Fine Lines - SA (2 page)

My first reaction was to go back to the car to telephone the police. If it was a burglary I wanted no part of it. But the fear of humiliating myself over a false alarm prevented me. I hesitated. Then, surprised at my own courage, I went up the rest of the stairs and on to the landing.

The office door was partly open. Light spil ed out from it on to the darkened corridor. I tiptoed slowly closer, more of the room coming into view as I approached. Then, when I was only a few feet away, I heard Anna cough.

I relaxed. Relieved and irritated. I took another step forward, intending to announce my presence, and stopped.

Through the gap in the doorway I could now see the large, gilt-framed mirror that hung on the opposite wal . It showed part of the office that was stil hidden behind the door. The bookshelf. My desk. The desk lamp, casting a golden il umination into the room. And Anna.

She was naked except for a white bra and pants. She stood poised with her weight on one leg, the other slightly crooked as she strained with both hands for the strap in the smal of her back. For a moment she did not move. The mirror, set against the blank, surrounding wal , framed the scene as perfectly as a painting. Then there was a sudden forward motion of her breasts as the bra came undone, and Anna bent her shoulders and slipped it off. Dropping it out of sight, she hooked her thumbs in the top of her pants and pushed them down. Her breasts swung heavily as she stooped, her hair sliding over one shoulder in a dark club. Then she turned to confront herself in the mirror. And me.

Instinctively, I flinched back. But the hal way was in darkness: I was invisible. Cautiously, I moved forward again. Now Anna's reflection directly faced me. Her hands went to her hair, tying it behind her with a black band. Her head bowed slightly; her breasts stretched and quivered. Her stomach was smooth, slightly rounded at its base and deeply indented by a long, oval navel. Below this, the thick wedge of black curls was stil pressed flat from her underclothes.

She turned then and reached for something out of sight on the floor;

the pose presented me with an angled view of her back. It gleamed where the light caught it, her spine a shadowed groove. She bent further, head and shoulders dipping out of sight until her buttocks became almost heart-shaped. A smal , dark diamond formed where they joined her thighs. Straightening, she stepped into another pair of pants, black this time, and pul ed on a pair of tights. She drew them up her legs and over her stomach to her navel, so that the lower half of her body was al black, the upper stil white and naked.

Suddenly I lost sight of her as she moved out of view of the mirror. I felt a surge of panic. But her reflection returned almost immediately, holding a black dress. I watched, regretful y, as her body was concealed in it, cherishing one last glimpse of her breasts as she eased them inside. Then she was fastening the dress behind her, clothed and hidden once more.

I remained in the corridor, reluctant to accept it was over. It was only when Anna began to put on her lipstick that I remembered where I was, and what I was doing. I crept away from the doorway and went back downstairs, trembling and light-headed. At the bottom I leaned against the cool wal and closed my eyes. An after-image of Anna naked in the mirror instantly appeared, and I quickly opened them. I waited until the tightness in my chest and throat had subsided and then began to climb the stairs again.

"Anna? Is that you?" I shouted.

"Mr. Ramsey?" There were hurried sounds from the office. Then Anna appeared in the doorway. She looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I was just getting changed. I wasn't expecting you back."

"That's quite al right. I'm sorry if I startled you. I forgot some papers." I found I could not actual y remember what I had gone back for.

"I hope you don't mind me using the office as a changing room."

"Not at al ." I fol owed her into it. There were no signs of what I had witnessed. The ceiling light had been turned on, and cast a bright, harsh light to the room. I tried not to look at the mirror.

"Are you going anywhere nice?"

"I'm meeting my boyfriend for something to eat, then we're going to the theatre. There's an Alan Ayckbourn play on."

"Ah." I could not help but think of the body under the dress.

Concealed by a thin layer of fabric. I realised that she had taken a bra off but not replaced it. I wondered if she only wore one for work.

In my presence. The thought disturbed me. "Wel , I hope you enjoy yourselves." She smiled. For the first time I found myself real y looking at her, noticing her features. The dark eyebrows and straight, rather long nose. The large mouth with what I now saw to be sensuous lips. I envied her boyfriend. "We better. The tickets cost a fortune." She turned and picked up a shoulder bag from the floor. Her buttocks briefly moulded themselves against the fabric of her dress. I remembered the smooth, pale heart-shape they had formed.

"Do you like Ayckbourn?" I asked.

"I don't know. I've never seen anything of his before. But Marty that's my boyfriend thinks he's bril iant." She grinned. "It's pathetic. It takes an American to get me to see an English playwright."

"Your boyfriend's American?" I was suddenly aware how little I knew about her. It had never bothered me before.

"He's from Boston. He's at university here." She repositioned the bag on her shoulder, a signal that she was ready to leave. But I could not let her go just yet.

"Real y? What subject?"

"Anthropology. He's a research student."

"What made him choose London? It's rather a long way to come, isn't it?"

"Wel , I think a lot of it had to do with him wanting to see England.

But he says the course here is quite a good one." She glanced at her watch. I knew I was delaying her, but I felt compel ed to make up for my ignorance. I tried to sound casual.

"Have you been going out together very long?"

"Almost a year." A pleased smile spread over her face.

"You seem very fond of him." She blushed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"That's okay. It's not prying." I could think of nothing else to say. There was a brief silence while we both stood, uncertainly.

"Wel , I'd better be off." Anna said. "There's nothing else you need me for, is there?"

"No, no, I don't think so." I did not want her to go, but could think of no excuse to keep her. I moved out of her way, and with a shock realised I had an erection. Flustered, I went behind the desk, thankful I stil wore my coat.

"I'l see you tomorrow, then. "Bye." Anna left the room, and I heard her go downstairs. After a moment the door slammed.

I did not move. I felt confused, in turmoil. I looked across into the mirror. Now it held only the office and me. I looked middle-aged and unprepossessing. I switched off the light so the room was lit by the desk lamp, as before. I moved a chair until my view of the mirror was approximately as it had been from outside. I stared at it. It was stil empty, but with only a little concentration I could

picture Anna moving into it again. I closed my eyes. The image held.

Once more I pictured her breasts, traced in my mind's eye their every curve and swel . I saw the plane of her stomach, her navel, the black wedge of curls. She bent over again in front of me, her haunches smooth and round, cleaved by modest yet provocative shadows. Eyes closed, I ran through it al in slow motion, lingering and reviewing at wil . Almost without consent my hands moved, careful not to disturb the images.

For the first time since I was a teenager, I masturbated.

From then on, I was a man obsessed. I could not look at Anna in the same way again. Or, rather, for the first time I actual y began to look at her. I noticed things I had never been aware of before, either in her or anyone else. Each morning I would wait eagerly for her to arrive at the gal ery, wondering what she would be wearing, if her hair would be taken back or loose. I noticed how her clothes touched and briefly clung to her body when she moved, how she had a particular scent al her own. Everything about her seemed perfect.

But if I was obsessed, it was a modest obsession. I knew my limitations. I had no ambitions to make her my mistress. Such a thing was so far beyond my experience as to be virtual y unimaginable. The best I could ever hope for was to become her friend, and so to that end I began to try and break down the reserve that existed between us. It was surprisingly easy. The hardest part was not making my sudden interest appear too obvious. I could have spent hours watching her, cherishing each unconscious movement, storing it for later, private perusal. The arch of her neck, a few bare inches of flesh, could hold me mesmerised for hours. I was constantly aware of her body underneath the clothes. They seemed only to emphasise what they concealed. One day she was very obviously not wearing a bra, and I could barely take my eyes from the judder and swing of her breasts. I convinced myself that this was a sign she was beginning to feel more at ease. In fact, I had never noticed in the past if she wore one or not.

As she became more relaxed with me, I began to hear more about her private life. And in particular about Marty, her boyfriend. Her feelings for him were patently obvious, and the more

I heard, the more I was fil ed with envy for this unknown man. And also curiosity. I tried to imagine what he looked like. I formed an image of him in my mind; tal and darkly good looking, a male equivalent of Anna. I admit to a slight disapproval that he was American, but I was prepared to admit that was probably my own prejudice. The object of Anna's affection could surely not be anything other than exceptional. I felt certain she would not give herself to less.

Then came the opportunity to meet him for myself. Anna approached me one afternoon. "Are you busy tonight?" she asked.

I tried to hide my rush of excitement. "No, not real y. Why?"

"Wel , if you aren't, you could do me an awful y big favour. But only if it's no trouble."

"I'm sure it won't be. What is it?"

"A friend of mine is an artist, and it's her first show tonight. I wondered, if you weren't doing anything, if you'd mind coming along to it? She's real y nervous, so the more people who go the better. And with you being quite influential, I know she'd like you to be there." I felt a thril of pleasure. "I'd be delighted."

"You're sure it's no problem? I know it's short notice."

"Real y, I'd love to come." Anna beamed at me. "Thanks, that's great! Marty said you wouldn't mind." I was unsure whether or not I liked the implications of that. Then another thought struck me. "Wil Marty be going tonight?"

"Yes. We'l be there around eight-ish. But you don't have to be there that early." I reassured her that it was not too early for me, and tried to be attentive when she gave me directions to where the exhibition was being held. But I was hardly listening. I was going to meet Anna's boyfriend. Her lover.

I was suddenly acutely nervous.

The exhibition was in a smal gal ery near Camden. I arrived there just before eight. My stomach was coiling. I had not eaten anything since lunch, but I was too on edge to feel hungry.

The gal ery looked warm and bright, and I could see people mil ing about inside as I approached. I peered through the windows, trying to pick out Anna and settle my nerves before going in, but succeeded in doing neither. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

A glass of wine was immediately pushed into my hand by a cadaverous young man in a baggy sweater. It was obviously from a supermarket's bargain bin, but I accepted it grateful y and looked around for Anna.

There was no sign of her. I looked at my watch. It was stil not quite eight o'clock, and feeling anticlimax mingle with relief I turned my attention to the exhibition.

The daubs were even more amateurish than I had feared. I dislike abstract art at the best of times, and this was nowhere near the best.

I recognised one of the critics there, and the look he gave me supported my own opinion. The majority of the crowd appeared to be more interested in the free wine than the paintings, and I could not blame them. I was considering accepting a second glass myself when Anna's voice came from behind me.

"Hel o. Have you been here long?" I turned, surprised and flustered. "No, no. I've only just got here." I breathed in her perfume. She stil wore her coat, and a scarf was draped around her neck. Her face looked pinched from the cold. "Sorry we're late. The tube was delayed again, and we couldn't get a taxi. We walked from the underground." She moved to one side.

"You've not met Marty, have you?" I had been aware of someone standing just behind her, but only peripheral y. He was so unlike my idea of what Marty should look like that I had taken no notice of him. Now, as he stepped forward and held out his hand, I felt a shock so strong I could barely respond.

The tal , good-looking Marty of my imagination did not exist. The creature Anna introduced was smal , slight, and run tish His clothes hung on his meagre frame, and dark-framed glasses made his eyes seem disproportionately large in his thin face. His hair was unkempt and mousy, completing the image of a bookish schoolboy.

I managed to smile as I shook his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

"I don't know if that's good or bad." His accent was relatively slight. But by then his nationality was the least of my complaints.

I was recovering now from the initial shock. "Oh, you needn't worry. It was al good."

"I only told him the good points," Anna said. They smiled at each other.

"Here, I'l find somewhere to put your coat," he said to her. "Would you like another glass of wine, Mr. Ramsey?" I felt I needed one. "If it's no bother." I gritted my teeth. "And please, cal me Donald." Taking Anna's coat, Marty disappeared into the crowd. There was nothing about him to make him stand out from it.

"So what do you think?" Anna asked. I blinked.

"Pardon?"

"The exhibition. Have you had chance to see much of it yet?" For a moment I had thought she was asking my opinion of her boyfriend.