The Disappeared Read Online Free Page B

between the two, bearing a thumbed issue of
Rolling Stone
. Above a blocked Victorian fireplace there hung a reproduction of Picasso’s
Les Saltimbanques
in a frame of brushed steel. A CD player and a telephone stood on a bookcase beside the kitchen door. There were no books in the bookcase, just a few magazines lying flat and two shelves of CDs.
    The space had an institutional air. He assumed that the girls kept to their rooms, and that communal life was minimal. There was no sign that anyone worked in this room: it was neat, clean, transitional. And that was true too of Muhibbah: such was his thought as she came through the door with a folder of papers in one hand and two earthenware mugs in the other. She placed the mugs on the coffee table and came across with the folder.
    â€˜Please look at these while I make the tea.’
    The folder contained brochures for courses: one in accountancy, another in law, a third in secretarial skills and information technology. They were aimed at adults with a few school certificates, who were hoping to better themselves in whatever way they could. Muhibbah came through the door with a teapot and he raised his eyes to her with a feeling of tenderness. She met his glance for a moment and then looked away.
    â€˜It is mint,’ she said. ‘
Na’na’
. I hope you like it.’
    â€˜So, Muhibbah. You wanted my advice.’
    She poured the tea, and brought one of the mugs to him where he sat. She drank from the other on the sofa. The taste of mint was innocent and clean.
    â€˜You see,’ she said, ‘there’s no future for me in the boutique. I need a career, a status; I need to be known, part of things, protected. An accountant, for instance. In a respectable job, like you.’
    â€˜And living alone?’
    She huddled up, and a shiver went down her spine.
    â€˜Yes. Why not? I can look after myself.’
    He studied her for a moment, and saw that she was blushing.
    â€˜You don’t have to look at me like that,’ she said. ‘I thought you were my friend.’
    â€˜That’s why I am looking at you,’ he said, with sudden boldness. ‘More than a friend, if you allow it.’
    She flung back her hair and turned her face to him. She looked through him for a full five seconds, before dropping her eyes and saying ‘I don’t allow it’.
    â€˜Then I’m sorry for the suggestion,’ he said, falteringly.
    â€˜Look, Justin. You’ve been good to me. Very good. One day I’ll repay you. But you have to help me now.’
    â€˜I understand,’ he said, downcast.
    â€˜You see,’ she went on, ‘I need a qualification and a career, and I need them soon. Tell me which of those courses I should apply for.’
    He looked again at the brochures, with their cheerful promise of success. Gowned graduates clutched their rolled certificates, and in the neat interiors of modern buildings smart young people smiled above their desks. He envisaged Muhibbah among them, the target of covetous glances, alone and unprotected. And he felt a stab of jealousy. The feeling was new to Justin, who had moved easily from girlfriend to girlfriend, avoiding commitment, and rarely distressed when things drew to a close. Never before had it seemed imperative to take a woman under his wing, to protect her now and forever. Muhibbah’s jewel-like physical perfection would not in itself have given rise to such a feeling. But displayed behind unbreachable defences her beauty spelled his doom.
    Muhibbah told him that she had been taken away from St Catherine’s Academy aged 16, but had been able to acquire A level maths and English through a correspondence course. She was good with numbers and could write clear English. Because of her childhood in Yemen and her roots in Afghanistan she knew Arabic, which was useful, and a bit of Pashto, which wasn’t. And she was willing to work. Eventually they settled on the