(2012) Evie Undercover (35 page)

In her mental planning, she’d assumed that they’d expect her to email the story early in the
morning
–
perhaps
at about eight o’clock
–
and that they might start to think
about
phoning her when they hadn’t received it by mid-morning.
She wouldn’t answer the first calls, though. When it got to the afternoon, she’d use her judgement about when to respond.

By the time that the hands on the clock had said ten
thirty
and there’d been no word from the editor
,
her growing amaz
ement at not hearing from him,
or from anyone else at
Pure Dirt
, began to be tinged with fear, although she didn’t quite know
what there was to be afraid of
.

The editor must be frantically busy, she’d told herself. He would have been at his desk since God knows when, and there was bound to be chaos everywhere, given that it was so close to Monday’s publication day. His feet probably hadn’t touched the ground since he’d got to the office that morning. And a further possible reason was that he might be trying to give her as long as he could – she held all the power, after all
,
as Gabriela had said. It was just a matter of being patient.

She
’d
watched the hands of the clock crawl slowly
a
round the face until they reached
twelve
thirty.

Every
i
nstinct told her that s
omething was wrong, and s
he’d
waited long enough
–
she was going to ring him
.

She picked up her mobile and clicked on the editor’s number.

‘What?’ she heard him bark down the line.

She cleared her throat. ‘It’s Evie Shaw.’

‘What d’you want, Evie? D’you wanna add something? It was fucking good stuff as it was, but now that the boys have gone to town on it – it’s dynamite. So what d’you wanna add?
Better still, send it in.
It can go in the
follow
-
up.
That’s best. I’m up to my fucking eyes in it; we all are.’

‘What are you talking about? What’s good stuff?’

‘You fucking losing it
or what
? Your story, of course. The one your mate dropped off at reception a couple of days ago. The gen on Hadleigh. What else would I fucking mean? Glad you didn’t wait till today – the raw material hit the spot, but it needed work to get it up to the standard our readers expect. The boys would have been pushed to
do
it in a day. But well done, anyway. Not bad for a first story. It’ll certainl
y run for a couple of editions,
and if what else you’ve got ticks the right boxes, it might even stretch to a third. That fucking Hadleigh’s gonna find himself up to his neck in shit. Now, if there’s nothing else
…’

She heard someone in the background shout out to him.

‘Gotta go. Use email – it’s what it’s fucking for.’

The phone went dead at the other end of the line.

The clock ticked loudly in the silence of the room.

She’d stood up, she real
ise
d. At some point in the short conversation, she must have got to her feet, but she didn’t remember doing so. Numb, she flipped her mobile shut. Her arm fell limply to her side and the phone slipped from her fingers and landed on the parquet floor with a dull thud. She stared down at the place where it lay.

They had a story, a story about Tom, a story that she hadn’t given them – a story that someone els
e must have given them. But how? A
nd who? She needed to think clearly about what the editor had said, a
bout
what it could possibly mean, but she couldn’t
. H
er mind was frozen in fear as an ice
-
cold shroud wound tighter and tighter around her.

Only her instinct was working, and her instinct was telling her to get as far away as she could from Tom and his house, and as quickly as possible. There would be time for thinking later, much later. But not yet.

Her heart thumping fast, she pulled a piece of paper to her, wrote a hurried few lines, put the paper in front of Tom’s place at the desk
,
then she picked up her bag and her phone, spun round and ran to the door.

Full of anticipation for the evening ahead, Tom left his Chambers as early as he could. He had to
make a short detour on the way
home
to collect the present
he’d had made for Evie,
but
fortunately, given his state of impatience,
i
t
didn’t take long and he was soon back on the roa
d
.

His excitement growing with every passing minute, he drew up at the kerb in front of his house, switched off the engine, got out and crossed the pavement to his front door in long strides, pressing the car’s central locking device as he went. He couldn’t wait to see Evie’s face
when he gave her the present. H
e couldn’t wait to see Evie, period.

He turned the key in the lock and went into the entrance hall.

‘Evie!’ he called as he kicked the door shut behind him. ‘I’m back.’

He slung his jacket over the banister, felt in his inner pocket to make sure that the
small
package was safely there, and then went into the drawing room, loosening his tie as he walked. It wasn’t just seeing her and giving her the present that he was excited about, he couldn’t wait to see the expression on her face when he told her the plans that he’d made for that evening.

He knew
the name of the
show that
she was really keen on seeing
,
and he’d called a
friend
in the theatre world and managed to get good tickets
, which
would be waiting at the door when they got to the theatre. After that, he was going to take her to The Ivy for dinner. With luck, they’d spot some celebrities –
she’d like that, he thought. The evening
would be a good way of celebrating the month that she’d worked for him and a pointer towards the
fun
that they were going to have together in the future.

The
gift he’d bought her
was for
later,
when they returned to his house at the end of the evening.

He’d call
ed
her a couple of times on his way home
,
not to tell her what they were doing that evening, but just to hear her voice. Frustratingly, however, her mobile had been switched off each time, and when he’d tried the land line, he’d got the answerph
one. But he was home now and
could speak to her in person, which was better all round. He went back out into the hall.

‘Evie!’ he shouted up the stairs.

He
stood and listened. S
ilence. She’d probably fallen asleep at the desk, he thought in amusement. She was certainly somewhere in the house – there was no way she’d have gone out w
ithout switching on the alarm – and s
he obviously wasn’t in the kitchen or she would have heard him the first time he’d called out, so she must be upstairs. Right, he’d go up to Sleeping Beauty and surprise her.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he quickly reached the first landing, and he paused. On a sudden impulse, he pushed open the door to the bathroom she used – it was empty. She
must definitely be in the study
then,
or possibly even
in his den on the top floor.

A few more steps and he was in front of the study door.

The door was slightly ajar. Moving quietly forward so as not to disturb her, he pushed the door further open
and peered round the door. H
e stopped short in surprise
. H
er
chair was empty. His gaze fell to the floor, and he saw
that
her cushion
was
on the floor next to the chair.

He let go of the door handle, went slowly into the room and looked around him. Her used cup was still on the desk. That was unusual
, he thought
–
she always put any dirty cutlery and crockery into the dishwasher before she went home. How strange. He glanced under the desk by her chair
to see if her bag was there. N
o, there was no sign of any bag. So where was she? He ran out of the study and bounded up the stairs to his den, shouting out her name.

His den was silent, empty.

She
wasn’t in the house; and whatever the
reason she’d left, she’d left
in a great hurry. Perhaps she’d been taken ill
–
a sudden chill
came
over him
–
or
maybe
someone she knew had been taken ill. A serious illness would explain her leaving the house as quickly as she could and forgetting to
activate
the alarm.

Deep in thought, he went slowly back down t
o his study and walked over to
he
r place on the
desk. The
area
in front of her chair was empty and the computer was switched off. He
turned and looked
towards his swivel chair and saw a small piece of paper on the desk where he usually sat. He felt almost weak with relief – whatever it was, she’d had time to leave him a message. He leaned across the desk, picked up the paper and read it.

I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t do it. You must believe me
,
but I know you won’t. I’m really sorry. Love, Evie

No doodling. N
o heart.

Breaking out in
a cold sweat, he pulled his phone from his pocket and clicked on her number again. Her phone was still switched off.

He
pulled out her chair and
sat
down heavily
. Didn’t do what? What on earth could she be talking about? And why wouldn’t he believe her?
What could she have done – or what could people say she’d done – that was so awful that she’d have to wa
lk out on him just like that. S
he was an agency temp, for God’s sake!

T
he agency! How stupid of him! H
e should hav
e thought of the agency at once
–
they were certain to know what was going on. He’d wasted valuable minutes.

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost seven o’clock. His heart sank: it was hig
hly unlikely that anyone would
be at the agency that late on a Friday night. The most he could do would be to leave them a message
,
asking them to call him the following day
.

And
the following day was hours away.

He pulled his large desk diary over to him and looked up the agency’s number. He might just strike lucky, he thought as he listened to the dialling tone
,
there could be an eager beaver working later than the rest.

The answerphone cut in after the ringing tone had sounded five times, and he heard a mechanical voice welcoming him to the agency and asking him to leave his name, contact number and a short message.

Stressing the need to speak to someone as soon as possible about their temp, Evie Shaw, he left his number, reminded them that he was an excellent client and said that he expected to be contacted by someone
the moment they picked up his message
;
t
hen he p
ut the phone down and sat back
. At least he’d made a start towards findin
g her, pathetic though it was, b
ut there must be something else he could do.

He picked up her note and
read
it again.

Think clearly, he told himself. If she, or someone she knew, was ill, she would have said so in the note, no matter how briefly. But she didn’t say anything along those lines
–
so illness must be ruled out. The facts that the note was rushed, that she’d denied doing anything wrong but was obviously afraid that he wouldn’t believe her, and that she’d left the house at speed, all pointed towards her being in trouble.

So where would she go if she was in trouble? Of course! There was only one place she’d go
–
she’d go back to Camden Town, to Jess and Rachel. He was being amazingly
dense
that evening. If there was any sort of crisis in her life, she
w
as bound to
want to be with her friends.
That should have been the first
thing
he’d thought of. He stood up. He didn’t have a phone number for the house – in fact, he didn’t even know if they had a land line – but he did know where the house was.