Don't Tell Eve (12 page)

It sounded like a coffee-grinder, which was frustrating given she wasn’t benefiting from any aroma, let alone coffee. So Jess crossed the vast wilderness of her new office to flick the switch that shouldn’t have been left open in the first place.

The vent was proving to have its downside. Certainly, she was learning exactly how the company was being run and that Eve spent a lot of time on eBay buying large earrings while Hilary briefed her on administrative matters, but remembering to flick that lever was proving more difficult than she’d envisaged. It wasn’t that Jess was worried about Eve or Hilary figuring out what was going on, it was that they’d figure it out then use the damn thing for their own purposes. As a precaution, she made a note to ask Todd only to call her at home, on the tower line. They’d spent a lot of time on the phone over the last few months and now was not the time for either of them to get caught.

Then it occurred to her that perhaps they had been caught. How did she know she wasn’t already under surveillance, wasn’t here in order to be watched more closely? She glanced quickly over her shoulder. Through the picture
window was the usual azure sky, only today there were some clouds scuttling past, nervously, as though they didn’t want to hang around the building for too long. Jess knew how they felt. But, she thought, if Eve wanted to get rid of her, she’d have done so already. Why promote her? That just wouldn’t make sense.

The truth was, Jess really didn’t want to go yet. She wasn’t ready. It wasn’t just security – financial or otherwise; that no longer worried her. Until her current project was finished, she wanted to stay close to Papyrus’s managing director.

Climbing off the floor, Jess returned to her desk and stared out of the window once more. Alex was still out of action, which was bad. Very bad. Even if he returned within the next few weeks there was hardly any time left once she factored in editing, photography, the overseas printing and its ridiculous shipping time.

Maybe it was time to accept that Alex was not going to come up with the goods and that she was going to have to invent a replacement. It would have to be show-stopping, but unfortunately show-stopping was costly and, unlike Phil, she wasn’t particularly comfortable with spending vast sums of the company’s money without permission. This meant just one thing. She was going to have to admit that their biggest author wasn’t interested in writing his annual bestseller and then beg for the money to acquire a book to fill the gaping, Alex-shaped hole that would appear in the budget.

She could just imagine Roger’s ferrety little face when he found out that Alex hadn’t delivered,
and
nothing was planned: at first it’d be chalky, then flushed, then purple and finally a deeply unattractive and no doubt unhealthy combination of all three. Apoplectic was the word that came to mind. The words that came to Roger’s lips wouldn’t be suitable for repetition. Then there was Eve. She wouldn’t take it well. People had lost their jobs for a lot less, as Jess knew only too well. At
the very least there’d be the raised voice, there’d be the accusations, there’d be objects that preferred to remain on desks, leading quiet uneventful lives, finding themselves hurtling towards walls that had experienced this kind of behaviour one too many times. In short, at the very least there’d be a scene. It was exhausting just to think about it. Jess hated scenes.

While she was picturing Eve’s response to her news, and trying to work out a way of breaking it gently, Eve was next door, oblivious, and not making coffee.

She was playing with her favourite new toy while dressed in a little number that would have been perfect had she been been going to a pool-side cocktail party. She was strapped into metallic jewel-encrusted sandals with impossible heels and wearing a kaftan. Or what looked like several extremely light silk kaftans, all of varying lengths and colours, layered on top of each other.

Like so many of her outfits, it was designed to surprise, to make sure no one ever again forgot her or, more humiliatingly, wore the same thing. Todd might have been the one to point her in the right direction originally, but Eve knew she’d surpassed him by the time they arrived on the island. His approach was too tame, too restrained. Besides, how could she trust a man whose wardrobe resembled that of a priest? Eve was pleased to have finally taken over full responsibility for her reinvention. It was empowering. She understood what clothes were about, and they were nothing to do with covering up shameful nakedness, as she’d been led to believe as a child. Among many other things, she now matched themes and moods. The relaxed mood of her current outfit demanded a similar attitude from the wearer. It would have been wrong, she knew, to be wearing underwear.

So there she was, enjoying the feeling of unrestricted freedom in her office in the middle of the afternoon and enjoying her new toy. The toy being her very own industrial-strength shredder, which she was using to shred pretty much anything not actually glued, or screwed, down.

She had begun with the notes about the fraudulent documents she and Hilary had used to eliminate various employees, and then progressed to some emails – she was someone who preferred to print emails rather than scan them on screen, the environment being her concern only when she could use it for PR purposes, with her competition, for instance, or the ‘eco-drive’, as Hilary had cleverly christened it.

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.’

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.’