Eve (12 page)

I took her elbow in my hand and pushed her gently through the crowd. “It’s all right,” I said. “Don’t get jumpy.”

“I don’t know if it is,” she returned under her breath. “This is too crowded for me.”

We worked our way into the restaurant and when she had settled down on the sofa seat against the wall, she looked happier.

“I’m always like this,” she said, her eyes moving continuously round the room. “I’m sorry, but I do have to be careful.”

“Not always,” I reminded her. “You only go out with me. Your other clients don’t take you out.”

“Sometimes they do,” she said without thinking. “You don’t expect me to stay home every night, do you?”

That was lie number two. First she said three whiskies laid her out when eight whiskies left her cold. Then she had said she never went out with clients and now she said she did. I was beginning to wonder just how much was truth that she told me.

We ordered dinner.

As she was eight drinks ahead of me, I thought I might as well begin to catch up. After a couple of stiff shots, I suddenly decided to tell her who I was. She would have to know sooner or later and there seemed no sense in delaying any longer.

“Let’s get introduced,” I said. “You know my name well.”

There was immediate interest in her eyes. “Do I? Don’t tell me you’re famous.”„

“Do I look famous?”

“Tell me who you are.” She wasn’t the Eve I knew any more. She was human, very curious and a little excited.

“The name,” I said watching her closely, “is Clive Thurston.”

She wasn’t like Harvey Barrow. I could see it meant something to her at once. For a second, a look of disbelief was in her eyes, then she turned to face me. “So that’s why you wanted to know what I thought of “Angels in Stables”,” she exclaimed. “Of course. And I said I didn’t like it.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I wanted the truth and I got it.”

“I saw your play “Rain Check”. . . Jack took me. I was sitting behind a pillar and only saw half of it.”

“Jack?” I was on to that quickly.

“My husband.”

“Did he like it?”

“Yes . . .” she looked at me half hesitating. “I’d better introduce myself . . . I am Mrs. Pauline Hurst’

“Not Eve?”

“Eve to you please.”

“Yes although I like Pauline. It suits you, but so does Eve.”

After dinner, we drove over to the theatre. The play amused her as I hoped it would. We had several quick drinks during the intermissions. As we were returning from the bar during the last intermission, I felt someone touch my arm. I looked round and found Frank Imgram behind me.

“Do you like it?” he asked, smiling.

I could have strangled him. He was certain to tell Carol that he had seen me.

“It’s good,” I said, nodding at him, “and beautifully acted.”

His eyes were on Eve. “Yes — isn’t it?”

Then the crowd separated us and I struggled back into my seat-

Eve looked at me inquiringly. “Someone you know?”

“Imgram who wrote “The Land is Barren”.”

“Does it matter that he saw me?”

I shook my head. “Why should it?”

She shot me another look and did not say anything. The rest of the act was spoiled for me. I kept thinking of what Carol would say.

We were lucky to be among the first out. I did not see Imgram again. We got into the car and drove down Vine Street

“Want a drink before we go home?” I asked.

“I think so.”

We went into the same little bar and we stayed there for some time. We drank a lot, but Eve did not show it. I was feeling a little drunk and I thought it was time to stop. After all, I was driving.

“One more and then we’ll go. Have a brandy?”

“Why?”

“Just to see if you can take it.”

Her eyes were bright, otherwise she seemed all right. “I can take it,” she said.

I ordered a double brandy.

She looked at me. “Not for you?”

“I’m driving.”

She drank the brandy neat.

We got into the car and I drove slowly to Laurel Canyon Drive.

“You can put the car in the garage,” she said. “There’s room for it.”

She had opened the front door and was waiting for me in the hall. I took my small grip from the Chrysler’s trunk and followed her upstairs.

We entered the bedroom and she clicked on the lights.

“Well, here we are,” she said and I could see she was a little embarrassed. She stood with her chin almost on her shoulder, her eyes looking away from me, her right arm making a protective V over her chest, her left hand cupped tight under her right elbow.

I dropped my grip on the bed and put my hands on her biceps and pressed a little. Her arms were nice, but small. My fingers almost met round them.

We stood like that for a few seconds, then I drew her to me.

For a moment she tried to pull away, then she slowly lowered her arms from in front of her and put them round my shoulders.

CHAPTER TEN

I WOKE feeling hot and stifled. The grey light of the dawn came through the two windows facing me and shrouded the little room with a soft, mysterious light. For a moment, I could not remember where I was, then I saw the glass animals on the chest of drawers and I looked immediately at Eve who was sleeping at my side.

She slept curled up, one arm above her head. Her eyes being closed, youth had descended on her face. I propped myself up on my elbow and watched her, marvelling that she could look so young and child-like. Sleep had smoothed the lines in her face and softened the hard, defiant chin. She looked, in sleep, more elfish than ever, but I knew when her eyes opened this would all go. It was her eyes that gave the clue to her character. They were the windows through which you could see her rebellious spirit and the secret shadows of her life. Even in sleep, she did not rest. Her body jerked and twitched and her mouth moved as if she were talking to herself. She moaned softly and her fingers clenched and unclenched. She slept like a woman who lived entirely on tortured, tightly strung nerves.

I lowered her arms from above her head. She sighed heavily and reaching out, she put her arms round me and gripped me tightly.

“Darling,” she murmured, “don’t leave mc.”

Of course, she was asleep. Of course, she was not speaking to me. Perhaps she was dreaming of her husband or a lover; but I wanted it to be me she was speaking to and I held her close, her head on my shoulder.

Her body suddenly gave a great bound as if her nerves had bunched themselves together like a coiled spring and snapped apart. Then she woke and pushed away from me.

She blinked at me, yawned and flopped back on her pillow. “Hello,” she said. “What time is it?”

I looked at my wrist watch. It was five thirty-five.

“Oh God!” she exclaimed. “Can’t you sleep?”

I again realized how hot and stifling it was in bed. “How many blankets have we got on?” I asked, counting them. There were five and a quilt. I must have been pretty drunk not to have noticed that last night.

“Do you want all these?” I asked her.

She yawned again. “Of course I do. I feel cold in bed.”

“I’ll say you do.” I slid out and began to strip the blankets back.

She sat up in alarm. “Don’t do that, Clive . . . you’re not to!”

“Don’t get excited,” I said. “You’ll get ‘em back.”

I folded the blankets so that I had only two over me. The rest I laid on her side. “How’s that?”

She curled down in the bed again. “Mmmmm,” she sighed. “I’ve got an awful head. Was I tight last night?”

“You ought to’ve been.”

“I think I was.” She stretched luxuriously. “Oh, I’m so tired. Do go to sleep, Clive.”

My mouth felt stale. I wished I could ring for Russell and have coffee. Obviously there was no service here.

She looked up. “Do you want coffee?”

I brightened. “Not a bad idea.”

“Well, put the kettle on. Marty’s left it all ready,” and she drew the blankets to her chin.

It was a long time since I had made coffee for myself, but I wanted it, so I went into the other room. It was sparsely furnished with only one easy chair. The small kitchen was just beyond. I put on the kettle and lit a cigarette.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I called.

“Upstairs on your right.”

I climbed the steep stairs. There were three doors leading off the landing at the top of the stairs. Cautiously I looked into all three rooms. Except for the bathroom, the other two rooms were unfurnished. Dust lay on the floor and obviously no one ever went into them.

I went into the bathroom, sponged my face and brushed my hair; then I wandered downstairs again and found the kettle was boiling. I made coffee. A tray was on the table in the sitting room containing cups, sugar and cream. Then I returned to the bedroom.

Eve was sitting up in bed, a cigarette between her lips. She looked at me sleepily and scratched her head.

“I bet I look awful,” she said.

“A little tousled, but oddly enough, it suits you.”

“Don’t lie, Clive.”

“One of these days you’ll get over your inferiority complex,” I said, pouring out the coffee. “If this is bad, don’t blame me.”

I gave her a cup and sat on the bed.

“I’m going to sleep after this,” she warned me. “So don’t start talking.”

“Okay,” I returned. The coffee was not bad and the cigarette began to taste less like brown paper.

She stared out of the window at the fading stars. “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?” she asked abruptly.

I nearly dropped my cup. “What on earth makes you ask that?” I said.

She looked at mc, pursed her mouth and looked away again. “Well, if you are, you’re wasting your time.”

Her voice was brutal in its cold, flat finality.

“Why don’t you admit it?” I said. “You’ve a hell of a hangover and you’re looking for someone to pick on. Finish your coffee and go to sleep.”

Her eyes darkened. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. There’s only one man in my life, Clive, and that’s Jack.”

“Just as it should be,” I said lightly and finished my coffee. “So he means a lot to you, does he?”

She put her coffee cup down impatiently on the bedside table. “Everything,” she said, “so don’t think you can mean anything to me.”

I found it difficult to control my rising irritation, but in her present sullen mood, so different from last night, I knew we would quarrel unless I humoured her.

“All right,” I said, taking off my dressing gown and sliding under the blankets. “I’ll remember that Jack means everything to you.”

“You’d better,” she snapped and turning her back on me, she curled further down in the bed.

I stared up at the ceiling, savagely angry. I was angry with her because she had seen through me. She had sensed that she now meant something to me. She did. I did not want to admit it, but, there it was. I found her exciting, mysterious and I wanted her for myself. I knew it was lunacy. Perhaps if she had encouraged me it might have been different; but her calculated indifference made me want her all the more. It went beyond sex. I wanted to break down the wall she had erected between us. I wanted to make her care for me.

I woke again when the sun streamed through the cream blinds. Eve was in my arms, her head on my shoulder and her mouth against my throat. She was sleeping peacefully and her body was limp and still.

I held her, feeling good. She was easy to hold, light and small and warm. I liked her breath against my throat and the smell of perfume in her hair. She slept like that for almost an hour and then she moved, opened her eyes, raised her head and looked at mc.

“Hello,” she said and smiled.

I touched her face with my fingers. “Your hair smells nice,” I said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmmmm.” She yawned and rested her head back on my shoulder. “Did you?”

“Yes . . . how’s the head?”

“All right. Are you hungry? Shall I get you something to eat?”

“I’ll get it.”

“You stay here.” She broke away from me and slid out of bed. In her blue nightdress, she looked slight and childish. She put on her dressing gown, looked in the mirror, grimaced and left me.

I went up to the bathroom, and after a leisurely shave, I returned to find her in bed. On the table by the bed was the tray containing fresh coffee and a plate of thinly cut bread and butter.

“You don’t want me to cook you anything, do you?” she asked as I stripped off my dressing gown and slid into bed beside her.

“No, thank you. Don’t tell me you can cook,” I said, reaching for her hand and turning it over in mine.

“Of course I can,” she returned. “Do you think I’m quite helpless?”

The palm of her hand was fleshless and hard and I could easily encircle her wrist in my thumb and forefinger. I examined the three sharply etched lines in her palm.

“You’re independent,” I said. “That’s the key to your character.”

She nodded. “I am independent.”

I released her wrist and she examined her palm herself. “What else?” she asked.

“You’re moody.”

She nodded again. “I have an awful temper. I go crazy when I’m really angry.”

“What makes you really angry?”

“Lots of things.” She dumped the plate of bread of butter on my chest.”

“Docs Jack make you angry?”

“More than anyone.” She sipped her coffee and stared blankly out of the window.

“Why?”

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Oh, he’s jealous of me and I’m jealous of him.” She suddenly giggled. “We fight. Last time I went out to dinner with him, there was a woman he kept looking at. She was only a silly little blonde — she had a good figure though. I said he could go with her if he wanted to. He told me not to be a fool, but he didn’t stop looking. I got mad then.” Her eyes sparkled. “Do you know what I did?”

“Tell me.”

“I grabbed the table cloth and I jerked everything onto the floor.” She put down her coffee cup and laughed. “Oh, Clive, I wish you’d been there to see it. The mess — the noise — and Jack’s face! Then I walked out and left him. I was still mad when I got home so I went into the sitting room and smashed everything that would smash. It was marvellous! You have no idea how marvellous it was. I went up to the mantel-piece and swept everything off it. The clock, Jack’s glass animals.” she pointed across to the chest of drawers, “These are the only ones that survived. I keep them here because he thinks they’re all smashed. And there were photographs and — well you know — everything.” She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Of course he was furious when he came back. I’d locked myself in the bedroom but he kicked the door down. I thought he was going to kill me but he just packed his bag and walked out without even looking at me.”