The Disappearance. Annabel Kantaria

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СКАЧАТЬ at herself in the mirror, she ties a silk sash in matching navy around her waist. She opens her jewellery box and selects from the jewels within a discreet pair of pearl stud earrings. She slips her stockinged feet into a pair of navy pumps and slides her hands into her favourite off-white evening gloves that reach way beyond her elbow.

      As her fingers wriggle into place inside the soft silk gloves, Audrey hears the shrill cry of a baby. Arm still extended, she holds her breath, as if by holding herself still she can will the baby to stop crying, but the noise not only continues, it ramps up a gear. Audrey can tell, by now, that it’s John, not Alexandra. The girl’s voice is softer, less shrill. Audrey slips off her gloves and shoes and dashes across the expanse of the galleried landing to the nursery.

      ‘Hush now. Hush, hush,’ she whispers. John is sitting up in his cot, his face wet with tears. When he sees Audrey, his screams get louder. Ralph tells her the babies are too young to remember their mother – he’s made her swear that she’ll never tell them – but Audrey knows that, on some level, they know. She leans down into the cot and strokes John’s hair but he flinches away.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Audrey whispers. ‘Did you have a bad dream? You want Mummy to hold you?’

      The screaming gets louder and Audrey stares helplessly at John.

      ‘Ssh!’ she soothes. ‘You’ll wake your sister!’ She looks over at the other cot, where Alexandra is already starting to stir.

      ‘Mama!’ screams the boy. ‘Mamaaaa!’

      ‘Mama’s here!’ She reaches into the cot to try and touch John again, but he backs away to the farthest corner. ‘Mamaaa!’

      Audrey’s forehead flops onto the cot rail.

      ‘What do you want?’ she sobs. ‘What am I supposed to do? Please stop crying!’

      ‘Madam,’ says the ayah, suddenly behind her. ‘I try.’

      Audrey spins around. ‘Oh, Madhu. Thank you. I … I just don’t know what’s wrong with him.’

      Madhu reaches into the cot and picks up the screaming baby. Audrey slips out of the room and listens at the door. Within seconds the crying simmers down and Audrey hears the rhythmic step of the ayah walking up and down the nursery floor and the soothing hum of her voice. Why can’t she do that?

      Audrey steps silently down the polished staircase in her stockings. She walks across the parquet floor of the drawing room to the bar, where she pours herself a neat gin and adds a dash of Angostura bitters: a little sharpener. She takes a sip, then carries the glass back up to the bedroom, where she puts her shoes back on, selects a perfume and sprays it liberally on her neck and wrists, then looks in the mirror one more time.

      She looks good. She looks, as Janet would say, ‘the part.’ She’s now got used to the sophisticated woman with the expensive clothes and the tumbling red curls who looks back at her each time she passes a mirror. The new look was Ralph’s idea: it was he who briefed the hairdresser and the tailor on how he wanted his wife to look and she likes the results. But it does take an increasing amount of effort to remember what Audrey Bailey, London legal secretary, used to look like. Ralph won’t hear of letting her work.

      The bedroom door opens behind her. Audrey turns a fraction so he can see she’s braless.

      ‘Nice,’ says Ralph. ‘Nice dress.’ He stares at her, his eyes dark with desire. ‘Come here.’

      Audrey knows what’s coming and she feels the familiar pull in her belly. But this is a game. She knows what Ralph likes. She extends her arm and looks at the little gold watch on her wrist, her expression inscrutable. ‘Darling, we’re due at dinner …’ She turns towards the door as if to leave.

      ‘Come here,’ repeats Ralph, but he doesn’t wait. In an instant he’s across the room and he catches Audrey from behind, his hands roaming over her body as she leans back against him and turns her head to meet his kisses. Inside the dress his hands find her bare breasts.

      ‘Red, what do you do to me?’ he says, his mouth against hers. Audrey moans. She’s known nothing like this in her life; Patrick was always so pedestrian, so strait-laced. Ralph scoops Audrey up, drops her on the bed, and wrenches up her silk dress. He undoes his trousers, tugs her knickers to one side, and pushes himself into her. She writhes under him, pushing her hips to meet his, then turns her head to one side as Ralph rains kisses on her face and neck.

      ‘The ayah,’ she breathes. ‘The door …’

      ‘So what?’

      ‘But …’

      Ralph is moving faster; he’s not going to stop. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the new nursery door open; Madhu step quietly out and walks across the landing and down the stairs, her eyes averted. A moment later, Ralph climaxes with a moan and collapses on top of her; he’s come too fast for her to keep up but she doesn’t mind – there’ll be another chance later. She strokes his back softly while his breathing returns to normal. Are all marriages like this? she wonders.

      When he’s caught his breath, Ralph props himself up on his elbows, strokes Audrey’s hair back from her face, and stares into her eyes.

      ‘I love you,’ she whispers.

      Ralph leans down, kisses her forehead, and rolls off her. He goes to the bathroom. Audrey sits up and rearranges her dress. She hears the toilet flush and the tap run, then Ralph strides back into the room.

      ‘Hurry up, Red,’ he says with a wink. ‘We don’t want to be late for dinner.’

      The good mood unfortunately doesn’t last. The traffic on the way to the restaurant is worse than usual and Audrey watches as her husband gets increasingly worked up, snapping at the driver to go this way and that in an attempt to avoid the snarls.

      ‘It’s okay,’ she murmurs, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. Ralph echoes the squeeze but then pulls his hand away, running it through his hair as he stares out at the gridlock, his jaw working as he clenches his teeth.

      ‘I can’t bear to be late!’ he snaps without turning around and Audrey realises that she herself is too late: she’s lost him to one of his black moods – his ‘funks’ as she’s come to think of them – and her birthday dinner, when they arrive, takes the hit. Although the restaurant is softly lit, the tinkle of a piano barely breaking over the gentle hum of expensive conversation, it’s as if a veil’s suddenly come down between the two of them. Audrey uses every single one of her conversational skills to try to get her husband to give her anything more than a monosyllabic reply, but he’s a different person to the one who ravished her in the bedroom. She asks coquettishly if he likes her dress. She talks about what she did all day with the children and she chats about the unseasonal weather Bombay’s been experiencing – always a good topic – but even that gets little more than a grunt.

      The tables are filled with beautiful ladies and well-dressed gentlemen and Audrey’s painfully aware that she and Ralph are being watched; that maybe these people remember the story of Alice Templeton; that the little scenario playing out at their table is being talked about. In this room full of people, with her husband, on her birthday, Audrey has never felt more alone. As the waiter clears the plates from their main courses, Audrey decides to give it one more shot.

      ‘Mmm,’ she says, looking at the dessert menu. ‘They all look so good. СКАЧАТЬ