The Benefactor by Sebastian Hampson

Author:Sebastian Hampson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2017-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

Martha admired in the mirror the haircut she’d had that afternoon. Shorter than she’d ever worn it, dyed auburn. The sharp angles made her face somehow plainer—more of a child’s face, even though the spirit of youth was dulled by incipient wrinkles.

She dreaded this party, as much as she needed to be there. Henry thought she was attending reluctantly, for him, when in fact her boss had more or less insisted that she go. Senior management had already hinted at the usefulness of Henry’s connections. The organisation needed high-profile ambassadors.

Last year’s efforts to push through a funding handshake with Blackstone had achieved resounding success in every circle except the one closest to her. She’d gone to Ethiopia against management’s wishes, determined to ensure the funds she’d raised were being distributed appropriately. She became wistful as she thought of the frenzied energy that had propelled her while she was there, feeling more control than she ever had in New York, as she studied the systems, learned how things operated.

She didn’t miss it—that was the wrong word—but coming home to the apartment on Bleecker Street, with the Eames chair by the windows and a glass of wine and good old Henry waiting for her with one of his elaborate Italian stews—that was like crawling back from another dimension. At once recognisable and otherworldly.

Nobody in Africa asked for more than what they could have. She entertained a vision of Henry with her in the Addis Ababa slums, sprouting a beard, dressed in a sweat-soaked T-shirt and shorts. Making faces at the children.

The phone by the bed rang.

‘Yes?’

‘Martha, I’m in the lobby. Why aren’t you answering your cell?’

‘I must have forgotten to charge it.’

He paused. ‘Come down. Change of plans—we’re starting the party at the bar, now.’

Martha considered not fixing her make-up, taking it off instead. She began rubbing at her cheeks with a pad. Then she stopped.

She found the group outside on the terrace. Fogel was mingling with the guests, making small talk with his camera in one hand, framing shots and snapping them off without breaking conversation. Henry, in a high state of agitation, greeted her in a rush and failed to comment on either her haircut or anything else.

Martha allowed herself to be introduced as some fascinating creature with a humanitarian job (the details weren’t important), recently returned from a mission to Africa, don’t you know?

Some pretended to be interested, but most indulged it as the sideshow they knew it to be. Soon Martha found herself alone. She watched Henry as he squeezed himself into tense mannerisms and tight handshakes. Shouldn’t she have felt more involved? Treating his successes as her own, like any good wife?

That wasn’t so easy. Not when she resented his tendency to throw everything else out of focus.

A shutter went off next to her.

‘Tim,’ she said. ‘Didn’t think I was your subject matter tonight.’

‘That was an intense expression,’ Fogel said. ‘Would’ve been a crime not to capture it.’

‘How flattering. Perhaps you could tell me what Henry’s plan is right now.

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