Seen by Candlelight

by Anne Mather

  Karen herself had not helped by her easy references to Paul, and to find him visiting the flat, the flat which he, Lewis, had bought for her, had incensed him. Without really thinking that he had no claims on Karen, he began considering her attitude towards him as one of betrayal, and he felt more like a cheated husband than anything else. He did not stop to think how strange such an attitude might seem, but he had been aware of late of Karen’s changed attitude towards him. No longer did she come to him for advice and she no longer invited him to the flat as she had frequently done in the past. He was jealous, painfully and violently jealous, and Karen was either deliberately flaunting herself or was completely unaware of his feelings. He had already decided it was the former in his contorted mind.

  When the telephone rang he lifted the receiver with alacrity. It might be Karen!

  “Is that Mr. Lewis Martin?” asked a woman’s voice, with a strong southern American accent.

  Lewis frowned. “Yes,” he replied. “Can I help you?”

  “We can maybe help each other, honey,” replied the voice sweetly. “I’m Ruth Delaney. Need I say more?”

  Lewis’s fingers tightened on the telephone.

  “No,” he muttered. “What do you want?”

  “Well now, I have some information that might not please you. Paul broke off his engagement to me today. Are you interested?”

  Lewis felt his heart begin to pound heavily in his ears. Paul Frazer had broken his engagement. There could be only one reason for that!

  “I’m very interested, Miss Delaney,” he said, his voice thickening. “Could we meet for lunch, say?”

  “If you like,” she replied swiftly. “Where?”

  Lewis named a restaurant and a time and then rang off. He understood clearly why Ruth Delaney had chosen to ring him. She had a stake in this herself. She wanted Paul Frazer and she also knew that he had been the co-respondent in the divorce case. What greater reason had he for wanting to marry Karen? They were in similar positions and could perhaps help each other.

  And yet, he thought dully, if Karen did not want him, what more could he do? His hands were clammy with sweat and he realized he was running a temperature. His feelings towards Karen were like a fire burning in his veins and soon it felt as though it would consume him. There had got to be a showdown. He could not go on like this indefinitely.

  He thrust himself out of his chair and walked across to his window. Looking down on the street below he felt a strong desire to push open the window and jump. Clenching his fists he turned away. What madness was this that caused him to feel this way? Why couldn’t his life have gone along in the same old way with Karen coming into the office regularly and he always knowing he could contact her when he wanted to?

  It was all a racing game with time and he was not sure he wanted to play it any longer.

  He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. He had never dreamed he could feel this way about any woman, and now that he did it nauseated him. He must see this Ruth woman at lunch time and make her understand his position too. She must be made to see that he wanted Karen at any price and then … later … he must see Karen herself … before it was too late.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PAUL rang Karen at twelve o’clock. She was trying unsuccessfully to read a woman’s magazine in the sitting-room at her mother’s home when the telephone pealed.

  Beating her mother to the hall, Karen lifted the receiver.

  “Yes?” she said, her voice toneless.

  “Sandra is in Brighton,” said Paul’s voice. “Simon gave me the address. He’s in quite a state, as you can imagine. He didn’t know himself until this morning. He got a nice little letter in the post explaining everything. He came to the apartment in a flat spin. I really believe he had given up all hopes of ever seeing her again. He doesn’t seem to have any emotional leanings in that direction at the moment.”

  “Oh!” Karen sighed heavily. She mouthed the gist of the conversation to her mother who was leaning against the banister rail. She immediately burst into tears of relief and Karen said:

  “Thanks for everything, Paul.”

  “Yes, well, Karen, I’ve had a word with Aaron Bernard. He wants to come …”

  “Oh, not now …” she began achingly, her pulses beginning to act in that disturbed manner.

  “Yes, now,” retorted Paul quietly. “He wants to come around earlier than we expected, at about two o’clock, and then after he has gone I’ll run you and your mother down to Brighton to bring Sandra back.”

  Karen was astounded. She had expected to have to drive down to Brighton herself to bring Sandra back.

  “But … but what about Ruth?” she exclaimed, remembering her rude treatment of the girl earlier in the day.

  “I’ll handle Ruth,” replied Paul softly, “Does that suit you?”

  “Of course it suits me,” exclaimed Karen exasperatedly. “How could it be otherwise? When will I see you then?”

  “I’ll come with Aaron,” he answered. “See you,” and he rang off.

  Karen replaced the receiver, bewildered. He had not sounded angry as she had expected and she could not understand it. He had sounded angry when she left the apartment this morning. Probably he and Ruth had talked it all over and she was amused by it all. Perhaps she would drive down to Brighton with them. After all, the Facel Vega was certainly big enough.

  Her mother was wiping her eyes, and Karen outlined how Paul had found out.

  “Sandra will have to go away and have the baby,” went on Karen. “You wouldn’t want her to stay here, would you, Mother?”

  “Go away? Oh, yes, I suppose so. I suppose you and I will have to go and get her.”

  “Paul is driving us down,” said Karen with a shrug. “He suggested it.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I had visions of us having a scene with Sandra and her refusing to come. With Paul that won’t happen. He’s more likely to carry her out bodily if she makes any fuss.”

  “She won’t fuss Paul,” said Karen with definition. “He can handle Sandra. We both know that.”

  “Yes. It’s a pity really. My first grandchild, too. You never gave me any, Karen.” Her voice was reproachful.

  “No,” said Karen shortly. “Gosh, no wonder Sandra lives in a make-believe world! Here you are romancing about a baby that was causing you to have hysterics six hours ago.”

  “You’ve never understood me,” said Madeline, softly and tearfully. “No wonder you didn’t make a success of marriage. You expect too much of people.”

  Karen ignored this. Her mother was taking out her pique on her, that Sandra had failed to confide in her about the baby.

  “Well, I’ll go,” said Karen abruptly. She pulled on her coat. “We’ll pick you up at about three o’clock, right?”

  “All right, dear. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Karen dryly, and opened the front door. She did not want gratitude. She felt insincere and insecure. No longer was her little world a safe place. Fate had taken a hand and made a mockery of her life. Or was that fair? Had she not ruined her own life years ago? What price now a job and a life of her own?

  Karen made herself a snack in lieu of lunch and then dressed in a slim-fitting suit of tangerine wool. She looked tall and slim and lovely, and was glad. She wanted to look lovely for Paul, even if Ruth was to be there.

  When the telephone rang she thought it would be Paul and said:

  “Karen here. Is anything wrong?”

  “Wrong? No. Why should there be anything wrong?” asked Lewis’s voice shortly. “So you’re home at last. I’ve been trying to get you for half an hour.”

  “I’ve been in the bath,” she replied. “I probably didn’t hear the telephone.” She resented anew his proprietorial tone. “I was out this morning because there has been some more trouble over Sandra.”

  “Indeed?” Lewis sounded adequately surprised. “And I suppose you had to contact Frazer again?”

  “Why,
yes. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. I merely put two and two together and made four.”

  Karen frowned. “Oh, I see. Why are you ringing, Lewis?”

  “I would like to see you,” he replied smoothly. “Soon.”

  Karen shrugged her slim shoulders. “What do you want to see me about?”

  “Why … er … the new designs. What else?” he asked innocently.

  Karen bit her lip. There it was again. That certain something about Lewis’s manner which she could not put her finger on. She frowned. What could she say? He was her employer after all. She had no desire to see him, but what could she do? Perhaps it was time to tell him she was terminating her employment. She could say she had got another job, even if she had not. He would be none the wiser.

  “Will tomorrow do?” she asked, realizing how full today was going to be.

  “Why not tonight? Have you got an engagement?”

  Not at the moment, she thought wildly. Would it not be as well to see him and get it over with once and for all?

  “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “Will you come here?”

  “No. I want you to come to the office,” he said firmly. “I have to work late in any case and I can best explain my plans here.”

  Karen hesitated. At least seeing him in the office would keep everything on a businesslike basis.

  “Very well. What time?”

  “Seven will be fine,” he said. “Does that suit you?”

  Karen mentally calculated how long it would take them to go to Brighton and come back. Seven might be a little early.

  “Make it half-past,” she said.

  “All right, Karen. Good-bye for the present.”

  He rang off and Karen replaced her receiver. She stood staring at the telephone, wishing he had not rung today of all days. A shiver slithered down her spine. Lewis had sounded so strange, so cold and yet pressing. She sighed. Goodness, what imagination could do to a person!

  She checked her hair in the mirror as there was a knock at the door. Shaking off her apprehension, she went to open it. Paul was there and with him was the middle-aged man with receding grey hair that she recognized as Aaron Bernard.

  Paul smiled as they came in and introduced his companion. Aaron Bernard smiled rather absently at her, his eyes already wandering around the room, seeking the paintings he had come to see.

  “You look around at your leisure, Aaron,” said Paul, patting the older man on the back. “I want a word with Karen.”

  “Good enough,” agreed Aaron, nodding at Karen who was led by Paul out of the lounge and into the minute kitchen.

  “Did you tell your mother everything?” he asked when they were alone in the kitchen.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “Where is she staying?” She smiled. “Sandra, I mean.”

  “It’s a small country pub just outside Brighton, Simon says they’ve been there for drinks in the past, and Sandra always liked it.”

  “I see. Good for Sandra!” she said wryly.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked lazily. “About Aaron, I mean.”

  His words were so like hers that she was sure he was mocking her.

  “Naturally,” she cried restlessly. “I want to know his decision, and yet I’m afraid to hear it.”

  “So. I brought you out here so that you wouldn’t be breathing down his neck while he studied the pictures.”

  “As if I would!” she exclaimed indignantly.

  “Nevertheless, you admit you want to know his decision. Of course you do. And if my opinion is of any consequence, I think you’re going to be a success. Doesn’t that enthral you; excite you?”

  Karen sighed. In truth her feelings about her paintings had faded into insignificance compared to her dealings with Paul and although she was pleased that a man of Aaron Bernard’s character considered them worth looking at she found the initial thrill had palled. Her work was no longer of supreme importance to her. She had grown out of that stage.

  To Paul, however, she said: “Of course it excites me. I feel quite exhilarated. The only thing that mars my pleasure is the worry over Sandra.”

  Paul lit a cigarette. “I shouldn’t place too much emphasis on that young woman,” he murmured. “It may turn out to be a storm in a teacup.”

  Karen looked sceptical. That did not seem very likely to her.

  “Relax!” he exclaimed in an amused tone. Then he turned and pushed open the door leading into the lounge. He walked through into the room and Karen, left alone, leaned over the sink feeling physically sick. What was Paul playing at? He had not mentioned this morning’s fiasco as she had expected, nor had he mentioned Ruth.

  Remembering Lewis’s weird telephone call and now Paul’s indifference, it seemed that the whole world was going slightly off key. Or was it she who was providing all these riddles? Could it be that she was so emotionally disturbed that she was dreaming things that did not really happen? She laughed without humour. Things were what you made them, and she was allowing the trouble over Sandra and her subsequent longing for Paul to get her down.

  She rubbed her heaving stomach, calmed herself and walked casually into the lounge. Aaron Bernard and Paul were talking together and looked speculatively at her as she entered.

  “Well, gentlemen?” she said, forcing a bantering tone. “Have you reached your verdict?”

  Aaron Bernard smiled encouragingly.

  “We have indeed,” he said, looking round at the abstracts. “I’m happy to say that I like them and that I’m very pleased Paul saw fit to tell me about them. Some of them are naturally not as good as others, but in the main the overall feeling is excellent. I think if you go on in this manner you will certainly become an excellent impressionist. If you can produce some more by the autumn I’ll certainly consider giving you a one-man show at my gallery in October.”

  Karen’s face went pale and she sank down on to a chair, her hands pressed to her cheeks.

  “You … you wouldn’t fool me about this, Paul?” she gasped, her mind chaotic.

  Paul shook his head blithely and Aaron Bernard smiled indulgently. Seeing her rather strained expression, Paul crossed to the drinks and poured her a stiff whisky. He put it in her hand and made her sip it at once.

  “No,” said Aaron finally. “I am most pleased to have a first opportunity of seeing these pictures. How long have you been painting?”

  “About two years now,” replied Karen weakly, looking up at Paul. Those two years which had been so long in retrospect.

  “Then it’s amazing,” said Aaron with a shrug. “If my opinion proves correct, in a couple of years you will find you need no further occupation. That is if you wish to give up the work you are doing at present. I understand you are a commercial designer.”

  Karen nodded helplessly. “I can’t take it in. It’s so wonderful.”

  “Then come and see me next week,” said Aaron, smiling understandingly. “When you have had time to collect your thoughts you will find the proposition is quite a good one. Would next Wednesday suit you? Twelve o’clock at the gallery. We could perhaps lunch together.”

  “That would be marvellous,” agreed Karen earnestly. “I don’t know how to express my thanks, Mr. Bernard.”

  He shrugged. “You could begin by offering me a drink,” he remarked, smiling, and Karen blushed and rose to her feet.

  “Of course. How remiss of me. What will you have? And you, Paul?”

  After they had accepted their drinks, Aaron said:

  “I am a business man, Miss Stacey, whatever else I may be. I think your paintings constitute good business. At the moment the market is booming.”

  They chatted together for a while about painting and painters in general, and then Aaron excused himself and left, reminding Karen of their proposed meeting the following week. After he had gone, Karen turned to Paul:

  “He’s a very nice man, isn’t he?” She smiled. “Thank you.”

  Paul shrugged. “Well, well,” he mused. “Karen Stac
ey, artist.”

  Karen hesitated for a moment and then she ran across to him and flung herself into his arms, tears scalding her cheeks.

  “Oh, Paul!” she breathed achingly. “What can I say … or do?”

  “Just be a success,” said Paul rather abruptly, and gently disengaged himself. He didn’t want Karen’s gratitude.

  Karen, not understanding, felt the cold fingers of loneliness touch her heart again, and without a word she lifted her mohair coat and put it on, ignoring his attempt to assist her.

  “Come on,” she murmured, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. “I expect Mother will be waiting impatiently for us.”

  The journey to her mother’s was accomplished in silence and Madeline was ready on the step, waiting for them. Her eyes widened appreciatively as she slid into the luxurious automobile. This was her idea of living. Luxury had always appealed to Madeline Stacey.

  Paul assisted her and then slid back in beside Karen. His thigh brushed against hers and Karen felt something like an electric shock at the touch of his body. She was so overwhelmingly conscious of the nearness of him that it was like a physical pain. His eyes looked into hers for a moment, probingly, and she felt her heart flutter and subside again as he turned on the ignition.

  Her mother spoke and broke the tension.

  “Which hotel is Sandra staying at?” she asked, addressing her remarks to them both.

  Paul expertly passed a stationary vehicle and then said:

  “The Barn Owl.” He smiled dryly. “It’s hardly a hotel. More of a public house.”

  “Oh, Paul!” exclaimed Madeline. “Sandra! Staying at a place like that. Is it in Brighton?”

  “No, just outside. A village called Barneton, I believe. Simon gave me directions. It’s apparently clean, and quite good,” he went on, glancing at Karen. “Simon has often taken his girl-friends there for drinks.”

  “And the rest,” cried Madeline achingly. “Really, Paul, how can Simon act so rashly? And he a married man, too.”

  “Don’t ask me,” answered Paul coolly. “I’m not his keeper, any more than you are Sandra’s.”