by Anne Mather
“I shouldn’t have known yet, but I woke up at five-thirty with a terrible headache. I had no aspirin so I went into Sandra’s room to see if she had, and then I found her bed empty … and the note pinned to her pillow.”
Karen sighed heavily. “And have her clothes gone?”
“Some of them. She could have gone at any time really. She said she was going to bed at nine o’clock because she felt so tired. I went about ten-thirty and I did not look to see if she was all right, so she might have been gone then.”
“I see. And what did you do when you found the note?”
“I rang you, of course.”
“But it was seven o’clock before you contacted me.”
“I rang and rang,” replied her mother, sobbing. “I couldn’t get any reply. I thought you must be away.”
The sleeping pill, thought Karen. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have been sleeping heavily.”
“You must indeed,” exclaimed her mother, frowning. “Anyway,” she felt in her dressing-gown pocket, “here’s the note.”
Karen opened it. It said simply:
Dear Mum,
My life here has become intolerable. You and Karen are determined to separate me from the one man I love, and I can’t stand it. I’m expecting Simon’s baby and we expect to be married as soon as that awful Julia gets a divorce. Don’t try to find me. I’ll come back when you realize I’m right.
Sandra.
“The little bitch,” muttered Karen angrily. “If I could get my hands on her at this moment I’d … Who does she think she is, anyway? And how can she afford to go away at all?”
“Her Post Office Savings Bank book has gone,” replied Madeline dully. “She had about seventy-five pounds in that, I think.”
“That won’t last long,” remarked Karen practically. “How dare she act so thoughtlessly!”
“It’s probably my fault,” cried Madeline, tears coursing down her cheeks again. “I never have tried to understand her problems.”
Karen privately agreed that it was Madeline’s fault, but not for those reasons.
“For goodness’ sake, Mother,” she exclaimed, “you know very well you have always tried to understand Sandra. That’s her trouble. She gets too much understanding. She needs a damn good hiding.”
“Oh, Karen, don’t be so hard! Sandra was always much more my daughter than you ever were. You couldn’t possibly understand the relationship we shared.”
“Some relationship,” remarked Karen coldly. “I’m sorry, Mother, but you have only yourself to blame.”
“Thank you.” Madeline wiped her eyes. “Why did you come here? To torture me or to help me?”
“To help you, of course,” exclaimed Karen. “Don’t let’s quarrel, Mother. We’re in this together, whatever you may think. I simply don’t want you to imagine that Sandra is a poor, misunderstood teenager. She’s simply a spoilt, irresponsible, self-centred child and she needs a firm hand, not a gentle one.”
“But to be pregnant! Oh, Karen, whatever will we do?”
“Don’t panic!” exclaimed Karen, sounding calmer herself than she felt. “Try and relax, Mother. There must be something we can do.”
Her mother looked bleakly at her. “There is. You can call Paul and tell him.”
Karen clenched her fists. Deep inside her she knew that Paul was the only person likely to help them. Was it fair to him to expect him to help them again?
“I know,” said Karen slowly. “I suppose that is the only sensible thing to do, but I think it’s rather putting on him, don’t you?”
Madeline rose to her feet. “If it weren’t for his brother there would be no problem.” she replied, with dignity.
“Well, all right,” said Karen, sighing. She walked out into the hall where the telephone was installed. It was still not much after eight, so she dialled the number of his apartment in Belgravia.
The low tone seemed to ring for ages before a click showed that the receiver had been lifted. A moment later a lazy, husky voice answered, Paul’s voice.
“Frazer here,” he said, his voice still drowsy with sleep.
“Paul, this is Karen.”
“Karen?” There was silence for a moment as though he was sitting up in bed before going on. “God, do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, but this is important. Can I see you?”
“Now?”
“Unless you’d rather I told you over the phone. In fact that might be best.”
“No, no.” Paul sounded firm. “I’ll see you. Where are you?”
“I’m at Mother’s. Will you come over?”
Paul hesitated a moment and then he said:
“You come here instead. By the time I get dressed and shaved you could be here.”
“All right, Paul. Thanks.” She rang off and went back to her mother. “I’m going over to Paul’s apartment. He’s not up yet and I can be there by the time he’s shaved and dressed.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Stacey looked perturbed. “You won’t forget the reason why you’re going, will you?”
Karen looked exasperated. “Honestly, Mother, you are the absolute limit! The reason I’m going at all is because of you, isn’t it?”
“Well … yes, I suppose so.”
“Then what do you mean by saying such a thing? Really, it’s ridiculous.”
Her mother had the grace to look ashamed. “I just thought that Paul is a very attractive man and you were once … well …”
Karen pulled on her coat again. “I’ll be back later,” she said abruptly, and left the house.
She drove swiftly towards Paul’s apartment. The roads were already getting busy and traffic jams held her up causing her to inwardly fume and wish she had taken a taxi. They always seemed to get away quicker. She reached Ambleford House by eight-forty. The forecourt of the luxurious block of apartments was ready buzzing with cars, chauffeur-driven, many of them, waiting for the affluent occupants of the apartments in the building.
Inside, the gleaming chrome-plated lifts were all in operation and she had to wait impatiently for one to reach the ground floor. Out came a couple of bespectacled men in city suits and bowlers, canes tucked under their arms. She half smiled at their swift appraisal of herself in the casual slacks and sheepskin coat. She obviously did not look the type that usually visited the apartment. She was conscious of their regard, but slipped easily into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor where Paul’s penthouse was situated.
She rode up nervously now. As she neared the apartment she was forced to realize just how much had happened since she last used this lift. The corridor when she stepped out on to it was pile-carpeted, and the door at the end had Paul’s name on it instead of giving a number.
The apartment had a panoramic view of the city of London and Karen had always adored it. She and Paul had often slept there in the old days after spending a night in town. They could be completely alone with no one to disturb them, and as the thoughts came back to Karen they were disturbing in themselves.
She shivered involuntarily as she rang the bell and waited to be admitted. A manservant opened the door, one she did not recognize, so she presumed Paul must have dismissed the old staff and engaged new ones.
She felt strangely disappointed. She had half expected Paul to be alone and to find this man here proved it was not to be so. She ought to have realized that Paul would need someone to prepare his meals and serve at table if he had guests for a meal.
She stepped inside and was immediately re-enamoured of the lounge. It was empty, and she moved slowly across to the window which stretched almost completely along one wall. The view was exactly as she remembered it, the vista a delight to behold. Up here, the sounds of London were muted to a murmur. The manservant informed her that Mr. Frazer was in the shower and would be out directly, and then disappeared through the door leading to the kitchen.
Karen turned back and surveyed the room with pleasure. The contemporary Swedish furniture was light an
d attractive, the white leather couches showing up to advantage against the rich red of the carpet. The walls were covered in murals of Norway which Paul had had done at her request after they had spent a holiday there. The room was centrally heated, as were all the apartments, and a librenza separated the dining recess from the rest of the room. It was quite a large recess, and was well able to accommodate half a dozen people for a meal. The whole place was filled with memories for Karen and nostalgia welled up inside her. She wished she had not had to come, but had she refused it would have looked extremely odd. After all, places were what you made them, and just because once she had been happy here was no reason to avoid it.
The apartment had two bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, a kitchen and a study, and this large lounge. The staff who worked in the apartments of the whole block were accommodated in self-contained flats in the basement so that although they could be reached from above they had homes completely their own. Consequently, the tenants of the apartments found no difficulty in finding staff.
Extracting a cigarette from an ebony case on a low table, Karen lit it and removed her sheepskin coat. It was warm in the apartment after the chilly morning air outside. She felt herself relaxing a little and sighed.
Wandering round restlessly, waiting for Paul, she examined the ornaments without interest, lifting books from their shelves and replacing them again. She barely registered the titles of the books before so doing.
When she had finished her cigarette, she stubbed it out in an ashtray and on impulse crossed to the door leading in to the master bedroom. She was curious to see whether he had changed its appearance, and besides, it was the room they had used to use. The huge bed was unmade, the covers rumpled from Paul’s occupation. Obviously the manservant had not yet found time to make it. Apart from the bed the room was immaculately neat, the cream carpet underfoot was as soft as she remembered, although dark rugs had been added, making the room appear more masculine. The bed-head was quilted in dark blue brocade, and the hangings at the windows were yellow, hand-painted linen. The furniture was a darker wood and gave the room a restful air. Karen had always liked it, and her opinion had not altered. The room now smelt of tobacco and after-shave lotion, and that certain maleness that proved there was no woman in the apartment.
Karen crossed to the window and opened it wide, leaning out. The gardens of Ambleford House lay below and were rich with daffodils and tulips. She sighed regretfully. How strange was life, or was it fate? A few weeks ago she had never dreamed she would ever speak to Paul again. She had thought everything was finished. Today she was surrounded by his possessions, standing here in the apartment, in his bedroom of all places. She smiled. What strange things happened; how much stranger than fiction was this whole business.
There was suddenly the sound of a door opening behind her, the door from the adjoining bathroom. Paul entered the bedroom and Karen swung round feeling foolishly childish at having been caught out, like a child at the forbidden biscuit tin.
He was dressed only in dark trousers and his dark hair was ruffled. His broad, tanned chest was bare, a towel about his neck.
Karen blushed in confusion, feeling suddenly very embarrassed. What on earth would he read into this? What a fool she was. Her eyes flickered over him; she saw the thick covering of dark hair on his chest, the narrowness of his hips, and felt the compulsive masculinity of his whole being. His eyes were dark and inscrutable and were watching her closely. If he was surprised to see her he gave no sign, and after a moment he said:
“I’m sorry I wasn’t waiting for you when you arrived. You must forgive me. I was rather tired. I was working late last night.”
“That’s all right.” Karen gathered her scattered wits. Seeing him, so dear and handsome, had almost caused her to give herself away. For a moment, all thoughts of Sandra and her mother were forgotten, and she wanted to fling herself into his arms. “I … er … I was just looking around,” she finished lamely.
Paul reached into a drawer for a clean white shirt and put it on slowly and deliberately, fastening the buttons and thrusting it into his trousers.
“That’s all right,” he said lazily, “you’ve not offended me.”
Karen’s flushed deepened and she said, “Oh!” in an irritated voice, and after slamming the window shut she marched back into the lounge, aware of his amused gaze following her. He really was the limit, standing there dressing himself as though he did it every day of his life, in front of her.
Paul followed her, and Karen forced herself to act naturally and sank down on to a low couch. She reached for a cigarette, and after he had lit it for her she said abruptly:
“Sandra has run away. She says she’s expecting a baby. And you can guess whose it is.”
Paul’s rather amused expression changed rapidly.
“What!” he exclaimed angrily.
“She’s written Mother a note saying she’s pregnant,” repeated Karen, drawing on her cigarette.
“My God!” Paul was absolutely astounded. He had never dreamed that Simon would go this far with a teenager like Sandra. He felt as though he could willingly strangle his brother at that moment. He ran a restless hand through his short, dark hair and turned away exasperatedly.
He walked across to the window and lit himself a cigarette.
Just then the manservant returned.
“Would you like some coffee, sir?” he asked politely.
“What … oh, yes … I suppose so, Travers, thank you,” he said swinging round, and the man departed again.
Karen crossed her legs. “I’m sorry, Paul, but there was no one else to turn to but you. What can we do?”
Paul shook his head. “Don’t perturb yourself on my account,” he muttered. “Simon is to blame here, and he is just as much my concern as Sandra is yours, ridiculously enough.” He ground his teeth together. “What a blasted idiot he is … or words more fitted to this situation. Hell … what on earth was Sandra thinking about? She must be mad!”
Karen shrugged, lying back against the soft upholstery.
“You’d better read the letter. It makes everything very clear … except where she’s gone.”
She handed over the note and Paul swiftly scanned its contents.
“God, and she really believes he intends to divorce Julia! Why, it’s not long ago that he told me he had no intention of doing any such thing.”
“Do you think he’s been meeting her again in secret?”
Paul shook his head. “I sent Simon to Nottingham last weekend. He only got back yesterday.”
“Good. That means it’s Sandra’s idea. But the fact that she left it this long may be significant. Do you think she contacted Simon yesterday when he got back?”
“That’s a remote possibility,” admitted Paul slowly. “But whether he was sympathetic or not puzzles me. After all, he knows what I told him. I don’t think Simon would be keen to break his word. He’s not all bad, you know.”
Karen shrugged. “So what happens now?”
“Well, we have got to find Sandra, and when we do … we’ll face that contingency when it arises. I’ve got a few words to say to her myself.”
Karen’s eyes widened. Paul’s face was grim and she was sure he meant what he said.
“And the baby?” she murmured softly.
“Would you want her to marry Simon if she could?” he asked bluntly.
Karen shook her head.
“Well then, she will simply have to go away and have the baby and then have it adopted. It sounds cruel, but what else is there?”
“You’re right,” said Karen, sighing. “But how are we going to find her?”
“I’ll contact Simon, of course, and see if he knows where she has gone. It’s possible that she’s told him even if he wasn’t keen on the idea.”
“The thing is,” said Karen slowly, “if Sandra were to stop and really think what she’s done she would want to retract it, I’m sure. After all, she has her whole life ahead of her and this won’
t help her. It means giving up her job at the salon when she was just going to take leave of absence. Jobs like that are not easy to come by, and I believe she was doing quite well at her work.”
“I know, and I agree with you. That’s why I’m willing to help her even though she barely deserves it.”
Travers came back with the tray of coffee and for a while there was silence as Karen poured out the steaming liquid and Paul pulled on his jacket. He informed Travers that they would both have breakfast in fifteen minutes, and Travers withdrew politely.
Karen looked speculatively at Paul. “I am staying for breakfast?” she said, rather surprised.
“Of course. It’s no use running around without food. You look pale enough as it is.”
“I do feel rather empty,” she admitted with a smile. “It’s quite like old times, breakfasting together.”
Paul shrugged and buttoned his jacket. He looked cool and dependable, his mind already working ahead to the day’s activities. Karen was eternally grateful that she had Paul to turn to. Without him the situation would seem black indeed. For how could her mother be expected to pay for Sandra to go away to have the baby? And Mrs. Stacey was not the sort of woman to want her neighbours to know what had happened to Sandra. She would be unable to live it down, and Karen could imagine the gossip hurting her mother more than anything. No, Paul had become the fairy godfather as far as the Staceys were concerned, and she wished she could tell him just how she felt.
“Do you find things much the same here then?” he asked, looking down at her.
“Yes. I still think it’s a wonderful apartment.”
“Why did you go into the bedroom?” he asked abruptly, and saw the colour stain her cheeks yet again.
“I was curious,” she said defensively. “I was simply renewing my memories of the place.”
“I see. And were they pleasant memories?”
“Naturally,” she murmured lightly, not wanting to get in too deeply and not wanting to start an argument either.
He smiled at her wryly. “At times you really are transparent,” he said significantly.