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
