Don't Tell Eve Page 11

  But the competition was not on her mind as she turned her attention to her notebooks.

  Initially she concentrated on what she was doing, ripping out, then carefully aligning the pages and letting the machine devour them. But as more and more paper disappeared into the rapacious shredder, she wanted to feed it more and more. A shredding mania took over as she shoved pages carelessly into the machine while simultaneously ripping out more from the books. This mania meant she didn’t immediately notice when the hem of her kaftan was captured, and by the time she did, half of it had disappeared. As she tried to pull it out, one of her sleeves caught as well, and – as is so often the way at such times – she couldn’t remember how to turn off the greedy creature.

  Desperate, she pounded the wall. ‘Hilary, in here. Now, now, NOW!’

  As she uttered the final NOW, Hilary appeared. In her calm, efficient way, she assessed the situation without comment and located the off switch.

  Eve was safe, but the same could not be said of her kaftan.

  Clutching what remained of the costly garment, she jealously eyed off Hilary’s sharply structured suit. While knowing it wouldn’t fit, Hilary still stepped back warily – even for her there were limits.

  ‘Todd, I hope you’re at home …’ began Eve, after Hilary had returned to her lair.

  ‘Fine, but nothing else goes with those shoes, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, they’re gorgeous, everything goes with them. Fashion is the art of forcin’ things to go together, even when they don’t want to.’

  ‘I’ll bring another pair, just in case.’

  ‘God, Todd, sometimes I think you just don’t understand anythin’ anymore. We used to be so alike.’

  Todd winced. ‘I’ll see you soon, Eve.’

  Before he got into the car, Todd made a call. ‘It’s me. You’ll want to hear this.’

  Chapter 19

  As Eve did have a cocktail party to attend that evening, though not pool-side, Todd was allowed out. Jack also had the evening off so he was at home when Todd arrived at the flat.

  ‘What are you doing in this neck of the woods?’ As Todd wasn’t given to dropping in on them, Jack was surprised to see him.

  Jess had emerged from her study when the doorbell rang and gestured ‘sorry’ to Todd behind Jack’s back.

  ‘Went for a swim and was driving past, so I figured I’d say howdy. Eve’s out.’

  ‘Right, come in then. Not much happening here. I was practising the guitar – don’t do it enough these days – and Jess, well, who knows, she’s stuck in her study.’

  ‘I heard that.’

  Jack turned around. ‘Sorry, didn’t realise you were there.’

  ‘No, apparently not.’ She turned to Todd. ‘How’re things?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ he said, as though she did.

  ‘Good, good. Anyway, I’ll leave you boys to it. Nice to see you again, Todd.’

  ‘You too.’

  Jess and Todd had bonded by chance very early on in Eve’s reign, when Eve had still let him accompany her to the occasional event. She had been talking about a new designer, one whose clothes she felt were just made for her, and Jess had noticed Todd flinch. And Todd had noticed Jess notice. At the time neither had spoken, but it was a moment of unexpected complicity.

  ‘What was that about?’ Jack asked, as they made their way to the kitchen.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just … I don’t know, don’t worry about it. What are you drinking? I’ve been sent a mixed dozen and I’m about to give this one a try.’

  It wasn’t entirely convenient having Jack around, but his presence at least meant Jess had to maintain an appearance of control, which she probably wouldn’t have bothered with if she were living alone; the whole house would have resembled her study. Mess didn’t describe it. The dolls and doll-making paraphernalia had now been joined by dusty, untouched manuscripts, mouldy coffee cups, open empty CD covers and discarded pieces of crumpled clothing. The sense of barely contained chaos was not like her at all, at least it wasn’t like the Jess those at Papyrus knew. Normally, for example, she was the type of person who was able to find the phone when it rang.

  The noise was coming from her desk but the handset wasn’t there and she was still scrambling around on the floor when the answering machine picked up.

  ‘Hi, you’ve called —’ Before the machine said anything else, she found the handset hiding under the sari that had slipped off an old dressmaker’s dummy in the corner. ‘Hello, hello? Jess here.’

  ‘Hello, Jessica Johnson? This is Oliver —’

  Male and with the hint of a Scottish accent, she didn’t immediately recognise the name and as the number was unlisted, she was wary: six was market-research hour. ‘What do you want?’ she said, immediately regretting it. It was much better not to give anything to these people.

  ‘I’ve heard you’re doing some interesting work.’ Oliver couldn’t ask about the dolls outright, Zoë having made it clear that he was not supposed to know about them. Although she’d been sure that other people knew about them. Or, as she’d put it, not everyone knew how to keep a secret.

  What work? What was he talking about? Jess wasn’t doing anything … except – she looked at the table in front of her. Surely he didn’t – couldn’t … ‘Who are you?’

  Oliver had already decided it was simplest to tell at least part of the truth. ‘I’m a journalist. I —’

  Unfortunately, Zoë had forgotten to tell him that Jess was off journalists as a species, thanks to Alex’s recent experience and his subsequent inconvenient departure. While she knew that they weren’t all evil toads dwelling in the scum on the puddles of life, her new rule was to start from that assumption. It was up to them to prove her wrong. This one sounded guilty. ‘I have no idea how you got hold of this number, but I don’t know what you’re talking about and I can’t help you.’

  After hanging up, she continued to hold the phone. Who’d told him? How did he know? Needing to think, she headed to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was a room of light, beauty and extreme, reassuring tidiness. Everything had its place and, as usual, was in it. Even the pantry was well stocked. She surveyed the contents and decided on a lime, and a gin and tonic to go with it. As she was in the middle of slicing, and wondering exactly what the journalist knew, and whether it would have been better to ask him, even if that would have revealed something, the doorbell rang.

  Automatically she answered it – only to find Phil standing in front of her, frowning at his mobile and muttering to himself. ‘Doesn’t she get it?’

  He did visit from time to time, but generally only before or after a game or practice. Seeing him there, obviously annoyed, led Jess to hesitate and stand, glass in one hand, knife in the other, neither accepting nor rejecting him.

  He looked up. ‘Jess?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Am I allowed in or is there some act of domestic violence in progress that you don’t want me to witness?’

  ‘I was just cutting up a lime.’

  ‘Uh huh. Jack around?’

  ‘Yeah, on the balcony with Todd, they’re watching the sun set or something.’

  ‘Oh well, if that’s the case, if you’d just step aside I’ll go and make it a threesome. Any objections?’

  ‘Not at all, we’re all grown-ups, enjoy.’ She stepped aside. It was Jack’s flat too. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Sure, whatever you’re having would be fine.’

  ‘A g and t.’

  ‘Great, but hold the g, hold the t, forget the lime, and grab me whatever beer’s in the fridge.’

  ‘Such wit. Well, you know where the balcony is.’ She indicated a door on her left and returned to the kitchen.

  Phil took the one on the right, and a few minutes later she found him standing by one of the bookshelves that sat either side of the French doors leading to her study. One was half open. Trying to appear nonchalant, she closed it, gently kicking a doll
inside as she did so. ‘Always a mess in there.’

  Phil didn’t comment. ‘Actually, I came to pick up a book that Jack said he’d lend me. Thought I’d grab it first, otherwise I’ll forget – with beer and sunsets, a bloke could easily get distracted.’

  ‘What is it then?’ As Jack wasn’t a fan of reading, this wasn’t a convincing story, although nothing Phil said ever sounded convincing to Jess.

  ‘I forget the name, that’s why I was browsing – hoping for inspiration.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten the title? What about the author’s name? Or the subject matter – any recollection of that?’ He didn’t even seem to be trying. ‘Or you could ask the man himself.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Phil seemed slightly embarrassed. ‘I know exactly what it’s about, but I don’t think we need the whole world to know what I’m reading.’

  ‘Oh yes? Well, Jack’s porn has pictures so you won’t find it here.’

  ‘If you must know, it’s some kind of business book – a radical management approach. It’s just come out.’

  Jess knew the book, she’d read it in manuscript form. It was one Jack had been given, although not one he’d read, to her knowledge. ‘You’re reading about management?’ Management and Phil were not what she considered a natural match. He was too lazy – and too cynical about it. It was out of character for him to a) seek management advice and b) admit to doing so. Especially to her. She could sooner picture him lying on a down-filled sofa, eating chocolates and devouring the pages of a novel with a pink cover and plot that revolved around an unconventionally beautiful but charmingly daft girl who was comically unlucky in love. She stopped herself. ‘Should Eve be worried then?’

  ‘Eve should be worried, but not about me.’ He gestured at the now closed doors.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Okay, don’t tell me.’

  Jess thought it time to change the subject. ‘I know the book you’re talking about.’ There was a borrowed copy on the hall table, ready to return to its rightful owner – an inscription meant that she wasn’t going to lend Phil her own copy. ‘It’s not Jack’s anyway, you’re going to have to ask Todd – it’s his. I can’t believe Jack told you about it, I didn’t know he’d read it.’

  ‘He’s not totally illiterate, Jess, give the guy some credit – and somehow he manages to run two very successful businesses.’

  ‘I know, it’s just, he didn’t say …’ She didn’t finish her sentence. ‘It’s Todd’s anyway.’

  ‘That’s a bugger.’

  ‘You could buy it.’

  ‘I don’t pay for books.’

  ‘Todd’s your man then.’

  ‘He wouldn’t say anything to Eve, would he?’

  ‘No more likely than I am to.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, it’s not my business how you spend your spare time, but she might be interested to know.’

  ‘You wouldn’t? And you’re right, it’s not your business.’

  ‘How about we both mind our own business then?’

  ‘That sounds like an excellent idea – and I think you’ll find Todd can keep a secret. Jack too apparently, when he chooses to.’

  Chapter 20

  An unfortunate aspect of their house, at least as far as Todd was concerned, was that it faced north. In theory this was a positive, bringing sun in the winter, and therefore passive heating as well as light. But. And this was a big but. As the house was on the harbour, the glare from the water meant he had to sit at his computer as though dressed for a day at the beach – sunglasses, sunscreen, hat. The alternative, pulling down the blind, Todd considered sacrilege.

  His computer was the oldest electronic appliance in the place but it was his and on the whole it worked. While a slick new machine like Alex’s would have been better, it would have meant asking for it, and he knew how his wife would react. In her world, all spending had to be justified in terms of investment, need or strategy. A new computer for Todd would not fit into any of these categories, as far as she knew. And his website design course did not count, not to Eve. It’s not as if you do anything, he could hear her whine, in that Southern twang of hers, the one that she’d never quite bothered to lose.

  Despite the light, Todd loved having a room of his own, a room that Eve liked to refer to, with what she considered irony, as his ‘study’. He spent much more time here than anywhere else, a lot more than Eve realised. With his books, his photos and his huge white board – always covered in minute, indecipherable scribbles, arrows, circles and exclamation marks – it was the one place he felt like himself; almost, but not quite, his old self. Occasionally he left the door open but Eve invariably shuddered at the untidiness and shut it. For the same reason, she never went in and had never even considered turning on his computer or reading his emails.

  He was sitting in this room and had just sent an email with a large attachment when the intercom buzzed. Courier delivery, came the disembodied voice.

  ‘Fragile’ was written all over the box: stuck on, printed on and typed across the accompanying paperwork. The reason was immediately obvious – it was Eve’s new art adviser’s latest purchase, contemporary art, like clothes and interior design, being part of the persona of ‘memorable’ Eve.

  Muttering to himself, Todd began to open the box, more a large crate really, where it stood in the front hall. Whatever it contained, he didn’t think there was space for it to be displayed properly – that is, where other people could see it – despite the size of the house. He couldn’t understand why Eve didn’t put a dimension limit on these acquisitions. No bigger than a Smart car, no smaller than … actually, as small as she liked, but within reason. Nothing carved into a rice grain or sculptured into the eye of a needle, for instance. Not that she’d choose miniature, it wouldn’t suit her agenda. For an object to make a statement it needed to be able to be seen, and not just through a microscope.

  At first, the piece seemed to be made entirely of bubble wrap, layers of which Todd peeled off and peeled off and peeled off until he experienced that awful tightening of the stomach muscles that always preceded an unpleasant realisation. What if the bubble wrap was part of the piece? Was the piece? He calmed himself quickly. That wouldn’t make sense, the crate was unbelievably heavy. It was just well wrapped. Thankfully, he’d managed to confirm this when the phone rang.

  ‘Has it arrived?’ asked Eve.

  ‘Just unwrapping it now.’

  ‘Fantastic, perfect timing. Nice to have a new addition to show that reporter when he comes this afternoon.’

  ‘Er, do you know what it is?’

  ‘Does it matter? It’s new, it’s pricey and it’s mine! Just get everything organised – and make sure that we’ve got the right food. Maybe some of those caramel kisses from the deli.’ Along with alcohol, Eve had developed a passion for sweets; the higher the sugar and fat content the better. She shuddered, remembering her family’s insistence on the importance of moderation and denial. She couldn’t now understand what kind of God would invent caramel kisses and then expect a person not to eat them. It wasn’t just cruel but sadistic.

  ‘Sure. What time do you think you’ll be here?’

  There was a weariness to Todd’s voice that Eve didn’t care to notice.

  ‘He’s due at 3.30, so I’ll try to be home by 2.30.’

  ‘Okay, see you then.’

  With Eve off the line, Todd was able to concentrate fully on the sculpture. He could see exactly what it was now, and he understood why the courier had used a trolley to wheel it in and had asked about the structural properties of the floor. The piece was just over half a metre high, at least that wide and was made of marble. There was no way he could move it, which meant it would have to remain sitting exactly where it was in the centre of the comparatively small front hall. At least for now, which meant that he wouldn’t have to move anything else to make way for it. Often these new arrivals invol
ved a day of serious juggling. On a good day fitting things in was a challenge, a jigsaw puzzle; on a bad day, he just dumped things in the garage. So far, Eve hadn’t noticed that a few key items were missing. Today, even if it had been possible to move the new arrival, there wasn’t time for a reshuffle.

  As he tidied away the packaging, he walked around the work several times. There was something about it. Something definite, something solid – and it looked very real, even down to the little yellow tie. He was far from convinced that Eve would be quite so pleased with it, but who was he to judge? Art was, after all, subjective.

  Just before three she stomped in, yelling into her phone. As she put her keys in the chunky resin bowl on the hall table, she automatically checked her hair, lipstick and general appearance in the mirror. It wasn’t easy, as the mirror wasn’t a practising mirror so much as a conversation piece but Eve, accustomed to admiring herself in any reflective surface, from spoons in restaurants to store windows to shiny book jackets, managed to get an impression.

  Still talking, although at a lower volume, she turned and took a few steps, not noticing what looked like a large and very solid garbage bag full of bricks slouching in her way – until it was too late.

  ‘FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell is this, Todd? And what the FUCK is it doin’ here? Todd? WHERE ARE YOU? Hilary,’ – into whose ear she was shouting – ‘I’ll call you back.’

  Eve slumped down onto one of a pair of low African mating stools, currently used as receptors for handbags, rubbed her bruised shin and scowled. She was still there staring at the garbage bag with hatred when Todd arrived home with the shopping.

  ‘Oh, shit, sorry, that’s where the courier left it. It’s very heavy.’

  ‘And fuckin’ hard.’