wrapped round a chuckle. He said, with a good attempt at lightness:
‘I’ve come to the conclusion we’ve been at loggerheads far too long. I’m glad I’ve found a means of disarming you.’
‘Would you think me horribly forward if I asked to be disarmed some more?’
‘I could never think you horribly anything. Damn!’ he ejaculated, moving swiftly from the proximity of the cooker, but too late to avoid the spitting bacon fat. ‘Why do we always have to make love in a kitchen?’ he asked in amused exasperation, inspecting the angry red spots appearing on the back of his hand. Karen was looking meek and trying not to laugh, when she thought she saw a shadow flit away from the door.
The eavesdropper, if there had been one, could only be Val. How much had she seen and heard? How long had she been standing at the door? Karen fiercely resented the intrusion on what was a private and intimate moment, but that wasn’t the reason for the icicle drip down her spine. Suddenly she was afraid. It was a stupid fear, a barely analysed feeling of disquiet. She told herself it was without foundation and in a moment her normal common sense would assert itself, telling her she was being fanciful and wrong. Until her composure was fully restored, she absorbed herself in examining his hand. ‘What a fuss about nothing,’ she clucked. A fuss about nothing. She hoped so.
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