Read Online Objects of Desire by Roberta Latow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roberta Latow
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pretty one.’
Anoushka turned from the rail to look at the man, tears streaming down her face. She’d not been aware of him standing next to her. His words only added to her distress.
The man opened his coat and drew a clean white handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He pressed it in her hand. Anoushka covered her eyes with it and struggled to compose herself, but it was impossible. She was sinking under the weight of too much misery. She clung to the rail of the ship for support as her knees buckled. Wiping her eyes with his handkerchief and a trembling hand, she asked barely above a whisper, ‘Help me.’
The tall broad-shouldered man looked round him for a ship’s officer, a fellow passenger, anyone, to come to her aid. But they were virtually alone in the bow of the ship, the other passengers having sought shelter from the wind and cold in the enclosed section of the deck.
She saw him looking round and grabbed on to his arm. ‘No, please, discreetly. I don’t want to make a scene.’
He placed an arm round her and that did give her the physical support, the comfort she so desperately needed. The warmth and strength of his body seemed to energise her. She pulled herself up and tried to walk. Her steps were unsure, wobbly. ‘I’m so ashamed,’ she told him through her sobs and gasps for breath. ‘Embarrassing, this is so embarrassing.’
‘Let’s just get you out of here, and to some private place where you can cry and beat your chest, if that’s what you want.’
Anoushka wrenched her arm away and glared at him. ‘You think I’m enjoying this?’
He supported her once more, his hand on her elbow, and kept her walking. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ he told her. With that he pulled open the doors to the glassed-in area and indicated to her that she should step over the threshold. Under his breath he mumbled, ‘Shit, how I hate women in distress.’
She struggled to release herself from him and told him, ‘Then just go away.’
‘What’s your stateroom number? I’ll see you there. That’s the best thing to do if you don’t want a scene. You look a mess, clearly not in control of yourself, and if I don’t help you someone else will have to.’
She told him the number of her stateroom. Then, all control lost, burst into tears again and leaned against the stranger.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Anoushka woke up in panic. She had a tremendous headache. The room was dark. Completely disorientated, it took her several seconds and the movement of the ship to remind her she was on the
QE2
crossing the Atlantic Ocean. Groping in the dark, she finally found the bedside lamp and switched it on.
The room had three portholes and was panelled with a warm honey-coloured wood. She was lying on an overly large bed. Her coat was draped over the arm of a wing chair. She swung her legs off the bed. The headache seemed to be concentrated in the back of her eyes. She covered them with her fingers and pressed gently then dropped her chin on to her chest. She sat there like that, head lowered, for some time and with the most peculiar feeling.
Emptiness, a profound sense of meaninglessness, had taken possession of her. Somewhere in the depths of sleep and despair her emotions had somehow petrified. Had they magically vanished, or were they merely deep frozen, to be resurrected at some future date? Who was to know? And what did it matter? Whatever had happened to them they were gone, and there sat the same Anoushka Usopova Rivers looking like herself but not at all the same person she had known herself to be. She had awakened as a woman with a past that no longer meant anything to her. Worse, she was aware that Robert, Alexis and Mishka were still in her life, to be dealt with more than loved. Emotional burn-out. Anoushka was aware of that butcould do nothing about it. The fact of the matter was she no longer cared.
She rose from the bed. She was barefoot. She looked round the room and spotted her shoes placed neatly
Anoushka turned from the rail to look at the man, tears streaming down her face. She’d not been aware of him standing next to her. His words only added to her distress.
The man opened his coat and drew a clean white handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He pressed it in her hand. Anoushka covered her eyes with it and struggled to compose herself, but it was impossible. She was sinking under the weight of too much misery. She clung to the rail of the ship for support as her knees buckled. Wiping her eyes with his handkerchief and a trembling hand, she asked barely above a whisper, ‘Help me.’
The tall broad-shouldered man looked round him for a ship’s officer, a fellow passenger, anyone, to come to her aid. But they were virtually alone in the bow of the ship, the other passengers having sought shelter from the wind and cold in the enclosed section of the deck.
She saw him looking round and grabbed on to his arm. ‘No, please, discreetly. I don’t want to make a scene.’
He placed an arm round her and that did give her the physical support, the comfort she so desperately needed. The warmth and strength of his body seemed to energise her. She pulled herself up and tried to walk. Her steps were unsure, wobbly. ‘I’m so ashamed,’ she told him through her sobs and gasps for breath. ‘Embarrassing, this is so embarrassing.’
‘Let’s just get you out of here, and to some private place where you can cry and beat your chest, if that’s what you want.’
Anoushka wrenched her arm away and glared at him. ‘You think I’m enjoying this?’
He supported her once more, his hand on her elbow, and kept her walking. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ he told her. With that he pulled open the doors to the glassed-in area and indicated to her that she should step over the threshold. Under his breath he mumbled, ‘Shit, how I hate women in distress.’
She struggled to release herself from him and told him, ‘Then just go away.’
‘What’s your stateroom number? I’ll see you there. That’s the best thing to do if you don’t want a scene. You look a mess, clearly not in control of yourself, and if I don’t help you someone else will have to.’
She told him the number of her stateroom. Then, all control lost, burst into tears again and leaned against the stranger.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Anoushka woke up in panic. She had a tremendous headache. The room was dark. Completely disorientated, it took her several seconds and the movement of the ship to remind her she was on the
QE2
crossing the Atlantic Ocean. Groping in the dark, she finally found the bedside lamp and switched it on.
The room had three portholes and was panelled with a warm honey-coloured wood. She was lying on an overly large bed. Her coat was draped over the arm of a wing chair. She swung her legs off the bed. The headache seemed to be concentrated in the back of her eyes. She covered them with her fingers and pressed gently then dropped her chin on to her chest. She sat there like that, head lowered, for some time and with the most peculiar feeling.
Emptiness, a profound sense of meaninglessness, had taken possession of her. Somewhere in the depths of sleep and despair her emotions had somehow petrified. Had they magically vanished, or were they merely deep frozen, to be resurrected at some future date? Who was to know? And what did it matter? Whatever had happened to them they were gone, and there sat the same Anoushka Usopova Rivers looking like herself but not at all the same person she had known herself to be. She had awakened as a woman with a past that no longer meant anything to her. Worse, she was aware that Robert, Alexis and Mishka were still in her life, to be dealt with more than loved. Emotional burn-out. Anoushka was aware of that butcould do nothing about it. The fact of the matter was she no longer cared.
She rose from the bed. She was barefoot. She looked round the room and spotted her shoes placed neatly
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