Don't Tell Eve Read online

  ‘Actually, it’s a spy-thriller-of-eye-popping-brilliance. Eve did mention this in her speech, if you’d bothered to listen, and there are copies all over the place, and posters and bookmarks, all of which do kind of give away the gist of it …’

  The answer to this was a flick of the mane. Zoë had a mane – black, glossy, long, thick – and she knew how to flick it. Jess’s glasses, therefore, didn’t just provide a psychological barrier between her and the world and help with her eyesight, they also provided physical protection against Zoe’s powerful weapon.

  ‘Eve did not say eye-popping, I would have remembered that. Besides, I was otherwise occupied – talent-scouting, in fact. For you as well as me, so I think a bit of gratitude rather than sarcasm is in order. And it’s lucky really, because cute as he is, Cheekbones is going to be out of action for a while longer.’

  ‘Only you, Zoë, could come to a book launch with the aim of picking up.’

  ‘Only you, Jess, could ignore what’s on offer. When did you last go on a date anyway?’

  It was a question Jess didn’t deign to answer. ‘Okay, so what’s on offer?’ All Jess could see were nervy colleagues, well-coiffed middle-aged women, scruffy academics, daggy bookshop staff and sleazy journalists. The bar was full of the usual stereotypical suspects, all nice enough but there was no one there to raise the pulse, except Cheekbones, who’d been captured.

  ‘Weeell …’ Zoë examined her voluptuous upper half in a nearby mirror, making sure that her hair was as artfully fluffed as it had been last time she’d checked. ‘There’s that waiter.’ She pointed to the waiter with a Celtic tattoo peeping out from under the sleeve of his skin-tight white t-shirt.

  ‘Gymbo bimbo, probably gay; either way, more you than me.’

  ‘Honey, where have you been? The safe money would be on metrosexual not gay. But, fine. What about him? Maybe he’s more your type …’

  She nodded in the direction of a man standing alone at the bar, critically surveying the crowd and, if the supercilious arch of his well-defined left eyebrow was anything to go by, finding it wanting. ‘Actually, I take that back, I think he’s more my sort. Oh yes, he’s just my sort.’ Zoë gazed his way, not concerned that this might attract his attention. ‘Anyone who can successfully wear low-slung, snug-fitting pants like that works for me. And I’m kind of partial to that dark, crumpled hair, pale-skinned thing – what would you call it? Vampire chic? Mind you, with that eyewear he’s also giving off a bit of an early sixties intellectual vibe. Does it a lot better than David. Maybe he’s a designer of some kind?’

  ‘Or he works in a clothes shop.’

  ‘And the problem with that would be exactly what?’

  ‘Nothing. Just saying: don’t judge a book.’

  Almost on cue, the dark-haired mystery man noticed them, and Zoë being Zoë gave him an artificially coy smile. Jess had been through this all before. She’d be given all of five seconds to make up her mind about someone before Zoë pounced. Sadly, assuming his arrogant-clothes-horse affect was only superficial, he had appealed to Jess, but she knew better than to try to compete with her curvy silver-suited friend. Nevertheless, it was a pity.

  Zoë, unaware as always of Jess’s thoughts, returned to the main topic. ‘You know, the thing I admire about Eve is —’

  ‘Voice down, Zed.’

  ‘Oh, no one’s listening.’

  ‘What were we just doing?’

  ‘Oh, right, I see, fair enough.’ She frowned, ran her hand over her hair and glanced over towards the dark-haired man again before whispering, theatrically, ‘My theory is that she rose above her destiny.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I think she began life as Yvonne and she rose above the destiny such a name bestows upon a person.’ Zoë pronounced Yvonne with the stress on the Y. ‘It’s the name of a robust bridge-playing, fundraising society matron, or a tragic suburban librarian with a fondness for mauve polyester blouses, who organises the children’s activity schedule, but, as cruel fate would have it, is never able to have children of her own.’

  ‘Due, ironically, to her love of mauve polyester, that well-known prophylactic.’

  ‘Sadly.’

  ‘So Yvonne isn’t the name of a managing director?’

  ‘Well, how many industry leaders called Yvonne do you know? But wait, there’s another one.’

  Irrationally expecting to see another Eve, or even an Yvonne, Jess instead found that Zoë had Phil, Papyrus’s sports publisher Phil, in her sights.

  ‘Do you know what else I like about the big Y?’

  ‘You do know that she’s not really called Yvonne, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be dull, work with me here.’

  ‘Okay, what else do you like about her?’

  ‘That she surprises me. I mean, when I came here tonight, I just didn’t know which direction she’d be heading, you know, fashion-wise. She’s so fabulously promiscuous.’

  ‘Who’s promiscuous?’ Phil was rarely where he was supposed to be, but could always be counted on to be where he was least wanted.

  At least by Jess. How he had materialised on her side of the room so damn quickly she had no idea. ‘Phil,’ she said.

  ‘Jess,’ said Phil. ‘I don’t think I’ve met your gorgeous friend.’

  ‘Zoë, this is Phil – works with me. Phil, this is Zoë – an old friend.’

  ‘No, not old, not even ripe, just … right.’

  Why people fell for Phil’s cringe-making lines amazed Jess, but she knew that Zoë at least would resist him. She’d told Zoë about him before.

  ‘So, back to your previous topic. Who’s promiscuous?’

  Jess pretended to have forgotten. ‘Who was it you were talking about, Zoë? There are so many possibilities around here.’

  Zoë scrutinised the surrounding crowd. ‘Yeah, it’s difficult to recall – tell you what though, I’m sure another drink would help me remember.’

  ‘Vodka?’ Phil asked.

  Zoë nodded.

  ‘And one for Jess too,’ Zoë called as he turned to go.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’ said Jess. ‘Now he’ll come back and I’ll have to be polite.’

  ‘Why start now? Besides, he’s seriously hot. I don’t understand why you’ve never mentioned that.’ Zoë admired the view of Phil departing. ‘I’m beginning to worry about you, Jess. You do have a libido, don’t you, darling? You’re not depressed, are you?’

  ‘I’m not depressed and of course I do, not that it’s anyone else’s business. I just don’t let it run my life.’ Jess was well aware of Phil’s appeal, which relied on charisma more than chiselled features; his obviously once broken nose, slightly crooked teeth and scar under his left eye were not a turn-off.

  But Zoë didn’t have to work with him and the way Phil set about locating their drinks said all a person needed to know about him. One waiter was only a few steps away, lurking beside the head of the country’s largest supermarket chain – the most powerful person in publishing, notwithstanding the fact that her chain sold more cucumbers in a day than books in a year; next to her was an ineffectual but enthusiastic marketing manager. Another waiter stood at the right hand of the literary editor of a national newspaper, and a third loitered near the gaggle of publicists, as he had been all evening. Phil made his way towards the third waiter, the short skirts and the long legs.

  ‘Life isn’t all about screwing, anyway.’

  ‘Only people who aren’t doing it say that,’ said Zoë, predictably.

  ‘So how do you know that I don’t have a secret lover?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Oh, I’d know. For a start, you wouldn’t be obsessing about your project, you’d be asking me for tips about where to get fabulous lingerie.’

  ‘Who wears lingerie anyway?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure how to answer that question.’ Zoë opened her eyes wide, shocked.

  ‘Oh, come on, your gear’s either on or it’s
off. No one wants to strut around in those uncomfortable lace g-strings.’

  ‘Darling, g-strings are so over. It’s all about French knickers now.’

  ‘What about commando?’

  ‘You don’t! It’s trashy, trashy, trashy. Haven’t you seen all those tabloid pictures of celebs flashing their girlie bits as they’re falling out of taxis or tumbling down nightclub stairs?’

  As she said this, Eve and Chris emerged from their dark corner.

  ‘Time to go, I think,’ Eve was saying. ‘I did promise I’d join Ilona’s little dinner, but I think it would be more fun not to.’ She gave Chris’s arm yet another squeeze, and didn’t let go. His bewildered expression seemed to encourage her as she guided him towards the door.

  ‘Oh fuck.’ Jess remembered that she’d planned to take Eve’s picture, at least a picture of what she was wearing. Sketching was all very well but it wasn’t the same, just as the pictures she’d been sent of the clothes without their owner weren’t the same. It was important to know how Eve wore them.

  Quickly, Jess scrabbled around in her bag, pulled out her mobile and pressed the button a few times, managing to catch Eve and Chris as they lingered momentarily at the curtained entrance area. Above them, the chandelier came on and to Jess’s delight it worked like a huge, glittering flash. As she tossed the phone back in her bag, out of the corner of her eye she noticed Hilary, sitting alone, slate grey-clad, sipping a transparent liquid that was very unlikely to be vodka.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she didn’t notice,’ said Zoë.

  Chapter 4

  Jess followed Eve and Chris out, but no further than the door – she wasn’t a stalker after all, although she was getting a little obsessive. She was leaving early so she could get home and download the images from her phone.

  The art deco flat in which she lived was spacious with no doubt unintentionally phallic plaster work on the ceiling and an unlikely octagonal tower. The tower had been claimed by Jess as a study: she and Jack still shared the other rooms, although she slept in the main bedroom and he in the spare room. As the place was perched on the end of a peninsula all the rooms had views, so it wasn’t as if he was being completely deprived.

  Jess told herself that it was really the flat Jack was going to have difficulty leaving when the time came, not her. When she’d said it was over, he hadn’t argued and she hadn’t expected him to. As they had never argued in the past, it wouldn’t have made sense to start at the end. He was, in so many ways, the ideal boyfriend, partner – husband even. Handsome, reliable, kind, generous, hardworking, motivated, successful. It was a long, positive list and there wasn’t a long negative list to counterbalance it. There was simply Jess herself. She’d originally chosen Jack for what she’d wanted to be, not who she was. Not an uncommon thing to do.

  But he wasn’t the only part of the life she’d constructed that no longer seemed to fit. Increasingly she found herself immersed in what Jack referred to as her ‘secret’ life. This was the life she’d begun years before, as an art student. In those days, along with producing highly praised pieces for class, she also did edgy work that amused her, entertained her, satisfied her – and shocked others. Initially, for entirely practical reasons, she’d hidden her identity and just gone by her initials for these extra-curricula pieces. As the years passed and more people began to talk about them, and recognise the style, Jess had seen no reason to claim the work as her own. The anonymity was convenient. She had for a long time been able to keep her day job and her art separate. Secret, as it were. Not that what she referred to as her ‘projects’ were themselves secret, or quiet. In fact they now generated a surprising level of noise among those who were interested in that kind of thing, as well as, crucially, those who weren’t; her dealer was always wanting more. But the project she was currently working on was different, and only one other person knew the full extent of it.

  Particularly keen to see just what it was she’d photographed, Jess searched through the debris on her desk until she found her laptop. A moment after she’d plugged in her mobile, the pictures popped up on the screen.

  Well, hello, she said to herself, before dialling a familiar number. ‘I’m just examining this evening’s pics.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Zoë. ‘Did they work out okay? I hope you got a decent shot of those shoes. Actually, I would have thought Eve’s whole outfit was perfect for your little project.’

  Little project indeed, thought Jess. ‘’Tis, and it’s nice to have it on film, or on file, technically speaking. But it’s not the clothes that I’m calling about. Do you remember how she was standing in the entrance just before she left?’

  ‘I do,’ Zoë’s voice had dropped suddenly and there were muffled sounds off-stage.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing, sorry. But yes, she was in the entry bit with Cheekbones.’

  ‘Well —’

  ‘What you’re doing is not just obsessive but weird,’ interrupted Zoë. ‘I know it’s not my business but someone has to tell you, and Jack wouldn’t want to risk upsetting you – or maybe you haven’t told him? I mean … it’s a strange way to get over a bloke, you have to admit.’

  ‘Bloody hell, we’ve been over this before and this project has nothing to do with Jack, I’m fine about all that. I broke up with him, okay?’

  ‘That’s what you say, but why else would you be doing it? I mean, if you really wanted to help people you’d do something normal, not play with their minds.’

  ‘I’m not playing with their minds.’

  ‘Whatever you say, darl. Anyway, what did you find?’

  ‘Oh, Eve’s chubby little fingers disappearing down poor Chris’s pants.’

  ‘No? That’s great! Though I don’t think it’s “poor Chris”. Boys love a grope, I’m sure he was delighted.’

  ‘Delighted isn’t the word I’d use. He’s staring at the camera and seems,’ Jess clicked the mouse to enlarge the picture on the screen in front of her, ‘startled.’

  ‘Is that because of the hand or the camera?’

  ‘Well, the mobile’s minuscule and the room was pretty dark, so I don’t imagine he saw me take the pic, which means it was probably the enquiring hand.’

  There was a pause. ‘So, who are you going to send it to?’

  This wasn’t a sensitive question.

  ‘If you mean what I think you mean – no one.’ Jess was off the media, particularly gossip columnists, due to a pernicious piece that had appeared in a tabloid and was the reason for Alex’s current inconvenient absence. He’d denied the allegations and had successfully sued the paper for a significant figure, but the affair had shaken him. And Jess too. Suggesting that a renowned chef was involved in a racket in which his waiters were used as rent boys wasn’t just audacious and outrageous, it was malicious. Particularly as the only evidence came from a kitchenhand Alex had fired for consistently harassing a number of other members of staff. As his was an industry in which harassment was common, this meant the kitchenhand’s behaviour had been very bad indeed. If the journalist had checked his facts properly, he’d have known this. Instead, he’d seen an opportunity for an exclusive and a front-page by-line, and gone for it.

  ‘So you aren’t going to leak the pic?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, it’s your call,’ said Zoë. ‘I do want to see it though – why don’t you send it to me?’

  Jess wasn’t going to fall for that. ‘I don’t think so, you can check them out next time you come over.’

  ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’ said a peevish Zoë.

  ‘No, no, I don’t.’

  ‘That’s so not fair. I can be trusted, you know that. I mean, I haven’t told anyone about your project —’

  ‘Yet. You haven’t told anyone about what I’m doing yet. I just don’t want to put you in a position of temptation, Zed. Think how awful you’d feel if you accidentally discussed it with one of your journalist mates and they then led you astray. I wouldn’t want to have
to take responsibility for that. If you want to see it, you can drive over.’

  ‘Well, that would be a bit tricky right now.’

  Jess glanced up at the ceiling and knew immediately what had happened. ‘You’re not alone, are you?’

  ‘Not if by “alone” you mean “by myself”.’

  ‘That would be the usual definition. I only left you a couple of hours ago, I thought you were going straight home.’

  ‘I did – just not by myself. Why would I when I didn’t have to? There were such tempting options.’

  Jess couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed. ‘Where is your tempting option now? I assume you just took one.’

  ‘You know I’m not greedy. I took the most tempting and he’s asleep.’

  ‘Already? Hang on, asleep where?’

  ‘Well, here of course, but it’s a king-sized bed. He’s way over on the other side.’

  ‘Zoë!’

  ‘Oh, don’t get your knickers in a knot, it’s cool.’

  Jess doubted it. The way Zoë’s voice carried, whoever was there would be awake. ‘I hope it is.’

  ‘Guess which one?’ Zoë asked, whispering.

  Jess’s mind returned to the launch. It was either Phil, the tattooed waiter or the dark-haired fashion plate. Her thoughts lingered on the latter and instinctively she knew the answer. ‘Oh no —’

  Zoë misunderstood. ‘Oh yes and —’

  ‘Right, okay then, I’ll leave you to it.’ Jess didn’t want the details and Zoë wasn’t the kind of girl simply to spill the beans – she’d tip them out of the can and scatter them around the room, leaving others to clean up the mess.

  After hanging up the phone Jess went into the kitchen in search of an open bottle of wine, hoping to cleanse her mental palate.

  Zoë amazed her. It wasn’t that she was particularly beautiful, though she certainly made the most of what she had. It was that, like Phil, she believed she was irresistible, and by doing so was able to convince everyone else. Not that Jess herself craved irresistibility; invisibility was more her style.