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Seen By Candlelight
Anne Mather


Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release. Divorced… but never forgotten!Karen Frazer is dreading seeing her husband Paul again. Two years after they divorced, Karen is still not able to move on. But now his married brother is pursuing Karen’s irresponsible young sister, and Karen has no choice but to seek him out as an ally! Will she be able to control her desire for him? But when the fateful meeting takes place, there are some surprises in store for Karen…










Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!


I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.




Seen by Candlelight

Anne Mather





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u6fb7c9db-0f96-5b93-974e-5d621363328c)

About the Author (#u72129357-5aad-5e52-92a7-63818bb8e643)

Title Page (#u7d7f2ab7-4e0c-5270-9ece-35ab80506aad)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#udce6958b-ee9a-5f1e-9daf-6fb41ae45578)


KAREN STACEY slid out of the driving seat of her small black saloon and slipped her sheepskin overcoat about her shoulders before locking the car door. Shivering slightly in the frosty March air, she crossed the pavement and opened the door of the Georgian-styled cottage which her mother owned in this quiet mews.

Inside all was warmth and light and Karen shrugged appreciatively in the pleasant atmosphere. Liza, her mother’s housekeeper, greeted her warmly, taking her coat and hanging it in the hall closet. Liza had been with her mother since Karen was a child, and yet to Karen, she never seemed to look any older.

With a smile now, Karen asked: “Where is my mother, Liza?”

“In the sitting-room, Miss Karen,” replied Liza, her eyes showing their dislike of Karen’s casual attire. Tight-fitting stretch slacks and a chunky sweater were anathema to Liza. “Must you wear those disgusting trousers, love?” she exclaimed. “They’re hardly suitable for a young lady.”

Liza was terribly old-fashioned. She had never married herself and had always looked on the Stacey children as her own. And with the familiarity of years she invariably spoke her mind. It amused Karen now and she answered:

“Oh, Liza darling, I’ve just left my drawing-board. You can’t possibly expect me to dress up just to come round here. Not when I’ve got to go back and go on working. Besides, slacks are very warm and very fashionable at the moment.”

Liza shrugged, grimacing, and with a chuckle Karen left her to enter the sitting-room. This was the room which overlooked Masewood Mews and was a very pleasant room. The whole cottage was comfortably, if not opulently furnished, and Mrs. Stacey lived here with her younger daughter, Sandra. Karen did not see as much of them as she should, she knew, but her work and the painting she did in her spare time kept her quite busy and besides, this house brought back too many painful memories which were best forgotten.

Her mother was seated at a bureau writing letters when Karen entered the room and she rose to greet her elder daughter. There was little resemblance between them, for Karen was an ash-blonde while her mother’s hair had once been a vivid auburn.

Mrs. Stacey crossed the room and bestowed a kiss on her daughter’s cold cheek. Then she drew back and surveyed her thoroughly.

“It’s good to see you,” said Karen, smiling. “It’s so long since I’ve done so.”

“Yes, darling,” murmured Madeline Stacey absently. “I … er … I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“From your tone on the telephone I assumed a major catastrophe was about to occur,” remarked Karen lightly. “I had visions of your waiting on the doorstep for my arrival. Instead, you seem engrossed with your own thoughts.”

Madeline sighed heavily. “Well, my dear, I must admit I am rather cross with you for neglecting us for so long. We are your only kith and kin, you know. You really ought to care about us.”

“But I do,” exclaimed Karen, guiltily aware of her own indiscretions. “It’s simply that I never seem to have the time. I lead a very full life really, Mother. But anyway, what is there to stop you from visiting me? The apartment is only a stone’s throw away.”

Madeline raised her eyebrows. “My dear Karen, whenever I visit you I find myself thrust to one side like so much rubbish, while you engross yourself in some new design or paint those ghastly abstracts. Alternatively, I’m entertained, but am always conscious that I’m stopping you from getting on. I could hardly say I was made welcome, however unkind that may sound.”

Karen felt uncomfortable. She knew that what her mother had said was partly true, but Madeline’s limited conversation, which was mainly gossip anyway, bored her stiff, and she did prefer to work alone.

“All right, honey,” she agreed now. “You’ve made your point quite thoroughly. Now, what’s your problem? The one that’s hot off the press?”

Madeline indicated that Karen should sit down on a low armchair and turned away slowly. Karen sighed in exasperation. Much as she really loved her mother she knew only too well how she adored to dramatize things and it was obvious that this was not going to be the brief visit that she had hoped for. Madeline had something on her mind and she would not rest until she had extracted the very utmost out of it. Karen drew out her cigarette-case and helped herself to a cigarette, but her mother’s first words startled her so much that she almost dropped it.

“Have you seen Paul lately?” began Madeline, in a contrivedly casual tone.

“Paul?” Karen felt as though she was playing for time. Time to gather her suddenly shocked senses together. With trembling fingers she lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, savouring the nicotine in her lungs, relaxing. “No,” she replied slowly. “We never meet, and you know it. Why do you ask? Oh … I suppose you saw the notice of his engagement in The Times.”

“Yes, I did see that,” agreed her mother slowly. “Ruth Delaney, I believe that was her name. Some American girl, a tycoon’s daughter, if I remember correctly.”

“You’re in complete possession of the facts,” remarked Karen rather dryly. This was no casual remark. “Well, Mother, why should I have seen Paul?”

Mrs. Stacey shrugged. “I thought perhaps he might have telephoned to object about Sandra going out with Simon.”

Karen’s eyes widened. “Simon!” she exclaimed. “Simon Frazer is going out with Sandra? But he’s married; you must be joking.”

“I only wish I were,” said Madeline stiffly. “I don’t joke about things like this, Karen. I’m at my wits’ end. She refuses to give him up, even though I’ve begged her to do so. You know how unmanageable Sandra has always been, how headstrong and self-willed.”

Karen frowned. “You have only yourself to blame for that,” she said coolly. “You’ve always given in to her.”

Madeline’s lips thinned. “Thank you,” she exclaimed furiously. “And what would you have done if you had been left alone with two young children to bring up?”

“I would have treated them both alike, instead of coddling one and making a rod for my own back,” retorted Karen. “Anyway, Mother, that’s hardly relevant now. I agree that Simon Frazer is no fit associate for any young girl, let alone an impressionable idiot like Sandra! How did you find out about them? I don’t suppose she told you.”

“Oh, no; not a word. A friend saw them dining together last week and couldn’t wait to telephone me to let me know. Sandra is only seventeen, Karen. Simon Frazer must be over thirty; after all, Paul is thirty-seven, isn’t he?”

“Ah, yes,” Karen drew on her cigarette. “Where does Paul come into all this?” She shivered. “Simon is only his brother, you know.”

“As I’ve already said, I asked Sandra to stop seeing Simon. She simply laughed at my arguments and refused to take any notice of me. She says she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Both you and I know how foolhardy that statement is with a man like him. Something has got to be done. I think Paul is the only person able to do that something.”

“So?” Karen’s voice was dangerously quiet.

“I want you to get in touch with Paul and ask him to speak to Simon –”

Karen sprang to her feet. “No!” she exclaimed abruptly. She ran a restless hand over her shoulder-length straight hair. “I won’t do it. Paul and I parted in the divorce court two years ago and I just couldn’t contact him now. It’s out of the question.”

Madeline frowned. “So your own pride is greater than your sister’s downfall? She is your sister, Karen, your seventeen-year-old sister!”

“Stop play-acting, Mother,” cried Karen, inwardly seething. “It won’t work. I refuse to do it. Sandra is seventeen, as you’ve said. She’s not a child. She must make her own mistakes. After all, I was only eighteen when I met Paul.”

“And look what happened to your marriage,” taunted her mother cruelly. “Five years and it was all over. Here you are, twenty-five years old and already a divorcee. Not that there’s any question of marriage in the circumstances. As you’ve said, Simon is married. That makes everything so much worse.”

Karen was pale. This conversation was raking up all the painful past that she had tried to bury these last two years. She had always known that her mother had resented her break with Paul for purely selfish reasons, but to fling it all in her face now almost brought Karen to tears. How could Madeline be so unkind? But tears were a luxury that Karen had never indulged in and she did not so so now. She had always been an independent sort of person, like her father, and Madeline had clung to the baby, Sandra, and spoiled her utterly when their father was killed in an air crash a long while ago.

Karen knew that Madeline wanted to save Sandra from herself and she did not care if she hurt her elder daughter in the process. Karen was tempted to leave immediately and let them work it out alone, but she knew if she did so, she would never be welcome here again. As her mother had said, she and Sandra were Karen’s only blood relations and to cut herself off from them would leave her completely alone. How could she do such a thing?

“Well?” exclaimed her mother. “Are you going to let your sister’s life be ruined?”

Karen sighed heavily. The ultimatum had come and she was not ready for it. What could she say? How could she explain that it was not merely pride that kept her from contacting Paul? That she was frightened of her treacherous emotions and afraid that he might see how disturbed she was.

But Simon, too, had a wife whom he never considered and although Karen had never liked Julia Frazer, she was still involved. Perhaps Paul might be glad to break up the affair. After all, he had no reason to love the Stacey family.

“All right,” she agreed at last. “But why should you imagine that Paul will take any notice of me? Let alone speak to Simon.”

“Paul used to be very fond of Sandra,” replied Madeline, inwardly exulting at Karen’s surrender. “And he knows what kind of a man Simon is.”

Karen stubbed out her cigarette and thrust a hand into the pocket of her slacks. She was committed to speaking to her ex-husband. God, weren’t memories hateful enough without reinforcing them with reality? How could you meet a man with whom you had shared the tenderest intimacies of marriage without feeling a knife turn in your inside? She supposed dully that it should have been easier, but they had been so much in love and now …

She had been eighteen when she met Paul Frazer. He was then the chairman of the board of the Frazer Textile Industries whose head office was in London, and Karen was a very junior designer working for the company. She had worked there for almost two years without ever dreaming she would come in contact with the young dynamic tycoon whose named spelled “Success” with a capital S. She had heard plenty about him from her colleagues, but he did not concern himself with the small fry like them. Still a bachelor at thirty, he was the most sought-after man in London, and the social papers and magazines splashed stories about him wherever he went.

For all this, Karen had secretly believed that the man could not seriously add up to his image. It had amused her to listen to the girls raving about him, but she had not been particularly interested. Men had always been attracted to her and she had plenty of admirers in her own sphere without looking on to a higher, much more futile, plane.

And then she produced, as much to her surprise as anybody else’s, a design for a carpet which was quite brilliant. The Frazer Combine produced various ranges of textiles and the carpet design was a completely original piece of work.

To her embarrassment, she was sent for by the man himself, and had to go to his office on the sacrosanct top floor of the Frazer building. She had been not so much nervous as embarrassed, but when the chief designer introduced her to Paul Frazer she found herself completely absorbed by his overwhelming charm and personality. Far from over-estimating the man, she found him absolutely more devastating than his reputation and was therefore astonished when later in the week he rang her office and invited her to dinner.

She accepted, of course, much to the envy of her friends, and found to her amazement that he was actually interested in her as a person, and not as a designer.

Within a few weeks their relationship had assumed such proportions that Paul, who had never been used to being denied anything from a woman, found his every waking moment a torment of wanting to possess her, and his admiration for her ideals kindled into love. Karen, who had been attracted to him from the beginning fought against the love which threatened to overwhelm her, but when Paul eventually proposed marriage she was utterly consumed with happiness.

They had flown to the Bahamas for their honeymoon and were away for three idyllic months. Karen had never known such happiness and Paul grew relaxed and lazy and sun-tanned. They adored each other, but when they returned to England to the house which Paul had bought near Richmond, they both resented the return to normality. Paul had to spend a lot of time at the office then, making up the work that had been left to slide in his absence, and Karen was left alone.

To begin with she was not lonely. The house needed a complete redecoration, and Paul had only a few of the rooms furnished so that Karen might do the whole place over to her own liking. With the help of a team of interior decorators Karen set to work, and the result pleased Paul just as much as Karen. She loved the evenings best when Paul came home to her. They rarely went out or entertained, and spent hours alone, talking and making love.

Then, as time passed, Paul, who had neglected a great deal of his normal work to be with Karen, found it necessary to visit the factories in the Midlands and the North of England where Frazer Textiles were produced. Being an active man, and interested in his work, he had always disliked delegating duty, and it was over a year since he had made a tour of inspection. With reluctance, he left Karen at home when he went to visit the factories. He knew if he took her with him he would be unable to concentrate. When she was with him nothing else could take precedence.

For a while, Karen’s duties at Trevayne absorbed her, and she spent her time swimming in the pool in the grounds, or inviting friends over for tennis or drinks.

But as the years passed, apart from having holidays with Paul, their time together was limited to the evenings. Week-ends were given over to entertaining, and Karen began to hate the rigid pattern of their lives. She was bored; not with Paul but with having too much time and too little to do.

Eventually she asked Paul whether she could go back and work for the company. Paul was astounded, and refused point-blank. Apart from wanting her at home when he needed her, he objected to her working when it was so unnecessary. Her pleas of boredom were shrugged off, and Karen found herself getting irritable and frustrated. The combination of these two emotions began the series of arguments and rows about her work and about her aimless position in the house. Paul, who had assumed her too young to start a family, now suggested that they do just that, but Karen was too stubborn and foolish to agree and thus give in to him again. She refused abruptly, and to her horror Paul moved his clothes into the spare guest-room.

She was frightened and terrified of the results of her own actions, but too full of pride to beg him to come back to her.

They had been married a little over three years when Karen went behind Paul’s back and got herself a job with a rival organization, the Martin Design Company. When Paul found out he was furious. The Martin Company obtained some of their work from the Frazer Syndicate, and he immediately withdrew his interest.

This culminated in yet another row, the result of which was that Karen packed her possessions and left. She had not gone to her mother’s home. Her mother had never agreed that Karen should need anything more than a home and a husband, and she was very angry with Karen for a long time after their separation.

But for Karen there was no going back. Lewis Martin, the head of the small company, who knew her circumstances, sympathized with her but advised her to be brave and stick it out. He did not advise her to go back to Paul, indeed quite the reverse, and Karen was grateful to him at that time. Looking back now, she felt sure that left alone she would have returned to Paul within a week; and on his terms!

Paul made several abortive attempts to see her, but Lewis guarded her like the Crown Jewels and Karen was left alone with her thoughts. Whenever she suggested that perhaps she ought to see Paul, Lewis had reminded her of her reasons for leaving, and his words had stiffened her resolve. No good could come of their reunion. Only more arguments and more rows and another separation. They were incompatible. She might as well admit it here and now. Sexually, they were well matched, but marriages were only partly based on that side of things. These were Lewis’s words, his advice to her, and she had believed him. After all, why not? He had nothing to gain in this except a rather second-rate designer who had forgotten so much during the past years. How was he to know that until the affair of the “Job” as she called it to herself, she and Paul had only rarely argued, and never in an unkind way?

Lewis found her the apartment which he obtained from a friend who was an estate agent. Lewis himself bought the flat and Karen was therefore his tenant. Karen was thrilled to have a home of her own and she furnished it as soon as she had saved the money. She did it in pieces, refusing Lewis’s offer of an advance. Paul had long stopped calling her and she was left in peace. She worked well for Lewis, who was a good designer himself, and learned a lot from him.

He was a man in his early forties, a widower with no children, and Karen felt more like a daughter to him. It was with a sense of shock, therefore, that she received his proposal of marriage about a year after her break with Paul. She had protested that apart from the fact that she did not love him, she was technically still a married woman, and he had remarked that he had heard that Paul was going to sue her for divorce.

Karen was horrified a few days later when she received the notification in the mail of Paul’s intention, and astounded that the grounds were adultery. He was citing Lewis as co-respondent.

Lewis however did not seem at all perturbed at his position in all this, even though the press made a nine days’ wonder out of it all. He advised Karen not to defend the suit, as did the solicitor he found for her. Defended suits, they said, became laundries of dirty washing, and unless she wanted her private life dragged before the magistrate she might just as well not defend.

Bewildered, with no one to turn to but Lewis, Karen did as they suggested, and withdrew even more into her shell. Paul achieved his freedom by revealing certain facts which appeared conclusive to an outsider. Karen was too sick at heart to care. Of course Lewis had obtained the flat for her, but she paid a rent for it! Lewis often stayed late in the evening if they were discussing a new project, but it was all quite innocent. Even the night he had spent in the apartment on the couch in the living-room was only because a thick smog had descended on London, and it seemed ridiculous that Lewis should have to trail home to his house in Hampstead. However, even she could see that no good could come of trying to refute the accusations. They looked too conclusive, and Lewis’s attitude was one of amiable inertia. Thus it was that less than five years after their wedding, Karen found herself free again.

Lewis was a tower of strength in those early days, devoting himself to her welfare and generally making himself indispensable. But when he again broached the subject of their marriage she vetoed the idea at once. Apart from anything else she felt too raw inside to contemplate such a step then, and Lewis, who knew he had no rivals, was content to wait.

Time had eventually partially healed Karen’s torn feelings and she had thought she was beginning to get over the affair, but now, listening to her mother extolling Paul’s virtues and ridiculing her own part in it, she knew that it was only pushed into the back of her mind, waiting to be brought into the open. And she felt convinced that all her futile defences were going to be in vain.

Still, she had committed herself and there was no going back now. She had to go through with it, see her ex-husband, for she could not discuss this over the telephone, and possibly even meet Ruth Delaney, the woman he had chosen to take her place.

Karen walked restlessly to the door. She might as well do it and get it over with.

“And … er … what if he refuses to even speak to me?” asked Karen, turning back to her mother.

“I’m sure he won’t,” replied Madeline calmly. “Paul isn’t a man like that.”

It had been a great blow to Madeline when she had had to give up giving her intimate little parties which Paul had indulged her in. He had always made sure she had plenty of money for anything she desired, and flowers and chocolates were often delivered for her. He had known all her little weaknesses, and even if a secretary carried out his instructions, Madeline revelled in the feeling of being a cosseted woman again. Karen had not known half of the money spent on Madeline, which was just as well, as she would have hated that Paul should think they were paupers.

“Well, why can’t you ring him, then?” asked Karen, making one last attempt to free herself from her obligations.

“I couldn’t, Karen. I wouldn’t know what to say. You were his wife. You know him intimately. It will be much easier coming from you.”

Karen flushed. Yes, she had known Paul intimately. She had thought that no one could possibly know anyone as she had known Paul.

“Now,” said Madeline, smiling in her victory. “Will you ring him from here?” She glanced at her watch. “It’s eleven-thirty. He may be at the office.”

“No,” replied Karen with emphasis. “I shall ring him from the intimacy of my own apartment. That is … if you don’t mind, of course.” This last she spoke sarcastically, causing Madeline to press her lips together in a thin line.

“So long as you don’t forget,” she replied curtly.

“I shan’t forget,” replied Karen heavily. “I’ll ring him when I get back. Does that satisfy you?”

“I imagine so,” said Madeline coolly. “You’ll have coffee before you go, won’t you?”

Karen shook her head. The strained atmosphere was stifling her.

“No, thanks,” she answered swiftly. “I … I’d better go. I have a lot to do.”

“Of course,” Madeline shrugged, and Karen went out into the hall to retrieve her coat. She felt nauseated and longed for the peace of her own home.

With a brief farewell, she slid behind the wheel of the Morris and drove round to Berkshire Court, the large block of apartments in a cul-de-sac in Chelsea, of which she occupied the top floor. It enabled her to have the maximum amount of light into the small studio which adjoined the flat and she had always liked it.

A lift transported her to the twelfth floor after she had put her car away in the basement garages. She walked along the corridor and inserted her key into the lock and entered the lounge of the apartment. This was an attractive room, with stark white walls which were an ideal background for the dark red three-piece suite and lusciously opulent velvet curtains of olive-green. The carpet was fitted and patterned in a variety of colours, while the remainder of the furniture was a light oak in colour. There was a small foldaway table and chairs, and a small cocktail cabinet. The essence of the room spelled elegant simplicity in design, and it suited Karen’s character. She loathed fussy rooms, overflowing with knick-knacks and ornaments of all kinds.

The rest of the flat was composed of her bedroom, a bathroom, a minute kitchen opening off the lounge, and the small studio where she worked, which also opened off the lounge. The studio had roof windows as well as wide windows in the walls and was ideal for working. Here she had her drawing-board, as most of her work was done in the silence of her home.

After her break with Paul she had been left with a lot of spare time in the evenings and had started painting pictures for her own pleasure. It was an entirely new hobby for her and she found great satisfaction in putting her thoughts into paintings. They were, as her mother so unkindly termed them, “ghastly abstracts”, and even Lewis showed little interest in them. To him they were so much wasted effort, and he bluntly told her so. Karen was a little disappointed that he should think so, for although she did not believe they were masterpieces, she nevertheless felt that they had something.

All Lewis would admit was that they made her an ideal occupation, but he advised her not to consider them a monetary proposition. As Lewis was a clever designer and knew a lot about art in general, Karen contented herself with his opinion for she did not care much either way. It was merely a means of filling in time.

Now, as she looked round the lounge, the paintings were all about her. As she liked them she had had them framed, and at least they provided a splash of colour on the otherwise bare walls.

She slipped off her overcoat and hung it over a chair, and strolling across the room she took a cigarette from her case and lit it. She thought momentarily that she was smoking far too much, but she drew on the tobacco with enjoyment.

The scarlet telephone on the low table by the couch seemed to mock her silently and she inwardly hated herself for agreeing to her mother’s blackmail, as indeed it had been. Telephone Paul or be ostracized.

But how on earth could she just pick up the telephone and speak to a man who had divorced her two years ago and whom she had not spoken to for almost four years? It was ludicrous, really. And would he be secretly amused at her for calling him? What satisfaction would it give him to have her crawling to him for help? She bit her lip angrily. Only her mother could have placed her in such a position. She was tempted to ring Lewis and ask his advice, but decided against it. He would consider her actions quite ridiculous and would most likely advise her not to go through with it.

With a deep sigh she lifted the receiver with trembling fingers and dialled the number of the Frazer building. She knew the number so well; how often had she called Paul there in the old days?

A switchboard operator answered her a few moments later, her cool voice polite and businesslike:

“Frazer Textiles, can I help you?”

“Oh, good morning,” said Karen, trying to sound aloof and composed. “Could I speak to Mr. Paul Frazer, please?”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” replied the operator in her cultured tones. “Mr. Frazer is not in the building, for one thing. Will his personal secretary be able to assist you?”

Karen sighed in annoyance. Her hopes of getting the affair over swiftly were not going to be realized.

“No,” she replied, “it’s a personal matter, I’m afraid. I don’t suppose you could tell me where I can contact Mr. Frazer?”

“Mr. Frazer is touring the factories in Nottingham and Leeds,” replied the operator, “but I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you where he might be contacted. However, he’s expected back in London this evening, I believe he has a board meeting here in the morning.”

“Oh!” Karen frowned. Then she would have to wait until the following day. “Thank you. I’ll ring again tomorrow.”

“Very well, madam.” The operator rang off, and Karen replaced her receiver reluctantly. Now that she could not get in touch with him she felt curiously disappointed.

She stared into space for a moment and then on the offchance she dialled his apartment in Belgravia. She knew he lived there now, presumably he had sold the large house, Trevayne, when the divorce came through. He would want no memories of Karen to mar his future.

She held her breath when someone answered the telephone, but it turned out to be a manservant. He merely repeated what the switchboard operator had told her. Mr. Frazer was in the north of England but would be back this evening. He asked if he could take a message, but Karen said, “No, thank you,” and rang off abruptly.

She felt unreasonably angry that he could not be reached. It was absurd to feel that way, she told herself firmly. After all, he might have been out of the country. He often went to Canada and the United States. He could have been there, and then she would have had to have waited for much longer than twenty-four hours. She contemplated calling him that evening, and then vetoed the idea. To call in business hours, calling him at the office, kept things on a strictly business footing. If she rang him that evening it seemed much more personal, and she wanted to maintain the impersonal note in this.

She made herself some scrambled eggs and coffee for lunch and then rang her mother and explained the situation. Madeline Stacey was quite apologetic, but obviously pleased that Karen was doing as she had been asked so precisely and punctually.

Then Karen washed up her few dishes and left them to drain on the draining-board. She had a daily woman, Mrs. Coates, who came in and did her housework for her, but she looked after herself otherwise, making her own meals and taking her washing to the nearby launderette. Her salary was quite adequate to cover these luxuries and Lewis had often suggested that she employ a full-time housekeeper. But Karen preferred her freedom, and as her knowledge of housekeepers was limited to Liza, who ran her mother’s life as well as her home, she felt sure she was doing the right thing.

That afternoon, Karen sat staring at her drawing-board finding herself singularly devoid of any ideas. Even her casual paintings held no charm. Outside the apartment a watery sun was shining and it had turned into quite a springlike day. On sudden impulse she left her studio, pulled on her sheepskin coat and left the apartment.

Outside, the air was fresh and invigorating, and she crossed the road into the small park nearby and watched the children playing. It was a favourite spot for nannies with prams and tiny toddlers just learning to run and play with their slightly older brothers and sisters. The sight of the happy, laughing faces turned the knife in Karen’s stomach. If she had had the baby Paul had wanted, it would have been three or four years old now. Who knows, she thought dully, she might have had two or even three by this time.

She walked aimlessly across the stretch of grass, wishing the day would end and tomorrow arrive that much sooner. Until she had actually spoken to Paul her concentration was quite non-existent, and if she tried to work in such a manner, it would be a complete waste of time and energy and materials.

She stayed out for a couple of hours and then returned to the flat. She made herself a scratch meal of beans on toast in lieu of dinner, and then switched on the television. It was rarely used, but this evening she enjoyed losing herself in the exciting western and variety show which she watched.

When the television closed down for the night, Karen smoked a last cigarette before going to bed. She thought about Sandra and Simon. Sandra was just foolish enough to get herself into serious trouble. She was completely irresponsible and quite wild, due to her mother’s fawnlike adoration all these years. No matter what scrapes she had got into as a child, her mother had always helped her out of them, glossing over the facts to Karen, and consequently now Sandra did not know the meaning of the word sensibility. During Karen’s years as Paul’s wife, she had been more manageable, owing to Paul’s control over her, but after their divorce she had become worse than before.

As for Simon, he ought to have more sense. He and Julia had been rare visitors at Trevayne when Karen was married to Paul. Simon had made it plain from the outset that he favoured his brother’s young wife, and Paul had made it equally plain that if Simon came near Karen he would get his head in his hands.

Julia, Simon’s wife, had been the daughter of an impoverished earl when she met Simon, and had aroused herself from her rather languid manner long enough to get Simon to marry her. Their parents had approved and Julia, although well aware of Simon’s discrepancies, saw in him a meal ticket for life. She enjoyed the company of men, and after their marriage they each went their separate ways to a great extent. They lived in the same house, entertained jointly, but each had their own friends. It was a nauseating set-up, and Paul had avoided them quite openly.

Thinking now of Sandra, throwing herself away on a man like Simon Frazer, disgusted and appalled Karen, and she knew she would be glad if Paul would do something. Only he had the power to dictate to Simon. Paul held the family finances.

Of course, Simon probably gloated over the liaison secretly. He was getting back at Karen and Paul to some measure for having slighted him before. He was an amusing character for all his faults, and no doubt Sandra found him quite fascinating after the rather callow youths she usually associated with.

It was midnight by the time Karen crawled into bed, but sleep did not come easily. Her thoughts were too full of Paul, her mind too active to relax. She recalled how attractive he was, dark-skinned, and dark-haired and dark-eyed. Although she herself was a tall girl, all of five feet seven inches, he absolutely dwarfed her, making her intensely conscious of his overwhelming masculinity. His hair was short and cut close to his head and was always crisp and vital to the touch. His dark eyes, sometimes cynical or amused, could soften miraculously with love, and his mouth had done crazy things to her body. A man of the world before their marriage, he had known many women, but Karen satisfied him mentally as well as physically, and under his tuition she had learned all the delights and desires of her own body.

Remembering all these things disturbed her emotionally, and she moved restlessly in the bed, rolling on to her stomach to stop its churning.

She remembered the nights of the long hot summer that had followed their marriage, when, too hot to sleep, they had gone down to the pool and swum in the moonlight. They had been utterly alone, the rest of the household asleep, and they had made love, their bodies dripping with the cool delicious water.

Groaning, Karen slid wearily out of bed and padded into the bathroom. Filling a tumbler full of water, she extracted a sleeping tablet from the bottle in the cabinet and swallowed it with some of the water. She peered at her weary face in the mirror of the cabinet and frowned. Was she to look like a hag when he saw her tomorrow? Would he be glad he was no longer married to such a tired-looking creature?

She returned slowly to her bed and slid back between the sheets. Moodily, she mused that at least during her marriage to Paul she had never had to resort to sleeping tablets, at least not while they were living together. On the contrary, she had slept soundly and dreamlessly as a child in his arms, conscious of the security of those arms always.

Achingly she stared into space until the cotton wool world of the drug descended upon her and she slept.

She awoke with an aching head next morning, hearing the steady buzz of the vacuum cleaner from the lounge. She slid out of bed and pulled on a blue quilted housecoat before opening the door leading to the lounge.

Mrs. Coates, the daily, was just finishing and she smiled cheerfully at Karen. She was a small, plump woman of about fifty, with a husband and six children at home. She often regaled Karen with stories of “our Bert” or “our Billy”, and Karen found her a refreshing personality.

“I’ve made your coffee,” she said now, looking critically at Karen. She nodded towards the kitchen. “You look as though you could do with some.”

“Thank you,” replied Karen dryly, but padded willingly into the kitchen.

The percolater was bubbling merrily and she poured herself a cup of black coffee and went back into the lounge for her cigarettes.

“Are you all right, dearie?” asked Mrs. Coates, looking worriedly at her.

“Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Coates. I slept rather badly, that’s all. I’ll be all right when I’ve had this.” She nodded to the coffee.

“Right.” Mrs. Coates pulled on her mackintosh. “I’ll be off, then. See you in the morning.”

“Yes, all right, Mrs. Coates,” said Karen, managing a smile, and the woman left.

After she had closed the door, Karen stood down her coffee and walking over to the switch she turned down the temperature of the central heating. Mrs. Coates always kept the place like a greenhouse, and this morning Karen felt as though she needed air, and lots of it.

Her watch told her it was only nine-thirty, so she collected the daily papers, which Mrs. Coates always brought for her, from the kitchen and settled herself on the couch in the lounge.

She knew that Paul would not reach the office until ten o’clock at the earliest, so she read for an hour before tackling the telephone. The newspapers were full of the world crises, but for all the impression they made on her she might just as well not have bothered reading them. Her mind buzzed with the telephone call ahead of her and eventually she laid them aside and merely waited.

Today when the switchboard operator at the Frazer building answered her, Karen again asked for Mr. Frazer and was immediately put through to Paul’s office suite.

His private secretary answered her and asked in her cool, modulated voice who was calling and what it was about.

“Mr. Frazer is extremely busy this morning,” she continued silkily. “He has a board meeting in half an hour so I’m afraid I must ask you to either call back tomorrow or tell me what it’s about. I’m sure I will be able to assist you, whatever it is.”

Karen clenched her fingers round the red receiver.

“Just tell Mr. Frazer that Miss Stacey wants to speak to him,” she said coolly. “I’m sure he won’t refuse to speak to me.”

Whether the girl recognized the name herself, Karen couldn’t imagine, but after an impatient wait of about five minutes she heard a man’s husky voice saying: “Karen, is that you calling?” and she realized it was Paul.

Her heart thumped so loudly she felt sure he must be able to hear it. His voice was so familiar, even after all this time, although it was as cold as a mountain stream.

For a second her nerve almost failed her, and she thought she was not going to be able to go through with it, and then she managed to murmur:

“Yes, it’s me. Hello, Paul. How are you?”

Even to her own ears her voice sounded rather nervous and she wished she could be as confident as he sounded.

“I’m very well, thank you,” he replied flatly. “Are you?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine.” Karen stiffened her shoulders determinedly.

“That’s good,” he said, and waited, obviously expecting her to speak and explain why she had called at all. Karen sought about for words to begin the conversation and with cold emphasis Paul said: “Karen, why did you ring me? I’m sure it wasn’t simply to ask about the state of my health.”

“No,” she agreed, sighing.

“Then why?” he asked curtly. “Come on, Karen. I’m a busy man.”

Karen gasped. How dared he speak to her like that? In that superior tone! All of a sudden her courage returned. His manner had caught her on the raw and she was damned if he was going to treat her like dirt.

“I’m afraid I cannot discuss it over the telephone,” she replied icily. She had been going to tell him a little of the matter over the phone and suggest that they meet to discuss the rest, but now she decided he could wait and find out what she wanted. “It’s a personal matter,” she continued, “I should like to see you.”

“I can’t imagine what we have to say to one another,” he replied coolly.

Karen tried to control her rising temper. She felt much better about everything now. He was just as belligerent as ever. No doubt he thought that she wanted to talk to him about Ruth.

“Paul,” she said carefully, in a controlled voice, “this matter concerns two other people, not ourselves, so don’t think for one moment that I’m trying to make an assignation with you.”

Paul sighed. “I don’t understand a word of this, Karen. Why can’t you tell me now?”

Karen sighed herself. “Good lord, Paul, just take my word that it concerns you just as much as me.”

“And when do you suggest we meet?” he asked.

“How about lunch?”

“Today? God, Karen, I only arrived back from Leeds last night. I’m absolutely up to my eyes in work.”

“Oh, dear.” Karen sounded sarcastic. “But then, even tycoons have to eat sometimes, don’t they? Or do you live on vitamin pills these days?”

Paul was silent for a moment and she heard him flicking over the papers on his desk.

“Make up your mind,” she said abruptly.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I suppose I can make it.”

“Don’t put yourself out,” she exclaimed heatedly.

He sounded almost amused. “Still the same old Karen,” he remarked cynically. “Will one o’clock at Stepano’s suit you? I have a table there.”

“Admirably,” she replied dryly, and rang off.

As she lit a cigarette she found she was trembling again. This would never do. She hated herself for becoming so emotionally involved. After all, it was only a luncheon appointment, not a visit to the torture chamber.

She spent a long time deciding what she would wear. She needed something smart but not too dressy. Certainly nothing to make him imagine this was anything other than a business engagement. On the other hand, she wanted to look her best, if only to show him how well she was managing alone.

Black was the best idea, she decided at last, and chose a close-fitting black suit which suited her very fair colouring to perfection. The neckline of the suit was low and round, and she added a string of pearls, which he had bought her for their first wedding anniversary, to complete the ensemble. She never wore a hat and her thick, straight hair needed no adornment. It tip-tilted slightly at the ends and was so soft and silky that it always looked attractive. Paul had always admired her hair, the jagged fringe straying across her wide brow and framing her piquantly attractive face.

She studied her face in the mirror for a moment when she was ready, wondering whether she had changed. Her best features were her eyes, framed by thick black lashes that needed no mascara. Her eyes were greeny-grey and very widely spaced, while her nose was small and slightly retroussé. Her mouth was full and passionate and much too big in her estimation. However, she sighed, she was as she was and nothing could change that.

She took a taxi to Stepano’s. The traffic in London at lunchtime was such that to take her own car would have been a futile effort. Besides she hated driving in the rat-race of vehicles, always conscious of the swarm of cars on her tail, ready to pounce if she made a mistake.

Stepano’s was a massive, glass-fronted restaurant in Oxford Street. Karen had never been inside before, but as she entered she was greeted by a white-coated waiter who escorted her with reverence to Paul’s table. Paul had not yet arrived and Karen ordered a dry Martini and lit a cigarette.

As she sipped her drink her eyes surveyed the large dining-room with its gleaming damask cloths, shining silver and hot-house flowers. The clientele matched their surroundings, over-indulged, expense-account fed men and elegantly jewelled women. There were some younger people, but even they were all too obviously bored by too much of everything. However, she was aware that she too was being studied and discussed. After all, this was Paul Frazer’s table and she was not the woman with whom he had been photographed so frequently lately. She wondered if any of them recognized her as Paul’s ex-wife. She felt quite amused as she imagined their comments if they did.

At five past one, the swing glass doors opened to admit, Paul Frazer. He was dressed in a camel-hair overcoat, which he removed and gave to the waiter who hovered at his side. Underneath he was wearing a charcoal grey lounge suit of impeccable cut, and he looked bigger and broader than she remembered. Even so, he did not look to have an ounce of spare flesh on him. He was big-framed and muscular, and as she watched him thread his way through the tables to his own, she was intensely conscious of the almost animal magnetism about him which had so thrilled her in the old days. He walked with a lithe, easy grace for such a big man, passing a word here and there with acquaintances he knew. His hair was still as thick and black as ever, only lightly touched with grey at the temples, which served to give him a distinguished appearance. He was still as lazily attractive as ever and at thirty-seven looked the well-dressed, assured business tycoon that he was. If he had grown a little more cynical with the years that was only to be expected of a man with his wealth and position, who knew that money could buy most things he wanted.

He reached the table and seated himself opposite her with a brief nod. Conscious that they were the cynosure of all eyes, Karen flushed and looked down at her drink.

“Well, Karen,” he murmured lightly, “you haven’t changed much. Still as beautiful as ever, and as talented too, I hear.”

Karen looked up at him and for a moment his dark eyes held hers. Then with a rush she said:

“Thank you, Paul. You haven’t changed, either. Are you still working hard, too?”

He half smiled in a mocking manner. “I was, until I was dragged to a certain luncheon appointment.”

Karen looked indignantly at him. “You need not have come,” she stated abruptly, colouring.

“Oh, really? With you flinging innuendoes left, right and centre? Besides, you set out to make me curious and you succeeded. That should please you.”

The wine waiter appeared by his side and he ordered himself a whisky and another Martini for Karen. After the wine waiter had left, the head waiter arrived for their order, and Paul took the menu and ordered for them both as he had always done in the past.

When his whisky had been supplied together with Karen’s Martini and they were waiting for the first course to be served, he said:

“No retaliation yet. I felt sure you were thinking up some vitriolic reply while I studied the food.”

“Don’t be so clever,” she retorted, disliking his mocking treatment of her. “I ought to be congratulating you on your engagement, but I won’t.”

“Thank you, all the same. Was that what you wanted to talk about?”

Karen gasped. “I told you it had nothing to do with us,” she snapped angrily.

Paul shrugged, and iced melon was served. Karen felt singularly unhungry, which was quite unusual for her, and only toyed with the food.

Paul ate his and then said: “Well, come on, then. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Karen pushed her plate away.

“My … my mother asked me to speak to you,” she began slowly.

“Oh. I see. And how is Madeline these days?” He swallowed the remainder of his drink. “I keep meaning to visit her.”

“She’s all right,” replied Karen, glad of the brief diversion. “I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to see you. You were always her blue-eyed boy, in a manner of speaking, of course.” This last because she knew his eyes were a very dark grey so as to appear almost black at times.

“Good.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well … go on.”

Karen reluctantly continued. “It’s really about Sandra that I wanted to speak to you,” she said.

“Why? Does she need money or something?”

“No,” retorted Karen shortly. “Money; the be-all and end-all of everything to you, I suppose.”

“It helps,” he remarked sardonically.

“Anyway, it’s not money. Sandra is going around with Simon … your dear brother Simon, that is.”

“Simon?” echoed Paul, all mockery gone from his voice. “Good lord, is she completely out of her mind? Simon’s years older than her, and he’s married into the bargain.”

Karen sighed and nodded. “I know that and you know that, but Sandra apparently, doesn’t. You know how wilful she is, how wild and uncontrollable. Goodness knows what trouble she’ll get herself into. She’s stupid enough to allow him enough licence to … well, you know Sandra … and Simon.”

Paul nodded and looked thoughtfully down at the salmon which had been placed before him.

“She needs a damn good hiding,” he muttered violently.

“Precisely, but no one is likely to give it to her,” said Karen moodily.

Paul shrugged. “So. What am I expected to do about it?”

“You know what Simon is like,” said Karen, looking at him earnestly. “And you can handle him. You’ve told me so numerous times. We want you to stop him seeing her. She won’t take any notice of us, and short of locking her up every night, there’s very little we can do.”

“I see. So you want me to play the heavy father! How?”

Karen flushed. “You employ him. You dictate his income. He has no money of his own to speak of. I know that.”

“Hmn. You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?” he remarked dryly.

Karen clenched her fingers round her knife and fork. His voice was mocking again and she hated the humble position she had put herself into.

“And … er … why should I do this?” he asked annoyingly. “I mean, Simon is free, white, and over twenty-one. If Sandra is reckless enough to go out with him, oughtn’t she to bear the consequences?”

“Yes, she ought,” exclaimed Karen hotly. “And if I had my way, I would never have asked you to do anything. My mother bribed me into doing this by one of her devious methods and at the moment I couldn’t care less what you do.”

He smiled. “Do keep your voice down, Karen, or do you want the whole restaurant to hear our discussion? It would make a charming topic of conversation at cocktails this evening.”

“Oh, you’re hateful!” she cried, feeling as though she might burst into tears at any moment.

“Relax,” he remarked abruptly. “Your mission is accomplished. I’ll speak to brother Simon. If only to keep you in good stead with your mother.”

“Thank you,” she muttered, and thereafter ate in silence. She was conscious of his speculative gaze on her often during the course of the meal and to her ignominy, her face refused to resume its normal colour and remained flushed.

When the meal was over and coffee was served. Paul offered Karen a cigarette and after he had lit hers and his own he said:

“You’re still with Lewis Martin, then.” It was more of a statement than a question.

‘Yes. Lewis and I get on very well,” she replied coldly.

“I’m sure you do,” he agreed smoothly. “Why haven’t you married him?”

“Because I haven’t,” she retorted. “In any case, it’s no concern of yours.”

“Of course not. I was merely making conversation.” He smiled mockingly and she conveyed her own gaze to the tip of her cigarette.

“How … how is your mother?” she asked quietly.

Paul’s mother lived in the South of France. When her husband died and Paul took over the business, she had retired there to live with her sister and Paul and Karen had visited her a couple of times during their marriage. Karen had liked her but had not had a lot to do with her.

“She’s very well,” answered Paul gravely. “I expect Ruth and I will stay there for a while after the wedding.”

“Does Ruth already know your mother?”

“She has met her, yes. She flew over for the engagement party.”

“Ah, yes. I ought to have remembered,” said Karen, shrugging. “And when is the wedding to be?” The question was a tortuous one for her. Asking when Paul intended to make another woman his wife.

“In about three months,” he replied smoothly. “Ruth wants to be a June bride.”

“How sweet,” remarked Karen sardonically. “I’m sure she’ll do you credit.”

“I’m sure she will,” he said easily. “She’s a very attractive person.”

Karen drew on her cigarette. She had only seen a photograph of Ruth in a newspaper and really it had not given much life to her features.

“Do you intend living at the apartment, afterwards?” she asked, wanting to know and yet dreading the answer.

“To begin with, perhaps,” he replied, dropping a sliver of ash into the silver ashtray. “I expect I shall buy a house, somewhere in the country. Ruth knows England quite well and likes the Weald.”

“Oh yes? How nice for you both.” Karen sounded bored by it all.

Paul shrugged. “I’m sure it will be. And then of course, we will spend some time each year in America. Ruth’s family live in Dallas.”

Karen finished her coffee. “And you’re having a honeymoon, too, I suppose?”

Paul smiled. “You’re very curious about us, aren’t you?”

“Why not?” She managed a tight smile. “What else is there to talk about?”

“We may go touring,” he remarked slowly. “We haven’t decided yet. Ruth adores being the perfect tourist.”

“Touring?” exclaimed Karen, raising her dark eyebrows. “That’s rather a strenuous way to spend your honeymoon.” She smiled suddenly, remembering. “Do you recall the months we spent in that villa near Nassau, with that gorgeous beach all to ourselves?”

Paul frowned and stubbed out his cigarette. “Yes, I remember.” he replied, his voice cold. Karen looked surprised and yet felt reasonably pleased. He had been so complacent, so confident, but the mention of their honeymoon still had the power to disturb him. Those halcyon days and nights were never to be forgotten, whatever Ruth might have to offer, and even Paul had to acknowledge this to himself.

Studying him when he was not aware of her doing so, she found repugnance in the very idea of his marrying another woman. After all, their marriage had seemed so right at first and seeing him now brought it home to her that divorce inevitably changes everything completely. She felt she wanted to reach across to him and have him look at her as he had used to look at her with love in his eyes. She wanted to tell him she still loved him and would go back to him today if he would have her.

But that awful thing called civilized conduct prevented her from doing such a thing and instead they exchanged platitudes and ignored the primitive emotions working beneath the surface.

They finished their coffee and Paul said:

“I’m afraid I must go now. I have a great deal to do this afternoon and I have a business engagement at three.”

Karen rose to her feet. “That’s quite all right, Paul. I’ve said what I came to say.”

Paul shrugged almost imperceptibly and then stood back to allow her to precede him from the room. Once outside, he pulled on his overcoat and said:

“My car is parked nearby. Can I drop you anywhere?”

Karen hesitated for a moment. She had no desire to prolong the agony, but she did intend going to see Lewis this afternoon, and now was as good a time as any.

“You could take me to Martin’s,” she said, looking up at him with a cool green gaze. “I want to see Lewis.” She said the latter part purposely and was amused when his face darkened slightly. It lasted only a moment and then it was gone, and he was nodding and assisting her down the shallow steps to the pavement.

The car was not far away and they walked towards it in silence. Karen had never seen this car before. It was a low-slung, continental car in cream with scarlet upholstery, and when Karen was put inside she found it superbly comfortable. The springing of the seats was luxuriously soft and it was like gliding on a bed of feathers.

“A new car,” she murmured softly. “Very elegant.”

Paul shrugged and slid behind the wheel, his thigh brushing hers for a moment, causing Karen to shiver slightly.

“I’m glad you like it. It suits me. It’s good for acceleration purposes which is what I need for some of the roads I have to cover.”

“It makes my old rattletrap seem very old and outmoded. But I like the old bus and it serves its purpose. I don’t use it such a lot.” Karen grimaced.

Paul glanced swiftly at her. “But you could afford a new one, couldn’t you?” It was a statement rather than a question.

Karen half smiled. “Of course,” she admitted easily. “But I don’t want one just at the moment. Oh, don’t worry, honey, I’m not a pauper yet, not by any means. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Paul flushed. “Why say something like that?” he muttered, “I don’t want to see you without means. Good heavens, I would be quite willing to help you if ever you needed money, surely you know that?”

Karen’s eyes widened. “Do I? Why should you imagine I would come to you for anything?”

Paul looked amused. “Well, haven’t you done just that thing?”

Karen flushed. “Very clever,” she said, annoyed with herself for being so rash. “Come on, let’s go.”

Paul shrugged and drove out into the stream of traffic.

Martin Textile Designs stood in a by-road off Great Portland Street. It was a tall, imposing building, although the basement and first floor were merely warehouses for another company. Lewis Martin’s domain occupied the upper floors with Lewis’s office being at the top. Karen had a small office of her own there, but she seldom used it, preferring to work at home.

Paul drew the large automobile to a halt at the entrance and said:

“I guess this is it,” in a lazy voice.

“Yes. Thank you for the lift,” said Karen politely, and made to get out.

“I’ll ring you as soon as I have any information,” said Paul, nodding.

Karen inclined her head and slid out on to the pavement.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said, rather sardonically. “I’m sorry I had to drag you away from your business.”

“It was a pleasure,” replied Paul, just as mockingly. “Be good,” and he put the car into gear and moved swiftly away before Karen could make some cutting retort.

Fuming, Karen walked into the building and entering the lift pressed the button for the fourth floor. As the lift went on its way she lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it. He was so assured, so confident and oh! so detached. She felt quite angry and she longed to be able to do something to shatter his complacency. How calmly he had discussed Ruth and his forthcoming marriage. How amused he had been at her obvious curiosity. Would he tell Ruth about it? Maybe laugh with her about Karen’s forced need of his help? She felt as though something shrivelled up inside her. To think of them together, discussing her, was disgusting and depressing. How aloof he seemed from the rigours of a disastrous love affair. How composed about his life with Ruth. With Karen he had had sometimes to bend his will to hers. With Ruth he would hold the upper hand and being the feminine creature she apparently was, she would enjoy letting him be the master. They would have no fierce arguments or even differences of opinion. She would be completely attuned to his every desire and act likewise. But surely, thought Karen desperately, that would become boring in time to a man like Paul. Variety was the spice of life and he needed someone to oppose him at times. At least so she had thought. Of course, if he got bored, he could always find himself another woman, and probably Ruth would not object too strongly if he kept it quiet. Karen stamped on the butt of her cigarette and ground it into the flooring with her heel. The lift reached the fourth floor. She had arrived.

She entered the outer office of Lewis’s domain and asked his secretary if he was free.

“Yes, Miss Stacey,” she replied, smiling. “Go right in. He is expecting you.”

Karen lightly tapped on Lewis’s door and then entered his office. It was not a large office but the wide windows gave the room plenty of light, giving an impression of space. Lewis himself was seated at his desk, studying some papers, and he looked up as she entered, a smile spreading over his face. He was a man of medium height, slimly built, with greying blond hair. He spent his leisure hours reading and writing articles for trade papers and consequently his eyes behind their horn-rimmed spectacles looked rather tired. But he was obviously pleased to see her, and she closed the door and advanced into the room, sinking down into a low armchair opposite him.

Perceptively, he said: “You look rather disturbed. What’s been going on?”

Karen flung herself back in the chair, helping herself to another cigarette. As she lit the cigarette and looked at Lewis, she thought reflectively that the contrast between Paul and Lewis was very considerable. Not only in looks but in manner.

“Let me relax for a moment and then I’ll tell you,” she said, managing a rather grim smile.

After drawing on her cigarette for about five minutes, during which time Lewis studied his papers and considerately ignored her, she said:

“I’ve just had lunch with my esteemed ex-husband.”

A strange expression flitted across Lewis’s face for a moment and then he said:

“You must be joking.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied smoothly. “Dear Paul himself.”

Lewis compressed his rather thin lips.

“And what was this in aid of?” He shrugged his slim shoulders.

“I … I asked him to see me, have lunch with me,” answered Karen, half amused at Lewis’s concern. He could see no reason, until she told him, for the meeting and he was getting quite annoyed.

His eyebrows ascended. “You asked him to meet you. But why? Good lord, Karen, you aren’t trying to get him back, are you?”

Karen looked away from his gaze. She wondered what he would think if he could have read her thoughts a few moments ago. He would be bound to be furious. After all, he had thought he was acting in her best interests when he helped her to avoid seeing Paul.

Avoiding this question, she said: “Mother asked me to see him. Simon, his brother Simon that is, is going out with Sandra, and Sandra refuses to give him up. I had to appeal to Paul to prevent it going any further.”

“Sandra!” exclaimed Lewis. “But Simon Frazer is married. Is she completely mad? Good heavens, he’s nothing but a scoundrel.”

“Precisely … but you know how unmanageable Sandra is. She’s gradually becoming completely uncontrollable. Besides. Mother still dotes on her and indulges her in everything. Even now, I expect she’s worried to death in case Sandra finds out she’s been meddling.”

Lewis rose restlessly to his feet. “But to ask you to see Frazer on her behalf. She ought to have more sense. Doesn’t she care who gets hurt in all this? She might have realized that he would take a delight in humiliating you.”

Karen stretched her slim legs out in front of her. “Paul didn’t exactly humiliate me, darling. In fact, he was quite human about the whole thing. But on the other hand, I can imagine what he was thinking. He probably thought I’d seen his engagement in the paper and decided to make a bit of bother for him. I don’t really think he thought I was trying to get him back. I think if anything, he thought I was just being nosy.”

“Are you seeing him again?” asked Lewis, frowning.

“I doubt it,” replied Karen abruptly. “I expect he will ring me if he has any news about Simon and Sandra.”

“Well, I sincerely hope so,” said Lewis, sighing with something like relief. “After all, we don’t want him causing you any more bother, do we?”

“I should say that’s entirely unlikely,” remarked Karen wryly. “He seems completely absorbed with Ruth and their forthcoming marriage.”

Lewis nodded. “I believe she’s quite a lovely girl,” he said, and then clasped his hands together. “Oh, my dear, I hope you don’t think I’m trying to upset you.”

“Not at all,” replied Karen, rather dryly, wishing Lewis had not found it necessary to discuss Ruth at all.

“You know I’d like to take care of you,” went on Lewis painfully. “I want to be able to have the right to do that. “Won’t you allow me …’

“Lewis, please. Not now. I’ve told you so often, I don’t love you and I couldn’t marry someone I didn’t love. The very idea appals me. I like and respect you, but as yet I don’t feel I can love anybody.” But Paul, taunted her conscience, but she thrust the thought back into anonymity.

Lewis became businesslike, and Karen appreciated it. He was always so understanding. If he had behaved in any other way she would have had to find herself another employer, and as they worked so well together she didn’t want to have to do that.

“By the way,” he said at the end of their discussion, “I have two invitations for the charity ball at the Magnifique on Friday. Would you like to go? It should be quite a glittering affair. Take you out of yourself.”

Karen hesitated. She usually refused these invitations point-blank, but today, after Lewis’s understanding manner, she felt she ought to give them both a break. After all, maybe he was right. A ball would take her out of herself and perhaps push her feelings for Paul back into perspective.

“Well,” she began slowly, “I think perhaps it might be a good idea, Lewis. Thank you.”

Lewis looked absolutely flabbergasted, and she smiled at his shocked face.

“Didn’t you really want me to come?” she asked, teasing him.

“Good lord, yes. It’s just that I didn’t hold out much hope and now that you’ve accepted I’m stunned!”

Karen smiled. “Oh, well I feel I should come out of my shell for a change. I’ve been too reticent of late.” She shivered involuntarily. In a matter of hours her life seemed to have changed. She had been content to drift along in her own backwater, letting life pass her by. Suddenly she had found her own company uncongenial and the thought of dressing up and going out, no matter with whom, gave her something to think about.

“A good idea,” approved Lewis, smiling. “I’m glad you feel you want to meet people again. That’s a good sign.”

Karen nodded. “Yes, isn’t it? Perhaps seeing Paul has done me good. After all, that’s over and done with now, isn’t it?” she said, forcing a lightness she did not feel.

Lewis looked very pleased. Suddenly his rather dull day had improved beyond all expectation.




CHAPTER TWO (#udce6958b-ee9a-5f1e-9daf-6fb41ae45578)


AFTER Paul Frazer had dropped Karen at the offices of Lewis Martin’s company he drove swiftly back to his own office building. In truth there was a lot of work waiting for him, but now his urge to get on and get it done had turned sour on him. He couldn’t understand it. It was maddening. His thoughts were in a turmoil. Seeing Karen had been something he had never expected to have to go through. Although she had killed the love he had felt for her, she still had the power to disturb him emotionally, and it infuriated him. After all, he had met many more beautiful women in his lifetime, what was it about Karen that so enthralled him?

In truth he had forgotten just how attractive she really was, and to be confronted with her so unexpectedly had had no little effect on him. He went up to his office in a rare bad humour and was surprised when he found Ruth waiting in his office for him. Ruth had never come to the office before, and now that she had he felt annoyed for some reason. He refused to connect this feeling with his earlier meeting with his ex-wife.

Ruth was a small curvaceous brunette with short hair cropped in a curly mop. She always looked bandbox-fresh and favoured very feminine styles, with flared skirts that accentuated her petiteness. She was twenty-eight, but appeared younger, and until today Paul had found this refreshing.

But after Karen’s deliberate reference to their honeymoon in Nassau, all the details of their previous relationship had been recollected with piercing clarity. She had recalled memories which he had believed were completely forgotten, and yet one word from her had revived everything. She had made him aware of her as a woman, a tantalizing woman. She had always had a devastating effect on him from the very first moment she had entered his office with the design manager to be complimented on her original carpet design.

At first, her apparent beauty and charm had appealed to him, but as he got to know her better he had fallen in love with her for the intelligent woman that she was; young, vital, desirable and able to converse with him on any subject he cared to bring up. He had always had his pick of attractive women. He was well aware that his money added to his own eligibility, and when Karen refused to enter into an affair with him he found it quite a novel experience. Usually, girls had been all too willing to sleep with him, and it piqued him to find that Karen could refuse. It annoyed him, too, to find that his interest in other women had waned and he knew that only Karen could satisfy him now. As the weeks passed he came to need her more than anyone else in the world and he knew she reciprocated his feelings but only marriage would satisfy her. But strangely, he found he did not mind, and those first few months of their marriage fulfilled all his wildest dreams.

But when she defied him and went behind his back to get a job with Lewis Martin he had been infuriated, and later when the final break came he was sick to his stomach. He would never have believed she could hurt him so and when Martin averred that she did not wish to see him ever again, he had given up hope.

At first he had lost a lot of weight, for he had eaten little and drank a lot. He suffered from acute insomnia for months, and life had lost all interest. In consequence his work suffered and eventually his mother had persuaded him to take a prolonged holiday, for as he was he was of no use to the company.

When he had first been informed of her affair with Lewis Martin, he had hardly believed it. He could not acknowledge to himself that Karen would actually sleep with another man, particularly a man like Martin who was so much older than herself. Thoughts of them together had nauseated him and angered him. He was still so much in love with Karen, and if she had shown any inclinations towards coming back to him he would have accepted her on any terms.

But when he learned that Lewis Martin had actually spent a night at the apartment, he was forced to admit that all previous stories about them had been true, and their marriage was over, irrevocably. He drank a good deal at this time, drugging his tortured senses, until the pull of his work brought him back to normality.

The divorce, of course, finalized everything. It was the ultimate ending. The writing on the wall had eventually triumphed. Paul had been convinced that no woman would ever invade his emotions again. He became very cynical about life and women, and lived without much thought for the morrow.

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.”




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