Shatter the Sky

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

On the eve of her wedding, Karey Marsden's fiance is killed, and her world seems to come to an abrupt end.

Bereft with grief, she is comforted by her father's friend, Dr Ralph Chesney. Some months later, she accepts his proposal of marriage, even though she does not love him, believing that for her love will always be just a sad memory.

But soon after the wedding, Karey finds herself irresistibly drawn to Dickon Farringham, her dead fiancé's double. And then she has to face up to an agonizing choice between her duty to a husband she can never love, and her passion for a man she loves too well.

Release date: January 1, 1972

Publisher: Beagle

Print pages: 224

Sample

KAREY walked to the piano and firmly removed the vase of tall chrysanthemums which had been placed there by Mrs. Mullins, the cook.

Every morning of her life Mrs. Mullins, with a firmness which equalled Karey’s, replaced that vase upon the piano. Karey shook her head and smiled as she set the flowers on an oak chest in a corner of the drawing-room. She thought that the big bronze and red blooms, which were so lovely, amongst the autumn leaves, gazed at her a little reproachfully. She said:

“I’m sorry. You look very nice on the piano, but a piano is not the place for flowers, photographs, or ornaments.”

She smiled as she opened the lid of the Blüthner boudoir-grand which had been her father’s present to her on her seventeenth birthday, and sat down to play. It was a beautiful, mellow instrument which had meant much to her during these five years, and would go on meaning a great deal all her life.

Mrs. Mullins had just drawn the curtains and put a match to the fire. The wet October day was reaching a dismal close and it was cold in this big drawing-room. Cold all through the house, Karey thought, and shivered as she sat down at her piano, rubbing her chilled fingers against each other.

She had been out all day, driving her father from one place to another on his rounds. He was the leading local doctor in Brentham, this Sussex village wherein Karey had been born and had lived all her life. Since Mrs. Marsden had died, three years ago, the doctor had been ageing rapidly. It was to save him undue fatigue that Karey acted as his chauffeuse. But it was a cold, tiresome job this time of the year. It meant hours of waiting for him while he visited each patient, and it was still worse in the winter.

But after this week there would be no more of it for Karey. No more of the monotonous, uninspiring life that she led in Brentham, where, until recently, she had really nothing except her music to stimulate her brain and satisfy her emotions. No more sharing the honours of cook-housekeeper with Mrs. Mullins; no more craving for a little excitement, for something which would be the real élan of existence.

In four days’ time Karey was going to be married—to Noel, The advent of Noel Farringham had altered the whole of life for Karey. He had been up at Oxford with a man named Peter Allen. The Aliens lived at the Manor House in Brentham. At the end of July, in this year, Noel came down to the Manor House to spend a fortnight’s holiday with his friend. Karey was a favourite with the Allens and soon met Noel. Inevitably they fell in love with each other almost at their first meeting. Their mutual interest synchronised miraculously.

Noel was making his way in the world as junior-partner in his father’s firm. He was a chartered accountant. But his hobby in life was music. He composed songs and sang them. In Karey he found the perfect accompanist as well as the ideal woman. She, when she first heard his charming, sympathetic voice and played his songs, fell quite hopelessly in love and had remained in that state ever since.

Now they were acknowledged lovers. Dr. Marsden fully approved of the engagement. Noel was not rich, but he was in a position to keep a wife, and it seemed an ideal match from every point of view for Karey.

The only thing that shadowed her happiness was Karey’s anxiety about her father. His health was not too good and he should really have retired long since, but he could not afford it.

Karey hated leaving him, although her anxiety was mitigated by the fact that the young partner—a promising surgeon—was coming to share this house when Karey left it. That knowledge was a great relief to her.

To-day being Saturday, Noel was coming down for the weekend. On Tuesday their marriage was to be solemnised in Brentham Church. Upstairs in her room there were two trunks packed with clothes which Karey had collected for her trousseau. And locked away in the spare room were all the wedding presents which had been coming in for the last few weeks and which had been so exciting to unwrap and examine.

Karey was conscious of profound happiness this afternoon—a happiness which seemed almost too great to last. It seemed to permeate her very being.

She sat at her piano, her slim white fingers drumming out one of Noel’s favourite melodies which she hummed to herself. Glorious to think that by five o’clock he would be here. He was motoring down from Town and expected to arrive in time for tea. Heavenly to think that very soon he would come up behind the piano stool and put both arms around her, which he loved to do, and press her against him. She would lean back her head and shut her eyes and feel his eager lips wander from her mouth to her throat.

Then he would sing to her. They would spend one of those enchanting hours of music together which seemed symbolic of their passionate love for each other.

While she sat here playing in the October dusk with only the leaping firelight to pierce the shadows, Karey could feel her lover’s presence. She visualised his slim, graceful figure; the rather pale, boyish face with dark melancholy eyes which could look amazingly brilliant in his happy moments. His was the thoughtful, sensitive face of a dreamer. Noel was so much more the musician than the man of business which circumstances forced him to be.

The other day, when he and Karey had been discussing their marriage, Noel had said:

“I never thought it possible to meet a woman who would be so entirely one with me, Karey, sweet. When I was at Oxford I was attracted by the thought of women and yet something always held me back from them. But you—I loved you when I first saw you—and when you sat down at the Aliens’ piano and played, I looked at the back of your little fair head and knew that I was going to worship you. I do, with all my heart and soul.”

Karey, held tight against his heart, and with an arm curved about his neck, had pressed that fair head of hers against his which was so much darker and whispered:

“Darling, darling Noel! It’s been just as much a wonder and an amazement to me to have discovered you.”

They had fully made up their minds that they were going to be the most ideal married couple the world had ever known.

In front of Karey were some loose sheets of manuscript … Noel’s latest song. She had been practising it last night, but she knew and played it by heart now. Both melody and words were exquisitely plaintive. She longed to hear Noel’s golden baritone singing it for her. Queer that she was so happy, and yet loved the sadness of the song. But love and pain were akin; inseparable.

She murmured the words:

“If you leave me?

I shall not die,

Or make grief a trumpet

To shatter the sky.

“I shall not ask

For anything more

But to walk according

To natural lore,

One foot behind

The other before.”

The door opened so gently that the girl, playing at the piano, did not hear it. A man’s tall figure appeared on the threshold. He stood there in silence a moment, watching and listening. He found an exquisite picture in Karey with the firelight revealing the pale cameo of her face—a lovely young face; clear-cut profile and tender curve of lips and throat. Her hair, such fair gold that it was almost silver, was looped over her ears and pinned in a little knot at the nape of her neck. She wore an olive-green velvet dress with little bands of soft fur at throat and wrists and an old necklace of twisted gold which Noel had given her.

The man in the shadows feasted his eyes a moment hungrily on the grace and beauty of her, but the sound of her voice, the melody of her song, gave him no pleasure. He was not a musical man. It was the physical beauty, the personality of Karey which attracted him. He felt almost murderously inclined when he thought of Noel Farringham, who had come here, a stranger, three months ago and swept her off her feet. It galled him to think that she was marrying Noel in four days’ time and he, Ralph Chesney, who had been in love with her for over a year, must fade out of the picture. Ever since he had come to Brentham and bought this partnership with old Marsden he had wanted Karey.

She had been kind to him, but she had never reciprocated his passion. He hated her music—felt an irrational grievance against it, as though it were responsible for Karey’s lack of love for him.

She had told him, when he had first proposed to her, that she could never marry a man who did not appreciate music.

He felt, too, that Noel Farringham had an unfair advantage. Just because he sang and composed songs, he had rushed to victory with Karey. It maddened Chesney. He was a slow-moving, obstinate young man who could in no way be called impulsive. He disapproved of impulses, of “temperament” in other people. He strongly disapproved of the rapid way in which Noel had wooed and won Karey. He believed that Karey would regret hurrying into this marriage. The pair of them were both too artistic, in Chesney’s opinion. There would be no balance, no poise, no security, and he felt that he could have given Karey all three of these things. Artists and musicians needed support—stability.

Karey went on with her song.

“I shall rise at morning,

Sleep at night,

Grope in darkness,

See in light,

And tell unfailingly

Black from white.

“I shall use my brain

To earn my bread,

Snarl when hungry,

Smile well-fed,

I shall not die;

“I shall be dead.”

The last, mournful note died away, and she sat staring before her and a queer shiver went through her. She thought: “Oh, Noel, my darling—yes. I’d be like that—dead if you died!” Then suddenly she sensed that somebody was in the room. She swung round on the music stool and saw her father’s partner standing on the threshold.

“Hullo,” he said, and came in, switching on the light as he did so.

Karey blinked. She had found the dusk and firelight soothing. The sudden brilliance of the electric light jarred on her. Dr. Chesney’s entrance jarred a little too. He was always so thoroughly practical and solid; she, like her lover, was both poet and dreamer.

“Have you been listening to Noel’s new song?” she asked him, getting up from the piano. She crossed to the fireplace and stood there, smiling at Ralph, who returned the smile half-heartedly.

His love for Karey was not of the selfless kind, and he did not find it easy to step aside in favour of another man, even though he knew that it was for Karey’s own happiness.

“Is that a new song of Farringham’s?” he said. “Well, it seemed to me pretty funereal. I like something cheerful on the piano, something more rollicking.”

Karey’s eyes quivered with mirth and her eyes danced at him. They were grey-green eyes—more green than grey to-day because she was wearing that olive-green velvet dress.

“What a he-man you are, Ralph. I can just see you adoring things like ‘The Roast-beef of Old England.’”

Dr. Chesney shrugged his shoulders and drew a pipe from his pocket.

“Well, I don’t see the use of these mournful lyrics. There’s enough sadness in the world. Why do people want to write tragic songs and tragic books, I’d like to know?”

Karey seated herself on her favourite pouf in front of the fire and clasped her hands about her knees. She looked a moment up at Chesney’s square-cut face. A handsome face, on the whole. Women—most women whom Karey knew in Brentham, anyhow—thought Dr. Chesney most attractive and quite a “catch,” since he was barely thirty and making headway in his profession. It was thought, locally, that he would not be long at Brentham. He was the sort to end in Harley Street.

Good looks alone had never had much effect upon Karey. It was the mind which interested her most. She was on friendly terms with her father’s partner, but she did not much care for his mind. He was clever at his job. Outside that he lacked imagination. He was inclined to be too self-opinionated and dogmatic. No doubt some people might say he was a fine, strong character. But when Karey thought of Noel, who seemed so full of grace and tenderness, so swift to respond to a mood, so understanding of a woman and her needs, Ralph Chesney seemed utterly remote from her—outside her scheme of things. Noel would never hurt her. But Chesney, even when he was in love, would not hesitate to try to force his own opinions on a woman and deprecate hers.

“Of course, you aren’t musical, Ralph,” Karey said with her sweet-tempered smile. “But I assure you that some of the loveliest operas and songs that have ever been written have been sad. Sorrow is so often responsible for the creation of a masterpiece.”

“Humph!” grunted Ralph and sat down and lit his pipe. He eyed Karey’s fair, enchanting face and figure through a cloud of smoke. “Well, if you like it—it’s all right.”

“I must say I love the new song. It’s called ‘Answer.’ Noel found the words in a magazine. They’re by J. Simon. I can just understand a person feeling like that. If somebody you loved very much died, you’d carry on, but you wouldn’t be alive yourself any more—you’d be dead.”

“It sounds very romantic, but I’m afraid I look at things in a more prosaic way. I don’t believe that people sorrow for others all their lives, my dear Karey. Widows are very quick to get married again, and widowers too, if it comes to that.”

“What a horridly unsentimental person you are.”

“Sorry I’m so horrid.”

“You aren’t, silly. But that practical side of you terrifies me. I’m so different.”

“You’re really very capable—look how well you run the house and that sort of thing.”

Karey tilted back her fair head and laughed. The man, his moody, unsatisfied gaze still fixed on her, thought how lovely her throat was; long, slender, and white. She was a lovely thing. He was not at all in tune with her mentality, but physically she had a violent appeal for him. She was the only woman he had ever wanted to marry. He was a bachelor by nature rather than a born lover, and for most of the girls who angled for his favours he had little use. He treated them all with a maddening touch of superiority.

With Karey he had never been able to feel superior. There was something so inaccessible about her. Something which warned a man to be careful. He could not get over the humiliation of having been rejected by her. Neither would he ever see, as long as he lived, why that young ass of a musician should have appealed to her so vastly. Her whole face became vivid, rich, when she mentioned his name. She was obviously more than ordinarily in love. Chesney lacked imagination, but he would have given anything on earth to be in Noel Farringham’s shoes.

“I may be able to run a house well,” said Karey, “but I’m sure if I heard Noel singing a song, or the strains of ‘Tristan and Isolde’ coming from the gramophone, I’d leave the milk to burn in the saucepan and listen.

“Well, you’d soon get lean on that philosophy,” was Chesney’s dry reply.

Karey laughed again and looked at her wrist-watch.

“Nearly five. Noel’s awfully late. Daddy ought to be in, too.”

“I saw him at the surgery twenty minutes ago. He was called out.”

“Had a busy day, Ralph?”

“There’s always plenty doing in this district. It’s a biggish practice. But I don’t mind the work. I like it.”

She nodded. Yes, Ralph Chesney was a wonderful worker and a most admirable partner. She would be glad when Daddy retired and left it all in Ralph’s hands.

“Are you going to have a cup of tea with us?” she asked.

Chesney stood up. For a moment he did not answer. He was wondering whether he was really wanted. He lived in a small house adjoining the Marsdens’, which was a rambling old Queen Anne place, right in the centre of Brentham High Street. It was convenient for the two partners to be near at hand. He could come through his garden into the Marsdens’ house. He frequently joined the Marsdens for meals and spent many of his evenings with them. Lately Ralph had stayed away, sulking over Karey’s engagement, and now he was not sure he would remain to tea. He had hoped to find Karey by herself, but here was Farringham again, turning up at any minute.

“Do stay,” said Karey in her friendly fashion. “Daddy will be in in a minute.”

“Thanks, if I’m not in the way,” said Ralph and sat down again.

“Of course you won’t be in the way,” said Karey.

It was not strictly true, but she was much too happy to resent intrusion from anybody. Noel was coming for the week-end and she would have plenty of opportunities to be alone with him. After Tuesday there could be no intruders. They would be in Italy, on their honeymoon. Noel knew Italy and loved it, and he was going to take Karey to the Lakes and afterwards to Florence and Rome. There they would have their fill of beauty, of music, of each other. She never thought about their impending honeymoon without a wild thrill which seemed to shake her whole body.

“I’ll just go and see if Mrs. Mullins is ready with the tea,” Karey said. “Make yourself at home, Ralph. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The telephone bell rang. Karey grimaced.

“Another call for you or Daddy, perhaps. Would you like to answer it, Ralph?”

“Right,” said Ralph, and strolled into the next room, which was Dr. Marsden’s study.

Karey told Mrs. Mullins to bring in tea and ran upstairs whistling. Noel would be here at any moment. They wouldn’t wait for him. She paused outside the door of the spare room, opened it and looked round. A vase of chrysanthemums stood on the dressing-table. She had picked them for Noel this morning. She blew a kiss at them.

“Darling Noel!” she whispered, and then closed the door again.

Ralph’s voice called up to her stridently.

“Karey—Karey!”

She leaned over the banisters.

“What is it?”

“The call is for you.”

“Oh, who is it, Ralph?”

“I don’t know—I can’t make head or tail of it, but it’s some message or other about Noel, and they say they must speak to you.”

“About Noel!” repeated Karey.

The colour rushed to her cheeks and her heart seemed to stand still for an instant. Why a message about Noel? But he ought to be here—or at least well on his way.

She tore down the stairs, her breath quickening, ran into the study, and took the telephone receiver out of Ralph Chesney’s hand.

When Lucas Farringham, Noel’s father, told Karey on the telephone that Noel’s car had skidded into a lorry on the wet, greasy road on his way to Brentham, and that he had been killed instantly, the bottom was knocked clean out of her world.

For the first few minutes the shock and horror of the thing stunned her so that she could neither move nor speak. She stood there by the desk shaking from head to foot, every vestige of colour draining from her cheeks, listening dumbly to what old Farringham had to tell her.

Lucas Farringham was nearing seventy. Like Dr. Marsden, he was a widower with an only child. Noel had been the apple of his eye, and it was a broken man who gave Karey details of the accident which had robbed them both of the person they loved best on earth. There was nothing much to tell except that an urgent message from Redhill had taken him in hot haste to a hospital there. Noel had crashed just outside Redhill, and his body had been conveyed to the mortuary, where the father had identified him. It had taken the authorities some little time to discover a letter and a card bearing Noel’s name and address and eventually get into touch with his next-of-kin. Once there, the old man had realised there was nothing more to do save to telephone to the girl whom his son was to have married next week.

“It’s no use you seeing him now—better just remember the boy as you knew him, my dear,” Farringham told Karey brokenly. “He’ll be brought back home for the funeral, but I’ll telephone to you again to-morrow morning. No—don’t come up to Town to-night, my dear. Thank you—but I’d rather face it alone—just to-night.”

Karey tried to say something. No words came. Her eyes were enormous. Her face had grown pinched and old in a few seconds. Ralph Chesney, standing beside her, knew from the look of her that she was hearing bad news, but he was not quite sure what had happened.

He put a hand on her arm.

“What is it, Karey? Can I do anything—speak for you?”

She shook her head. Her eyes stared blindly past him. Her breath coming in great gasps. At last she managed to speak.

“Luke”—she stammered Noel’s pet name for his father which she, too, had used since their engagement—“Luke—it can’t be true—it mustn’t be true!”

“My poor child—I wish to God that it wasn’t—for both our sakes. But it’s true enough. I’ve seen him. He looked very peaceful, Karey. It was merciful, m. . .