the rest of it. It’s entirely up to you. These living quarters are a bit dowdy. If I was you I’d do a bit of cleaning and a bit of decorating. I’d also get a telly and all the rest of it. This could be a nice little place. I think you can get satellite here, but don’t ask me what to do about that. I haven’t got a clue. There are sockets in the wall over there. If you need help getting canvases and so on in here you can always give Jake a bell. Clementine has his number. I’ve told Jake that you may need some help quite soon to remove your, er, art materials out of your flat. I hope you don’t mind. He’s free this afternoon if you need him. Up to you, of course. You could buy all new stuff, couldn’t you.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Rhoda.’
‘Something like: I will work my ovaries off in this place and get Rhoda so much money from her commission that she can buy an island off the coast of Spain and be serviced by bullfighters until her teeth fall out.’
‘OK. That.’
‘And I have to warn you now that if you start to blub I will slap your face. Now, I have to get along. I’ll be in touch. What day is it? You can stay here and have a look around. Get used to it. Look around. Get used to the vibes. See if the taps work. Open the windows. Things like that. Whatever you decide to do, give me a ring or if I’m not around, talk to Clementine. She’s not as dim as she sounds. Oh, and I almost forgot. I’ve got a little present for you.’
She fishes a Harrods carrier out of her handbag and hands it to me. It’s a 250ml bottle of Tom Ford Jasmin Rouge eau de parfum. Must have cost a fortune.
‘Congratulations, sweetie.’
‘Thanks, Rhoda. Thanks for everything.’ We embrace and kiss each other’s cheeks and she’s gone.
As I walk around the studio holding my posh perfume, I feel slightly dizzy. I take the top off the bottle and put some on my wrists and on my neck. It’s got a heady, rich, decadent smell. It’s sexy on Rhoda so I guess it must be sexy on me. Terribly, I can hear Mark’s voice: ‘What’s that awful smell?’
I want a ciggy, but I realise I haven’t got any on me.
There’s no furniture here, so I sit on the floor and stare into space.
I think of Mark arriving at Heathrow and I’m not there to greet him. All his friends joke about it and he has a laugh about it, too. He’s irritated by the fact he has to get the tube and a taxi home. It’s the waste of money that bugs him the most.
By the time he gets home to the flat, he’s getting annoyed. This state of affairs is made worse by the fact that no one answers the door when he rings the bell. The car is parked outside, so he’s pretty sure I must be home. I’m probably in the bath or something. How annoying.
He uses his keys to get in and immediately knows that something’s not right. At the moment it’s just a feeling. He’s tried to call me on my mobile several times and there’s been no response. He’s left a few irritated messages and a handful of angry texts. He doesn’t notice that my flat keys and the car keys are on the floor, having been pushed through the letterbox.
He dumps his suitcase and new carry-on bag on the floor and calls out for me, but there’s no reply. He goes into the kitchen to make himself a coffee and looks around. Something’s different in here. Something’s not right. Then he notices that my mini stereo has gone, as has the CD rack that’s always next to it. Maybe I’ve put them in another room.
He frowns. He’s unsure. It still hasn’t hit him yet. He takes a stroll around the flat. For a brief second he wonders if we’ve been burglarised. He goes into the living room. The television is still there. That would have been the first thing any burglars took and there’s no evidence of any disturbance.
Next stop is the bedroom. All looks normal. On a whim, he opens my side of the wardrobe. The second he sees that it’s been cleared out, he realises what has happened. He sits down on