Ever since she had woken up Karen had tried not to think about Kirsty's funeral, but she could no longer push it from the forefront of her mind as she left the hotel with Owen Chissolm. She wore a dark forest-green dress, not black. Kirsty had always hated black. Green was her favourite colour, just as it was Karen's. So many likes and dislikes they had shared. But no more. Not any more.
The service was brief--too brief for the wide roaming life Kirsty had led, Karen thought sadly. The burial was even more of an ordeal. Karen clung on to Owen Chissolm's arm, feeling even more bereft than she had done on the night Kirsty had died. This was the end, and the love she had always felt for her sister was a heavy burden on her heart. It desperately needed some expression.
And Karen thought of Hal. Kirsty had loved Hal.
It did not matter what Karen herself thought of him, Kirsty had loved him. And Hal wanted to see her. Maybe Kirsty would have wanted her to go to him. It was something she could do for her beloved sister.
'Does Hal still want to see me?' she asked Owen Chissolm on the drive back to the hotel.
'Yes,' he answered briefly.
'I'll visit him tonight, after David's gone to bed. Would Harper baby-sit again?'
'Yes, of course.' He reached across and pressed her hand.
'You're a good woman, Karen. Thank you.' She wanted to say she was doing it for Kirsty, but the lump in her throat was too large to circumvent.
Her resolve wavered several times during that long afternoon. David required little of her attention. He was absorbed in his new collection of toys, particularly the Lego set which enabled him to build a great variety of interesting structures. She wished she knew why Kirsty had told Hal about David. She could feel the future shifting from the foundations she had laid for herself and David, and it filled her with too many frightening uncertainties.
Owen Chissolm joined them for dinner in their suite. Apart from saying that Hal seemed a little stronger, he did not talk about his son. David, of course, was full of all that he'd been doing and the conversation centred on him. Karen did not feel like talking at all; every minute increased her anxiety about tonight's meeting with Hal. Finally it was time to settle David into bed, and for once there was no argument from him. He was asleep almost before he hit the pillow.
Harper arrived to baby-sit, armed with a book and a reassuring smile, but Karen was too tense to smile back at him. Before her courage could desert her, she took her leave with Owen Chissolm. Hal's father had become a source of comfort and strength to her in the last couple of days. For his sake as well as Kirsty's, she was determined to control her animosity towards Hal tonight.
They were almost at the hospital when Owen Chissolm spoke about the forthcoming visit. 'Karen, I hope you don't mind, but Hal wants to see you alone.'
Alone! What did he want to say to her that he didn't want his father to hear? Karen's tension wound up another notch. 'Where will you be?' she asked.
'I'll take you up to his room, then wait for you in the lounge on the first floor, where you waited with David last time. Unless you want me to .. .'
'No, that's all right,' she said quickly. Whatever Hal had to say to she would meet with equanimity--as far as possible. She could always walk out of his room; he was not in a position to stop her. But she would try very hard to give him a fair hearing.
Karen held on to that resolution right up to the moment that Owen Chissolm let her into Hal's room. The first shock was the change in Hal's appearance. Gone was the stubble of beard and the grey shadow of death. The clean-shaven face still looked pale and drawn, but the eyes which met Karen's held no weakness; they were hard and cold and cHallenging. This was the man she had imagined him to be. Even confined to a hospital bed he emanated a ruthless strength which was unnerving.
The thick black hair had been neatly combed to frame his angular face. He had a high, wide brow and high cheekbones which emphasised the large, deeply-set eyes. His jawline sloped to a strong, chiselled chin. The full-lipped mouth was the only soft feature, almost feminine and somewhat incongruous in what was a very masculine face. Karen did not consider him handsome, but he was a man that any woman would automatically notice.
She suddenly realised that her appraisal was being returned. Her appearance,did not seem to give him any more pleasure than his appearance had given her. To see her was to see the mirror-image of Kirsty, and to the man who had held Kirsty in his arms as she lay dying, that could only be disturbing.
'Your father said you wanted to see me,' she stated flatly, breaking the silence which had become very prickly.
'Yes. Thank you for coming. Please ... take a seat. I want ... to settle a few things with you.'
Her impression of strength had been so definite that it was another shock to realise that Hal's short speech had drained him. She stepped over to the chair near his bed and sat down. His throat worked convulsively for several moments before he spoke again, but the necessity for speech was in every strained muscle of his face.
'I don't understand. Kirsty always said she never wanted to have children. An abortion would have been more in keeping with her need to stay free. But having decided to have the child ... why did she keep it a secret from me?'
Karen could hardly contain the contempt that burned on her tongue. It took every ounce of her control to speak coolly. 'No doubt an abortion would have been your solution.'
The grey eyes stabbed frustration at her. 'I would have welcomed a child and she knew it. Why didn't she tell me?'
Karen stared back at him, instinctively rejecting his assertions. 'It's easy for you to say that now when Kirsty can't deny it. And easy to say you'd welcome a child when he's already a fact of life and you've seen him with your own eyes!'
A pained bewilderment shadowed his eyes, then it vanished, swept away by angry pride which settled into a hard, assessing look. 'She lied to me--no doubt she lied to you too. So what was the story, Karen?'
Karen bristled at the accusation. 'My sister did not lie to me!'
Hal studied her with hard, implacable eyes. 'Kirsty was pregnant when we came home from Jakarta, wasn't she? That was the ... virus ... that she picked up. The virus she couldn't shake off. The virus that prevented her from accompanying me to South America. My child!'
His voice wasn't hard. It shook with emotion, and again he swallowed convulsively before continuing. 'I didn't want to go without her. She said she'd follow when the doctor gave her a clean bill of health. And then ... then she wrote that you were having a baby. You!' The word was a savage indictment of the lie. 'She said she had to stay with you, look after you until the baby was born. There were complications.' His mouth curled in bitter derision. 'Quite a complication, wasn't it? So why did she give my child to you, Karen? And why did you take him?'