Miriam Sharman
The  Breaking  Point

Mark Venner had a nightmare, the same nightmare, night
after night. And he had good reason to have it. But now he was
near the breaking point - a danger to himself, to his wife Ann,
and to the company for which he worked. And Ann too was
near the end ofher rope.
The dramatic story of the aftermath of a crime . . .
The dashboard clock, livid in the darkness, registered 9:55. The
shrill whistle of the oncoming train rose to a shrieking cres-
cendo. His car crashed against it, splintering into a thousand
fragments.
Mark Venner struggled out of his tormented sleep, soaked in
perspiration, shivering with shock. In the twin bed his wife was
already awake.
"I'm sorry, Ann," he mumbled. "I've disturbed you again."
"It doesn't matter," she replied gently. He put on his dressing
gown. "I'll come down with you," she added quickly.
His reply came mechanically. "Don't get up. I'll be all right."
She shook her head, smiled, wrapped her housecoat round her
small slight body, and followed him downstairs. In a few minutes
they were seated on the comfortable sofa in front of the electric
fire, sipping hot milk.
He leaned back wearily. "I never want to sleep again. It's al-
ways the same nightmare.. .every night now." He shut his eyes
as if to blot it out. "It's always the. . .accident." He turned to look
into his wife's face. "Always the. . .accident."
Harsh racking sobs shook him. Ann leaned forward and rested
her hand in his. He clutched it. "Mark, dear," she said gently.
"You mustn't give way. It's over now, it happened eighteen
months ago, why can't you forget it? Let me help you."
His haggard eyes rested on her, weighing her, finding her want-
ing. "You talk as if it was all my doing!"
"No, no." For the moment she had forgotten how touchy he had
become. "I mean, we'll help each other."
"But I was there, on the spot! You don't have to live with that
shrieking train, that speeding car, John's blood!" He turned away
from her. "If only I could get some sleep, dreamless sleep.. .no
nightmares..."
There was a long silence. Ann cast around her mind for some-
thing to say that would not trigger off another surge of self-pity.
It was better to remain silent than say the wrong thing. Mark
took a small bottle from his dressing-gown pocket and emptied a
tablet from it onto the table. Then he lit a cigarette and inhaled it
deeply. He took a sip of his milk and swallowed the tablet.
"Take two tonight," she said. She glanced at her watch. "It's
only quarter to threefive hours to go before you need get up."
Her voice trailed away as he suddenly faced her, his mouth hard,
his eyes suspicious. "It's quite safe," she added hurriedly. "I've
done it myself in the past, after an operation."
He relaxed a little, shrugged, then swallowed a second tablet.
"Won't do any good," he muttered. "Takes more than that to put
me to sleep."
She moved closer to him, slipped her arm through his, and he
sighed resignedly. They leaned back, shoulders touching, the
physical contact seeming to soothe.
Mark's voice was firmer. "You're quite right, of course. What's
done can't be undone. I might just as well enjoy all this" He in-
dicated the smart modern house with an all-embracing gesture.
"And you," he added, slipping an arm round her, "as I did, at
first."
"You will again. This phase you are going through will pass.
Then everything will be all right."
"Yes, yes, everything will be all right. It's a phase, I'll get over
it, don't you worry."
He felt her trembling as she turned toward him. His embrace
was rough and passionate and she responded, as always, with
equal passion. His fears and doubts dissolved in sheer physical
sensation. This magic, Ann thought, with a small part of her
mind, must be retained. It was her only hope of nursing Mark
through these critical days.
The directors' meeting was coming to an end. Mark's pad was
covered with his doodling. He had been unaware, or uncaring, of
the disapproving frowns of the directors at his badly shaven face,
his neglected hair, his messy chain-smoking.
"We come to the last item on the agenda," Sir Henry said. "The
libel action."
Mark felt four pairs of eyes boring into him, hostile eyes, impa-
tient eyes. He made an effort to pull himself together, but he
couldn't keep the truculence out of his voice.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen. I take full responsibility. . .most unfortu-
nate."
"As head of our legal department, Mark, you surely have some
suggestion as to how we might cope with this unfortunate mat-
ter?" Sir Henry asked, with surprising restraint.
"Yes, yes, of course." Mark spoke quickly. "Settle it, admit lia-
bility with a good grace. I'll beat 'em down, get them to take a
couple of thousand in settlement."
Arbuthnot, the Managing Director, exploded. "Really, Venner,
is that all you have to say! You're supposed to vet every word we
put into print! Pretty free and easy with the company's profits,
aren't you? Seems an odd mistake for a lawyer to make, to fail to
notice what everybody says is an obvious libel."
"I admit I made a mistake," Mark interrupted, his voice raised.
He gripped the edge of the table, trying to control his trembling.
What did it matter, he thought, what did anything matter? Night
after night, no sleep, recurring nightmares, and Ann's panacea no
longer effective. No word of forgiveness from these hard-faced col-
leagues either, he told himself, as he looked round the table.
"Can't a man make a mistake without everybody sitting in
judgment on him as if he were a murderer" He broke off
abruptly and, in the indignant silence, stared unseeingly.
Sir Henry took matters in hand, politely but firmly. "Venner
has a point, gentlemen. Men are only human after all and mis-
takes are made. I declare the meeting now closed."
He signaled to the others to go. Mark remained seated. Sir Henry
sat down cl(/se to him. "I've known you too long, Mark, to take
offense at your behavior. I've known you as a conscientious and
loyal member of the staff of this company for years and we were
grateful when you stepped into John Croft's shoes."
"Leave him out of this, Sir Henry, leave John out of this,
please."
Sir Henry dropped his conciliatory manner. His voice became
sharp. "That accident upset you more than you admitted at the
time. And you've not spared yourself in your work here. But now,
a big mistake. You've bteen overdoing it, you must take a rest."
Mark struggled to his feet. He felt as if he was suffocating
under Sir Henry's tolerance. "The way you have been for the past
months," the Chairman continued, now at his most syrupy,
"you're no use to yourself, nor, actually, to the firm."
There it was, Mark told himself, the veiled threat, the thing he
had been expecting, the end of everything. "I feel done in," he
muttered.
"That's what I'm saying," Sir Henry said briskly. "You need a
rest. Take a month's leave, right away. I'll take the responsibility
with the other directors." He patted Mark affectionately on the
back. "And don't worry about that libel. I'll get young Lawrence
to deal with it."
"Lawrence?" Mark sounded as alarmed as he felt. "But he's an
outside lawyer, not one of ours!"
Sir Henry did not meet Mark's eyes as he shrugged his answer.
"What of it? Let him handle this one case for us. There'11 be plenty
of work for you to do when you come back. Provided you're fit, of
course." He was at the door. "Remember me to that charming wife
of yours. Lucky man!"
Mark stared at the door for seconds after Sir Henry had closed
it behind him. The words "lucky man" kept going round in his
mind. He walked across the room, threw open the long windows,
stepped forward onto the balcony, and looked down to the distant
street with its toy cars and miniature people.
He felt dizzy and shut his eyes. He recalled the many times he
had parachuted from airplanes during the war, yet here he was,
turning dizzy just looking down from a high building. There was
little of his manhood left to him, he thought, welcoming the all
too familiar wave of self-pity. Ann could no .longer do anything for
him. Whiskey was the only thing that could blunt his over-active
imagination.
Ann telephoned three pubs before she located Mark.
"Yes, Mrs. Venner," the barmaid said. "He's here, been here
since six o'clock."
Ann swallowed her pride. "Is hehas he had a lot to drink?"
The barmaid was matter-of-fact. "He's had too many double
whiskies, but he's not drunk. He's just sitting here, by himself,
just sitting. Do you want me to call him to the phone?"
"No, no, thank you," Ann said hurriedly. "Iit's just that he's
had no food." She hung up abruptly.
She was deeply worried and, unusual for her, uncertain how to
handle the deteriorating situation. She must do something to stop
the rot, to restore Mark to the man he had beenassured, virile,
alight with charm. She phoned Sir Henry.
"Ann? How are you, my dear?" She was relieved at the friendli-
ness in his voice. "Nice to hear from you," he added.
"I was wondering when you were coming to dinner, Sir Henry.
You haven't been for a very long time."
"Hadn't we better leave it till you and Mark come back from.
holiday?"
Ann kept the surprise out of her voice. "Is the holiday so ur-
gent, then?" she asked warily.
Sir Henry sounded wary, too. "Is Mark there? Or are you
alone?"
"He's not here at the moment. He had to go out."
"Well, I can speak freely. Obviously he hasn't told you what
happened today." She listened with dismay to Sir Henry's account
of the scene in the boardroom. "I say he's in need of a good long
rest," he ended.
"I'm glad you're on my side, Sir Henry," she said. "I've been try-
ing to persuade him to have a break for ages now, but you know
how he iscan't possibly leave the office at the moment, too much
to do." A little light laugh accompanied the last words.
"That accident's preying on his mind," Sir Henry went on. "And
he needs to have all his wits about him for his work, you know."
"I'm sure he'll take a holiday when he realizes it's your wish,
Sir Henry. Leave it to me," she added firmly.
"I'm sure I can, my dear. We all know your determination and
single-mindednessand that's a compliment."
"Thank you, Sir Henry, you're good for my morale. Goodbye."
She would need all her single-mindedness, Ann thought as she
hung up, now that she could no longer depend on Mark's physical
need of her. It would come back, of course, it must come back, she
told herself fiercely. She loved him, she wanted nobody else, she
must win him back.
She crossed to the fireplace and looked at herself in the mirror
above it, seeking reassurance. The bloom on the pale clear skin
owed nothing to make-up. The deep blue eyes looked back at her
steadily. The soft dusky hair framed her face in contemporary
fashion. She didn't look her 32 years.
The clock on the mantelpiece caught her eye. It was 9:40. There
was nothing she could do but wait. She had barely settled herself
in an armchair in front of the television set, determined to sit it
out, when the telephone rang.
"Mark! For heaven's sake, where are you?"
His voice had the underlying whine with which she had become
so familiar of late. "It's usual to leave a note," he said. "But I
can't leave a note, so I'm phoning instead. I can't take any more,
my beauty. You see, no more.. .it'll be just another acci-
dent. . .that damn level-crossing."
"Please, Mark, don't drive the car. Wait for me! I'll come for
you. Mark, please!" She knew her last words had not reached him.
He had hung up.
She took stock for a few moments, fighting down her panic. Her
mind worked clearly enough when action was needed. The phone
call had been an appeal for help even if Mark had been unaware
of it himself. She could take the short cut from the house and
reach the level-crossing before him.
She put on a coat, tied a scarf round her head, and started to
walk briskly. Soon she found herself running.
Mark drove away from The Blue Anchor, increasing his speed
as he reached the quiet country road he used so much. His
thoughts were a jumble of images and words and he was mum-
bling to himself. He had drunk a lot of whiskey, but it had brought
no relief this time. He'd practically lost his job and if whiskey let
him down, where could he turn for forgetfulness? To Ann?
Ann. . .the cause of his troubles.
The night was clear, the sky starlit. He heard the train's whis-
tle in the near distance and glanced at the car clock. 9:55. On
time, as usual. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and
sped forward. His timing was perfect, he thought; and so it should
be, he had rehearsed it often enough. There it wasthe open
crossing. If he kept up this speed it would soon be over.
The noise in his ears was deafening now. His sweating hand
slithered on the steering wheel. He felt his resolution weakening,
he pictured the impactof metal and fleshhis flesh. He took his
foot off the accelerator, the car's speed dropped to 40, to 30, to 20.
He was within a few yards of the train when he slammed on his
brakes.
The sudden jerk flung him forward but did him no damage. His
staring eyes followed the train's disappearing tail. Shaking and
spent, he sat for several seconds slumped over the wheel.
He looked up 'and saw Ann's white-coated figure running across
the rails toward him. She was at the car in a moment, her eyes
frantic. At the sight of Mark, who turned his head slowly to look
at her, she sighed with relief. She slipped into the passenger seat
beside him, careful not to touch him.
"Lost my nerve. Hadn't the guts to do to myself what I did to
John." His voice was bitter. "Rotten coward, that's what I've be-
come."
. Ann picked her way carefully through the brittle moment.
"Mark, let's go home. I'll drive."
He licked his lips and rubbed his dirty, sweaty hands together.
"I've got to get out of this thing." He fumbled with his door han-
dle. "I'm suffocating. I'll walk."
"I'll come with you."
He looked at her, wanting to reject her, but he could not. He
shrugged and got out of the car. Ann slipped into the driver's seat
and steered the car onto the verge.
"I'll empty the petrol tank," she said.
"You think of everything." At the sneering words Ann whirled
around, taken aback. She braced herself for worse to come. He
would take it out on her because he had just failed himself. "Like
you did with John," he said harshly. "The clocks, the door handles
of the caryour brains and my brawn!"
She kept all emotion out of her voice. "If you don't go away for
a complete change, you'll collapse, for good and all."
"And that would never do, would it? I might give the game
away altogether and then where would you be?"
"You'll lose your job if you go on like this."
"Now there's a thought! Got John out of the way so as to-step
into his job, but John's still in the way!"
"Mark, what about us?" She made the direct appeal deliber-
ately. "We wanted each other, that was why. The job was a sec-
ondary consideration. Wasn't it, Mark?"
He gestured miserably, his resentment melting as he let
memories flood back. "It all seemed worth it at the time. So much
to gain. And I was a man then, not the wreck I am today." Anger
mounted. "And you're to blame for that, for everything, every-
thing!"
He leaned against a fender and buried his head in his hands.
Ann hesitated, then came round the car and stood beside him.
"Look, Mark, we're in a mess and we've got to get out of it and we
can only do that by our own efforts. You have to rest or there's no
saying what will happen."-
"You mean I'm a danger to you," he snapped. "I might make a
clean breast of it and then you'd be in trouble."
Ann wondered at her own patience. She had never shown it to-
ward John. "It's as much a danger to you as it is to me," she said
quietly. "If you say too much, what will happen to you?"
"You don't give a damn what they do to me!"
"I care more than anything in the world. I have no life apart
from you, Mark. I love you."
He turned to look at her. "I'd like to believe that," he sighed.
"But John, he keeps getting in the way, he's everywhere, and I
can't get rid of him."
She placed her hand on his arm and there was a moment of
tenderness as they sat together. "As long as we keep close to each
other," she said, "no rows, no recriminations, we'll see it through."
He nodded wearily. His dark haggard eyes and gaunt face
looked at peace. He stood up and gently pulled her to her feet.
She leaned toward him and as their bodies touched, he accepted
her kiss, warm enough on her part but utterly without feeling on
his. She swallowed her disappointment. They started the short
walk home, side by side, but with a twelve-inch gap between
them.
The police were on the telephone early the following morning.
"Yes. Mrs. Venner speaking. Oh, thank you. We were just going
to do something about it. Yes, ran out of petrol. Thiank you, I'll be
right over."
Mark was on his third cup of black coffee and chain-smoking.
He watched Ann as she crossed to the writing desk. "I'll need the
insurance certificate," she murmured.
"You're in a hurry to get off."
"Well, it wouldn't do if I didn't seem anxious to get the car
back," she pointed out reasonably.
"I'm not letting you go to the police on your own."
She looked at him in amazement. "If I wanted to go to the
police station, Mark, I wouldn't need to wait for this kind of op-
portunity." But she had little hope that logic would influence him.
"I'm not letting you out of my sight, see?"
"Well, come with me."
"Exactly what I intend to do."
He went out of the sitting room. Ann found what she needed in
the desk, also several brochures of holiday resorts abroad. She
flicked them over, sensed rather than heard Mark stealing up
close behind her.
"Let's make it Venice," she said, without turning round. "We
could be ready in a couple of days. Would you prefer to fly?"
She turned round and met his eyes. For a second there was an
answering flicker of interest in his. Then he turned away.
"Oh, do what you want. I can't be bothered."
Ann drove them to the police station in her Mini. As she
started up the short drive to the entrance, she suddenly realized
that Mark was hanging back.
"I can't go in there," he mumbled. "All those policemen, asking
questions. . -the way they did before."
There was no use starting an argument here, she thought. "I
won't be long. Will you wait here?"
"I'll wait."
Inside the police station all was informal and friendly. "Ah,
Mrs. Venner," the sergeant said. "We've got Mr. Venner's car in
the garage. Now, if I could just have the insurance certificate and
the driving license"
Ann switched on her best smile as she-handed over the docu-
ments. "I'm sorry to give you all this bother, Sergeant. We
thought we'd just push the car out of the way and call for it this
morning with a can of petrol. Had no idea it would cause you all
this extra work."
"That's all right, Mrs. Venner." He pushed the book toward her
and indicated the place for her to sign. "We had a phone message
about it early this morning. We had to investigate. Thank you."
He restored the book to its position on the desk. "Be a good thing
when they bring that level-crossing up to date, with modern sig-
nals and warnings and everything."
"Oh, they're starting on that, at last?" Her voice sounded
strained.
"Day after tomorrow. Trains are being diverted round Kidstock
while the work is being done. Pity they didn't get on with it
sooner."
He broke off in embarrassment, as Ann showed signs of agita-
tion.  "Oh,  sorry,  Mrs.  Venner.  I  forgot  myself for  the  mo-
ment. . -bringing back such unhappy memories to you."
"Yes, Sergeant, horrible coincidence, wasn't it?"
Ann swung round at the sound of Mark's voice. "Leaving our
car there, of all places," he muttered.
The sergeant looked at him, puzzled. Ann felt panic rising up in
her. "We'll get the car now," she said.
Mark made no move. He looked round slowly. "So this is what a
police station looks like. Not so terrible, almost inviting."
"This is just our shop window, sir. As long as you don't have to
go past those doors" The sergeant laughed rather feebly as he
pointed in the direction of the doors leading to the cells.
Mark stared straight at Ann. Her outward control was near the
breaking point. "I don't think I'd mind it so much," he said
'quietly. "It would be an end, one could just give up. . ." His voice
trailed away and the sergeant could barely have heard the last
words.
"Heavens!" Ann, glancing at the clock on the wall, broke into
the role of the flurried, busy young woman. "It's nearly eleven
o'clock and we've such a lot to do!"
She crossed quickly to Mark, slipped her arm through his, and
steered him through the door.
"The garage is round the back, Mrs. Venner," the sergeant
called.. -
Two exhausting days later Ann had completed the arrange-
ments for their trip to Venice. Mark had made no objection to
going but neither had he helped her. He had spent most of his
time just sitting and smoking and brooding.
"We're all ready now," she said. "The packing's finished. I'm
tired, Mark. Let's go out to dinner tonight, there's no food in the
house."
"I'm not hungry. I don't want to go out and face people."
"All right, we'll have an early night and be fresh for the jour-
ney tomorrow." She sat down near him. He looked at her, but his
eyes were empty. "We'll be away from all this," she went on, "in a
few hours and you'll get well. And it will be like old times, the two
of us."
He drew back. "The two of us!" he shouted. "You fool, can't you
see it will never be just us two! John won't stay behind, he'll al-
ways be with us, no matter where I run to!"
Ann's iron self-control, rigidly maintained for weeks past, sud-
denly snapped, stretched beyond endurance. "I don't need any re-
minders!" Her voice was like a whip. "You've made sure of that,
with your whining and scenes and suspicions. You've made our
life a hell because you haven't the guts to see the job through. So
you blame me all the time. I've had to carry the burden alone.
Where would you be today if it weren't for me!"
"Back in my old lifea million times better off than I am now."
"Then why don't you clear out?" She was trembling with frus-
tration and anger. "You hate me, there's nothing left for us. Why
don't you clear out and leave me in peace?"
He was taken aback at this outburst, so different from her reac-
tions in the past.
"I daresay that's what you'd like," he sneered. "But it's not so
easy. We can't get away from each other."
"No? Well, I can get away from you. I'm leaving tomorrow
morning as planned." She suddenly gave in to her despair. A flood
of bitter sobs shook her. "I've stood as much as I can."
He heard her run upstairs and slam the bedroom door. He tried
to sort himself out. If he let her go, he'd be rid of her. Perhaps,
without her, he'd be able to come to terms with his guilt. But he
didn't want her to leave himit could be dangerous for him. She
might decide to go to the police and then how would he know?
He felt confused. He went slowly upstairs and listened at the
bedroom door, expecting to hear her crying. He opened the door
quietly and went in. She was seated on the edge of the bed, not
yet undressed, deep in thought, with set, tired face. As she looked
at him, quiet now and subdued, with something of the former
Mark Venner looking out of his eyes, her heart turned over.
"Mark, darling, forgive me. I'm sorry for what I said just now,"
"It was quite true. How were you to know I had a conscience?"
He sat down beside her. "Pity I didn't have the nerve to do myself
in the other night, not even when I was full of whiskey. That
would have solved all my problems, and yours."
The outburst had done her good, she thought; her mind was
clear, her patience restored, her longing for him intense. She
smiled faintly. "I don't have any problems of my own, I only have
your problems. You're eaten up with guilt. I'm not. I've wondered
why I'm not, but it's not so easy to explain. I suppose it's too
much a matter of emotions and temperament and I can live with
it, Mark. John was a bore; he was in the way of our wonderful life
together. It was a clever scheme and it worked."
"Clever because you thought, of it," he said harshly.
"But it worked because of youyour iron nerve and timing.
And it's over and done with and nothing, can undo it, so why not
bury it, Mark?"
"You feel nothing?" he said slowly. "Nothing?"
She shook her head. "Not even when you began talking about
itthe crashand how it felt. Then my only concern was for
you." She held his eyes. "I've only got feelings and thoughts for
you, my darling."
"You're the strong one," he said. "I'm the weakling. Look at
me."
She shook her head. "I need you, Mark, more than you need me.
I'll never leave you, whatever I say."
"You feel nothing, nothing at all for John?" he asked again,
wonderingly. "You have no doubts, no remorse, not just a little,
now and then?"
"No." The word was emphatic. It was how she felt. She put out
her hand to his cheek.
He struck it aside. "Then how can you know how I feel? How
can you help me? You're not flesh and blood." He stood up, shak-
ing. "You're rightyou're not leaving meI'm leaving you!"
He ran downstairs and picked up his suitcase. He had no idea
where he would go but he felt, suddenly, that he must drive away,
anywhere, and never c5me back. He felt more alive and alert than
he had done for months.
He drove carefully at first, then increased his speed. He felt al-
most intoxicated, although he had only had a couple of whiskies.
He felt fine, in fact. He would go on for another six or seven miles
and then turn off, along the road to the level-crossing. He could
take that, the way he felt tonight, and then he would be free.
He'd drive along the deserted stretch of road to the crossing,
drive straight over it, without hesitation or fear. Tonight he
would lay his ghostsonce and for all. He turned into the long
straight road that no longer held any terrors for him. In a few
minutes the level-crossing would come into sight.
In the far distance behind him a car's headlights streamed into
his mirror. He glanced quickly behind, suddenly suspicious. It
could be Ann, it was a small car. He slowed down just enough to
try to identify it. It looked like Ann's car. Soshe was following
him. Well, he'd show her. She hadn't a hope of keeping up with
his Jaguar.
He glanced at the dashboard clock. 9:55. And suddenly an icy
streak cut through him. No, he wouldn't think about it. The
level-crossing was coming into view but still far enough away for
him to pull himself together.
Ann's car was creeping up on him. He'd beat the lot of them,
John included. He increased his speed, touching 80 now. 80. That
was what he was doing on the nightthat night
The exhilaration was evaporating, yielding to confusion. He
drove by instinct, the shrieking sounds so familiar to him in his
nightmare blurring his senses. Without turning his head, he
slowly reached out with his left hand toward the passenger seat
beside him. He felt a man's leg.
Relief flooded over him. As if in a spell, he turned his eyes to-
ward his companion. He fully expected to see John and he was not
startled when he met the other man's eyes. He heard him grunt
and sink down drowsily into his seat.
He heard the shrill whistle of the oncoming train, its clattering
wheels, its relentless din. The car was speeding directly into it.
"John, John!" he yelled. "Jump, for God's sake!"
A few seconds later came the crash and a few seconds after that
Ann's car pulled up. She ran from it like someone demented and
found Mark's shattered body in the debris. He was alive, barely
conscious. Very gently she lifted his head onto her lap. He stirred.
"Thank heaven," she said. "You're all right."
He spoke with difficulty, but he made it; he had something im-
portant to say. "John1 saved him. . .this time. . ."
"Mark, Mark!" Ann was frantically willing him to cling to life.
"Hang on, try to hang on for a bit. There was no train, they're
going round the other way. You hit the lamps and things."
It took a few seconds for this to sink in. During that last mo-
ment before death, his eyes and mind seemed to clear. His words
came distinctly. "But I made it right with Johnto hell with
you."
People and police arrived some minutes later. She was still sit-
ting there, hunched over him, desolate, defeated. John's murder
had left her unscathed. But Mark had died hating her, and her
life was over.