Seen by Candlelight

by Anne Mather

“Am I? What do you mean?” she exclaimed, her eyes wary.

  He shrugged. “Nothing, nothing, forget it.”

  But Karen could not forget it as easily as that. She felt affronted at the implied force behind his words, and she walked restlessly to the window. His barbed comments had set her nerves on edge and she wished she had not given him scope for his criticisms.

  “Calm down,” he said, half amused by her. “Don’t take life so seriously.”

  Karen swung round and would have spoken but Travers reappeared. He had brought their breakfast of cereal, ham and eggs, toast and coffee, and they seated themselves in the recess. Paul ate quite a good breakfast, but Karen refused the cereal and fried food and merely ate a slice of toast and drank three cups of the delicious continental coffee.

  Forcing herself to treat him in the same casual manner in which he treated her, she said:

  “And when does Ruth get back from America?”

  “Within the next day or so,” replied Paul smoothly. “When last she telephoned me she said she would be home soon.”

  “And have you missed her?”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “She said she would cable her date and time of arrival, but since that phone call I’ve heard nothing.”

  “I see. You must feel quite excited to know she’ll soon be here.” Karen’s voice was mocking now.

  “Quite,” he answered, an amused smile playing round his mouth.

  They finished breakfast and suddenly Paul said:

  “I nearly forgot to tell you, Karen. Aaron Bernard is interested in seeing your paintings.”

  Karen’s eyes widened. “Honestly? Have you contacted him?”

  “Yes. A couple of days ago. I intended ringing you yesterday morning but I was too busy and I had to get my work done. Then when I did ring last night I could get no reply.”

  The sleeping pill again!

  “I see,” she said. “Well, I took a sleeping pill about nine-thirty last night so if you rang after that …”

  “I did,” he said, frowning. “It was nearly ten o’clock when I rang. But what the hell are you doing taking sleeping tablets?”

  “To keep awake,” remarked Karen sardonically. “Why else?”

  “Then stop it!” he ordered bluntly. “If you can’t sleep there must be something troubling you. What is it?”

  “Who are you?” she exclaimed mockingly, “the lonely hearts columnist?”

  “No. Don’t be so clever, Karen. I simply don’t like to think of you taking drugs. In no time at all you need two tablets to sleep, and then three. Where does it end? You become completely reliant upon them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Karen’s meek voice did not amuse him, and he rose from the table looking annoyed. “Anyway,” she said, “do go on about Aaron Bernard. When does he want to see the paintings?”

  She followed Paul out of the recess and he lit his cigarette before answering. “He would like to see them today, actually,” replied Paul quietly. “That’s why I tried to get you last night.”

  “Oh, I see,” Karen bit her lip. “I suppose that’s out now?” She sounded as regretful as she felt.

  “Not necessarily,” answered Paul. “If I can arrange for him to come round late this afternoon that should be all right, shouldn’t it?”

  “But with all this bother over Sandra I don’t know whether I should,” she began, a little nervously.

  “Nonsense,” replied Paul coldly. “Good heavens, girl, Sandra seems quite willing to take care of her own affairs. After all, even if she’s pregnant, she’s certainly not the first or the last girl to whom this has happened.”

  “If she’s pregnant,” echoed Karen. “Can there be any doubt?”

  “I should say it was possible, if not very probable,” said Paul dryly. “I don’t think everything is just so, simply because Sandra says so. If nothing else, it could be a false alarm, couldn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes. I suppose so. But if she’s done this as a stunt …” Her voice trailed away. Surely that could not be possible, whatever Paul might say. Sandra couldn’t be so cruel, after all Madeline has done for her.

  “Well, I’ll contact Aaron this morning and arrange a time, etc. We may have solved the ‘Sandra’ mystery by then, and if so, what could be a more enjoyable ending to the day?”

  “You’re right,” she agreed, sighing. “Thank you, Paul.”

  Paul glanced at his watch. “It’s nine-thirty,” he said thoughtfully. “Simon is rarely in the office before ten, and goodness knows where he is at this moment. I wouldn’t bet that he’s at the flat, his and Julia’s, I mean. If Sandra has sprung the unhappy tidings on him I’d like to bet he’s in a blue funk at this moment.”

  “Well, I really ought to be going,” began Karen, frowning. “Mother will be worried too, and she told me not to be long.”

  Paul shrugged and offered her a cigarette. “Relax,” he said easily. “Hell, you’re doing what she asked, aren’t you?”

  “I know, but …”

  “But nothing. Now, sit down and take it easy.”

  “Well, I’d better ring Mother.”

  “I’ll ring your mother,” said Paul decisively. “If there’s anything to be said she can say it to me personally.”

  “She’s probably having hysterics,” said Karen worriedly.

  “Rubbish!” said Paul dryly. “Your mother puts on a good act. She won’t be so concerned if she thinks you’re doing the worrying for her.”

  He pushed Karen on to the couch and lifted the receiver of the cream telephone beside him. He dialled the Stacey home and waited for Mrs. Stacey to answer.

  Madeline was pleased to hear from Paul. It proved that Paul was dealing with the situation and as Paul had so astutely observed, when Madeline passed her troubles on to somebody else she immediately felt easier. She had always needed someone to cling to and today Paul was filling the bill. Paul told her to relax and go back to bed if she still felt unwell. He and Karen would find Sandra and bring her home. He was charmingly tactful and reassuring and Karen could imagine how thrilled her mother would be. Paul rang off with an injunction for her to take things easy, then turned smiling to Karen.

  “You see,” he said, amused, “she was quite lucid and amiable.”

  “Because it was you who rang. She adores you, or hadn’t you guessed?”

  “Me … or my influence?” remarked Paul cynically. “Does it worry you?”

  “Not at all,” replied Karen lightly, drawing on her cigarette. “By the way, you make finding Sandra sound like an easy exercise. Does nothing ever get you down?”

  Paul’s smile disappeared. “Only erring wives,” he said cruelly.

  Karen shivered. There was always the personal angle between them. So close to the surface was it that it emerged at every turning.

  “What about unkind husbands?” said Karen, retaliating.

  “Was I unkind?” he asked mockingly. “I think not.”

  “You’re only thinking of the emotional angle,” she replied softly.

  “What other angle is there?”

  “I’m a person, not a chattel,” she said desperately. “Would you have had me lose my identity in yours?”

  Paul shrugged. “I guess not. Okay, it was as much my fault as yours. Where does that get us?”

  “That’s up to you,” she murmured, suddenly breathless.

  Paul looked down at her, his eyes dangerously compelling. They were both aware of the precipice ahead.

  Suddenly the doorbell rang with an insistent peal. The moment was gone and Karen felt unutterably depressed.

  Paul frowned. “Who the hell is that?” he muttered angrily.

  Karen shrugged. “Perhaps it’s Simon,” she said thoughtfully. “It could be, you know. I’ll get it.”

  Travers had emerged, but Paul waved him away and Karen walked swiftly to the door. She opened it wide, and immediately an onslaught of exotic perfume assailed her nostrils. She was confronted by a small, dark-haired girl dressed in a fur coat wh
ich was unmistakably mink. A hat of pink feathers adorned the girl’s immaculately coiffured head, while her feet were enclosed in elegant court shoes. It was Ruth. Karen recognized her immediately and felt painfully self-conscious of her own casual attire. The clinging slacks and overblouse seemed childish and unsophisticated while Ruth appeared the epitome of femininity in her stylish clothes. Ruth’s expression was one of outraged innocence, as she too recognized Karen.

  Paul looked only slightly perturbed however as his fiancée advanced into the room after giving Karen a killing glance. Karen closed the door and leaned back against it feeling a surge of pride for Paul at his superb self-confidence. After all, returning home from abroad to find your fiancé’s ex-wife at his apartment at this hour of the morning could only look the worst. Karen knew that were she in Ruth’s position she would be fuming, as indeed Ruth was.

  She had halted in the centre of the lounge and was staring angrily at Paul.

  “I suppose there must be an explanation for this,” she remarked coldly. “I’d be interested to hear it.”

  Paul shrugged his broad shoulders lightly and Ruth said: “It seems I came back at the wrong moment.”

  “Why should you imagine that?” Paul said, amused in spite of himself. It was rather a musical comedy situation after all. “No, Ruth, Karen’s reason for being here is quite legitimate.”

  “I must say I’m dying to hear why,” said Ruth, without much confidence.

  “Things are not always what they seem,” remarked Paul slowly.

  Karen’s eyes widened. That Paul should make such a remark when he had been so keen to believe the worst of her! After the affair with Lewis he had no room for complaint, she thought angrily.

  Ruth turned and looked contemptuously at Karen, her eyes taking in the slacks and overblouse and finding them sadly wanting.

  “I must say for a woman who supposedly left her husband you seem to find innumerable reasons for hanging around him,” she said rudely.

  Karen flushed and Paul said: “This affair has nothing to do with you, Ruth.”

  Karen interrupted this. “Don’t bother, Paul,” she said quietly. “I can fight my own battles if I have to. Your charming fiancée is simply proving what unpleasant suspicions of you she harbours. She obviously wants to believe the worst and that we have been behaving outrageously, so why should I deny it?”

  Ruth’s face changed from incredulous speculation to disbelief.

  “I am quite willing to hear the explanation,” she retorted. “You would like us to split up, wouldn’t you … Miss Stacey … you made a big mistake when you allowed Paul to divorce you.” She smiled disarmingly at Paul. “Of course I believe you, darling.”

  Karen clasped her hands. Ruth held all the aces.

  “Karen’s sister is expecting a baby and has run away,” said Paul quietly.

  “Oh!” Ruth was silent for a moment. “Not … Simon, surely?”

  “Yes, Simon,” replied Paul, frowning.

  “How disgusting! She must be a …”

  “Hey, steady on,” said Karen angrily. “My sister is no tramp. She thinks she’s in love with Simon, fool though she is.”

  Ruth looked disdainful. “Couldn’t you have telephoned about this, then?”

  “I asked her to come,” said Paul slowly.

  This shocked Ruth and Karen’s fingernails dug hard into her palms.

  “I see.” Ruth pulled off her gloves. “Well, darling, I’m home now, so we can both sort everything out together, can’t we? I’m sure poor Simon must have been encouraged shamelessly –”

  That was too much for Karen. No one, knowing Simon, could believe he needed encouragement. He was notoriously fickle and untrustworthy. Surely even Ruth must be aware of that. But maybe it was just another attempt on Ruth’s part to annoy her. After all, she had looked at her as though she was beneath contempt when Karen opened the door in the first place. But to criticize herself and to criticize Sandra, whom she did not even know, were two entirely different things.

  Recklessly, Karen retaliated: “And I suppose you imagine it runs in the family, Miss Delaney? After all, you’ve only been away a few days and here I am in Paul’s apartment, having just breakfasted with him! Now what does that make me?”

  “Paul!” exclaimed Ruth faintly, putting a hand to her throat in horror.

  “Karen!” Paul’s voice was appealing, but Karen was past caring what either of them thought.

  “Don’t worry, Paul,” she snapped bitterly. “I’m not going to tell any tales out of school. Let your fiancée put her own construction on the situation, and if she comes up with the wrong solution, then hard luck, or maybe I should say it serves you right, because you were quick enough to jump to conclusions where I was concerned two years ago, weren’t you?”

  Paul stared at her incredulously, and Ruth seemed speechless. Karen compressed her lips. Suddenly she felt like a spoilt child trying to justify its naughtiness.

  Without another word, she snatched up her coat and ran out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. She heard Paul’s grated “Karen!” but she did not stop. Instead she ran into the lift and set it in motion before he could stop her.

  After Karen had gone there was an electric silence for several minutes. Every word that Karen had said was buzzing around in Paul’s head, and somehow he could not rid himself of the feeling that he had been mistaken about her all along. Now, seeing Ruth again had not straightened out his tangled emotions as he had thought. Instead, he felt resentful at her untimely interruption of his conversation with his ex-wife.

  Ruth eventually broke the silence, by saying: “Well, Paul, you don’t seem very pleased to see me, I must say.” Her tone was petulant.

  Paul clenched his fists. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Ruth,” he snapped, impatiently. Then he sighed. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”

  Ruth tossed her head. “Obviously.”

  Paul frowned, and Ruth, sensing she must not say too much, crossed to his side and reaching up, kissed him. “There, darling, don’t worry. Ruthie trusts you!”

  Paul hid a sense of distaste at her touch. “Are – are your parents with you?”

  “Yes, darling.” Ruth hid her annoyance. “They went to the hotel. I wanted to surprise you.”

  Paul shrugged his shoulders. “You certainly did that, but anyway, did you have a good trip?”

  Ruth began to tell him about their journey over and he tried to concentrate. This was Ruth, his fiancée, the girl he intended to marry. Why was the prospect of that event now so grim? Why when he wanted to be natural did he feel strung up and tense? He knew he should explain about Karen, tell Ruth that she had only been hurt and angry and that what she had said was only defiance, but the words would not come. His thoughts were still with Karen. She had looked so lost and defenceless when she left, for all her brave words. She acted so impulsively, so independently, and yet he felt sure she felt neither strong nor independent. Her words were beginning to have meaning for him. He found himself wanting to believe her in everything. This alone was enough to disturb him. If she had been telling the truth all along and Martin had been lying, then the possibilities were tremendous.

  Looking at the irritated face of his fiancée, he wondered for the first time whether he could ever live seriously with another woman. Prior to Karen he had found women physically attractive but mentally boring. In his relationship with Ruth he had not explored this possibility. He had still been licking his wounds, when Ruth would came into his life and the fact that she drew him out of his inertia alone had seemed enough. Now, as he considered the facts again, he began doubting whether Ruth would provide the necessary stimulation he would need. With Karen their marriage had been nothing if not stimulating. Karen. Karen. Karen. His mind buzzing with the thoughts of her and he despaired of ever getting her out of his system. Perhaps if she had never come back into his life he would have peacefully married Ruth without all this soul-searching, but now it seemed he couldn’t entertai
n the idea.

  And if, after all this, he did marry Ruth, would he find their marriage empty and turn to another woman like Simon had done? Perhaps if Simon had had a wife like Karen this whole affair might never have happened.

  He was appalled by the turn his mind was taking. Karen had generated all this, this resentment of his chosen environment and his chosen wife. Karen, who had been so much more than a housewife; and who had left him a shattered man. A man who now was willing to believe anything to exonerate her from the blame of their separation!

  He became aware that Ruth was staring at him in annoyance, for he seemed to have drifted miles away from her. And she could tell by his expression that he had not listened to a word she had said.

  “What on earth are you thinking about, honey?” she queried, trying to behave calmly when anger was tearing her apart. How dared he behave so tardily with her? It had all begun since he began seeing Karen Stacey again, and her anger towards the other girl knew no bounds.

  Paul gathered his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Ruth,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “What were you saying?”

  Ruth calmed down. “I asked what you intend to do about Sandra.”

  Paul frowned. In his own tortuous thoughts he had almost forgotten the problems of Sandra and Simon.

  “Oh, yes,” he murmured now, frowning. “Excuse me for a moment, Ruth. I have a telephone call to make.”

  Lewis Martin sat moodily in his office staring at the design on the desk before him without interest. Work had become an anathema to him of late, and he was obsessed with thoughts of Karen … and Paul Frazer.

  When he had assisted Karen to obtain her divorce it had been for purely personal motives. He admired her tremendously and although their relationship had remained on a business footing he was convinced it was only a matter of time before she realized he would make her a good husband.

  His first marriage had not been a success. His wife had been a cold, unfeeling woman and her death had been a relief rather than a tragedy to him. Then meeting the warm and lively Karen he had been immediately attracted and determined to have her.

  The last few weeks had therefore been a torment to him. Knowing she was meeting Paul Frazer again had tortured his disturbed emotions and he found himself degenerating into a moody recluse.