by Wendy Clarke
As he disappears into my room, I’m wishing I hadn’t left my nightdress draped over the iron bars of my bed and can’t help wondering whether I’ve left my bag open, displaying my clothes and underwear.
‘How long are you likely to be?’ I call after him.
I hear a cupboard door being opened. ‘As long as it takes, miss.’
There’s the squeak of floorboards, the sound of something heavy being moved. A metallic clang. I want to go in and see what he’s doing, but the bedroom is too far from the apartment door. Instead, I sit on one of the white plastic stools in the kitchen area and wait.
After twenty minutes or so, he reappears. He’s undone his jacket and the tight-fitting black T-shirt he wears underneath accentuates the tautness of his stomach muscles.
He stands with his feet apart. ‘The air con seems to be okay.’
‘That’s good. Thank you for checking.’
I wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks to the windows. Putting his holdall on the floor, he looks out. ‘Staying long?’
I want to tell him it’s none of his business, but I don’t want to rile him. If I’m genial to him, he might leave quicker. ‘I haven’t decided.’
He turns and surveys the room, his hands in the pockets of his uniform trousers, pulling them tight across his taut buttocks. ‘Know how much these cost?’ When I don’t answer, he carries on. ‘Close to three million. Do you have three million?’
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. I want him out of here, not talking about things that don’t have anything to do with him. He runs his hand over the back of the leather settee.
‘New Tobacco Wharf. What a cliché. Hankered after by rich bitches with more cash than sense.’ He gives a dry laugh. ‘Not that there are many of those around at the moment willing to dig deep into their pockets. It’s just a warehouse after all. Just a fucking great empty tobacco warehouse. Mark Belmont must have seen her coming, got out his fishing line. Another rich wife to help recoup his bloody losses.’
I can’t listen to any more. ‘I’d like you to go now.’
Derek looks at me as though suddenly remembering I’m here. Picking up his bag again, he walks over, stopping in front of me. He’s so close I can smell stale coffee on his breath, and I instinctively lean back, my back making contact with the sharp edge of the metal worktop.
He touches a finger to the end of my hair, making my skin crawl. ‘Though it looks as though she might have some competition.’
From my seat on the high bar stool, our eyes are at the same level. He’s looking at me curiously, and I can’t think straight. If I shout for help, who would hear me? If I run for the door, he’d be there before me.
My fingers grip the plastic edge of the seat. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Reaching out, he rubs the collar of the blue blouse between thumb and finger. ‘Don’t you?’
I pull back, and he laughs. ‘The police were here.’
‘Yes.’
He strokes his chin, the stubble rasping under his fingers. ‘Now I wonder what they could have wanted?’
I don’t want to tell this man anything. Why should I? ‘I don’t know. It was Mark they wanted to see, not me.’
As though someone has flicked a switch, Derek steps back and smiles. ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Solomon. I’ll let Mr Belmont know that there’s nothing to worry about. That the air conditioning unit seems to be working fine. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day. Please don’t get up, I’ll let myself out.’
With a strange little bow, he walks away, and I don’t move until I hear the click of the apartment door as it closes. I wait a moment, then slip down from the bar stool and run to the door, sliding the chain into its slot with shaking fingers. Then I press my ear against the door, not breathing until I’ve heard the metallic clunk of the lift’s inner door as Derek pulls it open then shut again.
When all is silent once more, and I’ve double-checked the door, I let the air out of my lungs. Derek’s visit has rattled me. Has he got something to do with Joanna’s disappearance? Does he know where she went? I no longer want to be here, and I decide I’ll get my things together and go.
I stop at the door of my bedroom and look in. Even though nothing seems out of place, now I know Derek’s been in here, the room feels defiled. Grubby. Forcing myself to go in, I pick up items of clothing and stuff them into my bag, then go into the bathroom and take my washbag from the glass shelf above the sink.
Coming out again, I check the bedside drawers and the wardrobe to make sure I haven’t left anything, hesitating when I see the drawer that contains my photographs. A part of me wants to look at them again, but I know that if I do, the reminder of how we once were might make me want to stay.
Quickly, I turn the key, but instead of returning it to Joanna’s jewellery box, I leave it in the lock. I don’t want to go back into the room Joanna and Mark share. I feel guilty at leaving when I don’t know what’s happened to her, but Joanna isn’t my responsibility. She has a husband now. Someone else to take care of her.
It’s only when I touch my finger to my ear and remember I’m still wearing Joanna’s earrings and blouse that something Derek said comes back to me. Something I don’t understand.
Carefully, I twist off the butterfly clip and cup the diamond studs in my hand. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to wait until Mark gets home because there’s an important question I need to ask him.
Twenty-Two
We sit at the dining table as we have the previous evenings, a bottle of wine between us. We’ve eaten the thin, tender spears of asparagus, which were our starter, and the pan-fried duck breast Mark has just served me, along with some new potatoes and tender broccoli, which smells delicious.
I’ve told him about Derek’s visit, but not about how uncomfortable he made me feel. Nor what he said about Joanna, though why I haven’t, I’m not sure.
‘Derek’s a lifesaver. To be honest, Gary and I don’t know what we’d do without him as he’ll turn his hand to anything. Used to be in the army, would you believe. Not sure why he left, but their loss is our gain.’
It doesn’t surprise me. I can imagine him in his soldier’s uniform, an automatic machine gun in his hand, darting between buildings in some war-torn country, searching out an unseen enemy.
‘My brother’s in the army.’
‘Really? Where’s he stationed?’
‘Last time I heard he was in Cyprus.’
‘Last time you heard? You’re not close then.’
‘Not really.’ I don’t say any more. I know that it will sound childish if I tell him I haven’t forgiven my brother for siding with my father. For telling me life goes on even though, just a few months earlier, life had stopped for my mother.
I cut a small piece of duck and put it in my mouth. ‘You don’t think he’s a bit,’ I try to choose my word carefully, ‘strange?’
Mark draws his brows together. ‘Strange? No, not at all. He’s reliable. Civil. Committed to his job. Not easy to find people like that these days. What made you say that?’
I think of his coffee breath. How he made my skin crawl.
‘It doesn’t matter. I just found him a bit familiar, that’s all. It’s probably because I don’t know him well enough.’
Mark frowns. ‘That doesn’t sound like him. Would you like me to have a word?’
‘No, no. Please don’t say anything. I don’t want to cause any trouble.’
I put my knife and fork down. ‘Did you get the new charger for my phone? You said you’d do it on the way back from the office.’
Mark hits his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Damn. I completely forgot. I’m really sorry. Can it wait until tomorrow?’
‘I suppose so.’ The two glasses of wine I’ve drunk has put paid to my idea of going home tonight anyway.
‘The offer’s still there to use mine if you want to.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll go and get one tomorrow.
But there was something I wanted to ask you. Something Derek said that neither you nor Joanna mentioned.’
Mark looks at me, his blue eyes fixed on mine. ‘Yes.’
I want to look away but can’t. For some reason, it seems important to know the answer, but asking him outright seems rude. I have to, though – the answer might be the missing piece of the puzzle I’ve been looking for. The reason Joanna’s not here.
‘It’s just that Derek said you’d had another wife.’ I fiddle with the stem of my wine glass. ‘You never said.’
The precisely cut piece of pink duck breast, which Mark has speared on his fork, hovers an inch from his lips.
‘And why would I? I hardly know you.’
‘I know, but Joanna and I… I just thought…’ I stop, wondering what it is I’m trying to say.
Mark puts his fork down, the meat untouched. ‘I’m not sure why it’s of interest, but yes, I have been married before.’
It’s said without emotion, but I notice how a small pulse jumps at the corner of his eye. I want him to say more, but he doesn’t, and it’s left to me to break the silence. Embarrassed, I find myself babbling.
‘I know divorces can be hard, but you’ve got Joanna now.’ I stop, realising the stupidity of what I’ve said.
There’s a sharp scrape as Mark pushes back his chair. Picking up his unfinished plate of food, he takes it to the bin and scrapes it into the dark interior.
I get up too. ‘Mark, I’m sorry I didn’t…’
‘She’s dead.’
For one awful minute I think he’s taking about Joanna. My throat constricts, and my voice comes out in a whisper. ‘Dead?’
Mark wheels round, the metallic clang of the bin lid as it closes echoing in the cavernous room. ‘Her name was Tanya.’
Realisation dawns, and I’m weak with relief. ‘It’s your wife who died?’
‘Yes.’ He turns suspicious eyes on me. ‘Who did you think I meant?’
I recoil from the chill in his voice. ‘Nobody. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘It was Joanna, wasn’t it?’ His voice is icy. ‘You think Joanna’s dead?’
‘No. No, of course I don’t. When you said she’d died, I thought you meant—’
Tears spring to my eyes, and Mark’s face softens.
‘Yes, I see now how the misunderstanding came about. I’m sorry I was sharp, it’s just that it’s still a bit raw.’ Gathering himself, he gives a thin smile. ‘Please, sit down. Finish your meal.’
I do as I’m told, but the duck has grown cold on my plate, and I’ve no longer any appetite for it. ‘I’m sorry for upsetting you.’
Joining me at the table again, Mark refills our glasses. ‘It wasn’t your fault. She was a wonderful woman, and it was only two years ago… maybe I’m not over it yet.’
I’m not sure how to respond. If he’s not over her, then where does Joanna fit in?
Mark takes a large mouthful of wine, his Adam’s apple rising as he swallows. He looks at me over the top of his glass. ‘I suppose you want to know how she died?’
‘No. Please, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I should never have said anything.’
‘It’s all right. Really, I don’t mind. In fact, it’s nice to have someone to talk to about her. My wife, my first wife that is, died in a car accident. It happened one night when I was away on business. The police found her car in the ditch.’ His head is in his hands now, his fingertips leaving tramlines in his thick hair. ‘She’d hit a tree and there was nothing they could do to save her.’
‘Oh God. I’m sorry. That’s awful. Do they know how it happened?’
‘No. It was late so there were no witnesses. The likeliest thing is that she was driving too fast. Lost control.’
‘What was Tanya like?’
‘Sweet. Kind.’ There’s a catch in his voice. ‘She was only thirty-nine. That’s too young to die. Too bloody young. And now Joanna…’
There’s a hollow feeling in my stomach as I realise something. ‘You didn’t say anything about Tanya to the police when you told them Joanna was missing. Why not?’
The thump of his fist on the table makes me start. ‘Because it’s none of their damn business. Joanna’s disappearance has nothing to do with the past. With me. Besides, I couldn’t face another interrogation.’
‘Interrogation?’
‘Questions. Questions. Bloody questions. Where were you? What was your marriage like? Which one of you was in charge of servicing the car? As if I was in some way to blame. It was a simple accident. And now you know why I was in no hurry to go to them about Joanna until I really had to. I just couldn’t face having the whole business with Tanya dredged up again.’
‘But if Joanna doesn’t come back soon, they’re going to be asking more questions. And if there was an investigation into Tanya’s death, they’ll soon make a connection to you as her husband. They’ll find out eventually, Mark.’ I look at him, exasperated. Remembering how he hadn’t wanted to tell them about his whirlwind marriage to Joanna. ‘You can’t avoid it forever.’
‘It’s not going to happen. She’ll be back by then.’ He finishes his wine. ‘She’ll come back, and then things can get back to normal.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘I don’t like you talking like that.’
‘But we have to face facts, Mark. Joanna is gone, and we have no idea where she is.’
He closes his eyes briefly. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.’
Although it shouldn’t be, the word we is comforting. It makes me feel like we’re in this together. But then I remember the hidden photographs in the bedroom. Imagine Joanna taking them out one by one when Mark is out of the house. Looking at them. Would she have been remembering the fun we had when we were together? Our special friendship?
The part of me that has never got over being rejected by my father… by Drew, responds. Despite our years apart, Joanna has never forgotten me. The proof is in that locked drawer. Maybe there is no we after all. Just me.
I look at Mark’s profile. The thin, slightly hooked nose. The high forehead and long face with its neatly trimmed beard. He’s a man who’s been married twice. One wife is dead, the other missing. I shiver. Does he know about the photographs? Something makes me sure he doesn’t, and I’m glad.
In this cold apartment in a dock that feels abandoned, it’s a small secret… but one that warms me. Joanna wants me here for a reason, and I’m not leaving until I find out what it is.
Twenty-Three
I’m sitting at the kitchen island, eating my breakfast and mulling over everything that’s happened since I’ve been here. How Joanna and Mark have married in secret. The way Mark has kept it from her parents and would have kept it from the police if he’d had the chance. His previous marriage and how it ended in tragedy. The drawer in my bedroom stuffed full of photographs… all of me.
I dip my spoon to my bowl, my appetite dwindling. Where on earth could Joanna be?
Mark is at the counter, making a fresh cafetière of coffee. With all that he’s concealed, I should feel nervous around him, but how can I when I know how shocked he was when he mistakenly believed I thought Joanna was dead. I could leave him here to deal with it alone, but with each day, my worry for my friend intensifies. Joanna invited me here for a reason, and I owe it to her to stay and figure out what that might be.
Mark brings the coffee over. He pulls out a stool and sits before clearing his throat. ‘I have to go away for a couple of days. I was wondering whether you would mind staying and keeping an eye on the apartment for me.’
I raise my head from my muesli, realising that all the time I’ve been at the breakfast bar, Mark’s eaten nothing. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot as though he hasn’t slept well. ‘You’re going away? Is that a good idea when Joanna is missing?’
‘I have no choice. I’ve got to work.’
‘When are you going?’
Mark pours himself
another coffee from the cafetière in front of him. ‘Later this morning and I’d be happier if someone was here in case she comes back. Please, Alice, I wouldn’t go, but Gary wants me to check on one of our properties in Manchester.’
‘Can’t you ask him to go instead?’
He shakes his head. ‘They’ve gone to Dubai.’
‘Dubai? They never said anything when they were here.’
‘That’s because it’s no big deal to them.’ His voice has a bitter edge to it. ‘They’re away more than they’re here.’
I’ve no doubt he’s right, but something has been troubling me. ‘I think you should have told them about Joanna before they left. She is their daughter after all.’ Despite their strained relationship, I’m certain they wouldn’t have left the country if they’d known she was missing.
‘I will when I get back. I promise.’ He takes a sip of his coffee. His voice is level, but I can see the effort it takes to keep it that way. ‘Anyway, we don’t want to spoil their holiday.’
‘Jesus Christ, Mark. You make it sound as though Joanna going missing is an inconvenience.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.’ He rubs a hand down his face. ‘It’s just that everything’s so… up in the air at the moment. So unsettled. Please, Alice, I’ll be back tomorrow evening at the latest.’
I put down my spoon. Unsettled seems rather an understatement. ‘I don’t know. I really ought to be getting home.’
Mark stands. He picks up my bowl and mug and takes them over to the dishwasher, the metal tray rattling as he closes the door. ‘To what? You have no job. You have nobody who will miss you.’
I stare dumbly at his back. Doesn’t he realise how insensitive he’s being. It might be true, but it’s hardly polite to say it.
‘Thank you for pointing that out,’ I say eventually.
He straightens up. ‘Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry, Alice. It’s just that I’m worried sick. What if Joanna comes back and finds I’m not here? What if she thinks I don’t care – packs her things and goes for good?’ Coming back to the table, he sits down then leans across and takes my hand. ‘Please forgive me. It’s just that everything is such a bloody mess. I’ll beg if I have to.’