by Emily Barr
‘I know,’ he told me, ‘that you already do Atkins, and believe me, Evie, that is wonderful. I would be seriously worried if you didn’t follow a reputable nutritional regime. But I think we could add some tone to the package. I’m thinking Jennifer Aniston. Snare yourself a Brad.’
The next day he delivered me a guest pass to his gym. Not only that, but he brought me here, personally, and introduced me to the receptionists and a couple of personal trainers. He is currently on a rowing machine, behind me and to my right, keeping a close eye on my blotchy thighs. Every time I look at him in the mirror, he gives me a wave and mouths, ‘You’re doing great!’
I had to buy myself some work-out clothes, so I’m dressed in a pair of three-quarter-length Lycra cycling pants and the loosest T-shirt I could find in the sports shop. It is black, so at least the sweat patches are camouflaged, and it says ‘Baby’ across the breasts. I thought it was cute, until I had the horrible realisation that it is probably a maternity top. New York women wear these over their bumps, when they go to pregnancy aerobics or maternity pilates. That would explain its bagginess.
If Alexis wasn’t in the room, I would leave, shower, have a large breakfast, and call him later to tell him what a great work-out I’d had. Because he’s here, I have to carry on for as long as he does, and I fear it’s going to be closer to two hours than one.
I try to forget that I’m running, in a crowded room full of semi-naked people. I let my mind drift back to Ron. He wants to see me later today, and I can’t wait to hear what he’s going to say. I don’t dare hope, so I wonder if it could be to do with Guy. Megan arrived in Bristol yesterday, went straight to Guy’s house, and found that he was out. The police want to speak to him, Ron has tried to call him, but he too seems to have vanished.
We gave Anneka a letter from Guy, without knowing what was in it. She immediately disappeared. Whatever was in the envelope must have, somehow, made her leave. It could have contributed to her death. I don’t know what it could have been or how it could have worked, but it is possible. Ron mentioned anthrax and ricin: that is what got me thinking. The news is always full of poison gases and dirty bombs. Guy is a medical man. He would have access to hospital chemicals. I wish I had any sort of science background so I would be able to speculate a little better. The fact that he too has disappeared is more incriminating than anything else.
What Guy might have written to Anneka is a mystery. I am seeing Ron later. I intend to make him tell me everything he knows about Marianne, and why Mum and Phil went so strange when I mentioned Ron’s name. Megan and I are caught up in something we don’t understand at all.
I am lost without her. Kate and Ian are leaving next week, after their scan. Perhaps it has been too easy, living here in a free apartment, with my closest friends around me. Life does not carry on like that, and the day is almost here when I will have to make a few decisions.
My career is going well. My marriage is over. Those are the only definite things in my life. I have nowhere to live, few friends, a stalker who I never shook off after all, and a phantom daughter. And I am directly responsible for whatever has happened to Anneka.
I am supposed to be going on television next week. All my friends will be gone, and I’ll be in my apartment on my own. I am so convinced that the stalker, whether he’s Guy or the old Sun-reading pervert, might track me down that I am considering moving back into Howard’s study, or going home altogether. After the rash of TV appearances Alexis has conjured up for me, I will have to go back. New York is a wonderful place to be, but even Manhattan doesn’t contain enough magic for me right now.
At least Kate and Ian are doing well. Ian is treating Kate like a delicate china vase, and she’s not straining herself by doing anything whatsoever, as far as I can tell. Whenever I meet them, they turn up by taxi. I always want to suggest, as gently as I can, that there is no need for her to act like an invalid, but I know how much depends upon this pregnancy being successful.
My attempts to lose myself in thought are unsuccessful. I think I prefer exercise to thinking. At least if you’re puffing, red-faced, on a treadmill, you are doing something. It is possible to forget everything else and concentrate on the embarrassment and the agony. These are comfortingly shallow preoccupations. I will exercise more. I begin to see why people do it.
I hate the music. It’s too loud, too relentless. I know someone, somewhere, is trying to motivate me with these interminable garagey thuds, but I can’t bear it. If I had a set of headphones, I would wear them just to block out the sound. I wouldn’t tune into ‘cardio-theater’ at all, unless it has a classical channel.
The garage track finishes, and to my surprise a familiar voice comes over the sound system. Dan’s sole hit - ‘If You Want Me’ - has been remixed to a dance beat, and I laugh as I run. If they are playing him in the gyms of Manhattan, he must be doing something right. I catch Alexis’s eye in the mirror, point to the speaker, then mouth the words, ‘I know him.’ He raises his eyebrows and motions me to stop running.
‘Did you say you know Dan Donovan?’ he asks, standing next to my treadmill.
‘Dan and I had a brief fling,’ I tell him.
‘Please, Evie,’ he interrupts. ‘A romance, not a fling.’
‘OK. We had a romance around Christmas last year. It had a lot of coverage in the British media. It fizzled out very quickly, though, mainly because he’s younger than my little brother, and his management didn’t approve. They thought I was way too old and experienced for him.’
‘Of course they did. A married woman such as yourself is not the right demographic. I presume they want to keep him single for the target audience?’
‘Quite. Anyway, it was never exactly serious.’
‘But he’s doing very well here. You must have heard this song everywhere? We can use your connection, Evie. Could you be seen with him in New York? It would do you the world of good.’
I sigh. ‘Really? He’s quite hard work, conversationally. Very young.’
‘Your point being? You’ll need to seek him out yourself, because his people here will have exactly the same issues with you as his people in London did. Captivate him, Evie. Take him out. Show him off. It sells.’
I row five miles upstream and strain my arms. Then I cycle for twenty minutes and flick through a copy of Vogue, which doesn’t mention me at all. I would never normally expect to find my name in a random copy of an expensive magazine, but Alexis has raised my expectations, to the point where I feel I should see myself everywhere. I almost think they owe it to me now.
Finally, we do some free weights together. Alexis grabs some unfeasibly large dumb-bells and does some rapid tricep curls. I copy him with the smallest weights on the stand, and still struggle when I reach five repetitions. I hate weights, and I think I would prefer to be rebounding. I don’t share this thought with Alexis. If I did, I know what would happen.
Is this, I wonder, my future? Will I find it slightly easier next time I come here, and easier still the time after that? Will my daily routine soon incorporate an early gym visit in place of my early cello practice? Am I going to stay here and become an honorary New Yorker, like Louise?
I shower with relief, and change, and dry my hair and redo my make-up. My body is aching, but pleasantly, and I am finally experiencing a little of the serotonin buzz that Alexis promised me. It does not compensate for the trials of organised exercise, and I can’t get over the strangeness of working out in a windowless room with fifty other people, all pedalling or running furiously and getting nowhere. Still, I will come again, because Alexis will force me. I will go out on a date with Dan again, also because Alexis will force me. It is almost pleasant to have someone else to make my decisions for me.
‘Thanks for coming before Kate and Ian,’ says Ron, smiling and handing me the inevitable cup of coffee. ‘I wanted to see you and I know they want you around for the scan.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ I tell him warmly. ‘Any news on Anneka?’
‘No. No sign of Guy yet either. He’s not making things any better for himself. Anyway, have a seat.’
I can’t hold off any longer. ‘Have you got anything for me?’
Ron laughs. He is making more eye contact than usual, and I hope that is a good sign. ‘I can’t blame you for being keen. At least sit down first.’
We are in his sitting room, again. I notice a framed photo of Anneka on the mantle.
‘Nice photo,’ I tell him. ‘Was it there before?’
He looks at it. ‘No. If things had turned out differently I would have papered the room with photos of Annie and our baby when the time came. I was holding out for that. Who knows? There might even have been wedding photographs too.’
‘Maybe there still will be, one day.’
‘Maybe.’
‘How are you doing?’
He puts his head on one side. ‘I’m getting by, thanks. Now let’s talk about you.’ He smiles broadly, and it looks genuine. ‘More to the point, let’s talk about Miss Darcey D’Angelo, your fabulously named daughter.’
I gasp. ‘Darcey D’Angelo? Baby Elizabeth?’
He nods, and takes a slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. I unfold it. I stand up, unable to keep still, and he does too.
‘Darcey D’Angelo,’ I read, ‘daughter of Frank and Carla D’Angelo.’ There is an address in Stowe, Vermont. ‘She’s in Vermont?’ I add. ‘How far is that?’
‘That’s their last known address. She may not be there now. It’s quite a schlep away. Maybe two hundred miles north of Boston.’ He looks at me. ‘Not that you’re going to go and find her.’
‘Of course I’m not. Do you know anything else about her?’
‘Evie, I’m nervous at having done this much. It’s illegal. You mustn’t go and find her.’ He says the words sternly, but his eyes are kind, and I know he knows I have to see her. He wouldn’t have given me her address otherwise.
I pocket the piece of paper. ‘Thanks, Ron. You’re fantastic.’ I look at him. ‘Really.’
He puts a hand on my waist. ‘No, Evie, thank you. It’s been good to be able to help you with this, and I appreciate your friendship. It’s funny how few friends I actually appear to have.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s true. Life is full of people, but when something like this happens, you see what you really mean to them. I don’t blame them for doubting me, but it makes me sad. I mean, I would doubt me too.’
‘You mean people think you’ve done something to Anneka?’
‘It’s the obvious explanation, isn’t it? She vanishes without trace, and I’m the boyfriend. The police seem satisfied that I didn’t do anything, but Annie’s friends are less logical, and like I said, I don’t blame them.’
‘Aurora trusts you.’
‘Aurora knows me.’
‘Well I don’t doubt you. I’d trust you completely, Ron, even though I know about your fake cards.’
His hand is still on my waist. I realise that it’s there for a reason. When I look at him, I see he’s gazing at me intensely. I decide that I don’t mind. It is probably high time I kissed someone, and I would rather it was Ron than Dan.
He puts his other hand on my waist, and pulls me towards him.
‘Evie,’ he says, looking hard into my eyes.
‘Ron,’ I say lightly. I try to glance away, but then I look back at him. Ron is well preserved and I like the smile lines around his eyes and mouth. He is a fantastically unlikely partner for me. He doesn’t stop staring. I wait for him to kiss me, but he drops his hands.
‘Sorry,’ he says. I am a little disappointed. I’m more disappointed than I should be, considering that he’s fifty-five and a shady character.
‘Sorry for what?’ I ask, a little tersely.
‘Sorry for this.’ He gestures to the room at large. ‘Sorry for grabbing you. I’m far too old for you, and as you yourself said, the best that can be said of me is that I’m dapper.’
‘That’s not true,’ I tell him. ‘Actually, I didn’t mind at all.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Although I know I’m just a distraction, because your head is full of Anneka. Obviously this is not the moment for anything serious. And that’s all right by me. We both need a distraction.’
He is perfectly good-looking in his way. He’s fit and he’s kind and he likes me. He is enormously rich. He knows my secret and he hasn’t judged me. I will be grateful to him for ever for finding my baby. Besides which, I am not exactly inundated with offers.
‘Maybe we could have a drink sometime?’ he asks, hesitantly.
I smile at him, hoping that my face doesn’t show how odd, yet welcome, this sudden change in our circumstances feels.
We are interrupted, happily, by Aurora, paging Ron to let him know that ‘the Dawsons’ have arrived. Kate and Ian now have their own rental car, having spent a small fortune on taxis in the city, so I have been spared the need for awkward explanations regarding my own appointment with Ron. Ron snaps back into professional mode and I can see the relief on his face as we revert to our normal roles.
‘Wait in here if you like,’ he says, halfway out of the door. ‘I’ll call you on that phone once we’ve scanned her. There’s nothing quite like seeing the heartbeat. I won’t even ask Kate if she’d consider inviting you in, since at this stage it has to be a vaginal scan.’
I laugh. ‘Fair enough. Definitely one for gynaecologists and other halves only.’
When he’s gone, I stand at the window and look out at the grounds. In the near distance I see a woman sitting on a bench under a tree. From here, I can’t see her expression.
I take the piece of paper out of my pocket, and read it again. She was Elizabeth Silverman for five minutes, and now she is Darcey D’Angelo. The name makes her sound dark and glamorous, but she can’t really be black-haired and dark-eyed. She has no Italian ancestry. She must be fair. Perhaps she is the only pale member of a Mediterranean family: the blonde sheep of the family.
Vermont is north of Boston, and Boston is miles north of here. I’m going to have to fly. I have to see her. Nothing could stop me now.
I am consumed by her. She is my baby, my little girl, and I have a chance to meet her. I love Ron, because he did this for me.
When the door opens, twenty minutes later, I jump. I have been in a daze, thinking only of my little girl. I wasn’t expecting him to come back. I thought he was going to phone.
I barely look at him.
‘Hello,’ I say. I am in my own world. I’m imagining my future relationship with Elizabeth. I could get used to calling her Darcey. I’m sure I could.
‘Evie,’ he says. ‘Can you come to see Kate and Ian, please?’ He sounds far more formal than he did half an hour ago, when he almost kissed me. I look at him, puzzled.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask him. He is completely in his professional mode.
‘I have to tell you that the news isn’t good,’ he says quietly, looking me in the eye, then looking away. ‘We were unable to detect a heartbeat.’
‘Could you have missed it?’
‘No. I’m afraid this is what we call a missed miscarriage. Which means the embryos have died, but Kate hasn’t miscarried them. She will need a D and C to remove the material from her womb, to prevent the possibility of infection.’
I stop listening when he says ‘the embryos have died’. This is not possible. It cannot be happening to them. We walk together, slowly, to Kate’s room. I hesitate outside the door. Then I push it gently, and go in.
chapter twenty-one
The following afternoon
It’s not hard to get a number for the D’Angelos, since I have their address. I hold my breath and press the buttons. It is extraordinary that a random sequence of numbers can take me directly to my daughter. The phone rings three times and then a woman answers it.
‘Hello?’ she says. I attempt an instant analysis of her voice. She sounds distr
acted, but essentially well disposed towards anyone calling her house. She is probably in her forties.
‘Hello,’ I say, my voice wavering as I try to decide whether to be British or American. It comes out exactly like a British woman trying an inept American accent. I plump for American. ‘Is Darcey available, please?’
She laughs. ‘I’m sorry. Darcey has a busy social calendar. You might catch her after nine this evening. Who may I say called?’
I have no idea. ‘Roxy,’ I say, on the spur of the moment. ‘But I’ll try her again later. Thank you very much.’
‘Will she know what it is regarding?’ Mrs D’Angelo is curious, and I don’t blame her.
‘No. It’s to do with school. Nothing to worry about. Thanks.’
I hang up before she can say anything else. I lean back on the sofa and try to regulate my breathing. Then I realise she could have got my number and called me back. I stare at the phone, and for every second that it doesn’t ring, I try to relax. She sounded busy. She won’t be brooding on the strange woman, allegedly from the school, who rang for her daughter. If it was a man who had called, that might be alarming. Darcey must have female callers all the time. I might even have sounded young.
I try to imagine my little girl and her busy social calendar. I can’t do it. The only way for me to get a picture of her in my head is to go there and see her.
I look at my watch. It’s two in the afternoon. Darcey must be at school right now, unless it’s the holidays, which it almost certainly isn’t.
The buzzer rings, and although I’m not expecting anyone - although I cleared this afternoon especially for Darcey - I rush to the door.
‘Hello?’ I say breathlessly. I half hope it’s going to be Ron. We both need the distraction.
‘Evie.’ It’s Kate. I buzz her in without a word.
I stand in the doorway and watch her coming out of the lift. She looks the same as she did yesterday. You’d never know that anything had changed. Then I see her face.