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Services advised that his phone was disconnected and the new number registered as silent. The family business office refused to accept any calls from me and the staff, at first kind, turned nasty after about the fifth time I telephoned.
    University Administration wouldn’t give out private phone numbers. A woman, with whom I had always enjoyed a good relationship, eventually advised me that the Dean’s office had ordered that I was not to be accommodated in any way. Never mind strings: good cop Randall had yanked twine.
    The so-called mutual friends we made were uncommunicative. I suspected Jemima, who was so spiteful and sly that everyone kept on her “good side,” had trashed my reputation very effectively. My former flatmates moved on during the time James courted me, so it was useless trying to contact them. My letters were returned, intercepted by his parents. Heartbroken, I finally acknowledged that James was finished with me and turned my energy to building a secure future for my child.
    During the last twenty-six years, I have sometimes read snippets about his career in magazines and business periodicals. Photos of him smiling at concerts, on the polo field and at the opera, wife cleaved to his side, appeared from time to time. When he was widowed ten years previously, I’d been tempted to contact him, but pride came to the fore. Why be a glutton for punishment?
    I should have told Ally the truth about who he was and the circumstances of her birth, but I lied and even gave her a photo of a stranger who happened to be standing in front of a building and looked at me as I clicked the shutter. He accepted my abashed apology with charm. Later, I even made up a name for him so when the time came, it was easy to concoct a sad, dramatic story of his death to hide my humiliation and prevent her contacting James or his family. Why should they get to know her now when they hadn’t wanted to before, I reasoned.
    James domiciled in Brisbane, alternating between the UK and Australia attending to business interests, which included the Pacific Orchestra to which Ally was temporarily contracted. I’d written his phone number in the centre page of my address book and sometimes allowed my mind to wander into the realms of ‘What if I picked up the telephone and called him? What’s the worst that could happen?’ He’d just hang up.
    How long do the police search when someone goes missing? A week? A month? Maybe James could persuade the Commissioner of Police to make sure the search continued, or he might hire a private detective to do things the police couldn’t. What I’d sowed, I had to reap, no matter the cost. Feel the fear and do it anyway.
    I threw the bedcovers aside, padded to the telephone and dialled with trembling fingers before I could renege, yet again. The sound of his warm, cultured voice almost broke my nerve. I took a deep breath.
    ‘Hello James? This is Eloise McFadden.’

CHAPTER 6
    God’s Punishment.
    Ally
    Sunday: dawn.
    Let me out let me out let me out…
    I’m lying halfway off the stretcher. The metal is cutting into my spine. It’s an effort to haul myself against the wall, to press my aching body against the timber. A faint light comes from the window. I look around. The gaunt, bareness of the room is threatening because it appears not important enough to bother painting. By definition, the content–currently, myself–is not worth anything either. My throat hurts, bringing memories of crying and pounding on the door for what seemed like hours. I clasp my hands and wince because they are so sore.
    I will get out. I’m a strong girl. I try to do some gentle stretching exercises. Have to keep supple.
    Sunday. ‘Bloody hell, the concert.’ The words croak out of my throat, startling me. The police, my friends–are they looking for me? I’d need to be dead to dump a concert, for God’s sake. I feel like something the cat dragged in then rejected. I’m freaking out. These– people