Virtually Perfect (12 page)

'Eve?'

'...I know!  Let's go camping!' 

They could borrow Amy's tent.

'What, in February?  No, Eve.  Just...  No.'

Eve sighed.  It never would have worked with the cat anyway.

Ben got it.  He'd got it a while back, actually.  From the accumulation of
Savers
items in the bottom of the cupboards, and not an awful lot else. 

She had good coffee, even if it was only instant.  Twinings Breakfast tea, and Bonne Maman jam.  That cat food didn't look cheap.  It certainly wasn't Whiskas.  The label actually read 'suitable for human consumption'.   It looked it too, there were whole prawns.   There was plenty of that.

'Have you got one of those cage thingies?' 

Eve peered up. 

'For the cat?' said Ben.

She nodded. 

'Good.  I'll make you a coffee, you have a bath, then we'll get packed.'

He kissed her forehead and slipped out of bed. 

Eve's gaze followed him.  She saw he was naked and quickly looked away. 

Ben wandered to the dressing table and grabbed his trousers, tugging them on.  He caught Eve's gaze in the mirror.  Before he could even flash a smile, she'd looked away again.  He knew she wasn't going to get out of bed until he'd left the room. 

When she went into the bathroom, he heard her lock the door.

Ben left her coffee on the bedside table.  He quickly made the bed, grabbed his phone, and went to the living room to start making some calls.

Eve peered back at Mr Bojangles.  His carrier only just fit on the black leather back seat.  Through the grid of the door, she could see him, curled up in a ball, fast asleep.

Ben still wouldn't tell her where they were going.  They were approaching the M23 near Crawley.  Eve saw signs for Gatwick.  They couldn't be flying, not with the cat.  Besides, she hadn't brought her passport.  That had expired back in November. 

'Bring a posh frock, a swimming costume, and wear comfortable shoes.  Don't worry.  It won't be a repeat of last night, I promise.' 

The posh frock wasn't a problem.  She had a rack full from her Kensington days, complete with matching bags and shoes.  Even if they were six years out of date.

Ben glanced across at her.

'Stick a cd on if you like.  They're in the glove box.'

Eve reached out and unfastened the clip.  It didn't slam down like it would have in her old Fiesta, the contents spilling out all over the floor.  It slid down gracefully, on some kind of slow release mechanism.  It was all very neat and tidy.  She pulled out the cd organiser.  She could feel it was leather, see the perfect stitching.  She glanced at Ben out of the corner of her eye. 

Last night, while they were lying on her rug drinking Sainsbury's own rum, she had forgotten completely that he existed in that weird alternate reality, where money grows on trees.  The price of that cd organiser would probably have paid Eve's grocery bill for the month.  And for what?  They were only cds.  It irked her.  It was utterly pointless.

'The Lighthouse Family?  ...Really?'

Eve grinned and crinkled her nose. 

Ben glanced at her, taking a hand from the wheel to rub the back of his head.

'...Yeah, alright,' he grumbled.

Eve flicked through the leaves.  Ben waggled a finger. 

'That one's nice.' 

Eve slid it from the holder. 
Bocelli. 

Ben pressed eject on the player.  Eve took the Muse cd and slipped it into the organiser. 

She would much rather have listened to that.

'You do like opera, right?' she heard Ben say as she pushed the cd into the crack in the dash.  The player sucked it in, snatching it from her fingertips.

'I like the Three Tenors.  But if you were to ask me what they were singing, I wouldn't have the first clue...  Where did you learn Italian?'

'My grandmother was from a little town in Campagnia called Ravello...  Have you heard of it?'

Eve shook her head.    She studied him. 

'You said your dad was French,' she said suspiciously.

Ben cast her a sideways glance.

'My father's family
are
French, that's right.  My mother is half Italian...  I'm surprised you haven't heard of it,' he continued.  'It's very famous. 

'High up in the mountains... pretty hairy to get to if you're not keen on heights, but stunning once you're there.  The views of the coast, the sky, the sea...'  He sighed.  'It's spectacular.

'When you walk the streets at night, you hear opera everywhere, all of the singers practising.  It really is a magical place.'

'...So you're not British?' 

Eve studied his dark brow.  His swarthy skin, piercing eyes.  She realised how little she knew.  How little she'd really asked.

'...I've only lived here my whole life!' Ben grinned.

He'd never considered himself a foreigner before. 

'Gramps was Tooting, born and bred.  Massive Leyton Orient fan.  He used to take me to all the home games.  He met my grandmother when he was a prisoner of war in Naples.' 

Ben glanced at Eve. 

'Nonna was a partisan.  She helped him to escape.' 

Eve saw the pride in his eyes. 

'Pretty impressive for an eighteen year old girl working alone, with a man who'd lost half a leg.'

They were on the A23 now, heading towards Croydon.  They were going to London.  They had to be.

'What about you?' Ben asked.  'Do you have any foreign blood?'

Eve paused.

'My dad's Irish,' she admitted, quickly glancing at him then down at her feet.  '...Apart from that, it's just my grandfather on my mother's side.'

'...Oh yes?  Where's he from?'

'Oh, he was Palestinian.'

Ben's head whipped around. 

'Don't look like that,' she said passively.  'You're quite safe.  I'm not going to blow up.'

'I didn't...  I... I... I...'

Ben turned back to the road.

'My grandfather came here from a little city, in
Jibal al-Khalil
.'

She smiled acerbically.

'It's called Jerusalem...  Have you heard of it?  It's very famous.' 

Ben smiled to himself.

That's where she gets those eyes from...

'I like this song,' Eve told him.  It was
Romanza
.   It was one of Ben's favourites.  'I haven't got the faintest idea what he's singing about,' she said, 'but I like it, all the same.'

'Do you speak Arabic?' he asked.

'Eastern Arabic, you mean?' Eve grinned.  'The Middle East is quite a big place, you know.  They have different regional dialects.'

Ben nodded.

'A little...  Hardly any,' Eve confessed, with a shrug.

'...I'm going to Saudi on Monday.' 

He looked worried.

Ben felt Eve's hand touch his thigh, squeeze.

'You'll be fine,' she told him.

Her hand didn't recoil.  She was watching him. 

Eve was worried too.

She wandered into the lobby in a daze, lost, peering up around her like a little girl.  Ben held her hand, holding the cat carrier in his other, watching her, smiling to himself.

Eve had never been in
The Four Seasons
before.  She'd been past it, virtually every day for a decade, but she'd never been inside. 

The floor was black marble.  It squeaked under Eve's Kickers.  The walls were deep burgundy.  A polished mahogany table stood in the centre of the room, covered in bronzes: horses and polo players.  At either end of the check-in desk were huge silver punch bowls.  They were Art Nouveau,  the patina was fantastic.  Above the concierge desk hung an enormous Impressionist oil painting.  A Victorian family in an informal pose, mounted in a heavy gilt frame.  It reminded her a little of Renoir. 

The melody of a saxophone drifted out to the foyer.   Eve hated muzak, but this was something else.  Something quite beautiful.

They'd stopped off at Ben's place before they left Brighton.  He was obviously well aversed in this kind of thing.  He was showered and packed in ten minutes flat.  Eve watched the bell boy taking their luggage up.  She'd expected to see Louis Vuitton, but Ben's case was generic and battered, just like hers.

Eve stared at the horse relief as Ben led her to lifts.   She caught a snatch of a red grand piano, black leather chairs, a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling.  Black marble stretched up the walls, gleaming all around them.  The decor was Constable meets Titian in a modernistic Dante's Dream.  Eve loved it. 

The concierge tried to take Mr Bojangles, but Ben wouldn't let him go.  Eve was astonished they'd let them in at all. 

They stepped out onto the seventh floor, into the Art Deco corridor.  The walls were lined with beige suede.  Every three paces hung a life-size black and white portrait, vintage Vogue, Hollywood icons.  Ben led her all the way to the end of the corridor, pausing beside Audrey Hepburn.  He slid the keycard into the slot.  Eve heard the door clunk open.  Ben smiled and led her inside.

There was a bowl of fruit on the smoked glass dining table.  It looked fresh out of Harrods food hall.  Two bottles of Tasmanian Rain and two goblets, a tray of intricately rolled sushi.  Eve peered down at the floral arrangement.  Red roses, bent over palm fronds.  Gardenias.  Their perfume filled the room. 

A bottle of Champagne sat in a bucket of ice, beside two flutes on a stand.  The carpets were plush claret.  They felt springy underfoot.  The cream leather sofas and chairs could easily have seated a dozen people.  An oversized flatscreen hung above the hearth, just like at Ben's place.  Eve smiled.  Mr Bojangles chirruped and nuzzled her shins.

Ben was standing in front of the French windows.  Eve didn't say a word.  He felt her warm little fingers entwine with his.  A winter sun shone from a cornflower sky.  An army of fluffy white clouds floated off into the distance. They looked out across Hyde park,  a sea of emerald, the burnt umber skeletal trees, cadmium yellow surges of daffodils.  On the horizon towered the Gherkin and Canary Wharf.  The London Eye was slowly turning.  They squeezed each other's fingers.  Neither of them could quite remember the last time they felt like this.

'...Do you have any toenail clippers?'

Ben turned slowly.

'I need to snip off the tips of his claws, otherwise he'll...  Oh Bo!'

Mr Bojangles was up on the dining table, hunched over the sushi, a salmon roll hanging out of his mouth.  He looked up at them guiltily, then jumped down with a thud, streaking off through a doorway.

Ben laughed.

'I'll call down for some.  Would you like some Champagne?'

'It's a bit early for me.'

'Me too.  Coffee?'

'Yes please,' said Eve.

She looked back to the window.

'...Ben?'

He stopped, turning back to her.

'Thank you.'

He just smiled and walked away.

Eve followed Mr Bojangles through the archway.  She saw their cases resting side by side in the dressing room, the swathe of gleaming beige marble.  She found Mr Bojangles in the bedroom, his tail disappearing into a chocolate suede cat den.  She peered into the darkness, listening to him chomping away on his plunder.

Bo had his own WC in the bathroom, covered, with a little swing door.  There was more black marble, a luxurious porcelain bath.  Two fluffy white robes, hanging side by side.

'What would you like to do today?' asked Ben, as they sat eating croissants and jam.  Eve was getting crumbs all over the table.  Ben refilled her coffee cup.

'I don't mind.'

He looked at her. 

'Don't do that,' he said.  'That drives me nuts.'

'Honestly, I...'

'Don't say it again!  You were going to, weren't you?'

She just smiled at him.

'Would you like to go shopping?'

'Christ, no!' said Eve.  '...Why, would you?'

'Eve...' he growled back, smirking.

She paused, gazing at the ceiling. 

'OK,' she said, eventually.  'Let's be tourists,' she decided, eyes gleaming.  'Let's get a ticket for the tube, wander around, and just get lost.'

They looked at each other over their coffee cups.  Ben smiled.

'I'd like that.'

They strolled down Constitution Hill, along the tree lined avenue, black cabs and red double deckers whizzing past them.  The streets were quiet today.  No congestion.  The sun was shining.  The air was crisp.  Eve was glad they'd picked up her coat.  Ben slipped his arm around her shoulders, beneath her ponytail.  His leather jacket felt cold against the nape of her neck.  She slid her hand around him, resting it on his hip, hooking her thumb through the belt loop of his jeans.  She could see the golden wings of the Victoria Memorial up ahead.  She could already hear the band.