Without Prejudice by Andrew Rosenheim Page A

Fifty yards short of the coach house she sprinted down the tarmac, and by the time he came into the kitchen she had her face flush in Anna’s stomach, arms around her waist, shaking with sobs.
    Anna looked at him with bewilderment. ‘There,’ she said, as the crying slightly subsided. ‘Go upstairs now and change. Lunch is ready.’
    Sophie released her hold and pushed past Robert, unwilling to look at him. When she’d gone upstairs and out of earshot, he said, ‘I was scared.’
    ‘So you had to spank her? You haven’t done that in years.’
    He sighed, and went to the refrigerator, where he found the last of the white wine they’d had the night before. He poured himself half a tumbler, and drank it off in one big hit. He was still shaken by the terror he’d felt. Anna continued to look at him for an explanation. He put the glass down and said, ‘I couldn’t find her anywhere. And there wasn’t any place to hide.’
    ‘So did you think she’d run away? Why would she do a thing like that – for goodness’ sake, she’s only nine. Did you have a row or something?’
    He shook his head, moving around the kitchen, aware of Anna’s reproving gaze. He fingered the coffee maker, then gathered up a pair of dirty spoons and put them in the sink. He barely noticed what he was doing, saying, ‘I assumed the worst.’ He shrugged, fatalistically, to acknowledge the weakness of his own fears. ‘I’m sorry. She’s getting older and more independent, and I guess I’m just not adjusting to that very well. I still think of her as four years old. And I still worry that somebody’s going to snatch her.’
    Anna sighed. ‘That’s every parent’s fear. And she’s not four years old any more.’
    Robert felt like a faltering athlete given a pep talk by a coach. ‘But she’s still so little – and so pretty.’
    Anna considered this; Robert supposed she had a mix of different impulses – maternal pride, a theoretical belief that looks didn’t matter (easy for her to say, he thought, looking at his attractive wife), possibly even some of the same defensive anxiety he felt. He waited for her to speak, gradually gaining confidence to look her in the eye.
    ‘Yes, she is. And most parents would be proud of that. You make it sound like it’s something terrible.’
    Yes, he wanted to say, I do. And that evening, driving back to Chicago – Sophie asleep in the back, her sulk having been removed by the game of gin rummy he taught her that afternoon – he realised he saw her beauty as an impediment. If she were weak or insecure, she might let herself be exploited by the men who wanted her – and since she was beautiful they would be virtually limitless in number, careening towards her like bowling balls intent on scoring. If she rejected them, they would hate her because they couldn’t have her. Women would envy her: he’d seen and heard it, how they’d talk about better-looking girls – ‘What has she got to worry about? If I looked like her you wouldn’t catch me moaning.’
    But this was years in the future, blessedly. What nagged at him now had nothing to do with the courting of his daughter in ten years’ time. He’d been scared of losing her altogether.
    It was dark as they came over the Skyway, and he was too tired, emotionally at least, for nerves. Anna pointed at the metropolis lying ahead of them like a lit-up checkerboard. ‘This city’s just so big.’
    ‘Not as big as London.’
    ‘I suppose, but there are so many parts to Chicago I’ve never seen.’ When he didn’t reply, she went on, ‘I went to see a client the other day in the Sears Tower, and looking out I realised whole parts of Chicago are virgin territory to me.’
    ‘We’ve been up along the shore. Winnetka, Lake Forest.’
    ‘Those are suburbs. I meant the city.’
    ‘Lots of the city just isn’t that safe. And it’s about as exciting as Archway.’
    ‘We didn’t stay away from Archway because it wasn’t safe.’
    ‘I