Ghost Town by Patrick McGrath Page A

snort of amusement he went back to work.
    A week later Julius appeared in the studio and discovered that there was no model for the life class. The students were working from pieces of plaster statuary. He approached Jerome Brook Franklin.
    —Where is she, sir? he said.
    The painter was attempting to open a window that was stuck. The day was a hot one, and he was warmly perspiring.
    —How should I know? he said, between grunts. She was meant to come to me yesterday. I waited an hour. Damn!
    The window continued to refuse to move.
    —She was meant to come to you? said Julius.
    Brook Franklin turned to him with considerable ill humor.
    —I waited an hour! Waste of time! She’s gone to hell for all I care.
    This was the first Julius knew of Annie’s private modeling sessions with Brook Franklin. It did nothing to allay his sense of unease, rather it increased it. But had no one gone to Nassau Street to see if she was at home? No one had.
    An hour later Julius walked east to Broadway and boarded a horse-car going downtown. He got off at Warren Street and crossed the park where they had so often sat together, and made his way down Beekman to Nassau. Then he was hammering at the door of the boarding-house, and a few seconds passed before it was opened by Mrs. Kelly. At once Julius knew there was no good news.
    —Have you seen her? she cried. Is she with you?
    She stepped past him and scanned the sidewalk beyond, as though he might be trailing the girl behind him. Julius had been inside the house on several occasions, and had come to know Annie’s mother. She was a plump, jovial woman with skin as clear and youthful as her daughter’s. She had lived all her life on the east side of lower Manhattan, having been an actress once and played in all the local theaters. She later married a ship’s carpenter, raised several children and saw enough riotous times not to beshocked by anything now. In her narrow hallway, on a threadbare carpet with the smell of boiling vegetables seeping from the back parts of the house, she told Julius what had happened, or rather what had not happened. Three days before, a Sunday, Annie had left the house early in the morning, saying she would not be home until dinner-time. She had not said where she was going. She had not been seen since.
    —Where could she be? cried Julius.
    —Oh dear God if only I knew! cried Mrs. Kelly. And her with only the clothes on her back!
    She began to weep, and Julius took her in his arms. They clung shuddering to each other for a few seconds. Julius stepped back. He clutched her shoulders, and the one tear-streaked face stared into the other. He asked her what had been done, and she told him that the men in the house had been out looking for her every night, and had told the police, and all the neighbors knew she was missing, but nobody had seen her.
    —I had thought she was coming to you! she cried.
    This brought on further sobbing, and it was another half-hour before Julius could leave the house. He sat on a bench in the park and tried tothink what to do. How could she allow her mother and now himself to suffer such anxiety? Was she dead? Then he was running down to the East River to find his father, but Noah was not there. Julius was frightened now. He could not shake off the feeling that Jerome Brook Franklin was involved, for this news of the private sessions unsettled him. He ran through the seaport scanning the crowds for a glimpse of her, groping in his mind for an answer. Dead or captive, he thought. The docks were crowded with wagons and barrows, with men, with ships, crates and bales, stacked barrels, officials of the Port of New York with their papers and pens and watch-fobs, a storm of talk and shouting and drifting through it this distraught youth staring hard at any young woman who passed him, his lips trembling as he murmured to himself, although nobody could have made out what he was saying even if they had the inclination to, which they didn’t.