Don't Tell Eve (5 page)

‘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.

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.

When Jess had initially asked for Zoë’s help, her response had been unequivocal: ‘You’re mad, Jess.’ This was said in a way that was neither kind nor supportive. She had refused to believe Jess’s somewhat convoluted explanation of the meaning of the project and instead had made her own interpretation, focusing on its more obvious, if out-there, aspect.

All Jess had asked for was help in making a simple representation, and only when Zoë understood that Jess was mainly after her procurement skills did she relent. Jess had forgotten until then that the best way to get Zoë to do anything was to appeal to her ego. Her friend had been able to source the necessary materials, as Jess knew she would. Nevertheless, more than once she had regretted involving Zoë. There was a reason she’d never asked for her help before.

The disturbing truth was that in many ways Zoë reminded Jess of her mother, a woman whose mantra was ‘feel it, be it, express it’. She was someone Jess had been determined not to use as a role model. Her mother saw herself as fully in touch, a person who engaged with the world around her. And since her parents lived in the high country in a mud-brick house with a large organic vegetable garden and were virtually self-sufficient, it could be said that this was true. Or it could be looked at another way – that her mother did anything but engage with the world, that instead she had attempted to insulate, isolate herself and her family, but at the same time overwhelm them. She shared with Zoë the kind of self-absorption which, while having a certain appeal, appeared to preclude the ability to empathise.

Working for a respected, established company – or, as her mother had recently taken to calling it, the empire of evil – had been Jess’s eventual, rather than initial, response to her upbringing. As a form of late rebellion, it was something she knew couldn’t, shouldn’t and wouldn’t go on indefinitely.