by Anne Mather
“Come on, Paul,” she said, tugging at his arm. “Let’s go and watch!”
The Fellowes were already dancing, so Paul reluctantly rose and allowed himself to be drawn across the floor to the group in the centre. There were no other couples dancing now, everyone was watching. Paul halted abruptly in his tracks. The two people who were gyrating laughingly to the music were Tony Stoker and … Karen.
He felt the blood pounding through his veins as he watched them, and was infuriated with his traitorous body. God, he had to get control of himself!
“Why, it’s Tony Stoker,” exclaimed Ruth. “Aren’t they good? Not that I would make an exhibition of myself like that.”
Paul did not reply and she looked up at him. His face was dark and inscrutable and she frowned.
“Whatever is wrong?” she asked irritably. “Didn’t you want to come and see?”
“Not particularly,” replied Paul grimly.
“Why?” And then Ruth had a sudden insight. It was something in Paul’s face, something about his expression that made her say suddenly and accusingly: “You know that girl, don’t you? Who is she?”
“What makes you think that?” evaded Paul slowly.
“I just feel it. Does she work in your office? Is she your assistant or something?”
“She used to work for me,” he replied quietly. “That’s Karen, Ruth.”
Ruth’s face was a picture of incredulity.
“Karen … not the Karen?” she exclaimed.
“The same,” remarked Paul, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. “Now, are you satisfied? Does that please you?”
“But I don’t understand,” she began, “I imagined she was your age. Paul, you never told me she was so young.”
“You never asked me,” he replied coolly. “Karen is twenty-five now. Three years younger than you, I believe.”
Ruth flushed angrily. How she wished she had not suggested coming to watch the dancers. How was she to know that it might be Karen? She had not even known she was here, and yet Paul had not seemed surprised. Had he known she was to be here? Questions flew wildly round in her mind and then she quelled them. It was stupid thinking in this way. After all, they had been married and divorced. They were nothing to each other now. The very fact that they could talk together normally proved there was no feeling left.
And yet as Ruth watched Karen she felt suddenly furious. Karen was a very beautiful woman, not the old hag she had imagined, or the hard-faced creature who flaunted herself shamelessly before men and acted younger than her years. Mentally calculating, she realized that Karen could only have been eighteen when she married Paul, and this appalled her. After all, they had known one another so intimately at that time, while she at eighteen was still attending college and making casual dates with boys. Certainly nothing more serious than that. Paul, a man of thirty, had found this creature mentally and physically satisfying at that time, when Ruth herself would have been tongue-tied with a man of his age.
The girl, for she looked little more, had shared three years of Paul’s life, long before she had even met him, and the thought sickened her. She wanted to feel the most beautiful woman in his life, but now was she to think of this girl every time he touched her, wondering what he still felt for her?
Her thoughts frightened her. Life had seemed so simple and uncomplicated before this week, with the June wedding so much nearer and the thoughts of their honeymoon uppermost in her mind.
Now everything had changed, and all because this girl’s stupid sister had to go and get herself involved with Paul’s married brother. It was unbearable. She felt she wanted to stand and scream and cry and get her own way as she had done in years gone by. She wanted to stamp her feet and if possible, stamp them on this woman who had come back into Paul’s life, whether he was aware of it or not. But she had to act naturally. Whatever had happened was in the past and Paul was hers now. If she showed she was afraid of the power of this woman, who knew what might happen? No, she had got to act as usual and be the loving and understanding fiancée. After they were married; well, that would be a different story.
“Let’s go, shall we, darling?” she murmured softly, sliding her hand through Paul’s arm. “Paul, let’s go back to the hotel.”
Paul was quite willing to oblige her. He felt like leaving himself. He didn’t particularly want company, he would have preferred to be alone with his churning emotions. He needed a drink. A good drink!
“All right,” he said, with apparent indifference. “If that’s what you want. I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
“I was … that is, I’ve developed rather a headache,” replied Ruth swiftly. “I just feel like relaxing in the peace and quiet of my suite, that’s all.”
“Right.” Paul nodded and turned around, away from the watching throng around Karen and Tony. “We must let Ian and Margaret know we’re going.”
Ruth’s suite at the Dorchester was the height of luxury, and was costing her father an enormous amount of money every day. But Hiram Delaney counted his banknotes in thousands, not tens, and consequently the cost of installing his daughter in a fashionable hotel in London was merely a pin-prick in his bank balance.
The lounge of the suite was deserted. Ruth’s personal maid had been given the night off, and Ruth flung herself with careless abandon on a low divan. Paul loosened his dark, fur-collared overcoat, and walked round like a caged panther. He was wondering how soon he could get away.
Ruth held out a hand to him. “Come and sit down, darling, and take off your coat,” she said lazily. “You’re not going yet, are you?”
Paul bit his lip. “I was under the impression that you had a headache,” he replied slowly. “You seem to have recovered remarkably quickly.”
Ruth flushed. “The fresh air has helped,” she replied defensively.
“Nevertheless as it is quite late, I think I’ll go,” said Paul firmly. “You get to bed and rest and I’ll see you in the morning, hmm?”
He bent and kissed her cheek, but she wrapped her arms round his neck and pulled him down to her. “Don’t be so aloof,” she whispered, confident that she could dispel the mood he seemed to be in. She put her lips to his, urging him to take her in his arms and make love to her.
But Paul resisted, and after a moment she was forced to release him and allow him to get up. She was flushed and uncomfortable. He had never repulsed her before. It was embarrassing and degrading and she felt angry. But controlling her feelings, she said: “Will you meet me for lunch tomorrow?”
Paul shrugged. “Ring me in the morning, honey. I’ll try and make it.”
“Thank you,” she said, the sarcasm only slightly veiled, and with a half smile he left her.
After he had gone Ruth rose from the couch. She had not got a headache at all and her plans to get Paul to herself had gone sadly awry. She unzipped her dress with careless fingers and catching the material in the clasp she ripped it open, tearing it from bodice to waist. Angrily, she tore off the ruined garment and flung it to the floor. As she pushed open the door of her bedroom she found her hands were trembling and tears stung her eyes. Here she was; one of the richest young women in London, and she was going to bed soon after midnight in the most vicious of tempers.
Paul left the hotel and climbed into his car. Once inside he lit a cigarette before turning on the engine. Then he steered the sleek automobile along Park Lane, turning into Grosvenor Place and from there into the King’s Road. He drove swiftly through the artists’ quarter and on to the main road to Guildford.
His apartment was in Belgravia, but he had no desire for his bed just yet. Just beyond the suburbs he turned on to a back road which led into Richmond by a roundabout route. It was a very black night, but he could find his way here blindfolded, he thought wearily.
Just outside Richmond he turned into a private road which climbed steeply to a high brick wall in which were set a pair of wrought-iron gates, carved intricately with the name “Trevayne”.
He turned into the driveway and curved up amongst the sentinel poplars to the wide, gravel forecourt before the low steps which led up to the double white doors. Tonight, in the darkness, the elegant beauty of the place could not be appreciated, but Paul knew what a gracious old building it was. Inside, of course, it had been extensively modernized, but the outside retained the aura of latter years.
The headlights of Paul’s car swept the terrace before coming to rest and he stopped the engine, turning off the ignition. He slid out from behind the wheel and slammed the car door. The sound of the metal rang eerily in the night air, and Paul thrust his hands into his pockets and approached the terrace.
Ruth was unaware that Trevayne existed. He had never told anyone, not even his mother, that he still owned the house, everyone had assumed he had sold it and he was quite willing to let them go on thinking this. He had dismissed all the staff but the housekeeper and her husband when he divorced Karen, and Mr. and Mrs. Benson remained on in the empty building, keeping everything in readiness for if he ever chose to visit them. He had not been there at all since his engagement to Ruth; until now he had not felt the need to come.
Before he reached the front doors, the carriage light above the door was illuminated and a moment later Benson himself opened the door. Light streamed out on to the drive, enveloping Paul in its brightness.
Benson was in his dressing-gown, but he smiled broadly as he recognized his master.
“Why, Mr. Paul,” he exclaimed. “This is a surprise. It must be three months since we’ve seen you.”
Paul crossed the terrace and passed Benson, entering the wide entrance hall. The floor was polished mosaic of many colours and a huge oak chest gleamed from many polishings and was set with a huge vase containing spring flowers, at the foot of the fan-shaped staircase. The staircase was carpeted in gold and russet, brilliantly accentuating the dark panelling that mounted beside it.
“Yes, Benson. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. It’s extremely late, I know.”
“Oh, that’s all right, sir,” said Benson understandingly, although, Paul mused, he couldn’t have any idea why Paul had turned up so late.
Benson closed the doors and locked them and then said:
“Will you be staying the night, sir?”
Paul nodded, removing his overcoat. “Yes, Benson, I will. I expect my bed is made up as usual.”
“It is, sir. Maggie was only saying today that you might be calling on us in the near future. She’s always prepared, if I may say so.”
Paul smiled rather cynically and crossed the hall. “Is she in bed?”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything I can get you? Are you needing a meal?”
Paul shook his head and opened the door of the library. “No, not as long as there’s plenty of Scotch.”
“I put a new bottle in there today,” said Benson immediately. “Are you sure that’s all you need?”
“Positive,” replied Paul abruptly. “’Night, Benson. See you in the morning.” He closed the library door and leaned back against it. Sanctuary!
The room was well lined with books, but in addition a small baby grand piano stood in one corner. He and Karen had used the room as a music-room and had spent many happy evenings alone in here. Paul could play the piano quite well and he had played all Karen’s favourites like Chopin and Grieg.
He crossed to the tray of drinks standing near the piano on a low table, and helped himself to a stiff whisky. Swallowing the drink, he poured another and seated himself at the piano.
His fingers strayed over the keys, picking out the strains of Clair de Lune. It was a plaintive melody and as he looked towards the deep armchair by the fireplace he seemed to see Karen curled up on the chair watching him.
With a groan, he slammed down the lid, covering the keys, and lifted his drink. Then he stood up and loosened his collar, wandering about the room aimlessly. What in God’s name was wrong with him now? Was he a man or a mouse? He cursed Simon for causing his dilemma in the first place. If he had never seen Karen he would never have felt any differently towards her and there was little chance that they would have ever met. They moved in different social circles. For a time, Karen had joined his sphere, but now she had returned to her own orbit. After all, most of the people he mixed with were very rich and very powerful. Financiers, bank owners, businessmen all of them, interested only in ways to make more money.
But he had seen Karen now and he knew he was still physically attracted to her. He did not deceive himself, Karen had always affected him this way. He had forgotten just how desirable she was.
To begin with he had always assumed she would marry Lewis, and so the idea of any other man having anything to do with her had not been his concern. But she was still free and unattached, and seeing her tonight dancing with Tony Stoker had positively shocked him. Tony had apparently been enchanted by her and even now was probably with her, either taking her home or at her apartment. Would he be allowed to kiss her? Hold her? Make love to her?
Paul felt the knife turn in his stomach. Blind jealousy was a ridiculous thing, but he knew he was feeling it. He felt like ringing her apartment to find out for himself, but pride held him back. What could he say? That he was checking up on her?
He reached for the bottle of whisky and filled his glass. He flung himself into an armchair still holding the bottle in his hand. It was going to be a long night …
CHAPTER FOUR
IN actual fact Lewis took Karen home. Karen knew that Tony was quite willing to do so, but she felt that as she had come with Lewis it was her duty to go home with him. She would have preferred the uncomplicated company of Tony with Lewis in this frame of mind, but she decided she had nothing to be ashamed of and certainly she did not owe Lewis anything. His attitude was simply annoying.
Karen had seen Paul leave with Ruth. She had seen them talking to the Fellowes beforehand, and had later seen them going out of the archway. As they did not reappear at their table she assumed they must indeed have left.
She felt that after Paul’s departure the evening had lost its charm. Why, she couldn’t imagine; for he had not even danced with her, and their conversation had simply been a baiting match. Probably that was her fault for she did find delight in annoying him; in disturbing his apparent composure and assurance.
The only excuse for their early departure that she could see was that they wanted to be alone together. The idea frightened her by the tortuous emotions it aroused. After all, they were at liberty to do as they pleased and soon they would be married and together all the time. They probably spent hours and hours alone together and how they acted was their own concern. She had got to realize once and for all, she had no hold over Paul whatsoever.
She suggested she would like to go home, soon after it became evident that Paul and Ruth had left. Lewis seemed quite willing to take her and she said good night to Tony and collected her wrap.
They took a taxi back to the apartment as Lewis had not brought his car this evening, and Karen wished that he had not wanted to accompany her inside. She did not feel in the mood for any more arguments.
However, Lewis said, as soon as they were inside the flat:
“Are you all right, Karen?”
“Am I all right?” she echoed in surprise. “Of course I am. Why?”
“Well, I seem to have spoilt your evening,” he answered awkwardly. “Stoker probably thought me a complete idiot.”
Karen flung her wrap over the couch and poured out two vodka and limes before replying. She handed a drink to Lewis and sipped her own.
“Well,” she said brightly, “you were hardly the life and soul of the party, but don’t let it upset you. You didn’t really spoil my evening.”
“Thank heavens for that. But you seem … remote … somehow.”
Karen shrugged. “I’m probably just lost in thought,” she remarked dryly. She looked at Lewis’s slim s
houlders and slender body. After seeing Paul, he seemed less of a man somehow. Lewis could never protect a woman by brute force should the need arise. Of course, in Lewis’s uneventful life that contingency was hardly likely to arise. Still, it was nice to feel protected when you were with a man.
“Thoughts,” said Lewis, frowning, “And what is occupying your thoughts?”
“They’re not for exhibition,” replied Karen, finishing her drink.
“Are you seeing Stoker again?”
Karen shook her head. “It was not that kind of association. I was just helping to fill in for his partner who let him down at the last minute. You look for attraction where there is none, Lewis.”
Lewis’s pale cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “However, I must disagree with you. Stoker was positively drooling over you, whatever you might have thought.”
“Oh, please,” said Karen wearily. “Don’t let’s have an argument, Lewis. I’m not seeing Tony again. Of that you can be sure. Satisfied?”
“I suppose so.” Lewis finished his drink too and replaced his glass on the tray.
“And now I must hurry you away,” said Karen, abruptly. “I’m tired. Do you mind?”
“No. I’ll go, Karen. We’ll discuss this again at some more reasonable hour.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” retorted Karen, sighing. She held open the door. “Good night, Lewis.”
Lewis left, leaving an atmosphere of brooding annoyance behind him, and something more. A menacing feeling of being caught in a spider’s web. She had been intensely conscious that he had wanted to touch her, kiss her. She had prayed he would not do so and he had not. And yet the feeling remained. His attitude towards her showed a kind of obsession. From the very first she had been aware he was immensely drawn towards her. She had never encouraged him, but he had assumed over the years that she was happy with him, and might grow to love him. She knew now that this was impossible. Even without Paul’s dominance of her being, Lewis just wasn’t the kind of man she would choose for a husband. He was too possessive, too set in his ways, too old.
