A Class Apart (46 page)

Ashley looked at her, but she was still too angry to speak. The telephone rang on Jan’s desk, and Ashley turned away and swept into her office. She picked up the press proofs that had been left on her desk while she was away, and started to flick through them. It was difficult to concentrate, and when, several minutes later, the buzzer sounded on her phone, she was relieved to have an excuse to put them down again. Jan announced that there was a call for her from London.

Ashley looked at her watch. It would be almost ten at night in London now. “Put them on.”

“Ash?” The voice at the other end sounded a long way away.

“Is that you, Ellamarie?”

“Yes,” came the reply. “It’s me.”

“Oh Ellamarie, I’m sorry I haven’t rung for so long, things have been so chaotic here. But how are you now? Are you better?”

“I’m OK. How are you?”

“Well, since you ask,” said Ashley, “right now, I’m bloody livid. I’ve just had yet another encounter with Conrad Frazier.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you some other time. But tell me about you. You sure you’re all right? How’s Bob? Is he back yet?”

“No, not yet.”

Jan popped her head round the door, and Ashley looked up. “Hang on a mo,” she said into the phone.

“You’ve been summoned again,” said her secretary. “He wants you to join the meeting.”

“He would,” Ashley snapped. “OK, I’ll be right there,” and she turned back to the phone.

“He said now,” said Jan, looking apologetic.

Ashley rolled her eyes. “All right.”

Jan closed the door again.

“I’m sorry, Ellamarie,” said Ashley, “I’m going to have to ring off. Can I call you again later?”

“If you like.”

Ashley was disturbed by the tone of Ellamarie’s voice. “Look, this meeting shouldn’t take too long, I’ll call you in an hour, OK?”

“Sure.”

“Where’s Kate? Or Jenneen? Can you call them in the meantime?”

“No, it’s all right, I’m fine. Honest.” She hesitated. “Oh, Ash, I miss you so badly,” and Ashley could tell that she was crying.

“Ellamarie, what is it? Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ash, I’ve just got to speak to someone. Something terrible happened, and now . . .”

“What is it? Tell me. Surely it can’t be that bad.”

“It is,” said Ellamarie. “Oh, it is.”

“Then what is it?” Jan came back in again, and Ashley looked at her pleadingly, to go away. Jan shrugged, and shook her head. Conrad didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Ellamarie was sobbing into the phone, and Ashley felt utterly helpless. “Look,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Ellamarie, but I’m going to have to go. I’ll call you the minute I can and we’ll have a long chat.”

“OK.”

“Will you be there all night now?”

“Yes. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll call as soon as I’m free,” said Ashley, and she put the phone down.

Jan came in and thrust a set of files into her hands. “I think you’ll need these.”

Ashley didn’t even say thank you. Her mind was back in London, wondering what on earth it was that had so upset Ellamarie. She scribbled down Kate’s and Jenneen’s telephone numbers and told Jan to get hold of them and tell them to ring Ellamarie. Then, riddled with guilt that she had had to desert her friend when she had finally decided she could talk to someone, she went to join Conrad in his office, burning with resentment.

After she put the phone down to Ashley, Ellamarie sat on the floor staring into space, trying not to think. It seemed hard to believe that a whole month had passed since that terrible night, when the man with the pale eyes had forced his way into her apartment; the pain, the humiliation, the sheer degradation lived with her constantly. It seemed that everything she did was done in a dream, that any moment she would wake up, and he would be there again, staring down into her face, with those hateful eyes, pressing a knife to her throat. Now, every man she saw reminded her of him, and she was becoming afraid to go out. If there was a knock on the door she would begin to shake, uncontrollably, and never, not even in daylight, would she answer it.

She had told no one, not even Kate or Jenneen. Tonight she would have told Ashley, but it was too late now, the moment had passed.

She was glad Bob wasn’t there. She hated her body, and never looked at it. It was as if it no longer belonged to her; instead it belonged to the rapist. He had taken it and violated it, and by forcing himself on her he had stolen everything from her. Sometimes her skin burned with the memory of his vile hands upon her body, and it was at these times that she would break down, falling to the floor, and praying to God to release her from the torment of memory.

Pangs of hunger were gnawing at her insides, but she couldn’t eat. She lifted her arm and pulled back her sleeve to stare at the faint scar left by the wound of his knife. It was all so horrible, and so unfair. Why did it have to happen then? Why did it have to happen at all? But then. Of all the times, why then? How was she ever to know the truth?

She pulled down her sleeve, and wrapped her arms round her knees. Suddenly she froze as she heard a noise out in the hall. The front door was closing, and then she heard a strange voice, and realized that it was hers, whimpering and sobbing. The door in front of her opened. It was Bob. She fell back against the chair behind her, burying her face in her knees. Bob crossed the room quickly, and tried to take her in his arms.

“No. no,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. He struggled to keep hold of her, begging her to tell him what was wrong, but as he saw her begin to panic he let her go.

He looked down at her, feeling as helpless as he had done at the other end of the telephone. Finally he turned and walked over to the window. It was dark outside, so he pulled the curtains. He had been tempted not to come tonight. He was tired, his flight back from Rome had been delayed and Ellamarie hadn’t been at the airport to meet him. In truth, he hadn’t really been surprised when she wasn’t there, but he’d been angry. He had hoped that by the time he got back to London she might have forgiven him for letting her down that night, but things were as bad now as before he’d left. He turned back to look at her. She was crying, and with her arms wrapped about her knees, she looked as if she was trying to protect herself. Her hair was a tangled mess, her fingers dirty. He noticed that she was thinner, and found himself wondering if she had stopped eating. Suddenly he was afraid. He was losing her, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

He took a step towards her then stopped as he saw her draw back. For a moment his frustration made him angry again. What the hell did he have to do to get through to her? Perhaps he should leave, after all, there seemed no point in staying. She didn’t want him here. But something deep inside told him that despite everything, she needed him. And when you loved someone as much as he loved her, you couldn’t just walk out and leave them.

Quietly he crossed the room, and sat down on the floor beside her. She didn’t move, but he could hear the tiny sobs catching in her throat. They sat, side by side, saying nothing, for a long time, until finally, very gently, he reached up and put his arm round her shoulders. Immediately he felt her stiffen, and he could tell she was holding her breath. He pulled the damp hair away from her face, but she didn’t turn to look at him. But neither did she pull away, which is what he had expected.

The time passed, and still they sat there, saying nothing. He thought she had stopped crying. She was very still, and he could feel the tension in her body. He dared not move any closer for fear that she might push him away.

The phone rang several times, but she made no move to answer it, so neither did he. And then finally, when the clock had turned midnight, he started to get up, trying to pull her with him. She resisted, so he let her go. If he made some coffee, perhaps they could talk. A silly supposition, but he had to tell himself something.

He looked down at her. She was staring into the open hearth, her eyes inscrutable, her face white and drawn. He started to walk from the room.

“Bob,” she whispered.

He turned back, but she was still staring into the fireplace, and he wondered if he had only imagined her voice. Then she said his name again. He went back to her, and this time she looked up at him, and the despair and agony in her eyes moved him like he had never been moved before in his life.

“Bob,” she said, and her face crumpled as she clutched him, burying her face in his legs, her body heaving with the abnormal strength of the sobs that shuddered through it.

Quickly he pulled her arms away, and knelt on the floor in front of her. He took her face in his hands, and very gently laid it on his shoulder. Then he held her tightly while she cried and cried, as if she would never stop. Gradually her arms began to go round him, until she was clinging to him so tightly he could barely breathe, and over and over again she said his name.

It was a long time before she was calm again. Then very gently he laid her on the settee. Her hands were like ice, and her whole body was shaking. He sat down beside her and taking her hands between his tried to warm them. She caught his hands to her face, and began to kiss them, with a desperation he had never witnessed in her before.

“Oh Bob, Bob, Bob. Don’t ever leave. Please, don’t ever leave me.” She looked into his face. “Say it, please say it. Say you will never leave me.”

“Oh my darling,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “Of course I will never leave you. Never. Not for a minute,” and he held her in his arms, and rocked her like a baby.

“I’m sorry,” she said, over and over. “I’m sorry. But please don’t leave me.”

“Sssh. I’m here now. I’m here.”

She looked up into his face, and began to fumble with the collar of his shirt. “You do love me, don’t you, Bob? Please say that you love me. Please.”

“Darling, you know I do.”

“Say it. Please say that you love me.”

“I love you,” he breathed. “Oh my darling, I love you.”

She choked, burying her face in his neck again. “Please hold me. Hold me close.”

He pulled her over so that she was almost sitting on him, and held her in his arms, gently kissing her hair. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I’ll never do it again, I swear.”

“No,” she said, her voice muffled. “No.”

“No. I’ll never do it again.”

She pulled away, and looked into his face. Slowly at first, she began to shake her head, and then faster and faster. He caught her by the shoulders, and tried to steady her.

“You don’t understand,” she cried. “You don’t know. It’s not your fault. It’s not you. Bob, it’s me. It’s me!”

“No. You’ve done nothing wrong. It was all my fault, and I’m sorry, my darling, I’m so very sorry,” and he tried to take her in his arms again.

“Please, please listen to me. Nothing is your fault. Nothing. You must understand, it’s me.”

He looked at her, and realized that she was trying to tell him something. He reached up and stroked the hair from her face. “What is it? Tell me.”

Her face began to tremble again, and he thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t. Suddenly her breathing became laboured, and she was fighting to gain her breath. It frightened him, and he sat her up, holding onto her. “What is it? Ellamarie, what is it?”

“Oh Bob,” she gasped, “Bob. It’s so awful. I can’t talk about it. I can’t say it,” and her shoulders began to heave with the effort of catching her breath.

“Calm down, take it slowly. Take a deep breath,” and he took deep breaths, trying to force her to do the same. She watched his face, and fought to steady herself, until she was a little calmer. Then she took his hand, and curled her fingers round his. She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed his fingers against it.

“Don’t say anything. Not until you’re ready. It doesn’t matter, I’m here, you’ll be all right.”

She pushed his hand away from her face, and shook her head. “I have to tell you. I have to tell you now. Please, promise me you will listen.”

He nodded, and took both of her hands in his.

She looked up into his face, and tried to smile, but couldn’t. Any minute now she would see him turn away from her in disgust, and she didn’t know if she could bear it. His eyes were gentle, full of understanding, and she wondered how they would look after she told him. It was tearing her apart inside.

She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. But she shook her head and looked away, she couldn’t say it.

“It’s all right, darling, it’s all right.”

“It was so terrible. I was so afraid.”

“Why? What was?” he said, trying to soothe her with his voice. “Come on, take it slowly now.”

“I can’t, I can’t.”

“Then it doesn’t matter,” he said, trying to turn her to face him.

“I was raped!” she cried. “Bob, I was raped! Raped! Do you understand? Raped! Raped! Rape . . .”

“Stop it. Stop,” and he caught her roughly in his arms. He pressed her face into his shoulder, not wanting her to see the look on his own. He gazed around the room, trying to take in what she had said and rocking her back and forth, trying not to choke on the murderous rage that was creeping in a strangling grip to his throat.

“When did it happen?” he eventually managed to ask her. “Tell me, when did it happen?”

“The night your wife came to the theatre,” she sobbed. “I was here on my own, and I thought it was you. I thought you’d forgotten your key. I let him in. The door . . . I opened, and then I fell, and he had a knife, and I begged him. So dirty, so . . . Oh Bob, it was so terrible. Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

He squeezed her tight. “Sssh,” he whispered, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you again. If I hadn’t left you that night then this would never have happened. Oh Ellamarie, my darling, my love. What have I done to you? What have you been going through? Oh my darling, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”