by Anne Mather
And then, six months ago, he had met Ruth Delaney. They met at a cocktail party in New York where he was attending a textile trade fair. She had immediately made a beeline for him, realizing he was the most attractive male she had ever seen or was ever likely to see. His cynical manner had added a rather cruel twist to his lips and he was leaner than he had been before the divorce, and very bitter. She became his shadow, appearing at all the functions he attended, until he was forced to take notice of her. After all, her father was Hiram Delaney, an oil magnate, and his money might help the company if nothing else, Paul’s public relations officer had urged him to be sociable to the Americans, and Paul found it comparatively easy to comply. Ruth was a likeable girl, and her youthful aura was what he needed to brighten his image.
To begin with, Paul had merely used her, taking advantage of her naïveté, but gradually she worked her way into his confidence, and eventually he told her about his broken marriage. Ruth was very sympathetic. She commiserated with him and made him aware of himself as a comparatively young man without much point to his life. Paul was quite aware that Ruth intended that she herself should become the point in his life.
She was devoted to him, and when he returned to London she prevailed upon her parents to visit there too. Consequently, Paul found himself with three guests, at least two of whom expected him to marry Ruth. He was being politely managed, and he allowed himself to drift with the tide. When the tide became a tidal wave and an engagement was quite essential to keep harmony, he decided that as he would never love again he might as well provide himself with a wife and hostess and later, if children came along, the tragedy of his earlier marriage might disappear. So he and Ruth became engaged and her parents, satisfied at last, returned to the States leaving Ruth in Paul’s care.
Today Ruth was wearing a mink coat and a very feminine hat of pink feathers. She looked chic and very expensive, but Paul sighed deeply as she rose to meet him. She had been sitting in the chair used by clients, at the far side of his desk, and she moved towards him in a cloud of exotic French perfume.
“Hello, darling,” she said reproachfully. “You didn’t tell me you were to be out for lunch. I’ve been waiting here for almost an hour.”
Paul allowed her lips to touch his cheek before moving away, removing his overcoat.
“Really,” he said. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I had no alternative, I’m afraid.”
He dropped his coat on to a low couch and then crossing to his desk, he flung himself into the chair behind it, reaching for his cigarette case.
Ruth lifted his overcoat with a knowing smile, and hung it on the stand before resuming her seat opposite him.
“Now,” she murmured, “what on earth was so important that you had to drop everything and go out to lunch? When I asked you yesterday evening you said you would have no time for anything.”
“That was quite true,” replied Paul, drawing on his cigarette. Ruth did not smoke.
“Well, come on,” said Ruth. “Why are you looking so moody and disgruntled? You seem hardly pleased to see me.”
Paul shrugged. “I’m sorry, Ruth,” he murmured, frowning. “I was just thinking.”
Ruth pulled a face and stared at him through her deep brown eyes.
“I had lunch with Karen,” he said at length.
“Karen?” Ruth’s eyes became saucers. “Not … not …?”
“My ex-wife? Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Ruth was absolutely astounded and looked it. Until now, Karen had always seemed a phantom figure, vaguely there in the background but unsubstantial.
“And what she had to say to you was highly important, I suppose?” Ruth exclaimed, gathering her startled wits. She clenched her fists. What did this mean? Surely he wasn’t intending to get involved with Karen again? For the first time she began to wonder just what Karen was really like. Paul had never described her and she had never been really interested.
“Yes, it was,” he said slowly. “Her sister Sandra, who is seventeen, is running around with Simon … brother Simon, that is.”
Ruth’s tense nerves relaxed a little.
“But, Paul, Simon is a married man! Why, I met Julia for lunch only last week. She didn’t lead me to believe that they were splitting up.”
Paul’s cynical expression hardened. “My dear Ruth,” he exclaimed, shaking his head, “they have no intention of splitting up. Simon does this all the time. So does Julia, for that matter. They have a very comfortable arrangement, I believe.”
Ruth flushed, and compressed her rather thin lips.
“You must be joking!”
“Must I?” He smiled wryly. “Life has obviously shielded you from any unpleasantness, Ruth. Grow up! These affairs happen all the time.”
“Well, I think it’s disgusting,” she cried, biting her lip. “This is the twentieth century! People don’t have lovers and mistresses any more. Two people, like ourselves, may meet and discover in time whether we’re suitably matched, but acting like this – well – it’s animalistic … barely civilized!”
Paul shrugged. “I know what a womanizer Simon must seem to you, but his private life is usually no concern of mine. As long as his work doesn’t suffer in consequence, he can do as he likes as far as I’m concerned. However, in this instance it’s rather different. Karen has asked me to intercede on her mother’s behalf. Sandra is young and foolish. Wild, if you like. But she’s taking on more than she can cope with, if she takes on Simon.”
Ruth snorted angrily. She objected to Karen’s almost proprietorial use of her ex-husband.
“If this Sandra is anything like Karen, then I should imagine she’s well able to take care of herself,” she remarked angrily. “She probably deserves anything she gets.”
Paul’s face grew cold and Ruth knew she had said the wrong thing.
“And just what do you know about Karen?” he asked coldly.
Ruth stretched her fingers and allowed her eyes to gloat on the emerald engagement ring sparkling on her finger.
“Julia has told me quite a lot about Karen,” she replied, half defensively.
Paul stubbed out his cigarette.
“Indeed? I never knew you had such cosy chats together. You must tell me more.”
Ruth flushed. “Paul, don’t be mad. Julia hasn’t told anything more than I suspected from your own words on the subject. For goodness’ sake, it’s over now. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn, but you’re not her slave any longer.”
Paul shrugged.
“I suggest, then, that you forget anything Julia has told you about Karen. She knows only too well that Karen is twice the woman she will ever be and also that Simon has always made it clear that Karen intrigued him. Oh, I know he has other women, but Julia never knows who they are. It was quite a blow to find him trying to make headway with his brother’s wife. The stigma has remained.”
Ruth’s flush deepened. “All right, all right, Paul. She must be quite a woman.” This last was said rather sarcastically.
“Yes,” murmured Paul thoughtfully, and then Ruth returned to the attack.
“Well, anyway, why couldn’t she have telephoned you, or even her mother could have phoned?”
“She did telephone, but I did not choose to discuss personal family affairs through the medium of a telephone, the privacy of which is doubtful.”
Ruth shrugged.
“I suppose you’re right,” she replied coolly. “So you had a cosy lunch together?”
Paul smiled dryly. “I should hardly have described it as cosy,” he said reflectively.
Ruth rose to her feet. “Well, that’s that, then. I suppose you’re going to play the heavy father with Simon.”
“I shall try. Sandra used to be a nice kid. Spoilt, I admit, but pleasant. I wouldn’t like to see anything happen to her.”
Ruth bit her lip again. She didn’t like this conversation. Her visit to the office had been intended to relieve the monotony of Paul’s otherwise dull day. Instead, she had been kept han
ging around for an hour and now he had returned all he could talk about was Karen. She felt utterly and reasonably depressed. She liked to think of herself as the only woman in Paul’s life. What was past was past, and she was the present. His broken marriage had been the result of foolish impulsiveness and she wanted to be the wife he adored. She had no intention of being bored. Indeed, she was convinced that life with a man like Paul could never be boring.
Paul looked up at her wearily.
“Don’t worry,” he remarked dryly. “Karen isn’t interested in me, Ruth. She’s still working for Lewis Martin and I imagine they will be getting married one day. It amazes me that they haven’t done so already. I expected it as soon as the divorce became absolute.”
Ruth noticed that he did not say he was not interested in her, but decided to refrain from mentioning this. After all, he couldn’t be, could he? If he had been surely he would have tried to get her back. No, he loved her, Ruth. He would not let Karen make a fool of him a second time, she was convinced of that. His pride, if nothing else, would prevent it.
“I’m so glad,” she remarked, and felt herself relaxing a little. “Now, where are we going tonight? That is, if you can drag yourself away from the office.”
Paul’s eyes narrowed enigmatically, and she could not tell what he was thinking.
“Where would you like to go?” he asked, running a hand through his thick hair.
Ruth shrugged. “The opera … play?”
“Good. I’ll get Miss Hopper to get tickets. I’ll pick you up at your hotel later and we’ll have dinner first. Does that suit you?”
“Marvellously,” agreed Ruth enthusiastically. Now they were back on ground she knew, not treading among old unexploded mines. “By the way, darling,” she continued, “I’ve got some tickets for the charity ball at the Magnifique on Friday. It sounds exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”
Just at the moment Paul felt absolutely no interest in a ball.
He frowned and said, temporizing: “I don’t usually attend those functions, Ruth. I buy tickets, of course, but …”
“But nothing, Paul,” she exclaimed. “I’d like to go. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Paul felt uncomfortably aware of behaving boorishly.
“Of course it does,” he said placatingly. “I’m sorry, Ruth. Of course we’ll go if that’s what you want.”
Ruth smiled triumphantly, assured again of her position.
“Thank you, darling,” she said, “and now I’ll go and let you go on. I’ve wasted enough of your time.”
After Ruth had gone, Paul buried his head in his hands. His thoughts were chaotic and not pleasant. It was degrading to feel this way and he was furious with himself for feeling so. It had been a strange and unreal day and the strain had been greater than he had thought possible.
With a sigh he lit another cigarette and crossing to a filing cabinet he withdrew a bottle of Scotch and a glass. He poured himself a stiff drink and then reseated himself at his desk. He couldn’t help recalling how unalike Ruth and Karen were. It was remarkable, really. Ruth was small whereas Karen was tall and almost voluptuous. Ruth wore her hair short and curly, Karen’s was long and straight. Ruth favoured feminine, fussy clothes, whereas, Karen preferred casual attire and suited slacks and sweaters. Surely it must mean something. He smiled to himself. No doubt a psychiatrist would tell him it was a form of mental aberration. Probably it was. Probably his subconscious rejected any similarities between the woman he had divorced and the woman he intended to marry. But no matter what happened, Karen was not going to insinuate herself into his life a second time. He had Ruth who loved him selflessly, who would never demand anything from him that he was not prepared to give; who would bear his children with love and never want to be something she was not. If his own feelings were not seriously involved so much the better. Sexual attraction could be hell as well as ecstasy.
Karen was dressing on Thursday morning, two days later, when the telephone suddenly pealed shrilly. It was only ten-fifteen, and Mrs. Coates had just gone. Karen, pulled on her housecoat over her underclothes and rushed across to the telephone. She wondered breathlessly whether it would be Paul.
She picked up the phone and gave her number.
“Is that you, Karen?” came a male voice – one she recognized at once was not Paul’s.
“Yes,” she said, with some curiosity. “Who’s that?”
“Don’t you remember me? I’m heartbroken,” he replied mockingly, and she suddenly knew who it was.
“What on earth do you want, Simon?” she asked resignedly, recognizing the voice of Paul’s brother. “Where ever are you at this early hour?”
“I’m in the lobby, downstairs,” he replied easily. “I want to see you. Can I come up?”
“I suppose so,” she said, sighing. “But I’m not dressed yet, give me a few moments.”
“I’ll be right up,” he answered abruptly, and rang off.
Karen bit her lip and replaced the receiver. What on earth could Simon want with her? He had never contacted her before. Since the divorce she had hardly seen him and never more than accidentally. Did he want to discuss Sandra? She hoped not. She was just hoping that Paul had settled all that himself.
She had barely turned round before there was a knock at her door. Exasperated, she wrapped the housecoat closer about her and went to the door. She looked warmly beautiful, the deep blue of the housecoat accentuating her absolute fairness. Simon was leaning against the doorpost and his eyes lit up appreciatively at the sight of her. She had always intrigued him, but had made it clear from the beginning that she thought little of him. He was five years older than she was but acted about ten years younger at times. He was a thinner, more self-indulged version of Paul, with dark hair that needed cutting at the moment, and a rather sallow complexion through not getting enough fresh air. She supposed he was an attractive man, but she felt sure the weakness in his face and the sensuality of his mouth would have revolted her, had she had anything further to do with him. Many women had fallen victim to his charms, but they were women like himself usually, who lived for the day and had no thought for tomorrow. This affair with Sandra was a new departure for him, and Karen felt infuriated that Sandra couldn’t see him for the weak-kneed individual he was.
“Well?” she said uncompromisingly. “What do you want?”
“Oh, come now,” he exclaimed reproachfully. “Surely you’re going to ask me in? I assure you I haven’t come to rape you, whatever you may think.”
Karen sighed heavily, and then stepped back to allow him to enter the apartment.
“Very nice,” he murmured as he strolled over to the couch and lounged on to it. “You certainly have a nice place here, Karen.”
“Cut the preliminaries,” said Karen abruptly. “Just state your business and go.”
But Simon was not so eager to do this now that he was installed on the couch, and he yawned widely and said: “God, I’m tired.”
Karen poured him a cup of coffee and put it into his hand. She noticed he was wearing a dinner-jacket under his overcoat and she said:
“I thought this was mighty early for someone like you. Haven’t you been to bed, or is that a leading question?”
Simon smiled sardonically. “Dear little Karen,” he remarked dryly. “I’ve been playing poker, that’s all. I admit I haven’t spent the night between silken sheets and on a luxuriously sprung mattress, but on the other hand, I haven’t been indulging in debauchery. Sorry to disappoint you, darling.”
Karen lit a cigarette and moved away from him.
“Tell me, Karen,” he said suddenly, “why don’t I attract you, when brother Paul used to send you into raptures?”
Karen flushed. “Do you really want to know?” she asked, turning round slowly.
“But of course. I imagine there’s a reason.”
“Oh yes, Simon. There’s a reason. I simply think you’re a weak-kneed, unintelligent oaf, with little else but sex inside
your empty head. Does that satisfy you?”
Simon had the grace to flush deeply, and finishing his coffee he replaced his cup on the tray.
“Well, I did provoke that, I suppose,” he said, with an attempt at light-heartedness that annoyed Karen anew. How could he sit there and allow her to speak to him in that manner? Had he no feelings? No pride?
She sighed again. “Well, Simon, you’ve had your coffee. Now perhaps, after all this, you can tell me what goes on.”
“After what you’ve said, I feel that my journey was a wasted effort,” he replied, sighing to himself. “I secretly thought you really liked me, even if I did rate second to Paul.”
Karen shrugged. “Well, now you know. Why are you here? Is it about Sandra?”
“Yes,” Simon nodded. “She and I have been having a good time together.”
“I can imagine,” exclaimed Karen. “She ought to have more sense. And so ought you.”
“But darling! Paul has told me to lay off Sandra, and I hoped you might be able to dissuade him. After all, I’ve not harmed Sandra.”
“You must be joking,” she cried, half amused at his inflated ego. “Good heavens, Simon, it was I who asked Paul to intercede in the first place. My mother nearly had hysterics when she found out who Sandra was dating.”
Simon looked at her with distaste. “Karen! Do you mean to tell me that you’re behind all this?”
“I, and my mother,” she replied coolly. “Why? Simon, you just aren’t a fit escort for any woman! Apart from Julia, that is. You’re married, remember!”
Simon frowned. “That’s our affair,” he retorted, irritated.
“Well, did you really believe that I would encourage a liaison between my sister and a married man, any married man?” exclaimed Karen. “And a man like you has the worst possible influence on her. She’s wild enough as it is, without you encouraging her in your crazy fashion.”
“Indeed? Thank you, Miss Stacey,” he muttered, angry now. “But I don’t think you realize just how infatuated Sandra is. You won’t separate her from me so easily. Oh, Paul thinks he’s got the upper hand, but it’s not that simple.”
