Don't Tell Eve (24 page)

As soon as he was safely in his car, Oliver called a friend. ‘I’ve got something that might interest you.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘What are you doing right now?’

‘Now? Hanging about, waiting for you to drop in with something new and exciting that I can sell for masses of money at the end of the month.’

‘Thought so. See you shortly,’ said Oliver, ignoring the sarcasm.

It was too close to the auction date for the dealer to be in acquisition mode, but his interest was piqued. If it was the work of a name – a good name – there was still time to slip it into the sale and generate some excitement. He loved that part almost as much as finding works. He loved the anticipation, the not-knowing, the possibility that anything – or nothing – could happen. What he hoped for, because there was a gap, was a sculpture. He had a lot of paintings, as well as some tricksy installations, but not much sculpture. Ideally, it would be of a manageable size so it would interest a broader range of people, although it probably wouldn’t go for as much as a large piece. But if Oliver was bringing it around rather
than asking him to come and see it, it was portable. He chose not to call back and ask, as he didn’t want to appear too keen – enthusiastic, but not keen – even with Oliver, whom he’d first met when he was just starting in the business. These days he more often saw Oliver in print than in person – but from time to time his friend still dropped in to alert him to the existence of a work that had captured his attention.

At the end of an interminable half hour, during which he managed to do very little that was productive, the dealer’s assistant buzzed him: ‘A gentleman – what was your name again? Oliver – is here to see you. He’s not in the diary but he says he spoke to you earlier. What do you want me to do with him?’

‘Show him up,’ said the dealer, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. ‘And would you get me a coffee? Oliver too, if he wants one? Thanks.’ Why did so many assistants in his business believe their job was to keep people out, not to let them in? he asked himself for the fifty-first time. He’d have to have a word with her when Oliver left – or maybe he’d wait a couple of weeks until after the auction and hope that she didn’t offend too many people in the meantime. This wasn’t a time to be short-staffed – and he knew some people liked to be condescended to by cool-eyed, underweight, fastidiously attired young women, but that had nothing to do with selling art. He gave her a half-hearted smile as she opened the door and shooed his guest in.

‘So, what have you got for me?’ the dealer said, as Oliver put the box down on the table.

‘A surprise.’

It was a few minutes before the dealer spoke, and this wasn’t until after he’d put on his gloves and examined the doll very closely, then studied the photos, in particular the group shot. ‘Where did you get these?’ The dealer studied Oliver’s face, struck as always by his eyes. Beautiful but deceptive eyes.

Oliver studied the dealer’s face. Years of practice meant that he was giving nothing away, but the way he asked the question was all Oliver needed.

Receiving no answer, the dealer went on. ‘So they’re all this quality, this style? With this?’ He gestured towards an element they shared.

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Tell me about the artist.’

‘Not much I can say, not right now.’

‘How well do you know her?’ The dealer stopped and tried to cover his mistake. ‘I assume it’s a woman?’

‘Well enough. Why do you assume it’s a woman?’

‘Intuition,’ said the dealer. ‘Anyway, here’s what I think: I could put them in as a late inclusion – they’ve missed the catalogue but I can put them on the website and contact a few buyers – but only if she’s prepared to submit all of them. That’s what will tempt people. It’d be a gamble and we’re not talking real money, given they’re not by an
established
artist, but they do have an edge, a whimsical quality, and I love that detail.’ He pointed again to the feature they shared, the one that had caused Phil to giggle like a schoolboy. ‘Irreverent yet in keeping.’ The dealer picked up the photograph. ‘They’ll sell, but we’ll need some kind of biographical note and a comment on the work. So what exactly can you tell me?’

Oliver remained uncharacteristically silent.

‘Well,’ said the dealer. ‘It’s good to see some things don’t change. You’re sleeping with her, I take it?’

Why did people always assume this? Oliver was tired of hearing it. ‘I wish,’ he said, to himself.

‘Okay, so you think you’re doing her a favour in the hope that it’ll help you get her into bed?’ Now it made sense to the dealer; she didn’t know that Oliver was there.

‘It’s complicated. Besides, getting her art appraised would be a pretty risky strategy if I were trying to impress her. Much safer just to take her out to dinner – you know, the traditional route.’

‘So to speak. But I wonder if you realise how complicated this might be. What does she actually know?’

‘Enough.’

The dealer blinked.

‘Okay, I didn’t want to say anything to her until I’d seen you.’ Oliver proceeded to tell the dealer a little about Jess and an abridged version of the history of the dolls, but he didn’t ask the question to which he believed he knew the answer, an answer he now knew the dealer wouldn’t give him.

‘I’ll need to speak to her.’

‘Of course.’

As soon as Oliver left the office, the dealer picked up the phone. ‘Darling, it’s me. My friend Oliver has just turned up with what I assume is part of the project you mentioned. He seems very taken with you.’

‘Oliver?’

‘Yes.’

‘Taken with me?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘I was wondering what he was going to do. Interesting that he came to you. Did you say anything?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Let me give you the website details. You’ll need them to get the full picture: it’s a multimedia piece, and it’s kind of grown.’

‘I very much like what I’ve seen so far.’

‘Great. Let’s talk again when you’ve seen more.’

‘And Oliver?

‘Leave him to him.’

‘Don’t underestimate him, Jess.’

It was ten in the evening and Hilary was still at her desk. For the last two hours she had done nothing but stare at the screen of her computer, which was turned off. She simply wasn’t confident that, when it came down to it, Eve would choose her over Jess. What if Eve decided she had learned enough from Hilary? What if
she
was the one who was ‘let go’?

After Eve’s shredding fiasco, the awards dinner incident, the boating disaster and that soliciting charge – which had at least been dropped – Hilary had destroyed anything that might incriminate her. Given Eve’s indiscretions, Hilary had assumed that Eve would be the one who was caught, so she had covered her own tracks carefully. Files had been deleted, papers burned, back-up disks destroyed, which meant she had nothing to use against Eve, should it become necessary. Even more alarmingly, she didn’t know what Eve had kept – what documents had Hilary’s name, her handwriting, her fingerprints on them. She knew Eve had purged her office, but of what? Why had she trusted Eve? Eve, of all people. She’d been so stupid, she knew trust made a person vulnerable. It was so basic. It was the thought of escape that had
led to her lapse in judgement – that and the magnificent Eve herself. She’d regarded her as a partner in crime, not her boss.

Resting her head in her hands, Hilary had just one hope: the dolls. Jess’s reaction had proved they were significant in some way – and she knew they involved Eve. It was enough. Discovering the secret of the dolls was going to be, had to be, her salvation. But, short of breaking into Jess’s flat, she couldn’t work out what her next move should be. And she didn’t want to break into Jess’s flat: white-collar crime was one thing; blue-collar another entirely. Nor could she ask that journalist. It was only after she’d left the café that she’d worked out who he was – Eve had told her about his interview, and in particular about his striking green eyes. To Hilary they’d resembled those of a witch’s cat. She didn’t want to go near him, and she couldn’t risk him looking into her past.

In similar situations previously, she’d threatened, she’d blackmailed, she’d intimidated, she’d manipulated and she’d bribed.
She’d bribed.

It was so simple. She was staggered she hadn’t thought of it earlier. It was in her power to offer a pay rise, a new title – anything Phil wanted, short of Eve’s job. No price was too high.

Money was on Kate’s mind again as she stood in the small newsagency confronted by magazines on motorcycles, computers, buying houses in other countries, restoring old houses, adding onto new houses, renovating bathrooms, renovating kitchens, designing gardens, designing rooftop gardens and designing indoor gardens. They all made the same assumption: that everyone had money. To spare. It seemed to Kate, as she stood there wondering if buying the newspaper was in fact a bit of an indulgence and if, perhaps, she should take the boys to the library where she could read it for free, that she was being mocked by the publishing industry.

Fortunately this paranoid train of thought was interrupted by a booming voice.

‘Kate, how are you? What are you doing these days?’

It was the large, loud, pushy agent who had never offered Kate the really good authors, instead selling her expensive newcomers who somehow never seemed to perform as well as they’d all hoped. While she was at Papyrus she’d hated this man, but in hindsight, given what had happened, he’d showed impressive foresight. Not that she wanted to speak to him. ‘I’m well, very well, and really enjoying having a bit of time off.’

‘Mummy, can we have some chocolate?’ said one of the twins.

‘No, darling,’ said Kate.

‘It’s so rare to have any time out these days, isn’t it? I know it’s always work, work, work for me and I get so sick of it sometimes.’ The agent paused. ‘Not that I don’t love what I do, of course.’ He stared into to middle distance, where the porn rack happened to be. ‘Should your boys be reading those?’

‘Oh God, BOYS – put them DOWN!’ Kate turned to the agent again. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be – I’m sure they’re normally very well behaved.’

The boys had appeared back by Kate’s side and were looking their most angelic.

‘What are your names?’

They told him.

‘And who are you?’

He told them.

‘What do you do?’

‘Darlings, it’s rude to interrogate people like that.’

‘Oh, don’t worry! I’m a literary agent, my job is to represent writers and sell their work to people who will turn it into books. I used to sell things to your mother.’

‘Mummy’s written a book.’

The agent, who’d rejected two hundred potential clients so far that year alone, waited for Kate to elaborate. Just because he rejected people, it didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared to take on someone new.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she said apologetically. ‘Just a way to keep the boys amused and me sane.’

‘It’s really cool. It’s about two boys who solve mysteries and do magic tricks,’ said one.

‘They have lots of really excellent adventures,’ said the other.

‘Do they? A sort of
Jonathan Creek
for children?’ He turned to Kate. ‘I’d love to see it.’

Kate blushed. She hadn’t intended anyone else to see it. But what difference would one more humiliation make? ‘Okay, sure. I’ll email you a few chapters.’

‘Do, please, I really would like to see whatever you’ve got,’ said the agent, picking up a magazine about renovating houses in vineyards, a magazine about antiques, and a copy of
Gourmet Traveller
.

Todd made sure that Eve had everything she might need; he didn’t want to be blamed for a forgotten passport or a missing eyeliner. To protect himself he had created a spreadsheet, which he’d divided into various sections, including make-up, accessories and medicine. A versatile document, it could easily be adapted for different types of trips, since prior to her current posting Eve had travelled frequently. But this was her first trip since they’d been in exile: for the brief period that coincided with a semi-annual company board meeting, she was being allowed home.

The packing process generally began a week prior to Eve’s departure. Initially, it would involve confirming both the duration and the destination. This was followed by a temperature check. Once he’d ascertained what the weather conditions were, her outfits were decided. Originally, he’d taken sole responsibility for this, but now that she had her own ideas it was done in consultation with her. Shoes were then polished, drycleaners visited and items, if necessary, repaired. The night before she was due to leave, Todd would retrieve the large suitcase and dolly trolley
and, having ironed, folded and carefully placed everything in plastic bags, he would begin packing.

The final phase in the process – dropping Eve at the airport – had just been completed when his mobile exploded into his favourite Gloria Gaynor track.

It was Jack. As so often happened, Jack talked and Todd listened. When Jack eventually paused, presumably for a drag on his cigarette, Todd made an unusual suggestion. ‘What about, instead of lunch, you come round for dinner tonight? We can watch the match on the big screen.’

‘Great – I’ve got a night off so I was going to watch it at home anyway, but I’m sure Jess’d be thrilled to have me out of the house – she said as much at the Whale the other day. But what about Eve? Can’t imagine she’s a sports fan.’

‘She’s not, but she’s now on a plane home, which means for the next two weeks I’m a free man.’

‘Right, shit, well, let’s not waste the opportunity. I’ll bring a couple of bottles over.’

‘I’ll do the food then. How does antipasto sound?’

‘Whatever – if I don’t have to make it I’m happy. What’s your address again?’

‘Oh yeah, sorry. Forgot that only Jess has been here.’ He gave Jack the details.

After Todd had hung up Jack wondered when Jess had been there. It was the kind of thing she’d usually have mentioned.

That evening, as Jack walked in, he was so busy gazing through the sitting room at the end of the hallway to the panoramic
view of the harbour beyond that he failed to notice
Reverse Garbage
.

‘Ow. Shit.’

Not at first, anyway.

‘Don’t worry, everyone does that,’ said Todd. ‘Ice pack?’

Jack shook his head, rubbed his shin and examined the piece. ‘Why don’t you move the bloody thing?’

‘I wanted to, but it was too heavy, and then some smart-ass reporter told Eve it was great here, so here it remains – on Eve’s orders.’

‘But it’s a fucking ridiculous place to have a whacking great piece of marble.’

‘I know.’

‘Okay, I get the picture. So where’s the kitchen? These need to go in the fridge.’

‘So, I take it someone around here likes art?’ said Jack, settling down into the green beanbag in front of the gigantic screen, the sort of screen that Jess would have considered intrusive, not inclusive.

‘These days it’s Eve, but it’s a relatively new hobby for her. She’s got a consultant, a buyer really – a consultant would suggest she actually wanted to know about art herself,’ said Todd, opening a bottle of chardonnay.

‘So she’s not likely to be at the auction next week at the gallery down the road. They do contemporary art – some normal paintings and sculpture, some weird shit.’ Jack accepted a splash in the bottom of the glass.

‘I don’t know, she’s a fan of see and be seen. When is it exactly?’

‘Six pm, Thursday week.’ After smelling it, then taking a small sip, Jack quickly made up his mind. ‘This is good. It’s …’

Jack described the wine while Todd topped up the glass and poured his own.

‘She’s not back till the Friday, so you’re safe. I might come though. Good to get out.’

‘Absolutely. The gallery’s three doors up from me on the other side of the road. Art’s not really my gig, but Jess’s new work’s going to be in this one, so I figured I’d go and give her some moral support. Besides, auctions are always kind of fun.’

‘More than fun. Have you seen her new work yet?’

‘No, not yet, but I can wait. I mean, I’ve seen her stuff before.’

That explains it, thought Todd. He said to Jack, ‘Help yourself,’ and he gestured towards the large selection of food in front of them. Normally he’d have cooked, but he’d felt like a night off so instead he’d visited a well-known deli in a nearby suburb and stocked up.

‘Try and stop me.’

The pair sat in comfortable silence, listening to the commentary and watching the men run around in the mud chasing the small black and white ball, sipping and reaching across periodically to refill their plates.

‘My brothers all played football, you know. So did my dad.’

‘Not soccer, I’m thinking? Gridiron? Or American football, or whatever it’s called – the one with the padding and the helmets and the tight pants?’

‘Yeah, you got it.’

‘I’ve always thought it looked bloody dangerous.’

‘You and me both. Hated sport as a kid.’

They watched as a player was carried off unconscious, and the camera panned to a blonde woman sobbing in a private box.

‘If he told her that the orange tan suited her, then he’s had one head injury too many,’ said Jack, reaching over for some
Turkish bread. ‘I loved it, you know. Couldn’t keep me inside. Failed my final exams because of it – we don’t have that whole jock scholarship thing that you guys have. Well, maybe we do now, who knows? God, Dad was mad. He’s an academic, professor of anthropology. Kicked me out, and while I won’t say it was best thing he could have done, it worked out okay. I got a job in a restaurant and that was kind of that. Met Alex on the first day of my first dishwashing job. He propositioned me and I hit him.’

‘I didn’t know you guys went back that far.’

‘For better or for worse.’

‘Anthropology – interesting stuff.’

‘Yeah, he still goes to conferences and that kind of thing. Different world though.’

‘I’m not so sure about that – but he’s got to be proud of you now though?’

‘He accepts what I do.’

‘Bloody hell, you guys have created not just one but two culinary temples.’

‘Yeah, that’s how we like to think of them.’

‘Actually, I find cooking meditative, it’s really helped.’

‘Helped?’ ask Jack.

Realising he’d said more than he intended, Todd just nodded and they continued to eat, and watch.

‘Tell me, what did happen with Jess?’

‘If we’re going to talk about that, I need more to drink. You?’

‘Sure.’

After he’d returned to the beanbag, which Todd had generously decided to let him have for the evening, Jack tried to answer Todd’s question.

He hadn’t really spoken about the break-up to anyone. Although in fact only his mother had asked for details. Alex was too caught up in his own life and no one close to him thought they were supposed to know, except Phil, who had an opinion on everything. ‘Okay, so we were together five years and then, well …’

‘She cheated?’

‘No.’

‘You cheated?’

Jack shook his head. ‘No, there was nothing like that. We were both very well behaved, at least I was – and I’m pretty sure she was.’

‘Hey, I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me this.’

‘Nah, it’s probably good to talk about it.’

Jack then proceeded to say nothing.

Todd waited. It was one of his many talents.

‘I don’t know what happened actually. I didn’t know in the beginning and I didn’t know in the end. She didn’t let me in – emotionally speaking. Talk about aloof. I think it came down to not trusting me. I mean, she told me things, but it was just words, nothing more. She didn’t include me. You know?’

If nothing else, Todd thought, Eve trusted him. He’d met puppies more aloof. ‘You mean the JJ business?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Jack still couldn’t remember telling Todd about JJ, but he must have done because Todd evidently knew. He did have a priestly quality that invited confession.

‘Maybe it wasn’t you.’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘Maybe she couldn’t trust herself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What if she was protecting herself and thought she was saving you both grief by doing so? What if she knew she wasn’t where she wanted to be, but it took a long time to admit it, or even know?’

‘That doesn’t make me feel any better, Todd, and do you know why? It leaves me fuck-all room for hope.’

‘But if she was cold —’

‘Not cold, aloof. Different things. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind being needed.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought she was the kind of person to need anyone.’

‘We all need someone.’

‘You’re projecting, Jack.’

Todd refilled their glasses and they watched in silence for a while longer.

‘My mother really liked her – I’m even thinking of giving her an imaginary boyfriend to help Mum get over it.’

‘Or you could make up someone for yourself.’

‘I considered that, but then they’d want to meet her and know about her and they’d ask how things were progressing. All in all, too much deceit involved.’

‘What about just finding someone else then?’

‘That would involve admitting it’s really over.’ In fact, as his and Jess’s break-up seemed to be one of the worst-kept secrets in the city, Jack had already been pounced on by an extraordinary number of gorgeous single women. He’d had no idea so many were out there.

‘It would. You know she’s not right for you?’

‘Why should that matter? What’s right got to do with it?’

‘Habit, my friend, does not necessarily equal happiness, trust me.’

‘I don’t know about that. And speaking of habits, I think I need a fag.’

‘I won’t stop you. I should, but I won’t.’