The Book of Eve

by Julia Blake

  ‘That’s it?’ I couldn’t help but exclaim.

  ‘That’s it,’ he agreed and smiled, looking almost human when he did so. He made his way towards the door, PC Mulholland reaching for the handle, when he abruptly stopped and turned.

  ‘Just one thing, Melissa,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, what?’ I replied.

  ‘You didn’t ask how we knew.’

  ‘Knew what?’ relief at his imminent departure made me careless.

  ‘How we knew the boxes were in the flat, what aroused our suspicions about Mike.’

  ‘I... erm... I thought, that is...’ I stopped, feeling my face flame, saw knowledge in his eyes, recognition, confirmation.

  ‘We had an anonymous tip off,’ he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. ‘Someone phoned us early yesterday morning, told us where to find the goods stolen from two electrical warehouses in the area over the last fortnight.’

  ‘Oh?’ was all I could think to say.

  ‘Whoever it was,’ he continued, looking straight at me. ‘Was very brave, because even though it was the right thing to do, considering the kind of people we know Wayne Jones and his associates to be, it was also quite a risky thing to do.’

  ‘How risky, Detective Inspector?’ Annaliese voice was casual. ‘I mean, this anonymous informer, are they in any kind of danger?’ The Detective Inspector’s gaze met hers over my shoulder. I sensed something passing between them, some message received and understood.

  ‘They shouldn’t be,’ he replied slowly. ‘The police won’t inform anyone there was a tip off. So long as they don’t learn about it from any other source, the informer should be safe enough.’

  ‘What a relief,’ said Annaliese brightly, ‘for the informer that is.’

  ‘Thank you for your time, Melissa,’ the Detective Inspector’s eyes flicked back to mine. You’ve been very helpful, thank you.’

  ‘What will happen to him?’ I blurted out guiltily. ‘To Mike, I mean?’

  ‘It’s his first offence,’ replied the Detective Inspector smoothly. ‘So, I imagine the magistrates will be quite lenient with him, although I doubt Mr Jones will fare so well, we know him of old, have been watching him for some time now.’ I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

  We followed them out to the porch, mouthing formal goodbyes as we watched them climb into their car and go away down the long sweeping driveway.

  ‘You did very well, Eve,’ Annaliese murmured in my ear. ‘They won’t be back.’

  The next hurdle to overcome before my new life could begin was, of course, my parents. Somehow, by tapping into the information network all parents seem to have direct access to, they heard about Mike’s arrest that afternoon and phoned me.

  I was sitting in Annaliese’s office, trying to absorb the nuances and details of my new job, feeling a rising tide of excitement at the realisation I could do this, that finally I’d found an occupation which would stretch my abilities, something stimulating and interesting, a job which I could do and do well. When my phone rang I answered it automatically, feeling my face fall at my mother’s panicked voice, interspersed by the slightly calmer, enquiring voice of my father.

  Annaliese waited patiently, pulling a sympathetic face as I attempted to explain and placate. No, of course I wasn’t involved in Mike’s misdemeanours, no of course the police weren’t going to arrest me, yes I’d already spoken to them, yes I’d been as helpful as possible, yes I appreciated they’d always had their doubts about my now ex-boyfriend. What was I going to do now? I was moving home, of course.

  I took a deep breath and began to explain I’d got a new job. A new job? What about my job with the newspaper, wasn’t that what I’d always wanted, to be a journalist? Patiently, I tried to tell them the truth, I’d been unhappy at the newspaper, it wasn’t what I wanted after all, but my new job was everything I’d ever dreamt of and more. Well, what was it, what was I doing? What on earth was I thinking off, giving up my job and moving in with complete strangers, did I have no concept of the potential dangers?

  My mother’s voice became shriller, my father’s strident. Both vied to be the one to hammer home to me the total recklessness of my actions. My reassuring words got twisted, tongue tripping over itself as I attempted to calm and mollify, my sentences became short and choppy, disconnected, meaningless phrases and words stammered and stuttered down the line. Suddenly, Annaliese took the phone from me and beamed a big smile down it, almost as though my mother could see her.

  ‘Hello? Mrs Stephens? Hello, yes, this is Annaliese Macleod. I think it would be best if Melissa and I came to see you so we can discuss this calmly and reasonably. Yes, yes, I quite agree, of course you’re worried, I would be too in your position. Yes, Melissa is young and of course it’s completely understandable you have certain responsibilities. Absolutely, right, ok, shall we say we’ll be there in an hour’s time? Wonderful, I look forward to meeting you both, goodbye,’ she flashed me a reassuring smile and handed the phone back. I stammered out a goodbye, disconnected and stared at her in dismay.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I gulped, feeling like a naughty child who’d been told off in front of her friends by her mother.

  ‘What on earth for?’ asked Annaliese in obvious surprise.

  ‘For my parents, the police, so much trouble, you must be wishing you’d never met me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ retorted Annaliese hotly. ‘Of course they’re worried about you, any parent would be. If I was in their position and you were my daughter, I would want to know where you were going to be living and exactly who you were going to be living with.’

  ‘I suppose,’ I sulked. ‘They seem to think I’m still a child though.’ I heard the whine in my voice, realised how much like a child I was behaving.

  ‘Well, then,’ Annaliese replied gently. ‘You’ll have to prove them wrong, won’t you?’

  When we arrived at my parents, it was obvious my mother had done the quickest tidy up job ever and my father, who was an English teacher, had realised who Annaliese was. Because instead of the near hysterical ranting I’d been expecting, my parents greeted us at the door, the very model of calm rational human beings, hugging me and shaking hands with Annaliese. My father’s eyes even showing signs of awe at having such a famous author, and one whom I happened to know he very much respected, actually sitting in their house.

  Once again, before my admiring eyes, Annaliese slipped effortlessly into another persona, acting out her role perfectly as the reassuring understanding employer, anticipating their concerns and answering them before they could even be voiced. I watched in silent wonder, as she completely charmed and won them over, eyes wide and guileless, manner pitched so perfectly even my mother unthawed enough to offer tea, bustling into the kitchen, to return with a tray laden with her best china, even unearthing a packet of chocolate biscuits.

  Who was this woman, I suddenly thought, all these different facets, which one was the actual Annaliese? All of them, none of them, or had I yet to encounter the real one?

  Somehow, Annaliese encouraged my parents to open up to her. I listened, toes curling in embarrassment, as my mother regaled her with endless tales of my antics as a toddler, before finally going upstairs to bring down the dreaded albums, which Annaliese assured her she would absolutely love to look at.

  ‘This is Mel aged thirteen months,’ my mother proudly told her, as Annaliese opened the pink embossed book at the first page and gently turned over the protective tissue paper.

  ‘You have none of her as a baby?’ enquired Annaliese innocently, and my mother tensed.

  ‘We couldn’t have children,’ she replied, shades of stiffness in her tone. ‘We adopted Mel, she was thirteen months old when we finally got her, that picture was taken on the day we brought her home.’ Annaliese stared at the photo for the longest time, her finger gently touching the pi
nk ribbons which twirled down the side of the page.

  ‘What a beautiful little girl,’ she finally said, and I looked at her curiously. For a moment there, I’d thought I’d heard something in her voice, wistfulness, regret? I wondered... but her next words seemed to explain it. ‘I can’t have children either,’ she confided to my mother, whose face twisted in a womanly expression of sympathy and she actually patted Annaliese on the arm, a shared look of female understanding passing between them.

  ‘More tea?’ asked my father, obviously uncomfortable with the rising level of female hormones in the room. Annaliese smiled and nodded in agreement, slowly turning the pages of the album, lingering, absorbing, almost drinking in every picture, questioning my mother about each and every photo, how old was I in this one? Where had that one been taken? Why did I have such a grumpy expression on my face in this one?

  By the time she’d closed the book, with obvious signs of regret there were no more, my mother was completely and utterly won over. There was no longer any doubt I would be moving into the Hall, would be accepting the job as Annaliese’s assistant with the approval and, indeed, blessing of my parents.

  I silently marvelled at Annaliese’s cleverness, she had seemed to know precisely the way to sway my parent’s opinion, had executed the manoeuvre with such charm and tact only I, watching the act from the outside, suspected her of any duplicity at all.

  Following my encounters with the police and my parents, my first day at the Hall could hardly be described as a smooth one, but, within a week, could barely remember what it had been like to live anywhere else so completely had my new life absorbed me.

  The quiet sophistication, the understated luxury and elegance were things I very quickly grew accustomed to, as I did to my new career. Within my role as Annaliese’s researcher, I’d finally found the stimulation and job satisfaction which I’d been searching for, enjoying enormously the experience of being immersed in the worlds which Annaliese created. I relished being a small, but integral, part of helping her bring her rich characters and plot lines to life, although sometimes was forced to ground some of her more fanciful notions in the reality of fact.

  My transition from Melissa to Eve was a simple and smooth one, no long protracted labour or agonising birth pangs for me. As easily as a snake sheds its skin, I left boring, middle class Melissa behind and gladly embraced my new persona of Eve – young, talented and blessed with friends the like of which I’d never in my wildest dreams imagined possessing.

  Gradually, I honed and perfected the act that was Eve. Melissa had drunk any old coffee, not bothering herself with make or blend, Eve only drinks freshly ground or not at all. Melissa had made do with cheap perfume and supermarket make up, Eve learnt fast and well which colours suited her skin tones best, finally settling on a good quality, expensive, kind to animals range – such things mattered to Eve; choosing a subtly sophisticated perfume which she wore every day, her signature scent with which she signalled to the world Eve was a stylish and confident woman.

  Annaliese insisted on advancing me some of my extremely generous salary and had taken me to London shopping. Her maternal act so convincing; more than one shop assistant commented quietly to me how lucky I was to have such a young and attractive mother.

  Eve moved confidently amongst the rich and beautiful, rubbed shoulders with the great and famous; grew accustomed to mingling with people so far above Melissa, she would have been struck dumb at even the mere thought of being in the same room as them.

  As Annaliese’s researcher, I tried my wings under her proudly anxious eyes. When she considered me ready, I offered my skills to other authors, slowly gathering a reputation as someone who paid meticulous attention to details and always, without fail, got the facts right.

  I squirreled away my earnings, watched in stunned astonishment as my savings grew, yet still continued to live at the Hall. Whenever I mentioned getting a place of my own, Annaliese would protest I simply couldn’t leave, that she enjoyed having me there too much to let me go.

  My parents watched my growing success, at first with sceptical disbelief, then gradually with ever increasing pride. I knew their clever daughter, who could command such respectable fees and who mingled on a daily basis with the elite of the land, was the topic of conversation at many of the nice dinner parties they attended.

  The façade of Eve grew so engrained at times I almost believed in her myself, yet there were two people who grounded me in reality, who never let me entirely forget who I was and where I’d come from.

  The first was Scott. Somehow, with him, I could never be anything other than who I truly was. One look from those calm steady eyes and I’d drop any pretentious act I’d been fooling everyone else with and simply be me. Even though he called me Eve, it was almost as though he did it to humour me, as if he regarded it a secret between us, that although I might convince everybody else, I could never pretend with him, for he could see right into my soul.

  I knew this and didn’t care; to me he was Scott, the man I loved absolutely and completely, with every fibre of my heart and body. I would have walked over hot coals to the ends of the earth for him, yet he remained oblivious to my love, treated me with the same amused friendliness he afforded the others.

  Gradually, as days ticked into weeks into months into years, I stifled my love, suffocated it beneath layers of moments of friendship and shared memories of innocent fun, accepted, albeit sadly and with many a pang of regret, that he would never feel that way for me.

  No, I was his dear little friend Eve, the woman who could make him laugh when one of his silent moods came upon him. The woman who’d persuade him to drop daily duties, join her on some spontaneous madcap excursion. The woman who knew he sneaked out of the Hall at the same time every evening to have an illicit cigarette – knew, covered up for him and often joined him for a stolen ten minutes that, unbeknown to him, she cherished and remembered for the whole of the next day. No, with this I had to be content and was, most of the time.

  Sometimes, when looking after Mimi’s perfect baby, whose grand list of names had been shortened to merely Essie, to whom I’d completely and irrevocably lost my heart, discovering hidden maternal depths within me, I would feel his gaze upon me and glance up. His look almost fooling me into thinking maybe, just maybe, his feelings for me ran deeper than I thought. Then he would make a blasé comment, his manner tightly controlled, as contained as ever, and the moment would pass by un-remarked upon.

  I wanted to learn how to drive and he taught me, his unfailing patience and quiet stillness making him a good teacher. I couldn’t remember him ever losing his temper with me, not even when I lost mine and railed at him over the difficulties of driving, not even when I mangled the gears of his beloved sports car.

  He wasn’t a monk of course. During my years of living with Annaliese, a few women passed through his life. These I barely tolerated, hiding my jealous resentment beneath an impeccable act of smiling friendliness, breathing sighs of relief when they vanished from the scene and he was once again my Scott.

  And, of course, neither was I a nun. Men featured occasionally in my life, all to a type, good-looking, suave, sophisticated, rich and successful. Gradually, I realised they were all clones of him, imperfect, unsatisfactory copies of a masterpiece, good for sex and not much else.

  The other person not fooled by Eve was Caro. Her simmering resentment at my newly found position of favour within Annaliese’s court steadily bubbled and brewed, like molten lava, gradually building up to an explosion of volcanic proportions. I was constantly aware of her eyes, watching me, forever watching me, critical and condemning.

  I avoided her as much as possible; her bitterness both confused and alarmed me. All of Annaliese’s other friends had accepted my place in the inner circle and in Annaliese’s affections, yet Caro’s antipathy to me was so thinly veiled, so barely concealed there were moments when
the others registered it too. On more than one occasion, Annaliese and even Scott would step between us, acting as a buffer, absorbing the venom from a slyly barbed remark or action.

  One day, a month after I’d moved in, I found myself alone in the kitchen when Caro entered and set about making herself a cup of tea. I watched her warily. Long weeks of implications and hinted accusations had made me mistrustful and suspicious of Annaliese’s much valued assistant. She glanced at me, small flint-like eyes hard and unyielding behind thick glasses.

  ‘So,’ she began, her voice heavy with Irish sarcasm. ‘Comfortable are we? Feet well and truly under the table are they?’ I flushed at her words, immediately felt guilt at their implied meaning, then a sudden wave of quick hot anger flooded over me and I glared at her with dislike.

  ‘Did I wrong you in a previous life, Caro?’ I demanded hotly. ‘What have I ever done to you that you hate me so much?’

  ‘It’s not what you’ve done,’ she spat, her loathing now openly naked. ‘It’s what you’ll do.’

  ‘What?’ I was confused, taken aback by the tone of her voice. This woman didn’t just dislike me, she actually hated me. ‘What do you mean? What am I going to do?’

  ‘You’re going to hurt her.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Annaliese.’

  ‘No,’ I protested hotly. ‘I love her, I’d never hurt her, never.’

  ‘You might not mean too,’ she insisted. ‘But you will, one day, you will destroy her.’

  ‘No, you’re crazy,’ I all but shouted. ‘Why on earth would I ever want to hurt Annaliese? After all she’s done for me? I’d never do anything like that, never.’

  ‘You won’t be able to help yourself,’ she replied. I stared at her in bewildered dismay. Her eyes softened and an expression, unfathomable and unreadable, crept into her eyes and she looked at me with something akin to contemptuous pity. ‘It’s not anything you will do,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s what you are that will hurt her, and you can no more change what you are than the earth can stop revolving.’