Eve

by Timothy Pearsall

  “Such as?” He became furious and threw things around,

  “I don’t fucking know; all right!” He screamed. Eventually she went to bed,

  “Good night.” Richard ignored her and opened another bottle of wine. She pretended to be asleep when he eventually stumbled into their bedroom, hoping that he would be better in the morning.

  The House in the Countryside - 2000

  The twins Philippa and Margaret, or Pip and Emm as they were more commonly known, lay comfortably together in each other’s arms. They took solace in each other for the yearning of a lover. They had known men; at least, that is, they had been used by their father, Sir Clive. It was not the physical act that so absorbed them, but the almost inconceivable notion that there could be another form of love. They had read magazines and watched soap operas, and at twenty five years old love was something they craved.

  Their mother, the housekeeper, had been aware of their incestuous cuddling and had not appeared to disapprove. Nor had she interfered when at nine years old, during one of Eve’s long absences, they were ravaged by the selfish and beastly Sir Clive. Their lives had been woven by violence and violent sex. They knew of other ways to express love, or lust, but had no experience. Oddly though, they were content, happy even, with their bizarre and extreme existence, awe-filled and worshipful of their goddess, Eve. To them she was everything a woman should aspire to be, strong, proud and beautiful. Unlike the petty and shallow whinger, Sir Clive. They were always sad that Eve spent so much of her time elsewhere, dining with princes in exotic palaces they presumed.

  Their mother was a disappointment; they thought her weak and careless, knowing nothing of the years of relentless repression heaped upon her by her ‘master’. And never, even as infants had they been allowed to see the scars of his interest on her once smooth skin. In truth, most people they knew were a disappointment to them, why were they not as beautiful and glamorous as the idols they worshipped on the television?

  “It’s our birthday soon...” Whispered Emm conspiratorially, “…What shall we have?” Her eyes sparkled and there was a brief pause before they announced together,

  “New dresses!” They laughed and hugged each other, happy in their snug world of the insane.

  *

  Eve lounged on a sofa, barely dressed but caring not at all, the television flickered in her eyes; or was it the flicker of hate and loathing for everything she saw? Languidly she reached for the cord that rang the bell to summon Franco.

  He had been made to be alone. But it was far more than loneliness that had ailed him. His family quite literally blown to pieces. He hated the bombers that smashed and burned, and destroyed. And he hated the rest of the world for allowing it to happen. As a suddenly orphaned child he had hated everything and everyone, choosing to fight any who would get in his way. and he would make them all pay, in time. And then as the years went by his hate evolved into a disgust for humanity, and contempt for its foibles. But for Eve he felt different. She had cared for him, devoted herself strangely and unstintingly to him throughout the years, the bond had never wavered. She was his family. Never would he be able to betray her. The bell rang.

  He appeared within moments,

  “Yes Mistress?” She smiled at his entrance, obedient yes, but never subservient,

  “We’re going out.” She announced with a glint in her eye. Franco smiled slightly and nodded,

  “As you wish Mistress.”

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  Richard muttered as he and Susan sat nursing cups of strong coffee,

  “I just don’t think I could handle a funeral right now.” Once again they had slept badly and risen early, it was nearly nine and Walther’s father’s funeral was at ten. Susan nodded and offered the coffee pot for a refill,

  “Why don’t you just go to work, I’ll go to the funeral with Walther; we could meet you later.” He was grateful for the let-off, it was Saturday morning and he would be alone at the office where he could get some serious thinking done. A few minutes later they left in separate cars; having arranged to meet at Walther’s boat at one O’clock.

  Richard let himself into the office and stood for a few moments on the threshold just looking in. It was cold and silent, just as he knew it would be. But believing, knowing, that Philip was gone forever made it seem desolate. Eventually he closed the door, went in and sat in Cyndy’s swivel chair. From there he could see all of reception and the doors to his and Philip’s offices. His bottled up emotions had started to get the better of him. Frustration turned to anger and then to rage. He opened a drawer for no reason and slammed it shut, only to open it again a second later. He’d seen the corner of an invoice. An invoice with no name on it but there was the Hammersmith address, he carefully picked it out of the drawer and laid it out on the desk in front of him. He knew it was the invoice for Eve’s ghastly books and for a short while he just stared at it, twiddling with a pencil in one hand, Cyndy’s letter opener in the other. Eventually the pencil snapped in half, it was the moment that Richard came to a decision,

  “I’m going to get that fucking bitch!” He muttered to himself as he left the office at a run, the letter opener still clutched tight in his left hand.

  *

  London, River Thames - 2000

  Walther was standing on the small deck at the rear of his boat as Susan drove up. He wore an immaculate dark charcoal suit and in the pale morning light his tall gaunt frame appeared fragile and lonely,

  “Ahoy there!” Susan called out as she locked her car, she smiled and he helped her to clamber aboard.

  She noticed his long fingers were freezing cold and assumed he had been stood outside for some time.

  “Richard sends his apologies.” She meant to elaborate further but Walther held up a hand and interrupted,

  “There is no need for apologies, I understand. Believe me. But we are in need of some haste, I do not wish to be late on such an occasion. May I suggest we share my car?” He waved towards a row of timber garages on the other side of the quay. Susan shrugged,

  “Yes, whatever. I’m easy.” Without further comment he strode across to a black painted wooden door, took some keys from his pocket and removed the chunky padlock, she dragged open one door while he did the other, a small smile spread across his face as the car was revealed,

  “Father’s other pride and joy.” Susan waited outside as he forced himself into the 1961 E-type Jaguar. The engine started at the third attempt and he inched the car out into the daylight,

  “He bought it from the showroom...” He called out to her, “...drive yours inside, it will be safer there.” She nodded and drove her car into the dark garage, parking with the passenger side as close as she dared to the wall.

  He smiled thinly as he closed the garage doors, and made sure the padlock was back on tight. In the open air of the quayside Susan felt a moment of embarrassment as he opened the E-type's door for her,

  “Thank you.” She murmured as she settled into the low seat.

  *

  London, Hammersmith - 2000

  Richard got into his car, hands shaking so violently he could barely insert the key, once the engine started he gripped the wheel tightly in both hands in an effort to calm his racing nerves. Taking a deep breath he ‘switched off’ his racing mind, a skill he’d practiced since a teenager enabling him to appear calm under the most stressful of conditions. As he drove towards London he tried to picture what he might do if he found Eve at the address, it had already occurred to him that it could likely be a false address and that he was on a wild-goose chase. If, however, she was there, could he kill her as Walther had insisted? He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper-knife, it was light and blunt but he felt sure it could still take a life. At a set of traffic lights in the Hammersmith area he fumbled through the glove compartment for his A–Z. He found the street easily enough and quickly pulled into a parking space vacated by a delivery van. The house was several doors be
hind on the same side, a large three-storey brick terrace, well maintained with a short flight of steps leading up to an imposing door with shiny brass furniture. He sat and watched for a few minutes through his wing mirror while he built himself up, “Stay calm, but break the fucking door down if they won't let you in.” With deliberate deep breaths he got out of the car, locked the door, walked up the street and climbed the steps, the large brass knocker immediately in his right hand. He waited in a kind of trance, with no idea what to expect, and no clear idea of what he was going to do. A few moments later a small middle-aged woman with hostile lips and defeated eyes greeted him,

  “Can I help you?” Her tone said more than her words, she would give him about two seconds, he knew he had to push it,

  “I’m here to see, her.” He knew he sounded stupid.

  “Is it business?” She snapped, half closing the door.

  “Yes! It, It’s about those books.” She closed the door even further,

  “Have you got an appointment?” Without thinking, Richard stepped forward and pushed the door, sent the small woman staggering back,

  “How dare you!” She screamed at him, eyes like slits. He stepped further inside,

  “Just go and tell her the man from B & L printers is here, she’ll see me!” Instead of scurrying off as he’d hoped, the woman stood her ground, folded her arms firmly across her chest and waited as if something was about to happen. It was at that moment that Richard saw Franco coming down the stairs, a frown of zero tolerance etched across his brow. Richard braced himself for a fight.

  *

  London, River Thames - 2000

  Susan was surprised that the funeral was not a more sombre affair. There had been a large gathering of mourners at the graveside and mostly they chatted and exchanged greetings like old friends,

  “Father had a great many friends.” Afterwards at a small reception in a nearby hotel there was a mountain of cards and flowers from friends and relatives abroad. Walther introduced her as a friend and she was greeted cordially. Walther had asked that the mourners come together in a celebration of his father’s life rather than grieving his death, and as such had asked several of them to relate one story or event that typified his colourful life. The time passed quickly during the engrossing tales and she almost regretted having to leave before they were all told. Walther made their apologies,

  “We have another very pressing engagement.” They arrived back at the boat at ten past one, swapped their cars around in the shabby wooden garage and stood on the riverbank for a while waiting for Richard. The weather had turned gloomy and overcast and a light drizzle had begun to fall.

  “We should wait inside.” Walther suggested. She nodded in agreement adding,

  “Can I use your phone?” As he unlocked the cabin door,

  “Of course.” He politely busied himself in the galley as she dialled Richard’s office number, the answer phone came on which meant that he had left already, so she expected him to arrive at any moment. By one forty five she started to worry,

  “He should have been here ages ago.” She fretted and fiddled with the empty coffee cup on her lap.

  *

  London, Hammersmith - 2000

  “Is there a problem Joan?” Franco asked while maintaining constant eye contact with Richard, staring with a terrifying intensity. Joan’s voice was high with victory,

  “It’s this man. He has no appointment but he will not leave.” Her left eyebrow rose as a smug smile creased her thin lips. In desperation, Richard reached inside his jacket for the invoice. It was, to Franco, a threatening move, and he flashed forward grabbing Richard’s arm and spinning him around as the invoice fluttered to the floor in front of Joan. She picked it up, instantly recognising its significance as Franco frog-marched Richard out through the door,

  “Wait!…” She called out, “…bring him back.” Adding in a quieter tone, “…he knows about Sir Clive’s books.” Franco dutifully marched Richard back in, his frown much deepened at the mention of the Sir Clive. Joan hurriedly closed the door while Richard was bundled into a timber-floored reception room, from the corner of an eye he saw the slim shape of Eve, smiling and provocatively draped across a large sofa. For a few moments nobody spoke, as if it was impolite to speak before the Mistress. Richard was forced into a chair and motioned to keep still with Franco poised above him. He realised how stupid he’d been in trying to tackle Eve alone, he stared at her, noticing her extraordinariness. Beautiful, but not in a cover-girl way. Her eyes allowed him to look at her, eyes that had seen hell and no longer cared,

  “You are Richard, yes?” She had broken the silence and so Joan felt free to tell what had happened,

  “He just barged in-” Eve raised a hand,

  “That’s all right Joan, you may go now.” Summarily dismissed, Joan threw a spiteful glare at Richard as she left the room. Eve raised herself gracefully from the sofa,

  “Have you searched him?”

  “Yes Mistress.” Richard hadn’t even noticed being frisked,

  “He carried no proper weapon, just his wallet and this.” Franco held out the letter-opener. Her smile broadened,

  “Such a deadly weapon, you must have killed a great many people.” She mocked him playfully as she undulated across the room to a cocktail cabinet. Richard tried an all too obvious bluff,

  “I’ve told the police where I am, if I go missing they’ll be coming after you.” She laughed gently as she poured out two crystal goblets of wine,

  “And why would they? What have you told them?”

  “I told them you killed my friend Philip Leach, and I’m going to see that you pay for it!” Again she laughed, then sighed,

  “Here, drink with me. Then I’ll explain.” She put a glass in his hand, lifted hers to her lips, he drank a large soothing mouthful, she pretended. With another slightly more wistful sigh she returned her wine to the decanter. Richard watched in stunned realisation, mortified at his own stupidity,

  “Poisoned?” He asked weakly, expecting an imminent painful death. He was glad that Susan wasn’t there to see how pathetic he’d been. It was the sudden thought that he would never see her again that spurred him into a last desperate act, rekindled his anger. He launched himself from the chair, kicking and punching like a madman. He caught Franco slightly off guard and bowled him over. Luck was on his side, he rammed his knee into Franco’s groin and the paper knife clattered to the floor. He seized it and advanced on Eve with intent to murder. But his legs had other ideas. The room began to spin and Eve seemed to recede, with gritted teeth he forced his legs forward one short wonky step after another.

  “It always gets the legs first.” Eve offered the information in a calm matter-of-fact way,

  “Then moves up into the hands and body, are you still able to speak?” He tried but no words came out and his breathing became short and laboured, he watched in silent terror as Eve dropped away from him and the floor rushed up towards his face. He went down hard, his face suddenly warm and wet from a broken nose.

  “Turn him over!” He heard Eve’s voice through cotton wool ears as Franco’s strong hands yanked him over on to his back. There was a sharp pain in his chest,

  “Pull it out!” Again he heard Eve’s voice from just behind his head, Franco knelt and Richard felt another jolt of pain as the bent and bloody paper knife was tugged from his chest.

  “Is the cut deep?” She demanded,

  “No mistress, merely a flesh wound, he is in no danger from it.” Franco had probed the incision with the tip of the knife. Eve pursed her lips,

  “I will dispose of him later.” A half smile crossed her lips,

  “In the meantime there are things to attend to. I want you to go to his offices, search for anything that might lead the police to us, burn the whole building down if necessary. I will question this one to see if anyone else knows of this address, and there may be a little wifey at home; she will have to be dealt with also. Search him for car keys.” Franco went expe
rtly through Richard’s pockets and placed all the contents on a small table, Eve smiled at the picture of Susan in his wallet,

  “Take his car, go now I want this done as quickly as possible, leave it at his office and return here using the Underground. Report to me on your return, we shall be leaving this house tonight.” Franco left with a nod, Richard was surprised to feel the effect of the drug beginning to wear off already and realised that he wasn’t about to die after all, Eve stalked around the room like a predatory animal, excited by the waves of pain emanating from him. Richard took a few deep breaths and began to calm himself, he relaxed his mind and stepped back from the pain. Eve whirled on him like an angry cat,

  “What are you doing?” She hissed. Richard shrugged in confusion, it was some seconds before he remembered Walther's words “they feed on the brain 'waves' of others” and realised that he had won a tiny victory, a small grin half broke out on his face; quickly turning into a grimace as she slapped him hard across the cheek,

  “I control your pain. Think on it. Before long you will be screaming for mercy like all the rest.” She left the room as the twins arrived, giggling as usual, something that always irritated Eve,

  “Stop that stupid giggling and get that mess cleared up!” She waved to indicate that Richard was the 'mess’. Suddenly quiet, they waited while Eve receded along the corridor. With short steps they stopped at Richard’s feet and stared, starting at the bottom and taking him all in, pausing at various points of interest. Finally they turned, round eyed, to face each other,

  “This one’s for us!”