Don't Tell Eve (27 page)

Half an hour before the auction was due to start, the gallery was full of a startling variety of bodies, prints, paintings and sculptures.

The dolls, as at the viewing, were on their own stand at the back, encased in a three-sided apartment-like space. At the rear of this was a small screen onto which the website pages were projected, as if it were an artwork in the room itself. About twenty centimetres high, the dolls wore a range of carefully designed flamboyant outfits and were presented in a tableau resembling a cocktail party. Some were sitting, some standing, a couple slouched against the walls. One lonely figure lay face down. They were well made, with a slick, stylised quality, and shared a particular, amusing element, which many besides the guilty young gallery assistant, on what he hoped would be more than work experience, had discovered when they’d examined the work.

The black-clad assistant, who was finishing his Masters thesis on the influence of folk design on the interpretation of contemporary kitsch, and took art very seriously indeed, had been responsible for moving the tableau into its current position, and had experienced a moment of doubt about
the glamour of his chosen profession when, shortly afterwards, he’d found himself standing in a bathroom, taking the paper off a lavatory roll in order to temporarily replace a structural support that had somehow disappeared from one of the dolls. But it was only momentary, because he felt the use of the roll was inspired, referencing as it did those traditional dolls that could be found at country craft stalls, whose voluminous crocheted skirts discreetly covered the embarrassing tissue.

This evening, he grinned at his own cleverness and wondered how many of the ‘art lovers’ would understand. Few, he guessed. Although, the dolls
were
generating a lot of interest.

On the other side of the room, Oliver approached Jess, a glass in each hand. ‘Congratulations.’

‘I feel sick.’

‘No you don’t, you feel excited. It’s not the same thing. Have some champagne – it’ll help, it always does.’

After she gulped down the contents of the glass, Jess did feel a little better. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it. Just let me know if you want any more.’

‘I don’t mean the champagne, but thanks for that too.’ Jess was beginning to feel guilty. Maybe she should have told him. He was going to find out sooner rather than later – and the later she left it, the harder it would be to salvage any kind of relationship. He was certainly likely never to trust her again.

‘Don’t be daft, you don’t need to thank me – they’re here because they should be here.’ Oliver was almost sure this was true.

‘You wouldn’t be so confident if they were yours.’

‘I would, as it happens.’

Taking another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, Jess looked at Oliver and agreed, he probably would be. Just as she was beginning to relax a little, she saw Hilary
approaching, dressed as though she was to appear in court, but smirking. ‘What the hell is she doing here?’

‘No idea. You know, she’s quite sexy if you like the disciplinarian kind of look.’

Jess stared at him.

‘Which I don’t.’ This wasn’t strictly true but it was a conversation for another time.

Pretending to be calm, cool, uncaring – indeed, her usual self – Jess addressed the smugger of the two figures in front of her. ‘I didn’t know you were an art lover?’

‘I’m not,’ said Hilary, placing emphasis on the not.

‘Then why are you here?’

‘I have an interest in,’ Hilary paused for effect, ‘dolls.’

Hilary, now certain her suspicions were correct, hissed in Jess’s ear. ‘I know who made them – and what they are about.’

‘What they are about is on the sheet in the catalogue, so you’re not alone in that knowledge,’ said Oliver. ‘As to who did them, your guess is as good as mine, I’m sure.’

Hilary glared him. ‘I imagine it is. She won’t get away with this – and as for you …’ increasingly over-fond of a Pinteresque pause, Hilary made another, before continuing, ‘You should be more careful about making phone calls in public places. Cafés, for example.’ Turning to Jess, she said, ‘And you might like to thank Phil for inviting me along this evening. Enjoy yourselves.’ With that, she moved towards the end of the room, leaving Oliver and Jess to digest what she’d just told them. Hilary still hadn’t been able to contact Eve but, for now, it didn’t matter.

‘Well, at least we know how she found out,’ said Oliver apologetically. ‘What can I say? It was my fault after all. I did call you from a café one day – I was meeting Kate. When she arrived she noticed Hilary at the table behind me and she must have been listening the whole time. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise – I didn’t think, I didn’t …’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ As it was clear Oliver had just made a mistake, not been malicious, Jess didn’t care that he’d been partly responsible. It was the reference to Kate that worried her. ‘So where is Kate tonight, anyway?’

‘Talking to Phil, I think.’

Oliver had brought her to get her out of the house, but she wasn’t with him – not in the way Jess assumed, and Kate, despite herself, had dared to hope.

‘I’d like a word with him too.’

‘I’m sure —’

‘You’re sure what?’ Jess asked quickly.

‘I’m sure he has an explanation.’

‘I’m sure he does.’

Oliver hoped for Phil’s sake that it was extremely plausible.

She should have followed her instincts all along about Phil, Jess thought as they made their way across the room.

When she and Oliver reached the group, they were in a friendly huddle. Phil, who was clean-shaven now, was standing very close to Zoë, whom Jess had to admit she was pleased to see. Still, she hid this. Across from him were Jack and Todd; Kate, listening, completed the charmed circle.

Jess smiled at everyone and before they could even say hello, she threw the remains of her third glass of champagne into Phil’s face. It had been warm anyway. ‘Why? That’s all I want to know,’ she asked.

Phil recovered in the manner of a man to whom this kind of thing was not an unusual occurrence – that is, quickly. However, before he’d had a chance to defend himself, the soap actress appeared from behind Zoë, almost dressed and energetically tanned, and proceeded to throw her glass of champagne over Jess.

‘Bitch. He was mine until you came along. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.’

Glancing down, Oliver noticed with amusement that she was stamping her expensively sandalled little foot in time with her words.

Without taking her eyes from Phil, Jess accepted a handkerchief from Oliver and waited for an explanation.

Phil put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Okay, okay, calm down, girls. I can explain.’

Zoë stepped in before he could do more damage. ‘You might be able to – and I’d really like to hear it – but I have to tell you, using the word “girls” is not a good start, Phil.’

‘Sorry, okay, yes, strike that. Ladies —’

‘Once more …’ said Zoë.

‘Comrades. There seems to be some confusion here. First, Jess – it’s not what you think. I admit I did invite Hilary, but it was to stop her snooping. She was always going to find out about you and the dolls, but it seemed better that we had control of what she learned and when. And besides, there’s nothing she can do now – Eve’s on a plane, she’s uncontactable. By the time the auction is over, it’ll be too late. I was trying to help, really.’

‘Why should I believe you? Phil, let’s be honest, you’ve been an arrogant, selfish, devious prick for quite some time now —’

‘Okay, that’s honest and I can see why my recent behaviour might have been a little difficult to understand from the outside, and yes, possibly I might have come across as, well, an arrogant, selfish and, okay, possibly – devious – prick, but I had my reasons for it.’

‘And they are?’ said Jess.

‘You want to know the truth? Well, here it is – my plan hasn’t worked anyway. As everyone seemed to be getting the boot, I’ve been trying to get Eve to fire me as well, so I could
get a decent redundancy package.’ He looked sheepish for one and a half seconds. ‘I was offered a job elsewhere a while ago, but I figured I should wait until I’d been paid out – it makes economic sense. But, fuck, it’s been hard. How was I to know that the more impossible I was the more she’d bloody like me?’

As there was one crucial fact Phil didn’t know, Jess believed he might actually be telling the truth. She had considered mentioning it when she’d had lunch with Phil and Oliver, but at that stage she still hadn’t been sure enough about either of them. ‘That’s what I didn’t tell you. They weren’t traditional redundancies, Phil – Eve and Hilary were forcing people out. They weren’t paying them. It was a scam.’ She turned to Kate. ‘I’m really sorry.’

But Phil was the one to look appalled. ‘I knew they were bad, but surely they’re not actually corrupt? How do you know?’

‘The vent.’

‘Fuck – you mean all my hard work was for nothing?’

‘Why didn’t you say something, Jess?’ Kate said quietly.

‘No hard evidence and no one involved has admitted it, so far,’ said Jess.

‘They told me I wasn’t making enough money, showed me the figures and I knew they were wrong, I
knew
they were wrong,’ said Kate slowly. ‘I can’t believe it, I wonder who else they did it to.’ She began to look around her. ‘Why am I here anyway? Why did you bring me here, Oliver?’

‘Jess’s dolls. Down the back.’

‘Dolls?’

‘Yeah.’

‘
Dolls?
’

‘Yeah. I’ll show you.’

‘No, no, I’d rather look by myself,’ said Kate, staring at Jess, then at Todd. She remembered the incident in Sand
and thought how awful it must be for him. Eve was his wife. ‘I’m sorry.’

Todd smiled at her. ‘Don’t be sorry for me, there’s no need. Really.’

‘But you can’t stay with her? Not now.’

‘Don’t worry about me. Go check out the art.’ When they’d visited the dealer, it had been Jack who’d been shocked by the tableau and the accompanying site; Todd had shown very little emotion other than faint amusement, although it was clear he’d been impressed rather than distressed.

‘Still here, people,’ the soap actor/ess trilled, as soon as Kate had departed.

‘So you are,’ said Zoë.

‘Really, it’s the truth – I’ve never been involved with Jess.’ Phil looked at Zoë as he said this.

‘I believe you – but who’s this woman?’

‘The one I mentioned.’

‘You said you didn’t have a girlfriend.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Liar,’ said the soap actor/ess.

‘We’re not together, we haven’t been for quite some time – only she won’t accept it.’

Jack whispered, loudly, into Zoë’s ear, ‘I’m guessing this is his stalker.’

‘You have a stalker?’ asked Zoë.

Jack answered for him. ‘Oh yeah.’

‘You make her sound like a pet, stalkers aren’t pets.’ Having silenced Jack, Zoë turned to the soap actor/ess, who was a lot smaller than she was. ‘If a guy isn’t interested, he’s not interested. Full stop. I know this might sound unlikely, but hassling someone, bothering someone, following someone, obsessing about someone, just aren’t ways to make them care about you.’ She spoke slowly and
carefully as if to a three-year-old who didn’t yet have a firm grasp of the language. ‘Notice you, maybe, but it’s just freaky behaviour, and before you say anything, I don’t mean freaky in an endearing way.’

Jack whispered in Zoë’s ear again. ‘She fed his fish.’

Zoë looked surprised. ‘Phil has fish?’

‘Electric blue marron, striped kuhli loach, blushing tiger barb – a few,’ Phil muttered.

‘Isn’t that funny? I wouldn’t have picked you as a fish fancier.’

‘I wasn’t stalking.’ The soap actor/ess tried to look defiant but only managed petulant. ‘We had one on the show. He was a complete psycho.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Phil. ‘Maybe I misjudged you and it’s normal to bombard someone who’s broken up with you with constant phone, text and email messages? And, even if I overlook – temporarily – the fish incident and this evening’s champagne-throwing, what exactly are you doing here? Since when did you like art that you couldn’t listen to in a stadium or watch in a cinema?’

There were tears in the eyes of the soap actor/ess as she responded, with a tremor in her voice, ‘I just wanted to see you again.’

‘Well, here I am.’ Phil made a move as though he was about to practice his golf swing when Zoë shook her head.

‘Don’t even think about it. Talk to the girl.’

He tried again. ‘You’re going to have to move on, find someone your own age.’ The words had slipped past the editorial part of his brain. Own age. He shivered, thinking that maybe Jess had been right, maybe he was growing up. Then he reminded himself that she hadn’t been talking about physical age, but emotional, and that he still looked good.

The soap actor/ess’s eyes, and mouth, popped open: she’d had a thought. ‘If it’s not that woman,’ she pointed at Jess,
who wasn’t thrilled about being ‘that woman’, ‘Then who is it?’

They all turned to Phil.

Zoë was the first to speak. ‘Yes, Phil, then who is it?’

He said nothing, just looked at her.

The soap actor/ess opened her mouth again, and then shut it as Zoë said to her slowly, ‘Okay, Tinkerbell, listen to me. You ever bother him again, I’ll make sure no designer in town will touch you. Think about it – no free dresses for awards nights, no originals. Nothing just for you.’