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Authors: Kathryn Blair

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BOOK: The Primrose Bride
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Where her own gaiety was drawn from Karen did not know. She ate, sipped some wine and laughed just as much as was expected of her. Min Gan received a flood of compliments and vanished, but the guests remained a single group, round Andrew and Karen.


You know,

came a metallic drawl from the slightly tipsy Rita Vaughan,

there

s something awfully primitive about eating lotus flowers, even when they

re short-crust stuffed with mincemeat. The least I expected was that Andrew would take his woman by the hair and smother her with kisses, then and there.


Darling,

her husband whispered entreatingly.

But Andrew said, smilingly toleran
tl
y,

You

re a bit out of date, Rita. That might have been daring back in nineteen hundred, but in these days rather more is left to the imagination.

Vaughan

s wife flicked her fingers, nonchalantly.

Too much, and it makes life tedious. You

re such a levelheaded brute, Andrew, that I wonder you ever married at all. Wives are always a nuisance. Ask my husband.


Wives are very necessary,

stated Molly Mears comfortably and emphatically.

There isn

t a bachelor in Nemaka who wouldn

t be a great deal happier if he were married.
A woman makes a home, relaxes a man and helps him in his career.


Oh, we all know that,

said Rita with a silly smile.

Don

t we, Andrew?

She turned to Karen.

You

ve got a whale of a man there. In about a year he

ll be a High Commissioner, and from there it

s only a step to his first
governorship. He

s got you just at the right time, honey.
A year in
Nemak
a
being
tutored by Lady Prichard, and you in the
background all the time.”


Is that the present trend of gossip?

asked Andrew mildly.

You seem to get to know the promotions well in advance.

Rita nodded sagely.

This coconut telegraph, you know. Besides, Sir Wallace was quite outspoken after you

d gone on leave.

Again she swung round to address Karen.

We all knew Andrew would come back with a wife, but he

s such a dark horse that we weren

t aware he was holding you in the background all the time.


A pity,

Andrew said, as tolerantly as before.

We

ll have to reorganize the coconut radio.

Rita

s husband was gripping anxiously at her elbow.

All right, I know,

she said, with a lift of her bony shoulders.

I only thought it might please Karen to know that though we all gave Andrew addresses of eligible young women, he chose the girl from back home in Cornwall. You

ve been married only a fortnight, haven

t you, Karen? He must have left looking you over till last.

The final words were spoken so amiably that hardly anyone, just then, was aware of their import. And the fact that Rita sagged back against her husband, looking ill, was an additional veil upon the woman

s imprudence. Dr. Mears at once advised
that Vaughan take his wife home and said
that he himself was due to look in at the hospital before bed. Goodnights were said.

A youngish woman whispered in the soft darkness to Karen,

Pay no. attention to Rita. She hasn

t drunk much, but she can

t take even a little. If she remembers what she
said
this evening she

ll be sick with remorse.

Most people walked up the road, but two couples drove. Tony Horwell was the last to leave, and he had scarcely reached the road before Karen was back in the living room, dousing the paraffin lamps. Andrew came in and closed the door. He pulled in the french doors and turned the key, remained with his back to them. He couldn

t have seen how her fingers shook as she turned down the second lamp, for he said easily,


Well, that

s over. You managed splendidly.

She looked up at him, white-faced.

You really think so? Had I enough dignity enough sense to keep quiet when things blew up? Would you say I

ve proved myself worthy of the extreme honor of being Mrs. Eliot?

His jaw hardened slightly.

You

re spoiling for a quarrel of some sort; I

ve known that since last night. But I won

t row with you, Karen, though I

m quite ready to talk. One thing I refuse to discuss, though, is the drooling of a woman like Rita Vaughan. Both she and Clive know that she should never have come to a place like Nemaka. He

s getting a transfer to Hong Kong, but it

s come late, and I doubt if she

ll be able to rebuild their marriage. Rita

s come to a point where all she can do with a brain that used to be good is fool around with gossip.


Even gossip has to start somewhere! Do you deny that the Governor told you to find a wife?


This isn

t the way for us to talk to each other, Karen.


But
did
he?


He didn

t
tell
me,

he answered roughly.

We discussed certain
possibilities in the future and agreed that marriage might be a necessity.


And no doubt Lady Prichard put in a diplomatic word about choosing someone with the right kind of education and looks! She sounds like a priggish Victorian horror, but that wouldn

t daunt you. You thought the sweet and tractable Karen would be too bemused by her own miraculous luck to care why she

d been toted round England and taught to take a drink and drive. I

m afraid I have to disappoint you, Andrew. I don

t want to be the wife of a High Commissioner, I don

t want to be above other women or to spend my life making an impression on the natives. You may be unbelievably good at your job, but you

re a poor judge of women. I

m not what you were after!

His eyes glinted dangerously, but he still kept his tones even.

Rita

s muddled indiscretions aren

t really what

s worrying you, are they? They

re just something you can hurl at me because we both heard them. You

re using Rita as an outlet for something you

re afraid to mention. Will you come out with it or shall I?

She shook a little, hating his shrewdness, his keen probing at the truth, the look of anger in him when surely it was she who had the right to be angry. What had she told herself—that it was useless to attempt matching her own wits against his? Why hadn

t she remembered that, and suppressed her feelings!

Head lowered, she said,

You won

t even discuss what Mrs. Vaughan implied. Why should we go further?


Because anything that concerns you and me is important. Rita isn

t.


Perhaps you

re just a wee bit too clever, Andrew.


I wonder. Maybe I

ll experiment, to find out.

He took a pace towards her. She backed, placed both hands flat against the wall and looked at
him
with eyes gone dark and staring.


Don

t
...
touch me.

His eyes blazed, but somehow he kept his furious tones under control.

We

re married, you and I, and I won

t let you forget it. We

ve sworn to love each other, and if that means rather more than you thought, you

ll have to change your ideas! Not at once, perhaps, but soon. I want nothing from you that you can

t give happily and without fear

don

t kid yourself that I

m different from other men, though. I

m flesh and blood, very much so.

Breathing rather heavily, he ended, with sarcasm,

Go to bed,
child.
And you needn

t lock your door tonight. We don

t have marauders in these parts!

She swallowed on the harsh lu
m
p in her throat. Desperately, she wanted to tell him how she felt about the dreadful sense of let-down, the hurt within her, and the need. But he stood there, his hands fallen to his sides and clenched, his nostrils slightly dilated, his mouth sardonic while his eyes glittered. A man of dynamic passions and tremendous will; a man she had barely glimpsed in England.

Hopelessly she turned from him and made her way through to her bedroom. She felt as limp and distorted as if she had been through a wringer.

Subtly the atmosphere in the house changed from an oppressive electrical heat to an equally oppressive but less dangerous coolness. Without any verbal agreement the pattern of their behavior was temporarily set. Andrew had breakfast alone, they lunched and dined together, and spoke only when necessary or for the sake of politeness. A few times, during the following couple of days, Karen wondered at his fury the other night and his present constraint both were so unlike anything she had ever known about Andrew. Always she had found him forthright and companionable, keen to keep her smiling. There had been times when he had been lordly and debonair, when he had told her improbable stories just to make her throw back her head and laugh; they had done so much laughing together during those first three weeks, had found so many tiny bonds. They both liked asparagus and Beethoven, Dickens and hard-centred
chocolates
; both detested mushy
films
and liver, the smell of chrysanthemums and the taste of swimming-pool water. True, Andrew had laughed at her as well as with her, but it had been kind laughter, the sort that went with a squeeze of her shoulder or a pat on her; hair, or even a light kiss on her cheek.

And now it was all gone, bewilderingly and heartbreakingly. From a sweet friendly relationship that had been headily full of the promise of tremendous fulfilment, they had plunged into an enmity which made them worse than strangers. And it had come about because Andrew was not in love with her. He was fond of her, but he wasn

t in love with her. That was the stark truth she had to accept and somehow deal with. The friendship she had hugged and cherished, the tiny moments of intimacy, the shared fun, his capture of her aunts—he had arranged them all because he saw in Karen Hurst an embryo of the kind of wife he would need in a year or two. She didn

t have to wonder any longer whether it could possibly be true; in no time at all it had been confirmed from opposite sources. Unwittingly, she had become the wife of a charmingly merciless careerist; and to her utter desolation she was still in love with him. That was why she felt paralyzed, unable as yet to make a single move towards ending the mockery.

BOOK: The Primrose Bride
7.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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