The Perfect Gentleman - Part One

“I have no idea what you are talking about”, Mike ended the call abruptly as he pulled into his driveway. Cutting the engine, he sat for a moment as he looked upon his house, the house that he had painstakingly restored to its former glory, over several years and many objections from various family members and friends.

A Victorian house in the suburb of Ranelagh, everyone had shaken their head in despair when he first proudly showed them around the house. Years of neglect had left the house in a sad state of disarray, but Mike saw then how perfect a home it would eventually become, Able to see past the neglected, overgrown gardens and the patchy peeling paintwork, taking on the house was a task Mike had relished. And now finally after seven years in which he did most of the work by himself, calling on professionals only when he found himself out of his depth, he finally had a home to be proud of. There was only one shadow on the horizon of Mikes otherwise perfect home and one that he refused to dwell on, that over the years of restoration he had been unable to add the one addition to the house which would complete its transformation, make it a true family home and that was his and his wife Deirdre’s inability to conceive. To take his mind off this, he had thrown himself into replicating the house almost exactly as he imagined it had appeared when first built, scouring markets and sales around the country looking for furniture that suited, often having to complete the restoration work on it himself. And now the house was as he first envisaged it and Mike had time to dwell on their lack of children.

Still he refused to allow himself to become depressed by it, there was always a solution somewhere if you looked hard enough and Mike was about to turn the same determination that he used in the restoration of the house to this next problem.

Walking up the driveway, he presented the perfect picture of the happy family man returning from a business trip. His suit, a grey pinstripe was as always immaculately pressed despite the fact that he had spent five hours in the car negotiating traffic from the sales conference which his company had scheduled in West Cork of all places. In his left hand he had a laptop case and the keys dangled from his right hand as his strode up the path. The years of physical labour spent on the house had left Mike looking as if he spent time in the gym but nothing could be further from the truth. Although he enjoyed physical labour gyms tended to bore him as he needed a focus for what he was doing.

Inserting his key in the lock he listened for the sound of his wife’s steps as she came down the hall to greet him. Frowning he heard nothing and opened the door calling out, in case she hadn’t heard the car in the driveway, “Deirdre.”

He stood expectantly, waiting. Nothing.

“Deirdre, honey, I’m back.”

Placing his laptop case on the table in the hall he walked down towards the kitchen, the room where he spent most of this time when at home and relaxing. He had designed this room as both a workable kitchen in which large dinner parties could be comfortably prepared and by breaking through to the next room and using an archway he created a small family room where he and his wife could relax over informal meals and while away hours reading or watching the small TV that was hidden away in a cabinet until it was called into use.

The kitchen was empty and strangely cold. That was unusual in itself, normally the range kept the room at a constant warm temperature.

He looked around trying to place what felt wrong to him. Even when his wife was absent, the kitchen always held something of her, as if she was going to burst through the door at any moment, arms full of groceries and talking nineteen to the dozen as was her wont. But today the kitchen felt bare of any presence, it felt as though there had been no-one there for sometime.

Taking the portable phone from the worktop where it rested he walked from the kitchen, loosening his tie as he dialled his wife’s mobile number.

“The caller you requested has not yet activated their voicemail service, please try later.”

Exasperated now, he hit the disconnect button. He had given his wife the mobile the previous Christmas, despite her resistance to them for years, and had sat with her as she worked through the various modes on the phone, from the voicemail to the text messaging service. She was insistent that she would have no need for it, as she rarely left the house, except to go shopping and run errands for Mike, but he pointed out that there may be a time when she wanted to go out more and that the phone would give her the security she needed at these times. Eventually she capitulated and accepted the present and since then, as far as Mike was aware she always kept the phone fully charged and at her side.

He walked through the rooms downstairs as he puzzled over where Deirdre could be, not taking the usual pleasure from the sunlight pouring in through the windows lighting the large dining area. Deirdre was unusual in many ways and like the purchase of the house some had advised him against marriage, but Mike had been besotted by this delicate blonde woman who was to him the perfect foil for his tall, dark build. He knew that together they made an attractive couple, but it was her sheer vulnerability that attracted him to her, when they were together he felt so masculine and powerful, as she relied upon him for everything. Even in company that they were both familiar with, she clung to his side all night, speaking only when spoken to and gazing constantly at him for affirmation that she was saying the right thing, behaving in the correct manner. Some would have found this clingy behaviour irritating but to Mike it was proof positive of his wife’s utter dependency on him.

There were times when he did wish that she would show a little more initiative, especially in the early days of marriage when he would arrive home from a day at work and find her curled up apathetically on the sofa, waiting for him to arrive so her day could finally begin. But over the years he adjusted to this and made change in his daily routine to suit the situation. He got into the habit of leaving lists for Deirdre to do, small tasks around the house that made her feel useful and he made a daily call to her early afternoon to discuss what she would prepare for dinner. This was an arrangement that worked for both of them; it meant that Mike was not distracted during the day with thoughts of what Deirdre was doing, had she managed to get downstairs that day and it meant that Deirdre was doing what she was happiest, things to make Mike happy.

This was why her absence today was extremely puzzling, and somewhat worrying. Walking back into the kitchen he began to look around for clues as to her whereabouts. Opening and shutting various doors and cupboards with increasing frustration he finally admitted he was at a loss. Deirdre would have had no reason to leave the house today and it was not likely that she would decide on the spur of the moment to meet someone for lunch or head to the hairdressers.

The hairdresser that was it, like a light bulb going off in his mind, Mike remembered that before he had left on his trip to Cork he had booked Deirdre an appointment in the local hairdressers and the beauticians. This was something that he had got into a habit of doing a number of years ago on his infrequent trips away from home. Without the promise of Mike’s coming home at the end of the working day, Deirdre was likely to stay in all day, curled up in that same corner of the couch, watching the door until he eventually arrived through it. During these times, she neglected basic hygiene and even forgot to eat, so fraught she was with anxiety as she waited for Mike to reappear and bring order to her life once more. Now he always arranged for her to do something on each of the days he was away, stressing to her before he went how important these outings were to him and his happiness.

He pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialled the hairdresser’s number.

“Hi, Mike O’Donnell here, I believe my wife is there with you this afternoon for some treatment.”

“Mr. O’Donnell, I’m terribly sorry but you are mistaken.”

“No, no I don’t think so. I booked an appointment with you for her for yesterday and another for today.”

“Yes you did, but she didn’t arrive to yesterday’s appointment and when we called her there was no answer.”

“I see, thank you.”

Mike closed his phone, and slowly sank to the floor. Holding his forehead in his hands he tried to put his thoughts into order. Where was she, why had she gone? Something was wrong, Deirdre would never take off like that, never deviate from his plans without a word. Not once in all their years of marriage had she ever questioned Mike, for her to disappear like this would mean that there was something seriously wrong.

Hours passed and Mike remained in the same position, his thoughts still racing. He realised that his need for Deirdre’s dependence upon him was equally as great as her need for him, and for the first time in as long as he could remember he was faced with indecision.

“Ok Mike,” he muttered, pushing himself up from the sitting position, “you’re not doing anyone any good sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself, time to do something.”

Stiffly he walked towards the kitchen and looked longingly at the cabinet containing the drinks collection.

“No way, you need a clear head for this”, shaking his head he reached into a press and took down the phone book before reaching for the phone and starting to dial.

“Ok, thank you, yes I will try them”, sighing as he hung up from the third A & E he had called. No one fitting Deirdre’s description had been admitted to any of the local hospitals and although he knew that the next step would be the homes for the mentally ill, this was not a road that he wanted to go down. Anyway he reasoned, she would have to go through the hospitals A & E department before being transferred to one of those places.

That last receptionist he had spoken to had been sympathetic and although unable to help with his search had offered some advice.

Dialling another number he steeled himself for the conversation that was about to follow.

“Rathmines Gardai, how can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Mike, Mike O’Donnell and I would like to report my wife missing.”

“Missing you say, okay we need your full name and address and we will despatch someone to take full details.”

“It’s Mike O’Donnell and the address is,”

“Hold on there sit, just let me write this down, Mike O’Donnell, is that right?”

Gritting his teeth Mike repeated slowly, “Yes that’s Mike and O.D.O.N.N.E.L.L.”; he spelt his surname for the garda on the other end of the line.

“I see, and how long has the lady of the house been missing?”

“I don’t know, I only got back from a few days away working and she wasn’t here.”

“I see and when was your last contact with her.”

Mike thought frantically, he generally tried not to call her when he was away as he tended to be in meeting a lot and was never sure of being able to stick to a routine of calling her at a specific time so rather than disturb her routine he tended not to call.

“Tuesday, evening, that was it, yes Tuesday,” he finally remembered with relief. He had arrived at the conference centre mid afternoon on Tuesday and because there was nothing scheduled until Wednesday morning he was able to promise Deirdre that he would call at seven thirty, which is exactly what he did.

“Hmm, Tuesday you say and it’s now what day, oh yes Friday. So you have no idea where she was between then and now?”

“No, I mean I thought that she was here and she missed an appointment yesterday, but I only found that out today.”

“I see, and would this be normal for your wife, sir?”

“Sorry.”

“Would she normally be the kind of woman to go away suddenly without saying anything?”

“No, not at all, she would never do that to me.”

“Hmmmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing sir, I just think that it may be better if you came on down to the station and made a statement.”

“But she’s gone and I don’t know where she is.”

“Yes sir, and I can understand your concern, but your wife is an adult and as such she is entitled to leave at anytime and unless there are suspicious circumstances there is really very little that we can do I’m afraid.”

“But this is not like her at all, you don’t understand.”

“I’m very sorry sir, but this is standard procedure in these cases. Now if you would like to come down and make a report we can open a missing persons file but beyond that as I said without any suspicious circumstances there is very little that we can do.”

“But she would never do this to me, never,” Mikes cry was like a wounded animal as faced with the prospect of his wife leaving him, the tears began to flow.

“Sir, I appreciate your distress, but that is all we can do. In the meantime I would advise you to start calling all her friends and relatives, check bank accounts. Have you looked in her wardrobe?”

“Her wardrobe, why?”

“To check what she took with her.”

“But she didn’t leave me.”

“Sir that is something that cannot be ascertained at present. Now if you do as I told you and also maybe talk to your neighbours, see if they saw her leaving and then come back to us, we may have something more concrete to go on.”

“But, Deirdre would never,” tears streamed down Mikes face as he contemplated longs days and nights stretching out ahead without the one constant in his life.

“Sir I am very sorry but that is all we can do at the moment.”

“Okay, thank you,” Mike muttered, finally admitting defeat as he hung up the phone.