'You needn't have done that.' Lydia did not seem to notice that she had been holding the telephone. Her earlier remark had been spoken over the mouthpiece and now, in a smooth casual movement, she replaced the receiver without having said anything more to the other person - not even goodbye.

  'You could have put it down beside the chaise-longue - or even called me and I'd have come and taken it.' Lydia moved kitchenwards, away from the telephone. As though she had not been using it at all. Or hoped that Karen would not notice that she had been.

  'I wanted a sweater,' Karen said smoothly. 'It's cooler outside than it looks.' Perhaps they were right to distrust her when she could lie so easily. Even she had not suspected this capability within herself.

  'It usually is - in this country.' Lydia accepted the explanation without surprise. 'You just sit down there and tell me which sweater you want and I'll run up and get it for you quicker than quick.'

  'That won't be necessary.' Even through the cottonwool layers of shock that cocooned her off from the world, this bland assumption of Lydia's that she had been deprived of all physical facilities was becoming irritating. 'I know just what I want and where it is. I can get it far more quickly than you can.'

  As though time mattered. As though time had not stopped on . . . Sunday? Or Monday? Or Tuesday . . . When?

  'Well - ' Lydia looked dubious. 'If you're absolutely sure - '

  'Isn't that the kettle I hear?' Karen lifted her head questioningly.

  'Oh, er - it might be.' Lydia was temporarily stalemated. To admit that she had not yet put the kettle on might lead to questions about what she had been doing. Second and third thoughts seemed to flash across her face, ending with a decision to retreat as gracefully as possible. 'I'll just go and see.'

  Karen waited until she heard the sound of water surreptitiously gushing into the kettle from the tap before she moved. Then she crossed silently to the studio door, opened it, reached around it and removed the key from the inside lock, transferred it swiftly to her side of the door, closed the door and turned the key. The gush of relief she felt at having accomplished this told her that she had been under greater tension than she had realized.

  Holding the key tightly in her hand, she ascended the stairs. A sweater - perhaps a cardigan - with pockets, that was what she wanted now, so that she could keep the key with her.

  The bedroom seemed dark and enormous, the big double bed looked wide enough to engulf several people. Even the mirror seemed darker, as though the silver had tarnished overnight. It all seemed suspended in a curious vacuum.

  She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a thick-knit oatmeal jacket with large patch pockets. Their Unisex jacket, John had called it. Big enough to fit either of them, and with a loose tie-belt and no buttons. They were in the habit of using it interchangeably when either of them just wanted to sit outdoors, or go for a short jaunt in the car.

  Karen put it on, finding a faint comfort in the familiar folds, and thrust her hands into the pockets, opening one hand to allow the studio key to fall loose into a corner.

  There were already keys there. She pulled them out and looked at them blankly for a moment before recognition came. Of course, they were John's spare set of car keys. He had been wearing the jacket last weekend when he drove to the local garage to have some minor adjustment made to the steering and the petrol tank filled. She dropped them back into the pocket. Like the studio key, she would know where they were when needed. Right now, the car would be at the airport parking lot, waiting for John to reclaim it when he returned from -

  She switched her mind away from that thought and crossed over to the dressing-table, taking a few paper handkerchiefs from the dispenser to cram into her pocket to muffle the jangle of metal when she moved. There was no point in calling Lydia's attention to the whereabouts of any keys.

  'Honey, are you all right - ?' As though thinking about her had conjured her up, Lydia stood in the doorway, peering in at Karen.

  Why shouldn't I be? Once again, she tried to restrain her sense of irritation. It was not Lydia's fault that they were both in this position. But it wasn't her fault either.

  'Of course.' She picked up a lipstick and leaned forward into the mirror, automatically running the tube of colour over her lips. It was a shade that John hated, she realized too late, but that didn't matter now. Perhaps it would never matter again.

  She replaced the lipstick and took up a perfume phial, splashing the scent recklessly on to throat and wrists. John knew she was nearly out of it and was going to bring back a fresh dutyfree -

  'I'm just coming.' Shaken at the way her mind could still betray her, she put down the perfume and turned blankly from the mirror. She knew - it was seared into her mind as nothing else had ever been before, as perhaps nothing would ever be again - knew that John had disappeared, might not be coming home. And yet, from some corner of her consciousness, could come the smooth assurance that nothing had changed; nothing more serious than a flight delay had occurred, and that everything would be going on as before.

  'It will be better downstairs.' Lydia reached out sympathetically, as though she would put an arm around her waist, and then drew back almost shyly. 'Come on.'

  'Yes, downstairs,' Karen said. She paused in the doorway, looking back into the empty echoing room. She knew suddenly that she would not sleep there again. Not until John came home.

  Until then, she would sleep in the studio, where she could feel warmer, safer. On the very comfortable divan bed in the studio, surrounded - and supported - by her work in progress all around her.

  'That's right, honey.' She was aware, as from a distance, that Lydia was leading her, coaxing her, down the stairs, into the living-room, and pushing her gently, seating her in the big wing chair.

  'Would you rather have tea or coffee, honey? It's no trouble, whichever you want. I could do with a cup myself.' Lydia carefully refrained from specifying which, presumably in order not to sway her choice.

  'Poor Lydia.' Karen looked at her suddenly, noting the lines of strain across her forehead and around her eyes. 'You and Vernon do have your problems with your foreign colleagues, don't you?'

  'Now, honey, I don't want to hear you talking that way.' Lydia's eyes narrowed slightly, losing something of their sympathetic glint. 'You aren't a colleague - you're a friend. And your problems are my problems.'

  Not quite. Vernon would be coming home tonight. And Vernon was in the country - available for consultation - now. Karen was abruptly certain that it was Vernon to whom Lydia had been speaking during that interrupted telephone conversation. It had all been done too smoothly, bespeaking too much practice. She would not dare to treat anyone else in that manner. Only her husband - only Vernon.

  'I'd like tea, please.' She smiled sweetly at Lydia. That would keep Lydia out of the way longer than coffee. Tea was still fairly new territory to Lydia and she would take more time trying to find all the proper equipment and trying to brew it properly.

  'In two shakes of a lamb's tail,' Lydia said cheerfully, and highly inaccurately. She whisked away as though she were as happy to go as Karen was to see her go.

  Karen leaned back into the wing chair and closed her eyes. When she opened them again - if she opened them again - it might be to the day before yesterday, to last week, to the world as it used to be, to -

  The telephone shrilled abruptly. She did not move, did not open her eyes, knowing that the miracle had not - could not have - happened. The telephone went on ringing.

  'Hello?' Lydia had come in from the kitchen, footsteps sounding briskly, even on the carpet, to answer.

  'Oh, Simone. No - no, it's me, Lydia. She's asleep. I don't want to wake her. She's had enough - '

  Simone evidently cut in with some remark. Karen kept her eyes closed and could hear annoyance in Lydia's tone.

  'No, you can't talk to her right now. There can't be anything so important that it can't wait for a little while longer - '

  Again a silence while something was protested at the other end of the line.

  'Is there any message, Simone?' Lydia asked dismissively. 'If not, I'll tell her you called.'

  The sound of the receiver crashing down was audible even from where Karen sat. Then came the more controlled, reserved click of Lydia's receiver being replaced.

  'Well,' she said thoughtfully to Karen's inert form. 'I didn't think you'd feel like talking to her right now.'

  Without waiting for a reply, she returned to the kitchen, leaving Karen unsure as to whether Lydia had seen through her slight deception, or just spoken her thoughts as a matter of course.

  Chapter VI

  'Now, we must not panic.' Harvey Livingston ran his handkerchief over his forehead, not for the first time. 'This is a time when we must have faith in each other, when we must stand firm.' He tugged at his already loosened tie, and undid the top button of his shirt.

  'I reiterate - ' He glared at them as though he had been challenged. 'We must not panic.'

  'But, Har-vee,' Simone said, in tones of sweet reasonableness. 'It is not to panic. Kaa-ren only asks whether we have notified the police yet.' She hesitated. 'This is the question, surely, that any wife would ask.'

  That any innocent party would ask, she meant.

  'Of course, of course,' Harvey said. 'I am not disputing that, Simone. I am simply pointing out that we must not take precipitate action at this point. It could do more harm than good.'

  Wednesday night - seventy-two hours. Scarcely precipitate. The police might wonder why they had not been notified well before this point - in view of all the circumstances.

  'But, Har-vee - ' Simone had obviously had the same thought - 'if we do not mention this to the police soon, will they not be annoyed when we do?'

  'I can't see how they would be,' Harvey shot Simone a harassed look. 'They ought to be the first to understand that we would want to allow a trusted colleague time to - ' He avoided Karen's eyes. 'Time to come to his senses.'

  Lydia made a little tut-tutting sound of distress. She turned to Karen.

  'Honey, are you sure you want to stay here and listen to all this? It isn't going to do you any good. Why don't you go upstairs and lie down - ?'

  Not upstairs. 'I'm all right,' Karen said. Furthermore, she was vitally concerned. More so than any of them. How could they imagine that she might docilely retire to a darkened chamber and allowed them to sort out her fate? 'I'll stay.'

  'After all - ' Harvey was in full flight. 'This is John Warden Randolph we're talking about. Our John - not some fly-by-night Johnny-come-lately who wormed his way into a position of responsibility. We thought -think - the world of John. He kept Harding Handicrafts afloat during dark stormy times, he steered it through financial reefs and into the safe harbour of Vandergreit Enterprises. We were proud and pleased to give him a seat on our Board of Directors - '

  At Simone's side, Derek Conway stirred restlessly. Apart from Karen, he was the only person in the room who was not on the Board of Directors. One always suspected that it rankled.

  'We cannot withdraw our faith in him at this time. Why - ' Harvey's tone broadened into forced jocularity - 'why, to suspect John would be as unthinkable as suspecting Vernon, here!'

  Vernon tried to look modest and succeeded in looking sanctimonious. 'Hear, hear,' Lydia murmured, patting his hand.

  'Men have brainstorms.' Simone shrugged. 'This is well known.'

  Everyone carefully refrained from glancing at Derek, one of whose brainstorms had left the typing pool and subsequently given birth to twins in London four months later. It was another reason why he would never be offered that coveted seat on the Board of Directors. The wise executive doesn't foul his own nest.

  'Well, I agree with Karen.' Lydia was sitting between Karen and Vernon. This time she leaned over and patted Karen's hand. 'I think you're just jumping to the worst possible conclusion without any real evidence at all.'

  The worst possible conclusion? That was an interesting sidelight on Lydia's own character. Did she honestly believe that it was worse for a man to disappear for a -a fling with his secretary than to be lying dead and unidentified in some foreign morgue? Karen preferred Simone's brainstorm theory. From a brainstorm, a man could come back. Derek was living proof of that. Living.

  'I still think the Belgian police should be contacted,' Karen said. 'I'm sure your Brussels office is very good - but I believe the police would do a better job of checking all the hospitals. They'll know of places - '

  'Ah yes,' Harvey said. He looked like a man who was wishing he could remove his jacket but did not feel that either the occasion or the temperature really warranted such an action. 'Yes, believe me, Karen, I do see your point.'

  'Honey, you've just got to be patient,' Lydia said. 'These things work themselves out in their own time. We can't - '

  'Every possible enquiry has been made. And in all the correct places. I have checked this personally.' Simone appeared to be affronted. 'The police could not do more.'

  'I feel we are off on a tangent.' Vernon intervened, as though calling a meeting to order. 'I feel that we are making a mistake by concentrating on the negative aspect so much. We should look for something positive.'

  As at a Board Meeting, one by one the heads turned towards him, almost in awe. Even those who were accustomed to seeing Vernon in action could still be astounded by the heights of fatuity to which he could rise.

  'But continue, Vernon.' Simone's voice was carefully bland. 'We are all most anxious to learn what positive aspects you have found in this.'

  'Now, that is why we are here,' Vernon said. 'So that Karen can help us. To start with, Karen - ' he leaned forward earnestly. 'I want you to tell us everything John said to you before he left on Friday.'

  'He didn't say anything.' Karen tried to match his calm tone. 'All he said was goodbye.'

  Simone nodded as though a private opinion had been confirmed.

  'Now, Karen,' Vernon said. 'You're being negative again.'

  'I didn't mean that,' Karen said. 'I just meant he said goodbye - the way he does every time he goes off on a business trip. There was nothing different about this time.'

  'Are you sure?' Harvey seemed to feel that he had been out of the action long enough. 'We want you to think carefully, Karen. Think very, very carefully.'

  'It was just like any other trip,' Karen insisted. What did they imagine? That John had kissed her passionately, murmured, 'Meet me in Istanbul in a fortnight,' and slipped a forged passport into her hand?

  Yes. She looked around despairingly at their intent, humourless faces. Yes, that was probably just what they did imagine.

  Of course, that didn't account for Grace.

  'Just start at the beginning,' Harvey prompted. 'The alarm went off and you got up - '

  'We came downstairs and had breakfast.' She picked up the thread dutifully, humouring them. It was the only way to prove that there was nothing useful for them to learn. 'Then John said goodbye and - '

  'Now, now, take it more slowly. You're skipping over things. We want - ' Vernon frowned at her portentously - 'we want to know about everything.'

  'But - '

  'For instance,' Harvey put in helpfully, 'what did you have for breakfast?'

  Caviar and champagne. Followed by baked stuffed peacock —

  'And who - ' Lydia nodded pointedly - 'cooked it?'

  They were trying to be kind. They were kind. Another Board of Directors might have done more than check the hospitals and try to dissuade her from calling the police. With a quarter of a million pounds in bearer bonds missing, a less loyal group of colleagues might have rushed to the police without even talking to her first. The first she knew about it might have been when the newspaper reporters appeared at the door.

  'Take it from the beginning again,' Vernon said. 'Start with getting up.'

  'John got up first and went into the bathroom.' She must try to be co-operative. 'He'd packed the night before, just leaving his case open to put in the last-minute things. Then, when he came out and packed his toothbrush and shaving kit, I went in.'

  'Just a minute - ' Vernon said. 'What were you doing in the meantime?'

  'Meantime - ?'

  'While he was in the bathroom.'

  'I turned over and napped for another few minutes.' There was no reason she should feel so defensive about it. 'I was working late the night before. On the Fairy-tale Tea-Set,' she reminded him.

  'Yes, yes.' He forgave her. 'That's all right.'

  The American Directors were slightly schizophrenic where she was concerned. On the one hand, it was practically sacred writ to them that company wives should have no other reason for existence than to stand by their husbands, have meals waiting for them when they came in, listen breathlessly to every utterance - and chime in with any brilliant ideas that might help said husband climb to the top. Lydia was a shining example of this. On no account was the wife expected to have any interest outside the home. Certainly she was not expected to have a career of her own.

  On the other hand, Karen was a valuable member of the creative staff. Furthermore, she had already been married to John when Harding Handicrafts had been taken over. They had been forced to swallow their prejudices and accept the situation as they found it, their desire to press her to conform to company tradition counterbalanced by their realization that they would lose one of the best designers in the ceramic field if they did. An uneasy truce had been declared, but there were moments when she could still see that it rankled.

  'Go on, dear.' Lydia was carefully masking her opinion of a woman who would not leap out of bed and joyously prepare her husband's breakfast.

  'When I came out of the bath, John had dressed and gone downstairs. I heard him putting the kettle on.' Karen speeded up her narrative. 'I got dressed and went down. He was on the telephone, so I started breakfast - '

  'Wait a minute, wait a minute,' Vernon said. 'Who was he on the telephone to? Do you know that?'

  'Why, it was Grace - ' That had not occurred to her before. 'Grace had called him and - '

 

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