Seductive Viennese Whirl (20 page)

She asks me for the copy. No problem, I think, I'll just print the document out from the hard drive. But when I try to locate the file, I can't find it.

"I'll bring it to you in a minute," I say, although I'm beginning to panic. Briony is looking over at me from the other side of the room.

"I need it now, Kate. Good God, don't tell me you haven't finished it. The client is waiting for my presentation upstairs." The Haddock starts drumming her fingernails on the edge of my desk. Oh Christ, where is it? My palms are clammy. I check all my files again.

Rat a tat tat. Her nails on my wooden desk seem to be drumming on the inside of my skull. Rat a tat tat.

Think! Where could the file be? Maybe I saved it in another directory. I run a search on the computer but it draws a blank.

Rat a tat tat.

Shit. What do I do now? Out of the corner of my eye I see Briony come over. "Is there a problem?" she asks sweetly. She's holding some sheets under her arm. "Kate seems to have mislaid some copy for our presentation with Easyglide."

"It must be a computer bug," I say. "I don't understand it."

"I hope you don't think I'm talking out of turn," says Briony, smoothing out her ponytail. "But I heard on the grapevine about the Easyglide brief and I took the liberty of preparing some copy of my own."

"Oh?" says the Haddock, looking startled. "Well, let's have a look at it." Briony hands it over and the Haddock puts it down on my desk and starts giving it the once over. Well, naturally I start to read it over her shoulder, because I'm really curious at what Briony could have rustled up at such short notice. Turns out she hasn't rustled anything up of course. The copy the Haddock is skimming is my copy, the copy I'd thought was safely tucked away in my computer when I went out for lunch.

Before I can think up an appropriate response, the Haddock turns to Briony and says, "This is excellent. Well done," and marches off. Briony traipses back to her desk.

"That stupid cow just passed my copy off as her own," I say, turning to Eva who's been listening to the whole thing.

"So? She's a nutcase. Don't get your knickers in a twist over it."

"Hang on. Did you go out for lunch?"

"No. I wasn't hungry."

"I don't believe this. You mean she was fiddling at my computer while I was out and you didn't think to ask her what she was doing?"

"I was here the whole time. She didn't touch your computer. She must have got to it through the network. You remember, the Haddock had all our computers linked. There's a memo about it here somewhere." She lifts up two squashed take away coffee cups which are leaking coffee and starts leafing through the stained papers beneath them.

"You can stop looking. I got the memo." The little sneak, she got them through the network. She must be some kind of hacking genius. "How in God's name did she guess my password?"

"You mean KEYLIMEPIE?"

I look at her in amazement.

"It's stuck right there on your monitor."

"I forgot that was there," I say, tearing the Post-It off and crumpling it into a ball. I'd put it up because I was forever forgetting my password. "Still, don't you think it's totally outrageous?"

She shrugs. "Does it really matter?" After all I've done for Eva, I would have expected a bit more sympathy. "You can't prove she didn't write the copy, so why sweat it?"

"Thanks for the support," I say to Eva and march over to Briony's desk where she's pretending to be mesmerized by the task of straightening up her wooden frogs.

"Yes?" she asks sweetly.

"What was all that back there?"

"All what? I wrote some copy and Miss Craddock rather liked it."

"But you didn't write it, did you?"

"I don't like your tone." She leans back and crosses her arms. "And I don't like what you're implying." She picks up a frog and slams it down again.

Still simmering with rage I grind my teeth at my desk for several hours until the Haddock calls me into her office.

"How do you explain your mistake this afternoon?" she says.

"If you must know, Briony passed my copy off as her own."

"Impossible. Briony is one of the most trustworthy members of our team."

"But she did. I know it sounds ridiculous, but she somehow got into my computer and accessed my files."

"It's one thing to make a mistake, but quite another to put the blame on an innocent party." She runs her fingers through her hair. "But if there's any more of this sort of thing you're going to leave me with no other choice but to …"

"What?"

"Oh, just get out," she says and closes her eyes.

Eva and I had arranged to meet up with Sten for drinks at The Blue Room. But tonight Eva cries off with a headache, so I end up going alone. Sten is just what I need. He listens while I go on about my gripes with the Haddock and Briony, while replenishing my glass at regular intervals. Finally, he tells me to put Briony out of my head. The girl's obviously insane and needs some kind of psychiatric help. I also tell him all about how I'm writing to Alex, pretending to be Eva. He doesn't comment much on that. I guess he disapproves, like you do

On the taxi ride home, I tell Sten about Sparky's trip to Mykanos.

"She's certain she's going to hook herself a hunk."

Sten starts to laugh. "Well, she'll certainly find plenty of hunks. I should know, I've checked it out."

"Really? Do you think I should book a holiday to Mykanos?"

Sten laughs harder. "No I don't. It's the gay capital of the Greek isles. You'll have a better chance of hooking yourself a red snapper than a straight guy."

Poor old Sparky!

It's the end of day one of my diet and I'm very proud of myself. What do you think of my will power? Impressive, huh? One whole day of self-denial. Bet you never thought I had it in me.

All my love,

Gherkin

Ms Kate Pickles

96B Trumble Road

Camden

London NW1 3BX

England

24 August 2011

Dear Egg,

It's the second day of my diet and I've been up since dawn, mopping the kitchen floor and generally going cleaning mad. Now I'm skipping down the steps to the front door, carrying a trash bag containing the contents of our fridge. Crusty old remnants nestling inside pizza and Chinese takeaway boxes, as well as several tons of rotting vegetables. I hurtle out the door, flinching as bare feet hit cold pavement and breathing deeply of the crisp air. This morning I'm thrilled to be alive and can't wait to share my joie de vivre with Eva. Back upstairs, I carry a cup of tea into her room which I plonk on her bedside table. I bound over to the window and open her curtains. Watery sunlight filters in.

"Aaah, why'd you have to do that?" she says and puts a pillow over her head. "I'll never get back to sleep now. I was hoping to sleep all day and try and forget about everything."

"What's there to forget?"

She takes a sip of tea and pushes her duvet off. "Well, I'm on my own, or hadn't you noticed? I aimed too high with McManus. I should have stuck to the flamenco dancers and pretty boys."

"What? But what about Alex?"

"I'm not like you," she says, getting out of bed naked and starting to get dressed. "I can't survive on fresh air. I need attention."

"But what about his letter? Didn't you think it was beautiful?"

"I guess so, but it's just a letter." She snaps on a gorgeous red Agent Provocateur bra and pulls on some matching knickers. Then she sags back down onto the bed.

"You know, I don't think I can be bothered to get dressed."

"Of course you can. We'll go shopping in Covent Garden. Have you lost interest in Alex, is that it?"

"I like Alex, don't get me wrong. But what's the point of it all if I can't be with him? Do you think I should go pay him a visit?" She grins. "What's the good of all this underwear if I can't show it off to anyone?"

"I'm sure he'll see your underwear in good time. But you know his sister's ill. I don't think-"

"Okay, okay, you're right. I just keep remembering our night together. I think he might be just the pick up I need."

"Maybe. But right now you need to get dressed and start flexing your credit card."

In the end I have to shove Eva out the door, which is remarkable because usually the mere mention of shopping has her chomping at the bit. We take the Tube to Covent Garden and go up Monmouth Street to Koh Samui, a women's designer clothes emporium in which Eva has spent thousands. She usually goes ape for the floaty dresses, and oohs and aahs over the tiny handbags. For a moment she stands at the doorway, her hand holding the door open and letting in a freezing draft. The delicate clothes dance and flutter in the draft, until finally I shove the door closed.

Is Eva going to look at anything? I think, as I see her eyes staring blankly out over the vast white room. Not a flicker. The décor reminds me of a hospital. Eva, sickly looking beside me, seems like a patient floating in and out of consciousness. Sensing an emergency, two nurses, or rather, assistants run up to her, asking her how she is. They look concerned as they help her over to a white leather cube and hand her a glass of water. One of them scurries about grabbing £800 designer dresses off the rails while the other frantically opens drawers and pulls out colour-matched kitten heel mules.

She lets them dress her and slip on the mules and clap their hands, gasping in delight at her reflection in the mirror. But nothing brings a flush of excitement to her face. When we leave, the £800 dresses are tangled up in a heap on the floor. The assistants shake their hands in despair as we leave. I can almost hear them whispering:
A hopeless case. We did everything we could.

Next I try another of her favourite places of worship, Karen Millen. She trudges around the shop, pulling out hangers full of jumpers and coats, appliquéd with beads and bits of fur, before letting them fall back. There's a brief frisson of interest in Pied à Terre when she tries on some stiletto-heeled plum satin ankle boots, but then rejects them for being too tight. I shake my head in despair. The old Eva would have bought the boots, the absolute must have for the autumn season (according to Elle), and while she might have complained bitterly about the discomfort, she would certainly have purchased them.

We try shop after shop but she's still acting incredibly weird, refusing to buy so much as a pair of earrings. Frankly I'm about ready to throw in the towel. Finally we enter the covered market. We go past the craft stalls and past a bunch of take away cafés. I smell baked potatoes wafting out of one of the windows and my stomach growls. I need sustenance, but my work here isn't done yet. I won't be beaten.

Finally, we approach Whistles, a boutique of cutting edge design, where Eva loves to run wild, pick and mixing pretty little separates. She always leaves Whistles with a great big smile plastered on her face. Things look promising as we approach the window. It has Eva's four favourite letters plastered across it.

SALE.

At last! A reaction! Eyes widening, pupils dilating, she goes in, skips down the stairs and rushes over to a Giuseppe Zanotti bag, green rhinestones encrusted on gold silk.

"Isn't this just darling?" she squeals, waving it at me, and I'm dancing with joy inside. Eva's cured! Eva's cured! I want to rush over and kiss the shop assistants.

"What are you waiting for?" I cry, reading the price, which is scrawled on the wall. "Reduced to £255! That's a bargain, right?"

She sets the bag down, bites her lip and takes a step back. "Even that's too much," she says. I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"Explain."

"I don't have the money, okay?" she says loudly, as a stick thin arm, heavily adorned with bracelets, reaches out and grabs the bag. "The Visa people cancelled my account. I'm relying on a debit card until I get paid."

"I'm sorry to hear that," says Lola Hemmings, jangling her bracelets and stepping up to air kiss Eva. She's pressing the bag against the green shift dress that swamps her emaciated body. "Mark didn't mention you had money worries. In fact, he didn't mention you at all. Although, I must say, I
did
rather wonder why you weren't at Glynverstowe last weekend." She pats Eva's arm. "Actually I was rather worried about you." I bet she was. "You're weren't ill were you darling?"

"No, I was busy, that's all," Eva says brightly, but Lola's already lost interest in the conversation.

"We must get together soon," Lola says, heading in the direction of the cash register, rhinestone bag in hand.

"Why didn't you just tell her you'd split up?"

"It's none of her business," Eva snaps.

Since talking about McManus is obviously off limits we set about looking for something small that Eva can afford. She settles on a Whistles own brand jumper, crocheted in gold and copper wool. As she slips it on, the colour makes her eyes flash cornflower blue. At £85 she can't exactly afford it, but I manhandle her into buying it. She needs her fix, and I'm going to force her to take it. Eva and clothes are like me and cream cakes. If I go too long without one I start feeling all hollow and empty inside. After we leave the shop I kid myself that she looks happier, and decide that I need to put my diet on temporary hiatus. I'm feeling out of control and light-headed. This diet thing obviously isn't something you can just plunge straight into.

After a pit stop for a chocolate éclair we're headed towards the Plaza, when all of a sudden the crowds part to reveal Ben. He's got his arm around a red headed girl with a big mouth crammed with teeth, her face bright with blusher, barelegged in spike heeled fuchsia slingbacks.

"So that's what you look like," I want to blurt. Because, you see, that time I caught them together I never actually saw her face. But it's her all right, I can tell from the butterfly tattoo on her ankle. You remember don't you, how I came home from work early because I'd forgotten my packet of contraceptive pills? How, on pushing open the door I was confronted by a pair of legs wrapped around my boyfriend's back? One ankle had a butterfly tattoo, which looked just like a bow. Ben was all done up like a present. She'd already claimed him. And that's about all I do remember about that day, because I ran out of the flat and thundered down the stairs. I figured I wouldn't be needing those pills after all, since I was done with Ben, and men in general. I scampered into a pub and ordered a whiskey. And then another.