While the class draws her, Audrey sits very still and thinks about Mack. She can’t understand why every woman in the world isn’t throwing themselves at this beautiful man. It’s not just his looks; it’s his soul. Mack’s an old soul, a wise soul with a kind heart, and it’s this as much as his hair, his eyes and his physical presence that’s drawing Audrey to him. She’s not felt like this about a man since those heady days when she first met Ralph – those days of kissing on the back seat of the Daimler, unaware of anything but Ralph’s touch.
And now Audrey lets herself imagine, as she looks at Mack pacing the studio, that he’s her husband; that to go home with this incredible human being would be legitimate, above board, and a part of her daily life; that every night he would make love to her – and her belly shivers with excitement. She gives herself an imperceptible shake. You’re getting ahead of yourself, Audrey. You’ll never leave Ralph. And then she hears a smaller voice in her head: But you’re in love with Mack..
Audrey exhales, trying not to move. Focus, she tells herself. You’re not leaving Ralph Templeton. There are many reasons why she won’t leave her husband but more important than any of them – more important than her marriage vows, more important than the highs and lows she weathers with Ralph, and far more important than the man currently pacing the art room – is the commitment she’s made to John and Alexandra.
The twins are closer to her than they are to Ralph and, even then, she feels guilty because she knows she doesn’t love them in quite the same way as their birth mother would. She’s spent enough mornings in the library, lost in psychology text books, to know that the death of her parents has damaged her. She understands now that the sudden loss has caused her to live her life with a sense of ephemerality – a sense that everything can be lost in a moment – and to know that it’s this that’s stopped her from becoming too close to the twins. But, even so, even with that distance, she’s the best they’ve got and she can’t bear to think of what would happen to them if she left them without the love of the woman they know as their mother. Ralph might marry again; far more likely he’d just hire a nanny and carry on ignoring them.
Audrey brings her mind back to the classroom. She’s now been sitting still with twelve pairs of eyes on her for forty-five minutes but Mack hasn’t looked at her once. He’s working intensely with his students, checking their easels as he moves about the room. It’s another day in the office for him; he looks everywhere but at Audrey and his apparent disinterest leaves her feeling strangely deflated. She’s steeled herself for him to see her naked; for the feel of his eyes moving over her bare skin, and now she feels a breath of disappointment. What had she hoped for? That he would compliment her on her naked body in front of the class? Gaze longingly at her breasts? Let his hand fall onto her bare bottom? She feels a flush rise in her cheeks. Is that why she’d volunteered to pose nude? Was that her motivation?
‘Right, now,’ says Mack, rubbing his hands together. ‘Time to start wrapping it up. You have just five more minutes. Five minutes, people.’
As the last student leaves, Audrey, now in her dressing gown, moves to the back room to find her clothes. From the classroom she hears the door close and then Mack is suddenly behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his lips at her ear. She smells the essence of him – no cologne, just clean skin and the fresh-air scent of that ridiculously curly hair – feels the firmness of him behind her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Templeton. You’re a natural,’ he says in her ear and, as he says it, his hand slides down her body, his fingers grazing her breast through the thin satin as he looks for, finds, and fingers the sash of her gown. He pauses long enough for her to know he’s asking permission. Her silence is her reply. She realises now that he’s worked hard to ignore her this morning; that he wants this as much as she does. The moment has been months coming and Audrey is more than ready. Mack pulls the sash, lets the gown fall open. Audrey doesn’t move. Mack’s hands slide up her body once more, his hand brushing the bare skin of her breast before settling on her waist.
Audrey keeps very still, savouring the moment, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Mack holds Audrey like this and she feels the tickle of his beard as his lips graze her neck. ‘I adore you, Mrs Templeton,’ he breathes, and he kisses her neck again. Audrey turns around and lets the gown drop.
April 2013
St Ives, Cornwall
As soon as I pulled into the narrow lane were Mum lived, I saw that John had beaten me there. His car was parked in the road with the kind of military precision not many people achieve. I tucked mine in behind it as best I could, trying not to scratch the paintwork on the hedge while leaving enough space for other cars to squeeze past. John was standing outside the front door. He turned when he heard my footsteps on the driveway.
‘She’s not here.’
‘What do you mean “she’s not here”? I spoke to her last night. She knows we’re coming.’
After weeks of to-ing and fro-ing, John and I had hatched a plan to come down together, have lunch at Mum’s, and gently introduce the idea of her moving to Harbourside. A two-bedroom house had just come up for sale at a price that would leave Mum change after she sold the bungalow. It looked perfect. I’d psyched myself up for the meeting today.
‘What do you think I mean?’ John said. ‘She’s not here. I’ve been ringing for ages.’ I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was already in one of his moods and I sighed to myself. When John was like this, there was no reasoning with him: he saw the worst in everything.
‘Let me try,’ I said, hoping I’d have the magic touch that would bring Mum skipping to the door.
‘I’m telling you, she’s not here,’ John said. ‘She comes to the door really quickly. It’s not a big house.’
‘Maybe she’s in the loo. Or getting changed, or something. Give her a minute.’
We stood impatiently for a minute.
‘Have you got the brochure?’ I asked.
‘In the car.’ John looked at his watch, then rang Big Ben twice in succession. Nothing.
I banged on the door with my fist; I opened the letter box, bent down, and shouted through it, ‘Muuum!’
‘I’m telling you: she’s forgotten.’ John looked almost pleased. He marched over to the garage, tested the door, then put his face to a crack. ‘Car’s gone. She’s out.’
I sighed. ‘Now what? Do we wait?’
I got down on my knees and looked through the letterbox. There was no sign of movement, certainly no smell of cooking.
‘Pub? We could have a quick drink and come back? She might have got the time wrong.’
John raised an eyebrow. I chewed my lip in reply; we’d been brought up in a house where lunch was on the table at one come hell or high water.
‘We could call her,’ I suggested. ‘On her mobile?’
John laughed. ‘Try if you like,’ he said. ‘She never turns it on “unless it’s an emergency”.’ His used his high-pitched granny voice. ‘Like us trying to track her down when she goes AWOL isn’t an emergency.’
‘Well, there’s no point in us standing here. There’s nowhere we can walk to, is there?’
‘Not really.’
‘Well, come on then. I’ll drive.’
John followed me to my car and we both climbed in. I eased the car carefully into a tight three-point turn, then jammed on the brakes as Mum’s Mini turned into the lane, missing us by a cat’s whisker.
‘Oh, finally.’ I glanced at the dashboard clock. Mum was twenty minutes late.
‘Look, just don’t give her a hard time. Okay?’ I reversed the car back into its parking space, giving Mum room to inch past us and into her garage. ‘Maybe she was picking up something she needed for lunch.’
John and I got out and walked down the driveway again. Mum emerged from the garage smiling brightly as she fumbled for her keys.
‘Hello Alexandra, John. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
John looked at me. I stepped forward a
nd gave her a hug.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘You look great!’ And I wasn’t lying – Mum did look great. There was a bloom in her cheeks and a light in her eyes. Today she was wearing a periwinkle coat that brought out the colour of her eyes.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, looking from John to me and back. ‘Weren’t you coming next week? I was going to cook sea bass with sherry.’
John opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off.
‘We spoke last night,’ I said gently. ‘Do you remember?’
Mum frowned. ‘Yes. Yes, of course I remember. But I thought we were talking about next week.’
I laughed. ‘A misunderstanding. That’s funny! We must have been talking at cross purposes the whole time. Ha ha!’ I saw that John was glowering at me. ‘But we’re here now,’ I said. ‘Are you free?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I’m rather busy. But I could make a macaroni cheese or something now you’re here?’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Okay,’ said John. ‘Sounds good.’ He walked towards the front door.
‘That’s very kind of you but utterly unnecessary,’ I said, glowering at John. ‘Let’s go to the pub.’ I turned to Mum. ‘What time does The Ship stop serving?’
She looked at her watch. ‘Two thirty, I think. Just give me a minute.’
Inside the house, Mum disappeared off upstairs to get ready for lunch.
I turned to face John. ‘Couldn’t you see she didn’t want to cook?’
He tutted. ‘I just thought the conversation would be better had at home than in a noisy pub. Anyway,’ he said dismissively, ‘the point is, she forgot today, even after you spoke to her last night.’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t read anything into it. She thought we were talking about next week. I honestly don’t remember if I mentioned specifically that it was today. Maybe I just assumed that she knew. I should have made it more clear. It was probably my fault.’
I walked over to the dresser while John flopped down on Mum’s sofa. We were waiting in the long space that served as living and dining room. The majority of the furniture was new – smaller and more modern than the stuff we’d had in Barnes. Although not grand, it suited the house. I touched my finger to the surface of the dresser, leaving a mark in the fine layer of dust that covered it. I looked around at John to see if he’d noticed and he raised an eyebrow at me. It was obvious that Mum hadn’t been expecting us. The dining table was set up as a workspace; Mum’s laptop was open, surrounded by books.
‘That’s another thing to worry about.’ John nodded towards the computer. ‘She’s on it all the time. Do you even know what she’s doing?’ I shook my head. John continued. ‘Do we need to talk to her about internet safety? I’ve just been through it all with the twins: “Don’t give out your personal details,” “People might not be who they seem,” etcetera, etcetera.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. She wasn’t born yesterday.’
‘I’ve got loads of antiques!’ John put on his granny voice. ‘Come and help yourselves … here’s my address!’
‘God, John. You’re such a worry-wart! I don’t know how Anastasia puts up with you sometimes.’
‘Because I’m her meal ticket,’ he said flatly.
‘Trouble in paradise?’
He sighed. ‘No.’
‘Regrets?’
John snorted. Mum clattered down the stairs and burst into the room.
‘I was just looking at your books,’ I said. ‘Looks like you’ve got quite into the internet.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Have been for a while now.’ She went over to the laptop and tapped the space bar. I saw a flash of Mediterranean colour, then it was gone as Mum closed down the computer. ‘It’s amazing what those things can do. I haven’t learned the half of it yet but I’m getting there. I’m doing an online course as well. But first I had to use the books to learn how to get online.’
‘Good for you.’ I picked up a picture she’d printed out. It was of a piece of artwork; a family picnicking under an olive tree. The picture had a warmth to it that made me think of holidays. ‘Nice,’ I said.
Mum nodded, her eyes lingering on the picture. ‘Right, come on, let’s go.’
December 1976
Barnes, London
Ready for the dinner that was originally booked for eight o’clock, Audrey can’t settle. She’s been up and down the stairs, in and out of the drawing room, trying to kill time with little tasks. By the time he gets here, she thinks, I’ll have walked two miles just around the house. She forces herself to sit down on the edge of an armchair and picks up a magazine, flicks idly through it. She’s already telephoned the restaurant and moved the booking to eight thirty, but Ralph really ought to be here by now if they’re going to make even that. She slaps the magazine back onto the coffee table and sighs, then she stands up and walks over to the bay window, easing herself behind the pair of chairs that frame the space and pulling open a chink in the curtain. It’s dark outside and Audrey can’t see anything beyond the pools of light illuminated by the street lights but, somehow, looking helps, even when there’s nothing to see.
She pulls the heavy curtain back into place and wanders over to the bookshelf, turns her head sideways and peruses Ralph’s book collection. He hasn’t read half of them, she’d bet, and why would he want to, she wonders, looking at some of the titles. They’re books picked by the interior designer, not for content, but for the beauty of their spines. She turns away in disinterest and lets her gaze drift around the elegant drawing room. The classic décor is brightened by the blues, greys, and golds of the large silk rug that graces the stripped wooden floorboards in the centre of the room. Audrey half-closes her eyes and tries to picture the rug back in the Bombay house, where it had lauded over the upstairs landing.
The sound of the key stabbing at the lock jolts Audrey back to Barnes. She smooths her dress over her thighs and takes a quick look at her face in the mirror that hangs over the fireplace. Yes, she looks fine. It takes Ralph three attempts to get the key into the keyhole before the lock turns and the door pushes open.
‘Hello, darling,’ Audrey says, moving out to the entrance hall to greet her husband. ‘I moved the booking back half an hour. We should still make it if we get a move on.’ She looks up and sees that Ralph has closed the door behind him and is standing motionless in the entrance hall. She can smell cigarettes and alcohol. His face looks disconnected somehow; there’s something in his eyes that makes her cower back towards the drawing room, a kitten to his Rottweiler.
‘Send the babysitter home,’ says Ralph.
‘But …’
‘We’re not going.’
‘What? How come? We can still make it.’
‘I said: we’re not going.’ Ralph’s voice is ominously quiet. ‘Go on. Up you go, and tell her to go home.’
Audrey knows better than to argue. Slipping off her heels, she hurries up the stairs to the third floor study, where Hannah is ensconced for the evening. Audrey’s breathing hard when she gets there, and it’s not entirely from the exertion.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says to Hannah. ‘We’re not going out after all. Something’s come up. I’ll pay you for the evening, of course.’
Hannah shrugs and gathers her things, and Audrey follows her back down the stairs. Ralph hasn’t moved. He’s still standing by the door.
‘Goodnight,’ he says to Hannah as she passes him. She gives him a nervous smile and Audrey wonders if she, too, smells the alcohol on Ralph’s breath. The door clicks closed behind her.
‘So,’ begins Audrey. ‘What …’
‘Upstairs. Now.’ Although Ralph’s voice leaves no room for questions, he gives Audrey a little shove as if to underline what he’s said. Audrey looks at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to assess what’s going on, but still she walks obediently to the staircase. Ralph shoves her again, making her stumble and throw out her hands to break her fall.
‘Move it,’ he says, and Audr
ey recovers herself and scampers up the stairs to their bedroom. Ralph follows her into the room, closes the door behind them and turns the key in the lock. He walks over to the window and yanks the curtains shut with a violence that’s not entirely usual, then he turns to face her. He’s very drunk, Audrey suddenly realises. This is more than a couple of drinks after work – this is the work of a whole afternoon in the pub. Ralph’s face is distorted with anger. It’s not the first time Audrey has been afraid of her husband but it is the first time that she realises she might be in some sort of danger. She backs towards the door, her breathing shallow.
‘Don’t even try,’ says Ralph. ‘It’s locked.’ He dangles the key to show her that she won’t even be able to unlock the door, then puts it into his trouser pocket.
Audrey says nothing. She knows better than to ask what this is about. Ralph will tell her when he’s ready. He starts to pace up and down the room, his steps carrying him between the wardrobe doors and the door to the en suite. Audrey’s gaze follows him: left, right, left, right.
‘So,’ Ralph says eventually. ‘How’s your art class going?’
Audrey stiffens. Ralph walks over to her, pushes her chin up with his thumb, and holds her face by the jaw. She stares at his nose, noticing with revulsion something clinging to the hairs inside his nostrils.
‘Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said: how’s your art class going?’
‘Fine,’ says Audrey. It’s difficult for her to speak because Ralph is still holding her jaw. Her words push her jawbone against the tendons of his cold fingers.
‘Are you enjoying it?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘What are you enjoying the most?’
Audrey swallows. ‘Still life,’ she says through clenched teeth. It’s the first thing that comes into her head. She knows where this is going – but how? How did he find out?
‘Still life?’ says Ralph. He drops her jaw suddenly, causing her to stumble backwards, and he walks away from her, towards the curtains. He lifts the edge, peers out at the street, then replaces the curtain, fussing with the fabric, making sure that there’s absolutely no gap between the two curtains. He shrugs off his jacket, opens the wardrobe door, pulls out a hanger and places his jacket carefully on it. Then he turns back to Audrey. ‘Still life, eh?’ he strokes his chin. ‘How many students are there?’
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