Objects of Desire

by Roberta Latow

  Fascinated, she said, ‘No, don’t tell me. Write it on a piece of paper, put it in an envelope and seal it. I’ll place it in my handbag. A year from now I’ll open the envelope and we’ll see if you were right.’

  Amused at the idea, he told her, ‘If you prefer.’

  ‘Yes, I think I do.’

  She rose from her chair and went to the desk, returning with pencil and paper and an envelope.

  He wrote several lines and then folded the paper and placed it in the envelope, sealed it and slid it across the table towards her. She caught it before it fell to the floor and looked at the envelope. He had addressed it to Anoushka Usopova. She stared down at it for a very long time, trying to remember the last time anyone had written to her using her maiden name. Puzzled, she gazed across the table at him.

  ‘That is who you are. Had you forgotten? If I were to think of you – but I am a heartless man at the best of times, so I probably won’t – but if I did, I would like to think of you leaving this ship more whole than when you arrived. A little less Mrs Rivers and a great deal more Anoushka Usopova. Broken hearts take time to heal and rebirth is painful so I will not think about you in that light. I prefer to think of you as I have known you sexually, and as an adventuress who is out there creating a new and exciting life for herself. Those sparks of seductive femininity you possess – use them well, Anoushka. Seduce lots of handsome young men who can satisfy your voracious appetite for all things erotic. Play with them, have the best of times. You’re free. If you need someone to answer to then let it be yourself. You’re no longer the appendage of a husband.’

  Anoushka was not displeased at his advice, more amused. She threw back her head and laughed. A throaty, sexy laugh he’d had no idea she was capable of. ‘Talk of seducers, talk about charming! You’re a dangerous man, Hadon. How is it that you make me feel safe, while all the time I know when I’m with you I might come to harm?’

  ‘That shows how desperate you are, my dear. I’m a bastard.’

  There seemed no answer to that. Anoushka knew he was telling her the truth. She had sensed it during their hours of sexual madness, for at some point that was what it had turned into. Had she not been the willing partner she had been, would anything have stopped him from taking her as and how he wanted to? She doubted it. But ever since she had met him at the ship’s rail when the liner had been pulling away from the New York dock, he had been many things to her and a bastard had not been one of them.

  ‘Not to me, Hadon,’ she told him.

  A look of understanding passed between them and then there was nothing more to be said. They finished their breakfast, lost themselves in the beautiful music and drifted further and further apart. Finally Anoushka rose from her chair and went round the table, to place her face among the long-stemmed red roses and breathe deeply of their scent, a perfume she wanted never to forget. Then she walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I think this is goodbye.’ That was all he said. He slipped a card with his agent’s address on it into her bag and walked her to the stateroom door. There they stood facing each other. She half expected him to ask, ‘One more time?’ and take her then and there. She would have liked that.

  But he didn’t. Instead he said, ‘Ships that pass in the night,’ and opened the door for her. He stepped into the corridor and called the cabin steward. ‘Mrs Rivers would like to return to her cabin. Would you please escort her there?’ There was one last smile for her. She returned it with one of her own then turned away from him and never looked back.

  Anoushka was by no means living in dreamland; she knew that as soon as she had returned to her cabin. Bathed and changed into something more appropriate for disembarkation in Southampton, she found reality if not easier to deal with then at least something she could face. The voyage across the Atlantic and her encounters with Hadon had given her strength to reach down into the core of herself and there she had found her remaining self-esteem.

  Opening suitcases and folding clothes absorbed her for a while until memories began to intrude: so many years of packing and unpacking cases for the family; holidays, long weekends away with Robert, summer camps for the boys, a second honeymoon in Europe. Anoushka felt herself slipping into a cold and distant place, a void she feared. She sensed that black clouds were about to envelop her and so was depression. She had had enough of that so rang for the maid, someone else could pack, spare her the ordeal she had always loathed and been made to do for herself and her family.

  Anoushka handed the woman a twenty-dollar bill and said, ‘Please pack for me. That’s for the packing and for seeing that my luggage is put ashore.’ Then she took out a fifty-dollar bill and handed that too to the woman. ‘And this is for taking care of me during this voyage.’ And she gathered up her things and fled from the cabin, hoping that she was leaving behind that black cloud.

  And she did feel better standing at the rail in the bow of the ship. The sun had grown even brighter and the wind had not risen. The salt air felt clean and fresh, healing her. Anoushka had control of herself again and wondered if she had tipped the maid enough. There were others to see to but she felt quite lost in dealing with travel etiquette. There had always been Robert to deal with such things. She had however remembered what he had told her once, when she had travelled alone to visit a dying uncle in St Petersburg: ‘A lady alone will be considered a bother but not if you are a seriously good tipper. If you want service just pay over the top for it and your travels will be much easier.’

  Anoushka felt good about being here among people, and watched the other passengers with interest. She even greeted a few, smiling pleasantly at others. She was sorry that she had wasted so many days in some deep dark coma of her own making. Being so utterly alone in that cabin during the crossing had been a lesson that she knew would last her a lifetime. She would never again allow her despair to get on top of her as it had. It was killing. Here was rebirth.

  She felt the buzz of excitement that is created on board when the voyage is over and the ship is about to dock. Suddenly the real world is about to intrude: luggage to oversee, travel connections and timetables to meet, shipmates parting with promises of continuing friendships, never to meet again. It was happening all round Anoushka, was something she could see but did not feel in any way a part of. She remained isolated from it, preferring to remain in limbo on the ocean waves.

  ‘Look, the first sight of land. It’s Lizard Point,’ she heard someone shout excitedly. People rushed camera in hand to the ship’s rail but for Anoushka the most southerly point of the British Isles, south-west Cornwall, rising up out of the Atlantic Ocean, was something she was not quite ready for. A brief look at the magnificent coastal scenery and she turned her back on it and walked away.

  ‘So what?’ she said aloud just above a whisper, and walked into one of the nearly deserted salons and ordered an espresso. Some time later France appeared on the horizon. At Cherbourg she watched the grand lady of the oceans and seas dock, and thought about Hadon Calder’s luggage being manhandled from ship to shore then driven to Nice. Her imaginings stopped when she realised she had no real image of him or his luggage, what his life was like outside their brief encounter. One of the most exciting and intimate nights of her life, and when they had been together their souls had never touched. At the time she’d thought they had.

  Anoushka ordered another espresso. She was feeling better about her aloneness, and did in fact quite like sitting by herself in the nearly deserted salon. Was it any different from a chicken salad sandwich eaten alone at Lord & Taylor’s? And that was the first time that she had realised how lonely she had been in her marriage. For the first time she began to face the truth, even to accept that she had been less than honest about her perfect marriage. Could it possibly be that Robert had not given her all that she wanted? Had there been a great deal of ‘Let’s pretend’ on her part as well as his? That question demanded a truthful answer. Yes, she thought. What followed was revelation, a genui
ne surprise.

  The bell rang. Her last meal aboard this ship of fools. Yes, that was how she would always think of herself and her fellow passengers. Fools of one sort or another, trying to escape from something, most probably themselves. ‘Hello,’ Anoushka said. It was as if she were meeting herself for the first time. Hadon was wise. An ocean voyage can be one of self-discovery.

  Lunch was a perfect cheese soufflé and a green salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. Anoushka ate two desserts: chocolate mousse with a crème fraîche, and a bowl of fresh strawberries. She enjoyed her lunch and being the odd one out in the room of laughing and chattering diners. It suddenly occurred to her that she had, all her life, been the odd one out except when she had been with Robert and the children. How sad for her to think that that belonging she had so cherished, had so taken for granted, had been an illusion. She had not been wholly a part of anything.

  The docking of the QE2 in Southampton was an awesome sight, like the beaching of a great whale. Anoushka was riveted. Soon she would be walking down that gangway. In spite of herself she felt some excitement to think that, as Alexis and Mishka had said, adventures were to be her life.

  A driver was waiting, wearing the black emblem of a Rolls-Royce driver on his cap, though he was driving a Bentley. He was holding a card with her name on it. All was just as Robert had said it would be. He whisked her through the English countryside to London and Brown’s Hotel on Dover Street, Mayfair.

  A family hotel: smart, chic, low key, just Robert’s style. It served the best English breakfast, a delightful English tea. All Americans loved Brown’s. It went with the rain and grey skies, the damp English cold that eats into the bones. It was central to everything Americans like Robert enjoyed about London: it was walking distance from everything for the super window shopper, and aimed at the cultivated traveller rather than the tourist. Mayfair was a happy hunting ground for the discreet, well-heeled buyer with taste. Bond Street and Mount Street, Savile Row, Bruton Street and Piccadilly – old English gentility holding its own in the new England.

  Brown’s in Mayfair was where the Rivers family had always stayed in happier times. Robert had made the reservation for her. A mistake she saw now, while she was at the desk being greeted by name by the concierge and the manager, and while being asked for her passport and to register.

  Everything was familiar, too familiar. She could only relate to the place by being there with the boys and Robert. She actually looked around for them, to see that the boys were not getting into mischief, and for Robert to hand over the passports and register for them. Her husband had always taken care of such things. She had never gone through the process of getting into a hotel without a man to do what was expected. But there was no Robert there, nor were her sons in London with her. Anoushka was, for a moment, taken aback by her memory lapse. She turned to the manager and with a trembling hand signed the register in the place he indicated.

  It felt decidedly odd being there alone. Walking towards the elevator, accompanied by the manager and a porter, she was involuntarily keeping her eyes on the entrance to the hotel. She was half expecting her husband and sons to come rushing through the door into the lobby.

  Hers was a pleasant enough bedroom, even having fresh flowers. As soon as the hotel staff had left the room, Anoushka rushed over to them to read the card. From Robert? Alexis and Mishka? She pulled the small white rectangle from the envelope, even thinking she might read ‘Hadon’, on it, but then remembered they had parted, and he knew nothing more than that she was going to London.

  Was there no end to her disappointment and humiliation? It had been signed by the manager, ‘Compliments of Brown’s Hotel’. Another slap in the face to bring her back to the reality of her situation. Gazing round, she realised that she and Robert had stayed in this very room the last time they had flown to London for a long weekend. Her imagination conjured him up. He was sitting on the side of the bed next to the telephone, making calls even before he had taken off his coat – his usual habit on arrival at the hotel.

  Savile Row for appointments with his tailor, Lobb’s to say he was in London and wanted two more pairs of shoes. Robert with his pencil and small notecards housed in their slim leather folder planning out his advance on Mayfair: visits to Christie’s and Sotheby’s, Spink’s on King Street, the Cork Street art galleries. The Tate would not be missed. Another phone call to see what was on at the Royal Academy.

  Anoushka placed her hands over her face, not in despair, she was through with despair, but merely to block the images from her memory. No more hauntings from the past, thank you.

  Too tired to venture out to one of the many restaurants that she and Robert had known and enjoyed, she took her dinner in the dining room. Miraculously, that night she slept very well. Over breakfast in her room the following morning, she made a decision not to stay one more night in this hotel. She was through with Robert’s organising her life, in or out of marriage. After more than a dozen calls to other hotels, she still could not find one to accommodate her. Then, remembering how it was always impossible to get a hotel room in London when you wanted one, she dialled their London Mr Fixit.

  Wherever they travelled, Robert had a network of Mr Fixits. The London man was a Harley Street doctor, a colleague of Robert’s, a heart consultant, Sir Bramwell Stokes. Bramwell did not fail her. That afternoon, as promised, she called her sons from her hotel but now it was the Connaught. The boys were full of themselves and sounded happy, no different than if she had called them from her own drawing room in Lakeside. They wanted to know all about her crossing. She tried to make it sound thrilling but there had been no hundred-foot wall of waves, no crashing storm, the ship did not founder and they’d had no need to be rescued. She realised she would have to do better than this to keep Alexis and Mishka interested in her travels.

  Reluctantly, she made another transatlantic call to Robert. Unusually, he was available for her. When they had been living together, it was rarely convenient for him to speak to her immediately. She felt real hatred for the man the moment she heard his voice. She was through with him, but her change of hotel must be made known, in case of an emergency.

  ‘Then you arrived safely at Brown’s? A good crossing, I hope?’

  The ice in his voice! Indifference glossed over with politeness and an undercurrent of annoyance. Those same things she had heard so many times for so many people, but never had she dreamed that they would one day be for her. Did he wish her dead? Well, she wasn’t and didn’t intend to be for a long time yet.

  ‘No, I’m not at Brown’s. Too many memories there. I called Bramwell and he managed to get me a room here at the Connaught. I thought you should know where I am.’

  A long pause, and then he spoke. ‘Anoushka, you don’t have to call me every time you change hotel.’

  ‘Just how do you expect me to stay in touch? Emergencies? If you should need me?’

  ‘Anoushka, we don’t live from emergency to emergency. A postcard when you have changed countries, sent to your attorney, should do. If I or the boys ever need you, we’ll find you through David.’

  Silence was the only thing Anoushka could manage, all that her anger would allow. Finally it was Robert who broke it. ‘Look, Anoushka, I don’t want to be harsh with you, but a clean break, that’s what we need. Not just because that’s what I want but because, under the circumstances, it’s best for you as well. The boys will be fine. I’ll be fine. We’ll all come through this. All it takes is time. A chance for separate lives to develop.’

  ‘Ah, the doctor speaking, and with his best bedside manner!’

  ‘Yes, if you like, a doctor’s advice. You would do well to heed it.’

  Another ghastly silence. Again it was Robert who broke it. ‘How’s the weather in London?’

  ‘I didn’t call to give a weather report, Robert, just to tell you where you can find me.’

  ‘Anoushka, moving to the Connaught was not what I arranged for you. That’s all right, but I want
to remind you that you are not very good at formulating plans. You’d better learn to be. The happy-go-lucky existence you have had with me doing the planning in our lives is over. You’re on your own and with little money. London is costly, even with me picking up your travelling expenses and hotel bills. I’m not going to quibble about your staying at the Connaught but you do have to think about the cost of your food, your day-to-day living in London, or any other capital city for that matter.’

  She interrupted him. ‘How I live and what I do are none of your business. Remember, you’re through with me.’

  ‘Anoushka, you’ll need more money or you’ll have to get a job, and that won’t be easy. You have no qualifications. I’ll come right out with it. I’m prepared to buy my coins back from you.’

  ‘So that’s what this is about?’ Anoushka had forgotten about the coins. ‘And would that make my life so much easier, you being in possession of your coin collection?’

  ‘Yes, if you sold them to me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t even consider selling you my coin collection, Robert.’

  ‘Then promise me you will save them, put them in trust for Alexis and Mishka?’

  ‘It really bothers you that they are mine, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Be careful with them, Anoushka, they’re your most precious asset.’

  ‘No, you bastard! I’m my most precious asset. You miss your coins, do you, Robert? You’re broken-hearted over losing them, are you? It hurts losing something you love, doesn’t it? Good. Now you know how I feel.

  ‘Begin again, Robert. That’s what you told me to do to ease the pain of my losses, so that’s my advice to you if you want a coin collection. And don’t ask what I’m going to do with those coins. I will, however, give you a hint. You will never see them again, except possibly in several other people’s collections.’