‘Will you be late home this evening?’ she asked. ‘It’s Val’s day at the hospital, isn’t it?’
‘Normally, yes,’ he said, helping himself to the last piece of toast.
‘But not today. Robert Williams, her psychiatrist, has gone on holiday for a fortnight, so rather than put her through the ordeal of getting used to a new man, she’s having a break.
Karen looked at the empty plate. ‘I’d better put some more toast on. What d’you suppose is keeping her this morning?’
‘The pull of the bed, I shouldn’t wonder. Didn’t she tell you she was taking a few days off work? To catch up with herself, was how she put it. She must have found it pretty harrowing being plunged back into the working world. I’m not sure she wouldn’t have been better off paddling in gently, but apparently it was for the best. Karen?’ His eyes were speculative.
‘M-m?’
‘Try, won’t you.’ She knew what he meant, but before she had time to inch in her reply he began to elaborate. ‘Remember what I said before about the ingredients looking the same, but you having a pound or two more starch in your make-up? What I’m getting at is, please make allowances. In a way you are both victims of circumstance. You lost your mother at an early age and so did she. She lost her father, too. You might curb your intolerance by remembering that you still have yours. She had only Grandmother and me. She was my grandmother’s ward, by the way. Perhaps I haven’t mentioned that.’
‘No.’
‘There’s a lot of things I haven’t mentioned, but with good reason. Before it was none of your business.’
‘And now?’
His faint chuckle invaded the seriousness of the moment, making her feel less bleak, less as if she was hanging on some remote cliff top by the starch in her finger-tips. ‘I should say recent events have made it your business.’
For a moment they enjoyed one another with their eyes, and with two thoughts pushing for prominence, Karen knew whichever way she jumped an opportunity was going to be lost. Selflessly she chose the one with the unpalatable taste. ‘This must have been Val’s home, then?’ For the first time it came to her that she was the intruder, not Val. I wonder she doesn’t hate me. But she does hate me, she thought with an involuntary flash of truth. My feeling towards her is a reaction. But Ian would never believe that. He’s known me such a short while and during that time I’ve done nothing to foster his trust, in fact I’ve done everything to destroy it. She closed her eyes for a moment as a silent prayer trembled her body. Please . . . please give me the time with which to build up that trust. But she had the desolate feeling that nobody was listening.
‘Yes, it was Val’s home,’ ruminated Ian. ‘At first it was a holiday retreat. Then when her parents died she made it her permanent home. She lived here until Grandmother died.’
‘You’re going to be late for work,’ said Karen, reluctant to end the discussion and so starve her curiosity, but feeling she should make some reference to the creeping hands of the clock. He was such a stickler for punctuality.
But he said: ‘Then I shall have to be late, because there’s something I must tell you. I have to return to Paris tomorrow, the deal I’m working on has run into unforeseen difficulties, so this might be the last opportunity for a day or so.’
She interrupted: ‘You don’t have to Ian. What happened before we met is no concern of mine. It is that kind of confession, isn’t it?’ Suddenly she didn’t want to know. She didn’t know why, unless she was frightened to know.
He wasn’t to be put off. With an unhappy laugh he began: ‘At one time it was thought Val and I would marry. It wasn’t anything as formal as an engagement, but more in the way of an understanding. Val’s parents died in tragic circumstances; she’d only just begun to feel secure again, when Grandmother took ill. I don’t think anyone ever had a more dedicated or devoted nurse. I could see she was wearing herself out, but she said it was her way of showing her love and gratitude for being given a home. She was so deeply shocked when Grandmother died, I thought she’d never pull round. Of course I comforted her. At first she was such a hurt little girl, then such a gay pal. I didn’t for a minute think—’ For the past few seconds he had spoken with his face in his hands. He looked up. ‘I don’t want to appear ungallant but she read a motive that wasn’t there. And there was something else. Grandmother didn’t leave a will and as next of kin I inherited the house. I’ve often wondered if Val had expectations in that direction. If she had inherited, I don’t know what she would have done. There was very little money in Grandmother’s estate and the house needed a lot spending on it in repairs, but in her grief she wouldn’t see it as a liability. I got all tangled up trying to explain it to her and she wrongly assumed I was asking her to marry me. I was deeply fond of her and for a while I thought it might be a way out.’
‘It wouldn’t have been. Fondness isn’t a basis for marriage.’
‘I knew that. What I didn’t know was how to disentangle myself.’
‘How did you?’
‘I introduced her to Mitch.’
‘And felt responsible for what eventually did happen?’
‘That’s about the size of it. I felt so responsible, I wished I’d married her and saved her from the whole horrible ordeal. I’m sorry, Karen, but that’s the way I felt then.’
If I was a brave person, she thought, I would say, ‘It doesn’t matter how you felt then. That’s over and done with.’ Then I would challenge, ‘What is important is how you feel now.’ But I’m not a brave person. It mightn’t draw the right answer. Sometimes not knowing is a lesser degree of hurt than knowing.
Ian had been gone half an hour when Val came down for breakfast. Karen didn’t notice her strange mood because of her own preoccupation. Listlessly she watched Val attack the top of her egg with a spoon, smashing the smooth shell into tiny pieces. It irked her the way Val tackled her breakfast egg. She always sliced the top off hers cleanly with a knife. Pity I don’t adopt the same policy with life, she thought wryly. Then she thought, measuring her distaste, if I’m intolerant over the tiny things, how can I hope for understanding over the major issues?
She went upstairs to do the beds. Val’s first, pausing as always to look at the view, then her own. The Mandy costume was slung carelessly over the back of a chair. Last night she had been too tired to put it away. Too tired, too caught up in the ecstasy and wonder of being held in Ian’s arms. Happy beyond belief. She’d always thought happiness was only in jeopardy when you took it for granted. She supposed that when happiness is yours for any length of time you cease to value it with the same intensity as when it is newly acquired. I wouldn’t, she thought. I’d take it out every day and cherish it and keep it polished and shiny.
The longer you have happiness, the more able it is to withstand the knocks of life. A very new happiness is fragile, as fragile as an egg shell.
How will you do it, Val? she thought. Will you slice the top off my happiness in one fell swoop? Or will you tap at it and peel it off in tiny, messy little bits?
‘What a pretty costume.’ She hadn’t heard Val enter her room and she was momentarily startled. Val prattled on: ‘Is it for a party? A fancy dress party? I love parties, don’t you? May I try on your party dress, please?’
Karen found she needed a few moments to collect herself. Perhaps her silence was taken for assent because when she turned round, Val was falling out of her own muted candy-striped cotton and pulling the bright scarlet folds over her corn-yellow hair. She stood back for appraisal, her thumbs hooking her slight waist, long fingers covering each hip bone.
‘Nice, m-m?’ she solicited.
‘Nice, m-m!’ agreed Karen swallowing hard. More than nice. Val wore the dress in the orthodox way, so that the bright material brushed the nape of her neck and plunged to show the cleavage of her firm young breasts. Looking at the creamy perfection of her flesh, Karen felt a stab of jealousy because she could never wear the dress as it was meant to be worn, but must always cling t
o high necks because of her imperfection: her scar. Yet despite this difference, and the dissimilarity in their colouring, she felt as if she was looking at herself. She hadn’t realized before how much of a type they were, even though Ian had frequently told her the ingredients were the same, she hadn’t thought he meant it quite so literally. And yet, on the night, she couldn’t have looked as winsome and as appealingly lovely as Val did at this moment, with her flushed cheeks and her long legs and a sparkle in her eye Karen couldn’t remember seeing before.
Silly, but she wished Val would skip out of that dress and back into her own muted candy-stripe with the muted personality that went with it. There was something about this Val. She looked so gay and vital and alive.
An odd thought possessed Karen. She felt as if the clock had been turned back and she was being shown a glimpse of the girl she had once been, before she met Mitch and tragedy again overshadowed her life. The smile was no longer sad and quick-silver but assured, bubbling, free.
Karen didn’t know when she began to feel afraid. Perhaps it was then; perhaps it was later when, for a moment, her eyes met Val’s as she put the Mandy dress on a hanger in the wardrobe. For some reason the veiled, secretive look reminded her of the shadow flitting away from the doorway. In that moment she knew Val had witnessed that tender, private scene in the kitchen when Ian had pulled her into his arms. But if she had seen, what did it matter? She could think of no reason to observe secrecy, only this vague idea it would have been wiser in the long run.
As the day wore on, her fancies diminished. Val helped with the household chores, and her willingness and newfound gaiety infected Karen. She readily admitted there was a change in Val, but because the mood remained constant and didn’t develop into sulks as she had feared, she not only accepted the change but owned to a feeling of relief. Still firmly convinced that Val had seen, she could only assume it didn’t matter and she actually chided herself for having doubts. Everything was going to be all right!
In a little while she would start dinner preparations, she might even slip over and pack Ian’s suitcase for his Paris trip tomorrow, to save him the task when he came home. Unselfish Ian, all cramped up in his room over the garage when he could be getting the full use of his lovely home.
Somewhere outside a blackbird was singing its heart out, and the sun skipped in at the window fingering Ian’s desk and the solid oak gateleg table. She thought her father would like to paint this room. It was an artist’s idyll, and a woman’s joy.
She wondered how long the present situation could go on and wished she knew what the future held in store.
Val was sitting in the opposite deep leather armchair, her elbow punching a plump rainbow cushion. She sat up with an urgency of movement that sent the bright cushion spinning across the polished floor and galvanised Karen’s attention. Yet nothing, nothing at all, could have prepared her for Val’s bombshell as she said, straining slightly forward, her mouth teased up by the merest suspicion of a smile: ‘Look, I know this is going to sound ridiculous, and if I could possibly rephrase I would. But do I know you?’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The blackbird was still singing its heart out in proximity to the window, which was open to billow the curtain, and the scents of an English country garden mingled with the fragrance of beeswax. Karen retrieved the cushion from the floor. It was the beeswax which gave it its lovely shine. Ian had told her his grandmother had used it to preserve and beautify, and one day when time rested heavily on her hands, she had set to with polishing rags and a vast reserve of energy and determination.
‘What did you say?’ she gasped, clutching the cushion to her breast as if it would ward off something that was ghastly and unbelievable.
‘I asked,’ repeated Val, hugging her slender knees and looking totally unconcerned, ‘if I knew you. Do you live locally, I mean?’
‘I live here,’ she said, resolving to stay calm. Whatever happened she must not lose her head.
‘Of course you do now,’ said Val, her voice incorporating a chuckle.
‘It just occurred to me you might come from hereabouts. Ian is such a stickler for drawing his labour-force from local inhabitants. Oh dear! does that sound terribly condescending. I didn’t meant it to. Not when you’ve been such a brick and dropped whatever you were doing to come and chaperon me. Isn’t that an old-fashioned word?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘But then, this is an old-fashioned village. Perhaps Ian was right. Perhaps we should have got married straight away. Gran would have understood. She wouldn’t have wanted us to mourn. But, I don’t know, it didn’t seem right. Do you think it would have been right, Miss—?’
‘My name is Karen.’
‘Of course, how remiss of me to forget.’ She paused, to let the significance of her words sink in. ‘But you haven’t answered my question?’
‘That’s because I can’t.’
‘You think it’s a matter for the heart to decide?’
‘What Karen felt like saying was, I think you’re shamming. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure you’re shamming. But she said: ‘Why Val? Why are you doing this to me?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ The eyes were guileless, yet Karen had to press on. ‘Is it because of what you saw and heard this morning at the kitchen door? Or because I took your place in the act with Mitch?’
‘Mitch?’ queried the girl looking convincingly puzzled.
Karen’s heart quailed. Desperately she said: ‘Howard Mitchell. You must remember him.’
‘Oh yes!’ acknowledged Val brightly, and Karen began to breathe freely again until she added: ‘Ian’s always talking about him. He’s promised to bring him home, one day soon, to introduce us.’
‘No!’ shrieked Karen, and before she could stop herself she leapt forward, grasped Val by the shoulders and shook her in sheer exasperation. ‘You will tell me the truth. You will, d’you hear?’
‘You’re hurting me,’ protested Val. Immediately Karen’s hands dropped away, but the impression of her fingers remained on the white flesh. Val stared at the marks and a look of triumph leapt to her eye. ‘You attacked me. I shall tell Ian and then he will send you away.’
‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ said Karen shakily, before fleeing from the room. Her legs were trembling so much she couldn’t manage the stairs. She sat for a moment, hidden by the bend, and she heard Val lift up the telephone receiver and dial a number. It wasn’t a miracle of deduction to assume she was telephoning Ian. What a tale she would have to tell, thought Karen, dragging herself up the stairs and out of earshot.
After a while she heard Val go into her own room. Karen went downstairs and busied herself preparing a meal while waiting for Ian to come home. She thought, the moment he comes in I shall know whose side he’s on. But she didn’t. She couldn’t tell anything from his face. Apparently he could tell a lot from hers.
‘Something’s happened?’ He covered the distance between them in long urgent strides and took her cold hands in his. ‘What is it, Karen?’
It didn’t occur to her that he should have known what it was. She said: ‘Val is pretending to have a memory lapse. She has gone back to the time shortly after your grandmother’s death.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘That she is pretending, or that she has gone back in time? No matter, the answer is yes on both accounts. I lost my temper and tried to shake the truth out of her. But you’ll know all about that.’
‘How will I know?’
‘Because Val phoned you. I heard her dial the number and begin to speak.’
‘That’s hardly conclusive. But we’ll leave that for the moment. Why would Val pretend to have a memory lapse?’
‘Because she eavesdropped on us this morning in the kitchen.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I saw her shadow flit away.’
‘You didn’t mention it.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I didn’t think it was important.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘Why di
dn’t I see anything?’
‘Because the bacon fat splashed on your hand and that occupied your attention. But why are you asking me all these questions?’ she said pulling her hands out of his. He didn’t reply straight away, and then he harked back to an old theme. ‘You don’t like Val very much, do you?’
She gasped: ‘That’s got nothing to do with it. Are you suggesting I’m inventing it?’
‘That isn’t the word I’d choose. Val didn’t telephone me,’ he said levelly. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of it.’
‘Then who did she phone?’ puzzled Karen in dismay. ‘What further mischief is she plotting?’
He said tonelessly: ‘Is she in her room? I’ll go up and have a word with her.’
When he came back down, a good twenty minutes later, he said: ‘I admit she seems unwilling to talk about things, but I’d say it’s a natural reluctance, not a memory lapse.’
Karen stared in stricken disbelief. It was a full minute before she thought to urge: ‘Phone the hospital. They’d know. They’d see through her straight away.’
He said, giving his words a good deal of thought: ‘If there’s anything to see through. Would you ask me to put her through the whole harrowing ordeal again, on a mere hunch?’ When he saw how unhappy she looked he added: ‘I might at that, but the one who knows her inside out is on holiday.’
‘Damn! I’d forgotten that. Will you still go to Paris?’
‘Sweetheart.’ His arms reached out to her and held her in a bear hug.
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