How Much of a Coincidence?

Devison stood up for a final time to thank everyone, and to tell the audience that all three books were currently on sale on one side of the hall. There was some movement in that direction, and Frank picked up a second champagne. He had just noticed that Karen Farrell was no longer on the stage, when a voice behind him said, "Surely, I wasn't that helpful, Mr Grayton? You were too generous."

Frank whipped around, almost tipping his champagne glass, and he was looking into that beautiful face framed by the corn coloured hair. Amazingly he found his voice immediately, "As were you about my beginner's humble efforts." God, those shoulders were incredible.

Karen took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. "I was sorry I wasn't on hand when you brought in your revisions." She stopped to indicate two empty chairs by a table, and Frank had to disguise his eagerness to sit facing her.

"You made a good job of the changes."

"Thank you," Frank said, his mind churning over the thought, 'May I kiss you.' What he did say was,"Your change of name? If you don't mind me asking?"

Karen looked at him for a moment, "Cruddas was my married name. We're divorced. I kept the house, I didn't want the name. That's what I was seeing to, when you brought in your changes."

Inwardly glowing at the mention of her divorce, Frank saw this as the time to make a positive move. "Is there someone else now?"

She looked at him coolly, "Is that important?"

Deep breath, Frank, this is crucial, "It is, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, why?"

"Just to show my appreciation, I would like to take you out to dinner—soon."

Her blue eyes widened, and that was enough to lift Frank's spirits. "You don't need to do that," she told him.

"You don't want to?"

"That's not what I said," she replied, and again her eyes held his.

"So you will?"

She sighed, "No strings?" She glanced across the room, "Oh, the Chief Exec. Is wanting my attention. Must go."

"Only one string."

"And what would that be," she asked, as she stood up.

Determined to keep his offer light he said, "Well, the last time we talked the only subject of your conversation was sex. Could we be a little more discrete on this occasion."

Her laughter was a delight, as he stood up alongside her, "Where and when?" she asked.

"Know the Palladia?"

"I do, and it's very handy for me."

"Seven thirty?"

"Till then, Mr Grayton—Frank." Frank watched the delicate tick-tock of her hips as she walked away. He spent another pleasing hour signing books for a significant number of purchasers.

He retired to his bed that night thinking only of Karen Farrell, and the way she'd looked in that black dress, so slender, so elegant. And he had made a date with her. Where could it go from there? He slept well.

Saturday arrived as an inclement summer's day. Rain poured from the heavens from early morning and well into the afternoon. Frank did a good shift on his book during the morning, but as the afternoon threatened to drag with maddening slowness towards Karen time, he went to his stored rows of film DVDs, and, after much thought, selected 'Twelve Angry Men'. So many of his collection were pre-1970 . Frank always felt that he could watch the more modern films maybe once, but that was enough.

As the rain lashed against the sitting room window, he settled back, recognising that he had lost count of the number of times he had viewed this one, with Henry Fonda besting Lee J. Cobb. But on this occasion Karen Farrell kept interfering with his concentration. As soon as the film finished, he showered, shaved and prepared himself for the evening.

At about six o'clock the rain stopped, and the sun shone brightly to cause steam to rise from the pavements. By the time he reached the restaurant, five minutes ahead of schedule, the streets were almost dry. Two minutes after he'd sat down at a corner table, Karen appeared in a pale blue summer dress, with a white cardigan on her shoulders.

Frank rose to greet her, and their hands touched briefly. How he wished it could have been their lips. She placed her cardigan on the back of her chair, and Frank's eyes did, what they always did when this lady was around; they absolutely gloried in the sheer beauty of her, from her face, down over her small but neatly curved breasts, and the elegant undulations of hips to waist.

"Am I late? " she asked uncertainly.

"You're spot on time. Ready to eat?"

While they were studying the menu she couldn't wait to tell him that his book was already rising up the best-seller lists.

"That makes me doubly happy," he said, before realising that he was going to have to account for that statement.

"Doubly?"

Don't duck away from the truth, he told himself. "Well, the book, and having you here to deliver the news."

Did her face redden slightly? Maybe, but her response was non-commital. "It's part of my job, letting authors know how their book is doing."

"On an evening out?" he asked deliberately.

"Not exactly. That is a change from the norm."

They ate a pleasant meal, without much talk. Desultory mention of the rain, and Karen said that it saved her having to water her garden.

"You like gardening?" he asked, knowing full well that was something that, for him, was a chore, rather than a pleasure.

"Not really, I'm just thankful for the occasional rain." And they laughed together, as Frank matched her gardening reluctance.

They both agreed that the beef bourguignon was delicious, turned down the offer of a sweet, and while they sipped at the coffee, Karen asked him if the wet day had given him the opportunity to crack on with his second book.

"From eight until two. Six hours is about the limit of my endurance.. After that anything I do, I generally have to rewrite the next day."

It pleased him to see the genuine interest on her face, as she leaned slightly forward. "Can you talk about the new book?"

Frank shook his head, "Other than telling you it's another thriller, I don't like talking the plot out of my head."

She smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. It's what I would advise any new writer. So how did you fill in your afternoon?"

"By looking forward to this evening," he told her, which wasn't a complete lie. But since it did not register any reaction from her, he added, "And I watched 'Twelve Angry Men', from my DVD collection."

Her brow creased as she asked, "You have a DVD collection?"

He felt a little cautious about admitting it, as he told her, "Mostly old stuff. A few, but not many are beyond 1970." He saw her mouth gape as though shocked, and her head shook, prompting him to ask, "What?"

"Frank, did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I have a collection of DVDs—films that I love—mine are all pre1965. What kind of coincidence is that?"

Coincidence indeed, and Frank was just a little stunned at her revelation, "How could I know that? I've been collecting them for years."

Their conversation became more animated as they told each other how much more pleasure they got from the old movies. As Karen observed, "Most of the stuff you get these days is glorified by special effects."

They went on to talk about their shared love of books, which was an obvious link. Then Karen said she was expecting her mother to phone later in the evening, so she had to leave. It was barely ten.

Frank asked if they could do this again, and she only hesitated a moment before asking, "Do you really want to?"

"I really want to." So they agreed on the following Saturday at the same place and time. Then he walked her out to her car, a neat little Mazda two seater. Frank had been pondering whether attempting a kiss might be in order, but decided not to risk it. When she held out her hand, he repeated the action he had taken on stage, and placed it to his lips.

"Oh, a proper gentleman," she joked as she climbed into her car. "You can tell you're a fan of old movies."

It was a long week before the next Saturday came around, but once again they had a very good night, with much more to talk on the subject of old movies. "You listen to music over and over again, why not watch a movie you love, over and over again." Karen stated.

Frank thought that they got on so well on that occasion that he dared suggest seeing her on the Wednesday night, and was delighted when she accepted. A different venue, but convenient for both of them, and suddenly they were into a twice a week situation. On the second Wednesday of this new situation, as he stood with her by her car, he leaned forward just a little uncertainly, placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her.

For a wonderful few seconds, he felt her responding, with warm moist lips slightly parted and nicely meshing with his, but then she broke away, held his hand that had been on her cheek, and said, "Frank, I don't want to lead you on. Getting too involved after the big mistake I made once before, worries me. Do you mind?"

Of course he minded, but being with her was, for him, a joy in itself. So he accepted her reservation, and she reassured him that they would continue meeting, and conversing. They did just that, and he was delighted to discover that, in fact, they lived less than two miles apart.

With that in mind he had to convince her that collecting her from her home was a more sensible option than using two cars all the time. After some hesitation she finally agreed that it did make sense.

This led to those awkward moments when after a cosy night out, Frank applied his car handbrake outside her door. A chaste kiss goodnight was a major sign of progress for him, and always, he hoped for an invite inside, and the developments that might come from that. On occasion he was sure there had been an apologetic look on her face as she opened the car door. The disappointment of it not happening drove home with him.

Frank couldn't quite define when the ice finally began to crack. There had been little doubt that closeness was growing, as their meetings became less restricted to Saturdays and Wednesdays. They laughed more together, strong in their shared book and film addictions. To Frank's joy, Karen had even, occasionally, taken hold of his hand

Then came that particular Sunday, when they had driven out into the country, and, taken an afternoon stroll along a riverside pathway. Frank, having just finished his first draft of the new book, and because its general direction would not change, told her the general plot outline, as they walked.

Karen had held his hand as he talked, and that had encouraged him, as her face frequently looked up into his, and he read her approval there. Then it almost put him off his train of thought, as he realised she was actually clutching his arm, and leaning into him, closer than she'd ever been.

Frank concluded his account of the plot just short of the conclusion, and laughing, as they reached a quiet little riverside restaurant, he told her, "Now you'll need to wait to know how it ends."

Karen jumped in front of him, those blue eyes blazing, as she thumped jokingly at his chest, "Oh, you mean beast." For just a moment they stood toe to toe, close together, close enough to kiss, Frank thought, as Karen added, "Now, I could eat a horse."

Frank shook his head, "Just because you're in the country doesn't mean you can be served horse." And laughing together they went into the restaurant to be shown to a table overlooking the sluggish river. They ordered a traditional British Sunday lunch, lean slices of beef, with Yorkshire pudding, two veg and potatoes.

Over the meal, their eyes kept meeting, and Karen said, "Thank you, for sharing your book with me. It sounds really promising. " Her face lit up, as she added, " And I can demand first read of the final draft."

Frank could sense some change in her attitude, and wasn't daring to consider the positive aspects of that. But when she said, "On the way back along the river, I'd like to tell you something."

Out of the restaurant , and back on the path alongside the river, with Karen once more clutching his arm, Frank wondered what she wanted to talk about, but the first thing she said, surprised him, as she clutched his arm tighter and sighed, "A very romantic walk, isn't it?"

"For me it is," Frank told her, and sensed her face looking up at him, but dared not look back for fear of what he might see there.

"Frank, I've never talked to anyone about this before. Not even to my mother, well, especially my mother."

"About what?"

"My time with Guy Cruddas."

Now, Frank did look down at her face, which looked deeply troubled, as though she wasn't sure she should be saying anything.

"Just tell me what you're comfortable with," he said, and wallowed in the grateful look in her eyes, as she gave his arm an extra squeeze.

"I'm comfortable with none of it," she said quietly, and went on to tell Frank how, at the age of twenty five, she had met Guy Cruddas at a book promotion function. "What he was doing there, I don't know to this day. Up to that point I'd had only two very weak relationships which lasted only weeks. So meeting this rather handsome, well set up, financial advisor felt like a very big deal."

Karen went on to tell Frank how, although she found Guy very attractive, she had resisted his attempts at seducing her.

"I should have seen him for what he was then, but he kept on being generous with his praise, and took me to functions that I could have only dreamed about. So, in one sense of the word, I was seduced. Let's say by his applied charm."

Karen went on to tell Frank that after eight months they were married, and a lavish wedding turned into a disappointins honeymoon.

"In Cannes, would you believe? But I started to see the real side of him, even then. In bed, he never gave me any kind of-" Karen hesitated over what she would say, "—lift. Yet, in the hotel bar, I saw him unashamedly chatting up unaccompanied women."

After six months Karen had little doubt that she wasn't the only woman in his life.

"Too many late nights, too many excuses--he took hasty showers on arriving home late." Karen shrugged, as Frank placed a sympathetic hand over hers, where it clutched his arm, and she gave him a smile that was tinged with bitterness. "I didn't really care. For one thing, I wasn't missing that much." Her eyes brightened at the thought, "Plus I was very much involved in pushing my career forward. Within the following year I was made deputy editor, and I was all ready to tell Guy where to go. "

She stopped there, stopped walking too, and Frank turned her to him to see that there were tears in her eyes. Whatever pain she was feeling he wanted to share. "What is it?"

"Then, came that night--something I've never told anyone about."

Out there on the open riverside path, Frank took her into his arms, not able to bear her obvious upset. "What was it? What happened?"

Karen took a deep shuddering breath, and looked up into Frank's eyes before saying, "Guy was out, on one of his so called special meetings. I, as had become my habit, had gone to bed." She paused, looked out at the slowly moving river, as though collecting her thoughts, before going on, "It was after midnight when I heard the front door bang shut, heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I lay still, pretending to be asleep."

Frank did not relax his hold, nor did it feel she wanted him to, as she continued, "He banged his way into the bedroom. I heard the en-suite light go on and heard him urinating, splashing into the toilet. I prayed for sleep. Mumbling, he undressed noisily, calling to me, outlining his intention to be with me in just a moment.. Then he was bending down at my side of the bed, his face very close."

Karen raised her face from my chest, "Frank, he stank of booze. But worse, I could smell a perfume which wasn't mine. Then—and then—he—"

"Take a breath, Karen. Stop if it's too painful for you." Frank was just as pleased that the path was quiet. No one was passing to see her upset.

Karen nodded, but, when she went on, she was half sobbing, "Without opening my eyes, I told him I knew he'd already had sex that night. And he laughed, a horrible laugh and told me that had been hours ago, and he was nicely tanked up now, and he wanted to--Frank, I can't repeat the way he put it. But then he stood up, and that was when I smelled him, smelled her. I opened my eyes, to see his stupid tool wafting in my face, the smell of her sex billowing off it."

"Oh, God, Karen, come on let me get you back to the car."

Karen had really strung herself out in telling her tale, and Frank knew only a break would ease her trauma. She nodded and, with his arm supporting her, they got back to the car, where he helped her into the passenger seat.

Even as he climbed in beside her she started, "I have to finish it now, Frank. Please hear me out. I should have guessed it would be this difficult."

Frank put an arm around her. This should have been a joyful movement for him, but not when she was this upset.

"That smell on him drove me crazy. There was no way he was going to put his soiled thing into my body. I rolled out of the other side of the bed, dashed into the en-suite and bolted the door." Her face was tight as she looked at Frank, "I wasn't frightened at that time. I was just angry. I was prepared to stay there until he fell asleep. But, immediately, he came and hammered on the door."

"Frank, he was screaming such obscenities, calling me such vile names. I only became scared when he started kicking at the door. Kicked it so hard that a panel splintered. I had never known him as bad as this. With one more kick the puny bolt flew off, the door burst open, and he was there, big, hairy like some wild monster."

Frank was becoming more and more tense, as his mind jumped ahead to imagine how her account might progress. And it was just as he feared, as tears appeared once more on Karen's face.

"He hit me across the side of my head, Frank, knocking me onto the tiled floor, and before I could struggle up he flung himself on top of me. But now, as well as still being dazed from his blow, I'd had the breath knocked out of me, my efforts at defence were useless. He was a big guy, and his hands fumbled to force my legs apart. There was nothing I could do."

She began sobbing as her revelation neared conclusion, Frank, angry as all hell at this faceless character, held on to her trembling body. This was a situation he would have looked forward to with some passion, but not in these circumstances. At this moment he was a comforter, but not a very successful one.

She drew her face back from his shirt front where he could feel the moisture of her tears. Karen looked at him, her lovely face all contorted with the effort of telling of the incident. "He took me, there on that tiled floor, forced himself up into the dryness of me. I screamed with the agony of it, but he slapped his hand over my mouth. Within seconds he had spent, and he lay with his full weight pressing me down."

"I thought he'd fallen asleep, and slowly, painfully I was able to wriggle out from under him. When my back was against the bath, he raised his head, and you know what he said? He said he was sorry."

Frank was finding it difficult to control his own emotions, "What did you say to that?"

Frank was relieved to see a hint of a smile flicker at the corner of her lips, "Somehow, maybe out of my ordeal, I found a bit of gumption, and I told him he had good reason to be sorry, because I was going to the police. I had bruises on my thighs, and elsewhere, his stuff would be inside me. He just glared at me, and for a horrible moment I thought that he could kill me right there."

"Did you go to the police?"

Karen shook her head, "I told him I would save him from prison if he was out of the house, and out of my life within the next hour.."