The Secrets Women Keep (23 page)

Amy would be sleek in her favourite pink bandage dress, earrings dangling by the edge of her angular jawbone, curled cat-like against Rufus, avid to know Eve’s reaction. ‘What did
she say? How did she take it?’

When she heard about Eve’s laughter, she’d be perplexed, angry even that she hadn’t scored the perfect goal.

However, the loss of Rufus was a massive blow to the agency. Not just because of the income Eve would lose from future books, but because of the message that it sent out to the world. Publishers
and clients would wonder whether losing her authors to Amy, especially her most prestigious one, meant she was on the skids. She could imagine them gossiping about her, speculating on the phone,
over lunch. But she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The day ahead of her consisted of back-to-back meetings and an early-evening drinks appointment. As soon as Rufus had left, taking his profuse apologies with him, Eve had fixed three such days
during which she would start to rebuild the confidence in her agency. Her other priority was to find a new client or two who would help lift its profile and hers. But where to start?

At King’s Cross, she was swept along on a wave of commuters, pressing to get through the ticket barriers and on to the tube. What a horrendous way to begin a day.

After her first meeting, she was ready for lunch. She had spent the morning reassuring Nan French, one of her most talented illustrators, that the agency had been in a period of brief transition
as May found her feet, but that now it was business as usual. When she revealed her plan for submitting her as a potential illustrator for a new edition of
Alice in Wonderland
, Nan had been
both grateful and excited, confident her agent was batting for her.

The taxi dropped Eve at the door of the modest French brasserie that Susie Shepherd had picked for lunch. Susie was at the table, talking on her phone, when Eve joined her. The two women had
been friends for years, ever since they had started in the same agency, although their paths had diverged. Eve had thrived on representing the interests of authors, whereas Susie had chosen to take
the publishing path to be closer to those decisions. She now ran her own highly regarded and prestigious list. She was petite enough almost to pass as a child herself. But her Cleopatra bob,
coloured the blue-black of a raven’s wing, and her sharp dress sense lent her the necessary authority. Her black Tibetan terrier snoozed under the table by her Mulberry bag.

Susie stood as Eve arrived and they air-kissed without her pausing for breath in her conversation. She made a winding motion with her hand as if hurrying the speaker up, then indicated that Eve
should look at the menu.

At last Susie extricated herself and hung up. ‘So sorry. I had to talk to the bloody woman. All to do with licensing agreements for that picturebook series we publish, the Bobcats –
you don’t want to know.’ She picked up her glass of water.

Actually Eve did want to know but understood that Susie was only demonstrating her own importance by dangling such a snippet of information. She had no intention of telling her more.

Before she had a chance to speak, Susie was off again. ‘I haven’t seen you for months. What’s been happening?’ She picked up the menu. ‘Actually, let’s order
first. I’ve had such a morning, I’m famished. The jugged hare looks good, or the turbot, but . . . I think I’m going for the steak frites. What about you?’

Eve was relieved. She’d had lunch with Susie recently when they’d toyed with a lettuce leaf or two and she’d left the restaurant starving. She’d have what Susie was
having and set herself up for the afternoon. ‘It’s good of you to give me lunch when half my clients are about to bugger off.’

‘Forget it. I want to hear what’s happened. Eve?’ Susie indicated she should order first.

‘Steak for me, please. Medium rare.’ Eve was looking forward to this, wondering whether she dared a small glass of red. Then, remembering that Susie never drank, she decided
against.

The waitress scribbled on her pad, then looked enquiringly at Susie, who was running her French-polished fingernail up and down the menu. Eventually she looked up and said, ‘You know what?
I think I’ll have a tomato and mozzarella salad after all. The starter portion. Yup, that’s it. I’ve been eating way too much recently.’

With a neat piece of one-upmanship, Susie had finessed Eve to emerge as the one with epic self-control, while Eve was left to face a meal she suddenly no longer really wanted.

Susie sailed on regardless, glass of sparkling water in hand. She leant forward confidentially. ‘Now, tell me all about the Amy Fraser Agency. She’s quite a number, isn’t
she?’

‘Well, obviously I’ve never had to deal with her in the way you have.’ Eve was deliberately circumspect. She knew that whatever she said would be taken and shared with the
wider world of children’s publishing. The one thing she had to keep in the forefront of her mind was the reason for this lunch. She wanted to leave it having persuaded Susie to contract Jim
Palliser’s four backlist titles now that there was TV interest in two of them. She would get even with Amy not by gossiping about her but by behaving better.

Susie talked on regardless. ‘She came in to see me a couple of weeks ago. Thought I’d never get rid of her.’

‘Well, she’s got Rufus now, of course.’ Eve just dropped the information casually, but it got her Susie’s attention.

‘No! She never said. How did that happen? You must be furious.’

‘Not furious, more disappointed.’ Much as she longed to join in the dismemberment of Amy, being seen to have a public falling-out with her was not in Eve’s professional
interests. Far better to play things down and let Amy hang herself. She gave a judiciously abbreviated account of what had happened.

Susie was unforgiving. ‘You’re well rid of her if you ask me. None of us can stand her, you know. She’s hell to deal with, so demanding. I was going to warn you last year, when
we had Mary Mackenzie’s new book on offer from her, but you had so much on your plate.’

This was music to Eve’s ears, although she disliked having driven home how badly she’d misjudged her ex-colleague. However, she was careful to remain neutral while she listened to
Susie chatter on. Despite the talk, Susie’s plate was completely clean and Eve was still eating when she finally got the chance to bring the conversation round to the real reason for the
meeting. She refused to be shamed by her appetite, especially since she was enjoying the food now she’d got it, so she took her time, ignoring Susie’s pointed glances at her watch.

By the time they left the restaurant, Eve was up to speed on all the latest industry news and gossip, essential to her job, and Susie had agreed to buy Jim’s backlist. Eve had even
persuaded her to take another look at Mary Mackenzie’s novel for nine- to twelve-year-olds. So: one lunch down and a satisfactory result.

As Eve headed towards St Martin’s Lane for her next appointment, she was on cloud nine. Perhaps nothing was quite as bad as she’d thought. If the other publishers were like Susie, in
the long run Amy might be less of a threat than she’d imagined. But right now she must continue to concentrate on salvaging the immediate damage to her client list and reputation.

Lunch had been so brief that she was left with over half an hour in hand. Killing time, she wandered along the road through a jam of taxis to the National Portrait Gallery. She had last been
here many years earlier, when she had visited with Will. In London for a long, and as it turned out very wet weekend, they had taken shelter here during a sudden downpour. Now she walked through
the entrance area and automatically took the escalator to the first floor to meander through the galleries. Gazing at the portrait of the Brontë sisters, she remembered how she and Will had
once stood here together, hands clasped tight, her head on his shoulder. Those were golden days. What would have happened if he hadn’t gone back to Martha? she wondered. How would their lives
be different? Would they still be together today? But then the memory of her children stopped her. Nothing would make her turn back the clock and be without them. In fact she wouldn’t turn
back the clock at all, not even for the younger Terry. He wasn’t really so bad now, just slow to readjust to the recent upheaval in his life. She could be too intolerant, too wrapped up in
the business. But if that was what she felt about him, why couldn’t she let the idea of Will go?

As one thought gave way to another, Eve became aware of someone else entering the room and standing a little way along from her. She glanced sideways for a second, at the exact moment he turned
to look at her. A middle-aged man, quite handsome, in an open-necked shirt, untied striped scarf and dark cashmere coat. Then she looked again, realising to her astonishment that she recognised
him.

Will!

Surprise registered on his face before a broad smile spread across it. Eve couldn’t speak. All the breath was knocked out of her. Coincidences like this didn’t happen. It was as if
she’d conjured him up from nowhere. As she struggled to regain her composure, words continued to fail her.

‘Eve? What are you doing here? You look terrific.’ As he took a couple of steps towards her, holding out both arms as if to embrace her, she took a couple of quick steps
backwards.

She was readjusting again to that weathered face, the slight stoop and the closely shaved head that had replaced the dark mane of before. But behind the glasses, the eyes were the same.

‘Just wasting time before my next meeting.’ She looked at her watch, pleased with herself for sounding suitably nonchalant. ‘I should probably go.’ But her legs were
refusing to co-operate and she found herself rooted to the spot.

‘I came to see the Freud exhibition, and then I remembered that we once came here together. Have you forgotten?’ That smile again. ‘Do you remember, the time we ran in out of
the rain? Oh Evie! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last week.’ The words burst out of him.

‘I . . . no . . . I . . .’ This couldn’t be happening. They didn’t like each other. They were virtually strangers now. And yet they weren’t. She turned back to the
portrait of the three sisters, who returned her gaze, inscrutable. Perhaps if she stared at them for long enough, Will would dematerialise or spontaneously combust. Anything.

Now he was standing inches away from her, side by side, looking straight ahead with her. In the neighbouring rooms were footsteps, voices. But for now, they were completely alone, with only the
steady eyes of the sisters on them. Neither of them moved.

Then, ‘I’m sorry.’ He said it so quietly, she almost didn’t hear.

‘For taking your pillow?’ Why did she say that? What a stupid thing. But she didn’t look for his reaction, just kept staring forward, not knowing where this should be going,
wondering how she should be reacting.

‘For hurting you.’ He sounded sincere. Perhaps he was. Perhaps his marriage had taught him about other people and tamed him.

Their hands brushed together. She started, then quickly sidestepped to the next picture, not even taking in its subject. Startled by the intensity of her response, she struggled to recover
herself, used to taking control of a situation. ‘Well, it’s in the past now.’ She surprised herself. That wasn’t what she had meant to say at all. But Will hadn’t
finished.

‘I haven’t got an excuse for the way I behaved, apart from being too young to know better. I thought a quick, clean break was the right thing for both of us.’ He was so
matter-of-fact, as if he was talking about someone else. And perhaps he was. All that pain belonged to so long ago. Now that they were standing together, Eve was finding it hard to identify with
the young woman she had been whom he had hurt so badly.

This time she didn’t move away.

‘How could you ever think leaving me for your ex-girlfriend was excusable?’ But she found herself asking more in curiosity than in anger.

‘I did love her,’ he said quietly, as if this was justification enough for causing Eve such heartbreak. Then he added a little too quickly, ‘But I loved you too.’

Before she could say anything, her BlackBerry buzzed for her attention. Thankful for the interruption, she rescued the phone from her bag. Terry.

One of chickens taken by fox. Chased it, couldn’t catch. Luke rang. Will be home at weekend. Bringing girlfriend!

The message brought her up short. How was it that she and Terry could communicate so easily when they were apart? These days, when they were together, disagreement was never far away. The
smallest behavioural tics had become sources of the greatest irritation. She didn’t understand how they had arrived at this state of affairs.

‘It’s Terry,’ she said, overbrightly. ‘Luke, one of our twins, is bringing his new girlfriend for the weekend. Must be serious.’

‘Mmph.’ Will released a noise resembling a little laugh. ‘I never imagined you with children.’

‘You said,’ she reminded him, brisk, irritated that he’d forgotten. ‘Well, we’ve got four.’ She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.

‘And married to Rose’s brother! I’d never have imagined that either. Keeping it in the family.’

Immediately her hackles rose. There was something in his tone she didn’t like. She or Terry might question their marriage, but she was damned if she would listen to Will, or anyone else,
putting it down. ‘You’re hardly one to talk. Martha was your school sweetheart, I seem to remember. Sweet sixteen. At least I moved forward.’

This time he laughed properly: a deep chuckle that kept her rooted to the spot. ‘Still the same old Eve, fighting like a tiger. And I did move forward in the end.’

There was an awkward pause. Embarrassed, she checked her watch. ‘Christ! I really have got to go.’ This time her legs obliged. Will accompanied her to the escalator, Eve unsure how
they were going to leave things between them.

He didn’t step on to the escalator with her. When she realised she was alone, she looked backwards to see him standing thoughtful at the top. Her insides did a little quickstep as he
raised a hand in farewell.