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
