Free The Naked Room by Diana Hockley Page B

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?’

CHAPTER 10
    It’s Blood
    Ally
    Monday: early morning.
    I feel so sick. I had no water last night, only coffee, but I couldn’t taste anything strange. Time is meaningless, only broken up into morning and night when they come, and then it feels like an invasion of my privacy. I’ve been forced to make this room my own. After being trapped here, it has become my refuge. Even if an opportunity occurs and I get away, how long will be before they catch me? Where would I run? I’d be fresh kill to Scarpia’s leopard. But I must try.
    I’m so cold. I want to pee, but the effort to get to the loo…got to get