She dragged her feet out to the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee and switched on the radio. She sat on the stool at the breakfast bar, her ears filtering out the music and the announcer's breakfast banter. She felt a vast, numb emptiness, but her mind was alert to any mention of the Middle East. There was none, not in the six o'clock or the seven o'clock news. She would have to stir herself shortly, ring the pre-school kindergarten and say she wouldn't be there today. Impossible to even think of going to work.
'Boo!'
Karen's head jerked up.
David giggled in triumph and ran to her for his morning kiss. Much to his delight she picked him up and whirled him around. Then she hugged him so hard he complained she was squeezing him.
'That's what you get for frightening me,' she chided, blinking back a stinging prickle of tears before loosening her embrace.
David's grin was full of playful mischief. 'I got you that time, didn't I, Mummy?'
'You surely did,' she agreed, loving him with a fierce mother-love.
He was so beautiful, with all the little-boy zest for life; always on the go, asking endless questions, wanting to see and hear and experience everything. He filled Karen's life, giving it a sense of satisfaction and achievement that no career could ever match. She had often worried whether Kirsty had ever regretted her decision to renounce motherhood. It was somethi.qg that Karen would never know now.
'I'm thirsty,' David informed her, wriggling to be set free.
Karen put him down. 'Milk or orange juice?'
'Juice.'
'Say please.'
'Please,' he repeated with a funny wrinkle of his nose.
Karen shook her head warningly. Sometimes she suspected that David was deliberately forgetful about his manners--as if he was playing a teasing game with her, or testing her out to see how far he could go. She smiled down at him as he downed his orange juice. She wished, quite savagely, he had not inherited his father's eyes. They were so distinctive, such a clear, silvery grey and thickly lashed. Other mothers had told Karen they were wasted on a boy. Except for that one feature he was her son through and through, even to the chestnut gleam in his brown hair.
'Is it painting today, Mummy?'
A bleakness cut through Karen's maternal thoughts. Today was not like every other day. Today was the first day of her life without Kirsty. 'We're not going to kindergarten today, David. We're going to play at home instead. You can paint if you like. Now let's go and get dressed, and then we'll have breakfast.'
David chattered on, oblivious to the dark emptiness in Karen's soul. Karen dressed him in his best play-clothes. For herself she chose a brown gaberdine skirt and a beige silk shirt. She pulled on a pair of tights and slid her feet into low-heeled, fashionable shoes. Her mind was assessing the possibilities as she brushed her thick, shoulder-length hair. She might have to go to the teievision studio. She had to see someone, do something positive.
'Are we going out?' asked David, eyeing her clothes hopefully.
The question was not unreasonable-usually Karen wore jeans around the house. She put down her hairbrush and took his hand. 'Perhaps. Ready for breakfast now? Would you like banana on your cornflakes?'
'Mmmh. Please.' He beamed at her to emphasise the 'please'.
A smile tugged at her mouth as he broke away to run ahead of her. He was so alive and could very easily become a cheeky little brat if she let him get away with too much.
He had climbed up on to her stool and picked a banana out of the fruit bowl by the time Karen reached the kitchen. He handed it to her and then set himself down at his own little table in the family room. It had been the breakfast room when Karen had been married to Barry, but she had cleared it to make a good play area for David. It was the brightest, sunniest room in the house. Most of David's toys resided in its cupboards and the walls were decorated with his artistic efforts. It also adjoined the kitchen, which made it handy for Karen to keep an eye on him when she was cooking.
She set his cornflakes in front of him and was intending to go and telephone the kindergarten when the doorbell shrilled its summons. Karen's heart contracted as her gaze lifted to the wall-clock. Seven fifty-two. Five and a Half hours. Would it be someone about Kirsty?
'David, I have to answer the door. Eat your breakfast and then play with your building blocks. Okay?' she said quickly, struggling to keep her voice steady and natural.
He nodded, his mouth already full of cornflakes. Karen shut the family room door behind her. David could open it by standing on his chair, but she wanted to discourage any impulsive move to follow her. It would be easier if he did not overhear anything about Kirsty's death. She would tell him in her own good time.
Be calm and dignified, she told herself sternly. The how and the why of Kirsty's death could not alter that fact. Just accept the news and find out what had to be done. She took a deep breath and opened the door with decisive swiftness.
She saw the shock in his eyes even while she fought to recover her own. Hal's father, Owen Chissolm himself. The media magnate's face was too well publicised for her to be mistaken, though this morning it seemed an older face, strained and greylooking.
Incredulity and a flicker of hope chased across his eyes. It took Karen a moment to realise what he was thinking ... that Kirsty was alive and well, standing there right in front of him. He was seeing her mirror-image; the thick, straight chestnut hair; the wide hazel eyes; the eyebrows with their offset arch; smooth, creamy skin, and the chin with the slight dimple ... all the features that belonged to Kirsty Balfour.
'I'm Karen Aylward, Mr Chissolm. Kirsty's sister,' she stated firmly.
He lifted a hand that trembled to his face. It was a curiously vulnerable gesture from such a powerful man. 'Forgive me. For some reason I had surmised you were a younger sister. I had no idea you were identical twins.'
Karen felt a twinge of compassion for him; he had shouldered an unenviable task. His hand dropped to his side and his shoulders squared into a stiff, dignified bearing. The pale blue eyes were washed with pain, but they met hers unflinchingly.
'I've come to see you about your sister. Please, may I come in?'
'Yes, of course.'
He frowned as he stepped inside. 'Is your husband home as well?'
Karen shut the door and turned to find Owen Chissolm looking distinctly ill at ease. 'I have no husband now, Mr Chissolm. We were divorced two years ago,' she said quietly.
Before she turned away to lead him into the living room, Karen got the oddest impression that Owen Chissolm had felt relief to learn that there was, no husband. Which seemed absurd. Karen shrugged off the idea; it was irrelevant.
'Please sit down.' She gestured to an armchair and seated herself on the sofa. Although she knew what was coming her nerves were stretched taut with the effort to stay composed.