Part One Hundred And Thirty Three
On the Saturday afternoon, Karen arrived at the rehearsal feeling bruised, apprehensive and thoroughly out of sorts. She wasn't looking forward to facing all the questions, and the curious glances. Denny's fist had really meant business when it had crashed into her face, and Karen had woken up this morning with her left eye barely able to open. She'd contemplated not going to the rehearsal, but they only had one more after this before the performance. She stood outside smoking, trying to work out what she would say to anyone stupid enough to ask her how she'd ended up looking like the archetypal battered wife. When John arrived with George, Karen knew that her endless stream of explanations was about to begin. As soon as they saw Karen, a protective instinct seemed to rise up in both of them. "Which angelic little darling gave you that then?" George asked without preamble. "Denny," Karen told them bleakly. "It looks sore," John said, reaching out to gently touch the bruise just under Karen's eye. "Don't," She said quietly, unable to stop herself from flinching away from his touch. "That's not like you," John said in concern. "Really," Karen said bitterly, knowing he was right, but not wanting to explain her aversion to touch here and now. "Tell me," She demanded acidly. "When was the last time you were on the wrong end of a fist?" "I can't remember," John answered her blandly. "Darling, are you all right?" George asked, a worried expression on her face. "Fine," Karen said tightly. "I'm sorry, it just wound me up a bit, that's all." Clearly seeing that this wasn't all by any means, George strove to lighten the situation. "Well, that's the last time I give her a cigarette," She said, referring to the one evening she'd spent on G wing, in the middle of Lauren's trial. "Since when were you in the vicinity of any of Karen's inmates? Unless you're referring to the time I sentenced you to it." "She isn't," Karen told him. "Well she, didn't tell me about that," John said sternly. "It wasn't exactly a big deal," George replied, knowing that he would probably be a little angry about this. "Yes, it was," Karen said with a mirthless laugh. "Come on," John insisted. "I want to know about this." "Well, leave me out of it," Karen said tiredly. "It was George's decision, and I've heard enough arguments in the last week to last me a life time." As John and George left her to go inside, still fondly bickering, Karen slumped back into her despondency. She didn't know why the incident with Denny had got to her so much, except that it had given her a similar feeling to that she'd felt on the night Fenner was stabbed. In trying to kill the man who had then been her lover, Shell was irrevocably breaking her trust, showing her that all the help and support she'd given her didn't matter. Karen knew that wasn't how it had actually been, but that was how it had felt. Now, with Denny, she felt as though the bond of trust had been broken once more. She'd given Denny every opportunity to keep her nose clean, more than she'd probably deserved, and Denny had quite literally thrown it back in her face. When she saw Jo and Roisin walking towards her, she gave them a lopsided smile. "Oh, dear," Roisin said in sympathy. "I can see what sort of a week you've had." "This is what it's going to be like all afternoon, isn't it," Karen said ruefully. "Is that what they call a perk of the job?" Jo asked, thinking that Karen had more stamina and inner strength than she would have. "That's one way of putting it," Karen said dryly. "That looks like an Al McKenzie bruise to me," Said Roisin, examining it critically. "Close," Karen told her. "I broke up a fight between her and Denny, and because Denny was on speed, I'm certain McKenzie came off worse for once." "Please tell me I didn't ever do that?" Roisin asked, clearly worried as to the answer. Karen gave a small laugh. "No, not even in your few moments of heightened energy, did you do anything like this." At Jo's slightly stunned expression, Roisin said kindly, "Oh, don't look so surprised. It's not exactly a secret that I wasn't a model prisoner." "Hey," Karen reassured her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I've had far worse, believe me." As Jo lit a cigarette and Roisin went inside, Karen thought just how much Roisin had changed since she was in prison, and searching for anything to blot out the pain. Roisin," Jo said eventually. "She, well, she..." "Doesn't look the type?" Karen finished for her. "No, I know she doesn't. But at one time, there wasn't anything Roisin wouldn't do, to lay her hands on something that would take her away from where she was." "Are you alright?" Jo asked in concern. "No," Karen replied quietly. "I'm up to my limit with stress, I feel utterly humiliated, and I'm going through one of my periodic phases of loathing anyone else's touch, which is thoroughly stupid, because the one thing Fenner never actually did was hit me. I'm dreading going in there, because what I can really do without right now is more questions."
When they did finally enter the hall, every one of Karen's fears were proved right. All eyes turned on her, and she could feel their speculating minds at work. Ignoring the lot of them, and knowing that she was exhibiting nothing less than an utterly vile mood, she put her viola case down, removed her viola from the silken lining, and gave it a quick polish. All she wanted, was to play her part, be allowed to get on with it, and get out of there as quickly as possible, but that wasn't to be. Sir Ian Rochester, had been waiting for this opportunity. Karen Betts was the Governing Governor, who had put the ridiculous shambles of appointing an ex-prisoner as Wing Governor into action, and he'd been wanting an excuse to tell her what he thought of the idea ever since. Remembering what a fiasco Neumann Mason-Alan had made of questioning her, at the Lauren Atkins trial, He thought it might be a good idea to get him on side as well, give him some back up against Deed's latest conquest. Karen felt their intruding presence, long before she saw them, as if a steadily growing tide of treacle were lapping at her ankles. "Ms Betts, or should I say Governor Betts, might we have a word?" Came Sir Ian Rochester's insipid enquiry. "As long as it doesn't take more than two minutes," Karen replied curtly, in no mood for these two, today of all days. "I've got to tune up." "That's a fairly ugly bruise," Sir Ian commented, looking closely at her face. "Is that an observation," Karen answered him. "Or an enquiry after my health." "Got it from a prisoner, did you?" Neumann Mason-Alan asked silkily. "Or will we soon be hearing in court, how yet another of your lovers has in some way hurt you." "I think my love life's my business, don't you," Karen said mildly, inwardly seething at his inferences. "After the pictures I saw of you, Ms Betts, I wouldn't hesitate to suggest that your favours have been spread far and wide." "Are you still smarting over that little defeat?" Karen asked, almost in delight. "You really didn't like it, did you," She continued. "You really couldn't stand the fact that I walked out in the middle of your pathetic attempt at browbeating me, and even more so that I got away with it. Now then, what did you actually come over here for?" Karen asked, having already had more than enough from these two irritants. "What I think Neumann is trying to say," Put in Sir Ian, before Mason-Alan could lose the argument before it had even started. "Is that appointing an ex-prisoner, might not be the way to decreasing the amount of violence within our prison system." "Oh, is that all this is about," Said Karen dismissively. "All done and dusted, I'm afraid, with no going back. Nikki Wade has been appointed to the job of one of my Wing Governors, and anyone seeking to remove her at this late stage, will be stepping into the proverbial shark's nest, I can assure you." "You would do well not to threaten those in authority over you," Sir Ian Rochester said icily. "Is that right," Karen retorted smartly, suddenly realising that the room had gone silent and that she had an audience. "One, the Lord Chancellor's lackies, would do well not to get involved with things that clearly don't concern them, just because their safe haven of the old boys' network appears to be threatened. Two, if you can't even keep your own wife under control, Sir Ian, you might beware of trying to hold authority over those whom you can control even less, and three, if you'll excuse me, I have a viola to play." As she stalked over to her chair, she could feel the whole array of eyes on her. But as she passed between the first desk of cellos and the rostrum, Joe Channing gave her the ghost of a wink. But she was to receive further belief in her own ability to defend herself verbally, when she heard the combined growing laughter from both Neil and John. Neil had been proud of her for standing up for herself so magnificently, as had John, and when Karen had come to the end of her tirade, they had but to exchange one glance for their laughter to erupt.
As Karen sat down next to Michael Nivin, the voices began rising around her again. "You certainly caused a stir," Michael said with a warm smile. "It won't be the first time," Karen said dryly. "I assume you were given that by one of your inmates?" He asked, gesturing to her bruise. "Yes," Karen said with a sigh. "But I swear, if one more person asks me where I got it, I'll remove my A string and personally garrote them with it." "Ah, then I'll be sure to look the other way," He told her conspiratorially. "I'm sorry," Karen said apologetically. "I can really do without this rehearsal, that's all." "I'm sure nobody would mind if you left," He told her kindly. "What, and let Ian Rochester and his entourage think they've won? No chance." Just then, Neil came up to her. "Before you ask," Put in Michael. "I must warn you that you're in grave danger of being forcefully dismembered." "Oh, dear," Neil said with a smile. "All I wanted to know was who?" He said to Karen. "Denny," She told him regretfully. "But I'm dealing with it, really." "That's fine then," He said trustingly, knowing that she would ask for his help if she thought she needed it.
They had been joined by the chorus today, and as Vera Everard's droning voice got louder and louder, Karen wasn't the only one to feel the beginnings of a headache. All three soloists sang when they were asked, all trying to shut Vera's noise out from their minds. Sir James Valentine, sitting directly in front of the altos with his timps, was inwardly vowing to personally cut out Vera's vocal cords. When they came to 'The Marvelous Work Behold amazed', not even George was concerned about how she might sound, compared to the positively tuneless din that was somewhere behind her. In fact, it almost encouraged her to sing as loudly as possible, in an attempt to drown Vera out, but to no success. Not even the loudest trumpet or the shrillest flute could cover up the awful racket coming from the alto section of the chorus. They sang and played their way through the two hour rehearsal, giving it their all, in spite of the sheer irritation it seemed one woman could cause. But when they came to the end, George took her father to one side. "Daddy, do I have to beg you to get rid of her?" "Who?" Joe Channing asked, knowing perfectly well who his daughter was referring to, but not relishing the prospect in the least. "Don't give me that," George said scornfully. "I'm talking, about Vera utterly tone deaf Everard. We can't go on like this. She's ruining what was becoming a joy to listen to and you know it." "And just how do you expect me to have her removed?" Asked Joe Channing tartly. "In case you've forgotten, she is Sir Monty's wife." "Fine," George said decisively. "Do you want me to do it for you? Because I can assure you, nothing would give me greater pleasure." "No, I don't," He replied hurriedly, seeing in an instant just how much havoc her attempting such a thing could cause. "Then for all our sakes, get on with it," George instructed her father, watching in amusement as his face took on the very uncomfortable expression it had held, on the one occasion in her teens, when he'd tried to talk to her about sex. This conversation with Vera Everard had the potential to be far more humiliating.