Seen By Candlelight. Anne Mather

well-dressed, assured business tycoon that he was. If he had grown a little more cynical with the years that was only to be expected of a man with his wealth and position, who knew that money could buy most things he wanted.

      He reached the table and seated himself opposite her with a brief nod. Conscious that they were the cynosure of all eyes, Karen flushed and looked down at her drink.

      “Well, Karen,” he murmured lightly, “you haven’t changed much. Still as beautiful as ever, and as talented too, I hear.”

      Karen looked up at him and for a moment his dark eyes held hers. Then with a rush she said:

      “Thank you, Paul. You haven’t changed, either. Are you still working hard, too?”

      He half smiled in a mocking manner. “I was, until I was dragged to a certain luncheon appointment.”

      Karen looked indignantly at him. “You need not have come,” she stated abruptly, colouring.

      “Oh, really? With you flinging innuendoes left, right and centre? Besides, you set out to make me curious and you succeeded. That should please you.”

      The wine waiter appeared by his side and he ordered himself a whisky and another Martini for Karen. After the wine waiter had left, the head waiter arrived for their order, and Paul took the menu and ordered for them both as he had always done in the past.

      When his whisky had been supplied together with Karen’s Martini and they were waiting for the first course to be served, he said:

      “No retaliation yet. I felt sure you were thinking up some vitriolic reply while I studied the food.”

      “Don’t be so clever,” she retorted, disliking his mocking treatment of her. “I ought to be congratulating you on your engagement, but I won’t.”

      “Thank you, all the same. Was that what you wanted to talk about?”

      Karen gasped. “I told you it had nothing to do with us,” she snapped angrily.

      Paul shrugged, and iced melon was served. Karen felt singularly unhungry, which was quite unusual for her, and only toyed with the food.

      Paul ate his and then said: “Well, come on, then. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

      Karen pushed her plate away.

      “My … my mother asked me to speak to you,” she began slowly.

      “Oh. I see. And how is Madeline these days?” He swallowed the remainder of his drink. “I keep meaning to visit her.”

      “She’s all right,” replied Karen, glad of the brief diversion. “I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to see you. You were always her blue-eyed boy, in a manner of speaking, of course.” This last because she knew his eyes were a very dark grey so as to appear almost black at times.

      “Good.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well … go on.”

      Karen reluctantly continued. “It’s really about Sandra that I wanted to speak to you,” she said.

      “Why? Does she need money or something?”

      “No,” retorted Karen shortly. “Money; the be-all and end-all of everything to you, I suppose.”

      “It helps,” he remarked sardonically.

      “Anyway, it’s not money. Sandra is going around with Simon … your dear brother Simon, that is.”

      “Simon?” 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