Behind Closed Doors(70)

‘Hello, darling, it’s me. I know you told me you might not pick up, but I was rather hoping you would—as you can tell, I’m missing you already. But maybe you’re still in bed? Anyway, I’ve arrived safely and guess what? Mr Ho felt so sorry for me being on my own that he’s upgraded us to a better room! Even so, I know I’m going to hate being here without you. Anyway, I hope the press aren’t hounding you too much and that you’re managing to get through all your paperwork. Don’t work too hard and, if you’ve got a minute, please call me back, I’m in room 107, otherwise I’ll try you again later. I love you, bye for now.’

I hang up and dial Janice’s mobile. At this time on a Saturday morning, she and Millie should have finished breakfast and be on their way to the stables for Millie’s riding lesson. When Janice doesn’t answer immediately my heart pounds with fear, in case Jack has somehow managed to get to Millie after all. But eventually she does and, while I speak to her, I remember to mention that Esther and her children will be calling in to see Millie the next day. Then I speak to Millie and just knowing she is safe, at least for the time being, makes me feel better.

I walk into the bathroom. The shower stands in the corner, concealed behind opaque doors, which means I can’t use it as there is always the possibility, however slight, that I may come out and find Jack standing on the other side of them. I look at the bath and work out that if I leave the door open, as well as that of the bedroom, I’ll be able to see through to the sitting room and, so, the main door. Reassured, I fill the bath, strip off my clothes and lower myself tentatively into the hot water. As it rises up around my shoulders, the tension that engulfed me the moment I heard Jack step into the house at three o’clock the previous afternoon melts away and I begin to cry in huge racking sobs, which tear from my body at an alarming rate.

By the time I manage to pull myself together, the water is so cold I’m shivering. Climbing out, I wrap myself in one of the white towelling robes provided by the hotel and go into the bedroom. I’m desperately hungry, so I pick up the room-service menu. I know I’m going to have to leave my room at some point if I’m to carry on pretending that everything is all right but I can’t, not yet. I order a club sandwich, but, when it arrives, I’m too frightened to open the door, even with the chain on, in case I find Jack standing there. Instead, I call for the tray to be left outside my room, which isn’t much better because there’s still the possibility that he’ll be lurking in the corridor, waiting to bundle me back inside as soon as I open the door. Finding the courage to open the door wide enough to pull the tray into the room is a major triumph and I wish I’d thought of ordering a bottle of wine along with the sandwich so that I could celebrate. But I remind myself that there will be plenty of time to celebrate later, when it is all over, approximately five days from now, if my calculations are correct. Whether they are or not is something I have no way of knowing. At least, not yet.

When I’ve finished eating, I unpack my case, look at my watch. It’s only five-thirty and because nobody would expect me to go down to dinner alone on my first night in the hotel, I feel justified in staying in my room for the rest of the day. Feeling suddenly exhausted, I lie down on the bed, not really expecting to be able to sleep. But I do and, when I next open my eyes and find that the room is in darkness, I leap out of bed, my heart thumping in my chest, and run around the room, turning on all the lights. I know I’m not going to be able to sleep again for fear of opening my eyes and finding Jack standing over me so I resign myself to spending a long night with only my thoughts for company.

When morning comes, I get dressed, pick up the phone and dial Jack’s number.

‘Hello, darling, I wasn’t really expecting to get you because it’s two in the morning in England so you must be fast asleep, but I thought I’d leave a message for you to listen to when you wake up. I meant to phone you before I went to sleep last night, but I lay down on the bed at six in the evening and only woke up ten minutes ago, which just goes to show how tired I was! I’m going down to breakfast in a minute but I’ve got no idea how I’m going to spend the rest of the day—I might go for a walk, but I’ll probably just hang around the pool. Will you give me a ring when you wake up? You can always leave a message at the reception if I’m not in my room. I feel an awfully long way away from you—which I am, of course. Anyway, I love you and miss you, don’t forget to phone me.’

I make my way down for breakfast. Mr Ho is on duty. He asks if I slept well and I tell him that I did. He suggests I eat out on the terrace and I cross the lobby, remembering all the times Jack walked me across it on the way to the dining room, his hand gripping my arm tightly while he whispered menaces in my ear.

Once outside, I help myself to fruit and pancakes and find a table in the corner, wondering if anyone else in the world has been as fooled by a man as I was. It seems strange that I’ll never be able to tell anyone what I’ve been through, never be able to tell them about the monster I was married to, not if everything turns out as I hope it will.

I eat slowly, needing to pass the time and, as I eat, I realise that if I crane my neck I can see the balcony of the room on the sixth floor where I spent so many lonely hours. I sit there for over an hour, wishing I’d brought a book with me. Sitting on my own with nothing to distract me might look suspicious, as there can’t be many people who go on holiday without taking a book with them except those that leave in a hurry. I seem to remember Jack walking me past a second-hand bookshop on our way to take photographs of the two of us having a wonderful time in Bangkok, so I leave the hotel and go in search of it. I find it easily; it’s the sort of place I love, but I feel too conspicuous to linger so I buy a couple of books and return to the hotel, marvelling that I can feel relatively safe in a place that once held such horrors for me.