Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

Anna was still on the telephone. As I walked in she said, “Okay, Al. Thanks anyway,” and hung up. “I’ve called everyone I can think of who he might have gone to see, but no one knows where he is.” Her anxiety was barely under control.

“Drink this.” I gave her one of the mugs. “Getting yourself into a state isn’t going to do any good.”

“Yes, but where is he?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll find out soon. Try to see things in perspective. It’s only quarter to twelve. Don’t you think it’s a little soon to start panicking?”

She said nothing. Her tea remained untouched. I knew it was only a matter of time before she would want to go to the gallery to see if Marty had called.

“May I use the toilet?” I asked, to forestall it.

“It’s down the hall, first door on the right.” Anna did not even look up as I left the room. I closed the door behind me. The hallway was only small. One door led off to my left, one to my right. The one on the left would be the bedroom. I hesitated and then opened it.

A double bed faced me, almost filling the room. A stripped pine wardrobe and dresser took up most of what little space was left. The scent of Anna’s perfume hung in the air. Afraid to linger, I was about to close the door when I saw the framed photograph on the dresser.

It was of Anna and Marty on a beach. Both wore bathing costumes. Marty was as pale and runtish as I had imagined, but I barely noticed him. It was the sight of Anna that hypnotised me. She was wearing a white bikini and had obviously just been swimming. Droplets of water glistened in her hair and clung to her body, faceting her deep navel. Her nipples were clearly visible as they pressed against the wet fabric of the bikini top, and the brief pants were cut high on her hips, plunging in a deep vee to her crotch. It bulged out in a small, raised mound. In the centre of this a faint, vertical indentation was just visible.

My chest tightened as I stared at the photograph. At that moment, I would have given anything to own it. It took all my willpower to come away and close the door. I went into the bathroom and washed my face with cold water. More in control of myself, I looked around the bathroom for further evidence of Anna’s personal life. Bottles and jars cluttered the shelf above the washbasin, and the top of the bathroom cabinet was similarly full. I opened it. The first thing I saw was a large carton of sanitary towels, in plain view. I hurriedly closed the door again.

Flushing the toilet without using it, I went back into the lounge.

“Shall we go to the gallery?” Anna asked, immediately. I agreed. I had no excuse not to.

There were several messages on the answer machine, none of them, of course, from Marty. I made more reassuring noises, but by now Anna’s concern was growing fast.

“I know you think I’m being silly,” she said, after calling the university yet again, “But this just isn’t like him. I can’t understand why he hasn’t let me know where he is.”

“I don’t think you’re being silly, I just think you’re overreacting a little. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”

“But where is he?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll bet he comes home tonight at the usual time, with a perfectly good explanation.” I smiled at her. “Now. What about lunch?”

Anna insisted on staying in the gallery in case Marty telephoned. I had sandwiches delivered, but she left hers untouched. As the afternoon passed she grew more and more pensive. She called the university again and even contacted the operator to check if her own line was faulty. Whenever the telephone rang she froze, and if I answered it she watched me anxiously to see who it was. Finally, at four o’clock, I told her she could go home.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Quite sure. In fact, I’ll drive you, if you like.”

“No, really, there’s no need.” It was obvious that she wanted to be alone. Reluctantly, I decided not to insist. “If Marty calls, tell him to ring me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I said. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine.”

When my telephone rang that evening, I felt sure it would be Anna. I could think of no one else it could be. I had already spoken to Zeppo, and few other people called me at home. But the voice that answered was patently not hers.

“Mr. Ramsey?”

“Yes?” The brief elation I had felt disappeared.

“It’s Margaret Thornby here.”

The name meant nothing to me. Then I put it together with the voice, which seemed vaguely familiar, and my spirits sank even lower.

“Sorry to bother you,” she went on. “But I wondered if you’re going to be busy next Wednesday?”

Still disappointed that she was not Anna, I was slow to see what was coming. “Next Wednesday? Ah... I’m not...”

“The thing is, I’ve arranged to see someone next Wednesday morning,” she said, “And I did say I’d let you know the next time I was coming into the city, so I thought I’d give you a ring and see if I couldn’t offer to buy you lunch.”

She gave a jolly little laugh that left me entirely cold. “I’m giving you a bit more notice this time. I could see I caught you unawares when I called into the gallery the other week, so I thought it was only fair to give you plenty of warning before I descended on you again.”

I frantically racked my brains for an excuse. “Ah... next Wednesday...” I had a brain wave “Just let me check in my diary.”

I moved the telephone away from my mouth. After a while I put it back. “Now, Wednesday... That’s the...?”

“The sixteenth, I think.”

“Yes, the sixteenth. Oh, what a shame. I’m out of town all day.”

“Are you? Oh, what a pity.” If we had been in the same room, I felt sure she would have put her hand on my arm again.

“Yes, I’m sorry about that, but you know how these things are...”

“Well, that’s business, I suppose.” She laughed. “It would be worse if you weren’t busy, wouldn’t it?”

Reprieved, I laughingly agreed. “Perhaps the next time we might have more luck.”

“Well, I’m not sure when it’ll be. As I said, my trips into the centre tend to be few and far between.” For which I was grateful. “But I’m sure we’ll be able to meet up sometime or other.”

We chatted for a while longer about the progress, or lack of it, of our relative insurance claims, and by the time I put the telephone down, relief at my narrow escape made me feel quite well disposed towards her. Then I remembered what Anna had said.

I had given little thought lately to her joking suggestion that the woman might have designs on me. But now the idea lodged in my mind. First she had called into the gallery. Now she had telephoned me. That was not normal behaviour towards someone whose car you had run into. Or, as she claimed, had run into you. Disturbed, I poured myself a drink. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that Anna might have been right.

I felt a sudden need to talk to her. She answered the telephone on the second ring.

“Hello?” She sounded rushed and expectant.

“It’s Donald. I thought I’d call to see if Marty was back.”

Her disappointment was dishearteningly obvious. “Oh, hello Donald. No, he’s not.”

“Have you heard anything from him?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

Now I had called, I was unsure what to say. “Are you all right?”

She attempted a laugh. “I’d be better if I knew where Marty is. No one’s seen him since yesterday. I don’t know whether to phone the police, or... or what.” She drew a long, shaky breath. She seemed to be controlling herself with effort.

“Would you like me to come over?”