The Naked Room (6 page)

We made eye contact; something hot arced between us for a split second before giving way to wry humour.

‘No chance. First of all she is my cousin. She always was a sly cow and now she’s an old one. You’ll be gratified to hear she’s been divorced by two husbands and looks like a Shar Pei from sunbathing in Spain.’

I was girlishly pleased to hear it.

‘And what about your husband? Did he accept—the baby?’

‘I never married. I changed my name to Carpenter by deed poll before my child was born.’

Refusing to allow myself to waver, I described the life I created for the two of us, confessing I spun a web of lies so tight they should have choked me. When I finished talking, he turned and stared out into the garden for a long time, before he finally faced me. I met his gaze straight on. Gesturing for me to sit in one of the armchairs, he went over to a tray on which sat a decanter of whisky and poured two shots.

‘I don’t suppose I can blame you for making up a story for her, it’s understandable,’ he acknowledged, handing me a drink.

‘Are Margaret and Randall still alive?’ I held hopes of them being slowly and thoroughly basted in Hell. I flicked a glance at the wall from where the framed faces of his parents gazed triumphantly down on me.

‘No, mother died five years ago, father seven,’ he replied. ‘The conspiracy must have been organised immediately on a massive scale because, as I said, I came home early. Our employees would do what they were told, but our relatives and friends would all have to be advised of the game plan.’ His expression bleak, he looked out the window onto the darkening landscape. I picked up my drink, sipped and closed my eyes, exhausted by the events and emotions of the last twenty four hours.

‘I remember you said your mother left when you were a baby, your father died and relatives brought you up under sufferance. I’m sure that’s why you didn’t consider yourself worthy of my love and allowed my parents to destroy our future. I should have known something wasn’t right, and tried harder to find you, El.’ His voice seemed to come from a long way away.

God forgive me! For just a short while, I’d forgotten Ally’s plight! I jumped to my feet, slopping my drink over my shirt. ‘Ally’s been missing since Friday night!’

‘Ally?’ His jaw dropped.

‘Ally. Ally Carpenter, my–our–daughter!’ I repeated impatiently.

‘The concert pianist? Ally’s
my daughter?’

CHAPTER 8

A Significant Decision

Briece

Sunday: 9.30am.

Last night Pam rang with an idea that Ally might be nearby, though she only had a feeling to go on. She arrived shortly after midnight and we drove around the West End, shining a torch in every shadowy doorway, slowing down when we spotted a lone figure walking along the street. We must have scared a few people witless but nobody called the cops. At least we felt we were doing something.

We stopped at several cafes and pubs, then drove to Ally’s place where we knocked on the door and then let ourselves in with Pam’s key. We called out as we turned on the lights, hoping she had returned, gone to bed and hadn’t heard us knocking. We checked the bedrooms and of course, she wasn’t there. Pam tried to clean up a little, saying that Ally needed to come home to a nice house. We washed the few dishes which were sitting on the draining board and tried to cheer ourselves up.

‘I just wish I’d gone to the loo with her. At least she’d still be here.’ Pam looked about to cry.

‘And what could you have done if you’d been with her? Stop blaming yourself, I need you to hang in there and help me.’

She looked at me sympathetically. ‘Yeah, I was forgetting you were planning the Big Sex Scene on Friday night.’

I could feel myself flush. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh come on, Ally knew what you were up to. Supper indeed!’ I could feel myself flushing. Pam laughed. ‘Brie, you’re so obvious. We all know how you feel about her, including Ally. She was looking forward to “supper” which is why I know she would never have left with those people without telling someone. We have to be strong, Brie, because I think she’s in serious trouble.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ I could feel frustration and anger starting to boil inside, which wasn’t fair to Pam. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. I can’t stand it.’

As we walked down the hallway to the front door, the house echoed abandonment with every step we took. Had I lost the one woman who might have been my soul mate?
Please God, save her save her save her…

When I was ten years old, Mum and Dad had taken my siblings and me to a classical concert in the local town hall, where I fell irrevocably in love with the cello. I whined them into paying for lessons, at first on a piano, after which I made it my business to learn to play every instrument I could get my hands on. If rehearsal for the school orchestra started at 9am, I was there at 8. And when I wasn’t with my teacher or practising, I fought for my life in the school playground, Mochrie’s a poofter, but they let me live because I was good at soccer.

After I proved I was a stayer, my godmother paid for an almost new cello. Proficient at the piano, I excelled on that cello. Jazz, rock, heavy metal–I played them all, and still play jazz in The Cellar most Friday nights. But classical became my total passion. I don’t get to go home to the country often. Fortunately my younger brother, Tim, is a born farmer and was only too happy to step into the breach. Mending pumps, fencing and shearing sheep is not my idea of a life’s work, but I could if I had to.

Music is my career, my comfort–my link with Ally. Schubert’s Impromptu in G, one of her concert pieces got a good work-out. While I played, I felt she was safe beside me. Every time the phone rang my heart jerked, thinking it might be her. Just before dawn, I crashed on my bed fully clothed and fell asleep, but not for long.

Violent hammering jerked me awake. Ally! I leapt out of bed, staggered blindly to the front door and threw it open.

My heart sank. The tiny foyer outside the door of my flat was crammed with my sisters, clutching bags of groceries. Judging by the happy expressions on their faces, they hadn’t heard about Ally’s disappearance. It would be up to me to tell them. I would kill for my sisters, but right then, needing time by myself, I could cheerfully have wrung their collective necks.

Exclaiming over my desperate appearance, they swept through the door in a relentless tidal wave of love and admonishments. They rooted in my refrigerator, snooped inside my cupboards, stacked tins of things into them and stocked up my freezer. I was about to tell them about Ally when the telephone rang. I had forgotten to check the answering machine; Pam’s voice bellowed through.

‘Brie, have you heard any news of Ally yet? The police have been here again and Aunt Eloise arrived on the bus this morning. Ring me as soon as you get this message, I’ve got something important to tell you!’

She hung up; my sisters gawped in horror. ‘What’s happened to Ally?’ they shrieked, clustering around the door leading to the lounge room. I picked up the phone and hit recall. Pam answered on the first ring.

‘The cops were here again, but they’ve gone now. I forgot to get the paper, so I don’t know if it’s in the news yet. But listen to this! I collected Aunt Eloise from the Transit Centre then I went to do some shopping and take a CD to Jess, so I was away a couple of hours. Aunt Eloise was supposed to be asleep, but when I got back here, she left a note’– her voice rose with excitement–’ saying she’s gone to see Ally’s
father!’

Stunned, I hit the speaker phone button but before I could comment, she rattled on. ‘Yeah, I know. Shocked me too. He must be in Brisbane somewhere. Probably has been all along.’

‘Fucking hell,’ I snapped, enraged on Ally’s behalf. ‘Ally’s father’s supposed to be dead. What’s going on?’

‘I’m stuffed if I know,’ Pam replied, ‘but Ally always thought there could be more to the story. Aunt Eloise would never budge. You can tell who Ally takes after, can’t you?’

‘But perhaps he didn’t want her? Maybe Ally’s mother’s been protecting her from him?’ chimed in my youngest sister, Lara. ‘Domestic violence.’ She nodded knowingly. As a teacher, she understands how that affects families.

I thought about that for a moment. ‘It doesn’t matter, she should have told the truth. Even if he didn’t want her, at least she’d know,’ interjected Pam, having heard the suggestion.

‘Well, Mrs Carpenter’ll be sorry now, won’t she?’ I commented dryly.

‘Shall I come over?’ asked Pam.

‘Of course,’ I replied.

‘And bring some pizzas, it’s nearly lunchtime,’ chorused the girls.

‘Okay, but I’ll be about an hour. Tell me what you want.’

A short discussion took place, followed by some trawling in purses. I contributed the contents of my wallet, and then slunk into the music room. I needed time to think Friday night through again.

My mind immediately flew back to the woman carrying Ally’s handbag. Ally wouldn’t have let just anyone carry her bag. Did the presence of the woman mean they wouldn’t hurt her? Fuck no, it didn’t mean jack-shit. An icy lump settled deep in my gut. For the hundredth time, I castigated myself for my idiotic behaviour Friday night.
Ally, I’m so sorry.

The police had questioned Michael, Pam and Jess about Friday evening. I was interviewed again, an hour before the concert was due to start, while a team of detectives questioned the other members of the orchestra.

Management, trying to hide her disappearance from the public, at least until after the concert, announced the star of the concert had been taken sick. So far they’ve been lucky. Either the media hadn’t picked up the truth, or the police have requested a clamp down on their editors. But it was only a matter of time before her disappearance became public. Orchestra admin cautioned us not to speak to anyone, in case he–or she–is a journalist. They were pissing in the wind if they thought they could keep it under wraps for long.

Jacqueline Mabardi, the opera singer and a good friend of Ally’s who was called in to perform at the last minute, wanted to know how she was. At first I was non-committal, but when she said she would phone Ally at home to see if there was any way she could help, I told her the truth.

The concert was a strain. There’d been only one opportunity to rehearse with the stand-in pianist. We were all exhausted by the time the evening programme ended and everyone melted away to their homes as fast as they could when it was over. But my thoughts wouldn’t let go of the scene I’d viewed at police headquarters. Jess’s apparent inability to remember who it was she nodded to at Traynors just before Ally’s disappearance, didn’t set right with me. She never forgets anything.
If I find anyone who has anything to do with Ally’s disappearance I’ll fucking kill them.

I couldn’t sit around on my arse doing nothing, so decided to carry out some investigations of my own. I owed Ally after my fucking stupid behaviour.

CHAPTER 9

Phone Call at the Witching Hour

James

Sunday: 5.00pm.

Not only had Eloise presented me with a very long ago, post-affair daughter, all the feelings I was sure were buried swirled around my mind like wasps. I pride myself on being in control at all times, but Eloise contacting me after all this time had thrown my mind into chaos.

The sound of her voice, still with the hint of the huskiness which bewitched me all those years ago, rendered me speechless. I’d longed to have her back even as I cursed over her betrayal—seeming betrayal—but wanted to reach out and touch her. And there she was, after all the lost years. Since then pain has been replaced by fury over the actions of my long-dead parents and the irrefutable proof of their responsibility for the destruction of our relationship.

I could well imagine the dreadful scenes between Eloise and my parents. My mother’s strident handwriting plastered across the envelopes enclosing Eloise’s letters bore testimony to what they had done. I cannot, will not, read them because of my fear that a lifetime of self-control will shatter, leaving me vulnerable, weeping. As the kids say these days, I don’t “do” weakness.

My mind roamed ceaselessly back to the joy of loving Eloise. She brought a freedom into my life which my rigid upbringing had all but stamped out. Her shyness and lack of self-esteem had been endearing after the self-assured arrogance of the girls with whom I had mixed all my life. During the short time we were together, she brought me down to earth, and showed me that giving your heart to another person did not mean losing yourself.

‘You’re getting too complacent, James, I think I’ll find a younger model!’ She laughed, teasing me for being an uptight prig. Her glowing face, rosy in the morning light surrounded by a waterfall of rich, red hair, flashed into my mind. I’d dragged her back into the bed and showed her just how much I thought of that idea. But it was a memory which I, hurt beyond words at the time, was all too anxious to forget after listening to Jemima and my parents. I understood, finally, why she found it so hard to stand up to my parents.

Now I had no heart for the music I loved or for dealing with the mountains of paperwork piled up on my desk. I sat in my armchair worshipping the Black Douglas, re-living the past in front of the flickering fire. Her face is still beautiful, skin fine and her hair bright. Her figure, still girlishly slim, is now full-breasted and womanly. Her face is so very like Ally’s I wonder why I didn’t see the resemblance, but the old saying, ”can’t see for looking” springs to mind.

‘Ally Carpenter. Our daughter. My daughter, Ally.’ I spoke the words aloud several times, but my voice sounded as though it belonged to someone else. Ally is a woman whom I greatly admire, but it is impossible to regard her as my flesh and blood. I need more time to assimilate the knowledge imparted to me only a few hours ago. The thought of her being held against her will by a predator and perhaps raped or tortured horrifies me, but the terror I should be experiencing as her father eludes me.

My dog, lying on the hearthrug, stirred and whined. My housekeeper, Mrs Fox, called him as she rapped the top of the dog food tin with a spoon. He looked at me hopefully but when I couldn’t bring myself to respond, he settled back, dropped his head and gave me a reproachful look.

All the questions which had emotionally destroyed me in my youth were answered, and now my life has been turned upside down.

Again.

I am the parent of an adult daughter who is making a name for herself in her chosen field of expertise, one moreover in which I possess some skill. An unexpected flush of pleasure flows through me, as I realise that talent must have been passed to her through my genes. How I regret the lost years, not being to rescue her when she fell at life’s hurdles, her first steps, her high school years or her first forays into dating and the world of serious study, helping guide her career. In short, being a father…

Mrs Fox’s distinctive, light footsteps stopped outside the study door, followed by a quiet knock. ‘Sir? Is Benji in there with you?’

I got to my feet and went to open the door. The dog slipped through and scuttled, nails clicking on the polished floor, along the passageway to the kitchen quarters.

‘Yes, well, he was here,’ I replied, watching his tail flick through the kitchen door. Mrs Fox gazed warily up into my face. I knew I intimidated most people, and that is how I have always preferred it.

‘I’ll give him his dinner and let him out for a quick run. I’m leaving bacon and egg pie for you in the microwave, Sir. You only have to heat it on high for three minutes,’ she said, untying her apron with quick fingers, anxious to get back to the staff accommodation before dark.

‘Yes, thank you Mrs Fox. Goodnight to you.’

I went back to my study. The wood on the fire was turning to coal. I stoked it, watching as sparks flew up the chimney, and then retrieved a log from the box beside the hearth. Flames licked gratefully, bathing the room in a comforting glow. I poured another whisky and resumed my chair.

I put my life on hold for more than two years while I searched for Eloise, but it ended in bitter memories which were, on occasions, deadened by alcohol. Eventually, I forced myself to move on and complete my degree, but I couldn’t abandon the dream we’d shared. Her words of love and encouragement stayed with me in spite of my pain and anger, so in the face of my family’s opposition, I went on to study music at Trinity College, Cambridge.

I can’t understand how my family, the parents who supposedly loved me, could watch my life fall apart and not make any attempt to tell the truth. What sort of love was that? Even for people of their class, their actions were so viciously calculated…I wonder now how much of a part they played in my brother’s choice of wife? Alison “fits,” Eloise didn’t. Had Peter known of the deception? If so, why didn’t he tell me? Surely he would have spoken up. But I realised that the fewer people who knew, the better for the success of the conspiracy. Only my parents and Jemima would have known the truth. Our company staff would do what they were told and the university would have received a lucrative backhander.

My sisters married obediently and well and then moved to other parts of the world, perhaps with good reason. On the rare occasion when I do visit, they always appear to be happy enough. I wonder now if I was emotionally oblivious to any problems they may have had, but as I didn’t enquire beyond the normal civilities, why would they confide in me?
Dear God, what else have I been blind to?

I met my wife, Helen at a society ball and we married after a brief, traditional courtship. Her family felt she’d chosen beneath her, which is ironic when I know now my life was devastated because my parents considered Eloise beneath me.

We embarked upon a first affectionate, then friendly but sometimes hesitant relationship, the kind which eventually deteriorates into pleasant communication over the breakfast table, separate bedrooms and carefully orchestrated public appearances. These were to convince everyone and ourselves that all was well. This state of affairs continued until her death from cancer, ten years ago.

We had no children because Helen was terrified of being pregnant and giving birth. With both our family’s feelings about class in mind, adoption was never on the agenda. Ironically, Peter and Alison were childless also.

Horses and dogs made up whatever gap there might have been in Helen’s need for fulfilment. My music and growing collection of antiques and art pasted over the cracks in my heart. I put my desire for children, a private grief, to the back of my mind and decided to make the best of things.

During her illness we became closer than at any time in our marriage. ‘Why did you marry me, Helen?’ I queried, one cold winter’s day toward the end of her life, as we sat in front of the fire.

‘No one else asked me, James,’ she replied wistfully.

I looked at her ravaged face and body, her wig slightly askew, hiding what she regarded as the shame of her baldness and twisted from a gibbet of guilt. I hadn’t done her any favours by marrying her. The chips were down and when she posed the same question of me, I told her about my devastating affair with Eloise. She was silent for a few minutes, and then surprised me.

‘I remember. I never actually met her, but from what I understand, she didn’t appear to be the sort of girl who would betray you. I wonder if there was more to that than met the eye? Your parents always ran her down behind your back, you know.’

Her words should have sparked an idea of what might have happened, but foolishly, I didn’t pick up on it. We were silent for a moment and then she asked the question I dreaded. ‘Did you love me, James? At all?’

‘Yes, I loved you, Helen.’

‘But not the way you loved Eloise,’ she replied sadly, thereby summing up the wasteland of our marriage. Regretfully, it occurred to me that if Helen had always been as loving and gentle as she was shortly before she died, our marriage may well have been successful. But it takes two, as they say, and I had not made much effort to be more affectionate and attentive.

Since Helen’s death there’s been no desperate urge on my part to search for a meaningful relationship. Loneliness sometimes cuts deep, but I’ve never been able to let go of the notion, that love such as I felt for Eloise would again end with me being abandoned.

I am not an unattractive man—I’ve had many women, some of whom appeared determined to make me happy and whom I might have made happy, but not for me the glitzy socialite, the trophy wife or the precious academic. A practical businesswoman may well suit, but at forty-nine years of age, I can’t seem make up my mind what I want. The thought is unwelcome.

I once desired Ally Carpenter, warmed myself in the glow of her charm and admired her unusual beauty, even allowing the thought to creep into my heart that many older, rich men make successful marriages with younger women. Therefore why not try my hand at winning her?

Fortunately, not wanting to turn a good friendship into something more, I backed away from the attraction. Although I couldn’t possibly have known her relationship to me at the time, I squirm with shame at the memory of lusting, briefly, after my own child—

The insistent ringing of the telephone jolts me into the present.

I glance at the clock and realise I’ve been dozing for hours. A prickle of fear trickles through me. Late night calls are always the harbinger of bad news. The room is suffocatingly warm. Tears course down my cheeks. I dash them away with the back of my hand, as I stumble to the desk, turn on the table lamp and pick up the receiver.

‘James–’

A muffled voice interrupts, but the meaning is clear.

‘Listen to me very carefully. We have your daughter, Ally Carpenter. I’ve got plenty of places to dump her body if you tell the cops. I’m warning you, do that and she’ll die. A pre-paid mobile phone will be delivered to you tomorrow night, along with another packet. Wait for instructions. You have forty-eight hours to find and pay the first instalment of three million dollars.’

My voice seems to come from far away, shocking me by its calm, automatic response.

‘Australian or American?’