Lightning Encounter (16 page)

The longer you have happiness, the more able it is to withstand the knocks of life. A very new happiness is fragile, as fragile as an egg shell.

How will you do it, Val? she thought. Will you slice the top off my happiness in one fell swoop? Or will you tap at it and peel it off in tiny, messy little bits?

‘What a pretty costume.' She hadn't heard Val enter her room and she was momentarily startled. Val prattled on: ‘Is it for a party? A fancy dress party? I love parties, don't you? May I try on your party dress, please?'

Karen found she needed a few moments to
collect
herself. Perhaps her silence was taken for assent because when she turned round, Val was falling out of her own muted candy-striped cotton and pulling the bright scarlet folds over her corn-yellow hair. She stood back for appraisal, her thumbs hooking her slight waist, long fingers covering each hip bone.

‘Nice, m-m?' she solicited.

‘Nice, m-m!' agreed Karen swallowing hard. More than nice. Val wore the dress in the orthodox way, so that the bright material brushed the nape of her neck and plunged to show the cleavage of her firm young breasts. Looking at the creamy perfection of her flesh, Karen felt a stab of jealousy because she could never wear the dress as it was meant to be worn, but must always cling to high necks because of her imperfection: her scar. Yet despite this difference, and the dissimilarity in their colouring, she felt as if she was looking at herself. She hadn't realized before how much of a type they were, even though Ian had frequently told her the ingredients were the same, she hadn't thought he meant it quite so literally. And yet, on the night, she couldn't have looked as winsome and as appealingly lovely as Val did at this moment, with her flushed cheeks and her long legs and a sparkle in her eye Karen couldn't remember seeing before.

Silly, but she wished Val would skip out of that dress and back into her own muted candy-
stripe
with the muted personality that went with it. There was something about this Val. She looked so gay and vital and alive.

An odd thought possessed Karen. She felt as if the clock had been turned back and she was being shown a glimpse of the girl she had once been, before she met Mitch and tragedy again overshadowed her life. The smile was no longer sad and quick-silver but assured, bubbling, free.

Karen didn't know when she began to feel afraid. Perhaps it was then; perhaps it was later when, for a moment, her eyes met Val's as she put the Mandy dress on a hanger in the wardrobe. For some reason the veiled, secretive look reminded her of the shadow flitting away from the doorway. In that moment she knew Val had witnessed that tender, private scene in the kitchen when Ian had pulled her into his arms. But if she had seen, what did it matter? She could think of no reason to observe secrecy, only this vague idea it would have been wiser in the long run.

As the day wore on, her fancies diminished. Val helped with the household chores, and her willingness and newfound gaiety infected Karen. She readily admitted there was a change in Val, but because the mood remained constant and didn't develop into sulks as she had feared, she not only accepted the change but owned to a feeling of relief. Still firmly convinced that Val had seen, she could only
assume
it didn't matter and she actually chided herself for having doubts. Everything was going to be all right!

In a little while she would start dinner preparations, she might even slip over and pack Ian's suitcase for his Paris trip tomorrow, to save him the task when he came home. Unselfish Ian, all cramped up in his room over the garage when he could be getting the full use of his lovely home.

Somewhere outside a blackbird was singing its heart out, and the sun skipped in at the window fingering Ian's desk and the solid oak gateleg table. She thought her father would like to paint this room. It was an artist's idyll, and a woman's joy.

She wondered how long the present situation could go on and wished she knew what the future held in store.

Val was sitting in the opposite deep leather armchair, her elbow punching a plump rainbow cushion. She sat up with an urgency of movement that sent the bright cushion spinning across the polished floor and galvanised Karen's attention. Yet nothing, nothing at all, could have prepared her for Val's bombshell as she said, straining slightly forward, her mouth teased up by the merest suspicion of a smile: ‘Look, I know this is going to sound ridiculous, and if I could possibly rephrase I would. But do I know you?'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The blackbird was still singing its heart out in proximity to the window, which was open to billow the curtain, and the scents of an English country garden mingled with the fragrance of beeswax. Karen retrieved the cushion from the floor. It was the beeswax which gave it its lovely shine. Ian had told her his grandmother had used it to preserve and beautify, and one day when time rested heavily on her hands, she had set to with polishing rags and a vast reserve of energy and determination.

‘What did you say?' she gasped, clutching the cushion to her breast as if it would ward off something that was ghastly and unbelievable.

‘I asked,' repeated Val, hugging her slender knees and looking totally unconcerned, ‘if I knew you. Do you live locally, I mean?'

‘I live here,' she said, resolving to stay calm. Whatever happened she must not lose her head.

‘Of course you do now,' said Val, her voice incorporating a chuckle.

‘It just occurred to me you might come from hereabouts. Ian is such a stickler for drawing his labour-force from local inhabitants. Oh dear! does that sound terribly condescending. I didn't meant it to. Not when you've been such a brick and dropped whatever you were doing
to
come and chaperon me. Isn't that an old-fashioned word?' She wrinkled her nose. ‘But then, this is an old-fashioned village. Perhaps Ian was right. Perhaps we should have got married straight away. Gran would have understood. She wouldn't have wanted us to mourn. But, I don't know, it didn't seem right. Do you think it would have been right, Miss—?'

‘My name is Karen.'

‘Of course, how remiss of me to forget.' She paused, to let the significance of her words sink in. ‘But you haven't answered my question?'

‘That's because I can't.'

‘You think it's a matter for the heart to decide?'

‘What Karen felt like saying was, I think you're shamming. I'm ninety-nine per cent sure you're shamming. But she said: ‘Why Val? Why are you doing this to me?'

‘I don't know what you mean.' The eyes were guileless, yet Karen had to press on. ‘Is it because of what you saw and heard this morning at the kitchen door? Or because I took your place in the act with Mitch?'

‘Mitch?' queried the girl looking convincingly puzzled.

Karen's heart quailed. Desperately she said: ‘Howard Mitchell. You must remember him.'

‘Oh yes!' acknowledged Val brightly, and Karen began to breathe freely again until she
added:
‘Ian's always talking about him. He's promised to bring him home, one day soon, to introduce us.'

‘No!' shrieked Karen, and before she could stop herself she leapt forward, grasped Val by the shoulders and shook her in sheer exasperation. ‘You will tell me the truth. You will, d'you hear?'

‘You're hurting me,' protested Val. Immediately Karen's hands dropped away, but the impression of her fingers remained on the white flesh. Val stared at the marks and a look of triumph leapt to her eye. ‘You attacked me. I shall tell Ian and then he will send you away.'

‘That's what you want, isn't it?' said Karen shakily, before fleeing from the room. Her legs were trembling so much she couldn't manage the stairs. She sat for a moment, hidden by the bend, and she heard Val lift up the telephone receiver and dial a number. It wasn't a miracle of deduction to assume she was telephoning Ian. What a tale she would have to tell, thought Karen, dragging herself up the stairs and out of earshot.

After a while she heard Val go into her own room. Karen went downstairs and busied herself preparing a meal while waiting for Ian to come home. She thought, the moment he comes in I shall know whose side he's on. But she didn't. She couldn't tell anything from his face. Apparently he could tell a lot from hers.

‘Something's happened?' He covered the
distance
between them in long urgent strides and took her cold hands in his. ‘What is it, Karen?'

It didn't occur to her that he should have known what it was. She said: ‘Val is pretending to have a memory lapse. She has gone back to the time shortly after your grandmother's death.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘That she is pretending, or that she has gone back in time? No matter, the answer is yes on both accounts. I lost my temper and tried to shake the truth out of her. But you'll know all about that.'

‘How will I know?'

‘Because Val phoned you. I heard her dial the number and begin to speak.'

‘That's hardly conclusive. But we'll leave that for the moment. Why would Val pretend to have a memory lapse?'

‘Because she eavesdropped on us this morning in the kitchen.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I saw her shadow flit away.'

‘You didn't mention it.'

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I didn't think it was important.' He pondered for a moment. ‘Why didn't I see anything?'

‘Because the bacon fat splashed on your hand and that occupied your attention. But why are you asking me all these questions?' she said pulling her hands out of his. He didn't
reply
straight away, and then he harked back to an old theme. ‘You don't like Val very much, do you?'

She gasped: ‘That's got nothing to do with it. Are you suggesting I'm inventing it?'

‘That isn't the word I'd choose. Val didn't telephone me,' he said levelly. ‘This is the first I've heard of it.'

‘Then who did she phone?' puzzled Karen in dismay. ‘What further mischief is she plotting?'

He said tonelessly: ‘Is she in her room? I'll go up and have a word with her.'

When he came back down, a good twenty minutes later, he said: ‘I admit she seems unwilling to talk about things, but I'd say it's a natural reluctance, not a memory lapse.'

Karen stared in stricken disbelief. It was a full minute before she thought to urge: ‘Phone the hospital. They'd know. They'd see through her straight away.'

He said, giving his words a good deal of thought: ‘If there's anything to see through. Would you ask me to put her through the whole harrowing ordeal again, on a mere hunch?' When he saw how unhappy she looked he added: ‘I might at that, but the one who knows her inside out is on holiday.'

‘Damn! I'd forgotten that. Will you still go to Paris?'

‘Sweetheart.' His arms reached out to her and held her in a bear hug.

‘Of
course I must go to Paris. Admit you could have done some conclusion jumping about the eavesdropping . . . and the phone call.'

She opened her mouth to protest, then remembered she had jumped to a conclusion about the telephone call. ‘Please Ian, don't go to Paris. Call it a hunch or what you like, but I know something is going to happen to drive us apart if you go to Paris tomorrow.'

He frowned. ‘I must go. But if it will please you, I'll telescope three days' work into one and catch the first available flight back. I'll even book a telephone call for tomorrow evening at nine-o'clock to make certain you're all right.' With that Karen had to be satisfied.

Next morning Val seemed perfectly recovered, and Karen wondered uneasily if she could have imagined it. Then she thought crossly, of course I didn't. All the time she watched Val, trying to gauge what was going on in her mind. Twice she caught her laughing surreptitiously and this increased the agony of waiting. Finally, when she thought she could bear the suspense no longer, Val said she was going out for the day.

‘I'd rather you didn't,' said Karen.

That met with a puckish smile. ‘Because of my memory lapse? We both know I invented that.'

Mystified Karen asked: ‘Why? It doesn't make sense.'

‘Have
patience,' said Val. ‘It will.'

‘I don't know what you are going to do, or why you are going to do it,' said Karen wearily. ‘You can't want Ian. You don't love him.'

Val walked over to the window and stared at the trees. ‘I hate this view,' she said aggressively. ‘I wish the Forestry Commission would chop the trees down. No, I don't love Ian. But I still want him. He makes me feel cherished and protected.'

‘That's not enough, Val.'

‘It is for me. I've known love, remember. It swallows you whole, like the trees out there. Perhaps you like being swallowed whole?'

‘Perhaps I do at that. I like going for walks in the wood. I want Ian to love me. Please don't spoil it for me.'

In replying, Val touched on a tender spot. ‘How do you know there's anything to spoil? Can you say he loves you on the strength of a kiss or two?'

‘No.' In his own words, it's possible to want to make love to a person without being in love with them. He'd said that just before taking her in his arms.

‘Ian hates Mitch,' said Val. ‘He wasn't very pleased with you for teaming up with him.'

‘He told you about that?'

‘Everything.'

That's a fabrication, thought Karen. He didn't tell you. I can sense you know all about it, so somebody must have told you. But not
Ian.
But there's no other interested party, save for perhaps, Mitch.

‘Doesn't it scare you what would happen if you repeated the indiscretion?' probed Val silkily.

‘Not really. Because I've no intention of getting involved with Mitch again.'