Eve

by Timothy Pearsall

  “You mustn’t take pills on an empty stomach.”

  “But I'm eating right now you bloody-” Richard blurted out angrily, stopping himself before he cursed them. And then after silently consulting each other they uttered together,

  “We’ll bring you some later.” The conversation lapsed after that while they gazed saucer-eyed at him eating. When he’d had enough they took up the trays without a word and left.

  “He doesn’t talk very much!” He heard one complain as they locked the door.

  *

  Eve sprawled on a chair in front of the television, the News had just shown the latest terrorist arson attack on a London hotel. Franco was on the other side of the room playing computer Chess. She spoke to him,

  “Did I ever tell you about that fire I started in London?” She asked the question in a careless kind of way as if she was reminiscing about a day at the seaside.

  “No.” Was his reply, the tone of which did not particularly invite her to continue. So she did anyway,

  “Well, you know that so-called Great fire of London? It was no accident.” She waited for a comment that didn’t come, then continued,

  “I’d been carrying on with an old wool merchant, nice enough chap, except to his wife. Well he was quite friendly with Wren and several other vested-interest types, I met them at a party. The engrossing conversation turned to a slum clearance project they’d been trying to get off the ground, they wanted more inner-city space for their grand houses and so on. So in the middle of the conversation I said why don’t you just burn it all down and start again! Of course everyone laughed thinking I’d made a good joke. One of them actually said that it would be a good way to get rid of the rats once and for all. Then later in the evening, after more drinks had been consumed, the subject came up again, and this time somebody said the magic words: What if?”

  Franco whispered,

  “Check”.

  Eve continued her tale,

  “So they hatched a plan, they all knew the city well enough, and there was this Dutch sea-captain who knew all about wind directions and things, so the next big question simply became ‘where and when?’ Of course I volunteered straight away, as did Wren and the sea captain, although he was more than a bit drunk. The fourth member in our little plot was the doctor, he professed to be acting for ‘the greater good of mankind’ or some such rubbish.

  What a night that was! The chaos, it was fantastic, you could practically walk across the river, there were so many people in it. And the funny thing is, the doctor was right, it was good for the city in the long run. Pity he didn’t live to see any of it, such an insufferable do-gooder. I pushed him down a well. Life was so much simpler in those days.” She finished her story with a sigh.

  “Mate!...” Franco turned to face her, victory on his face, “...What were you saying?” He obviously had barely heard a word, she glared at him for a moment, then turned back to the television.

  *

  London, Hammersmith - 2000

  Susan and Walther hardly spoke a word on their way to Hammersmith, Walther found a parking space and eventually broke the silence,

  “I imagine there is little point in me asking you to stay in the car while I go in, is there?” Walther asked, and was a little taken aback at her sharp response,

  “No fucking point whatsoever!” Being a little old school he didn’t quite approve of women swearing,

  “I thought as much.” He murmured as he parked the Jaguar as near to the house as possible and quickly got out. She followed him to the shiny black front door. Adrenalin pumped through her, she was shaking and felt slightly sick.

  They waited several moments before the door opened revealing a hard-faced middle-aged woman, her mouth opened to speak and Susan was shocked as Walther charged straight in pushing the woman to the floor. In one fluid movement he pulled out the vintage handgun and pointed it at her face,

  “Where is Richard Bryant? Where is he?” Walther looked dangerous and determined. Then with exaggerated slowness he pulled back the hammer of the gun. The woman lay flat on the floor, she was scared and her breath came in short gasps, but to Susan's astonishment she turned her head to one side and closed her eyes,

  “Never heard of him.” She whispered, as if resigned to her death. Walther remained stern,

  “Get up!” She opened her eyes and slowly climbed back to her feet, Walther called out to Susan without taking his eyes off the woman,

  “Pull her arms behind her back and hold them tight!” She did as she was told and got a firm grip on the woman's arms while Walther continued to question her,

  “Who else is in this house?” He kept the pistol aimed at her face, her head shook as she replied,

  “No one, there's only me.”

  “Take us upstairs, I want to see every room in the house!” The woman slowly led them from room to room and it gradually became obvious that the house was indeed, empty. Worse, in a way; was that they saw no sign of Richard ever having been there. Susan became more desperate as they came back downstairs to stand in a comfortable sitting room. She began to twist the older woman's arms painfully,

  “Just tell us where my husband is! Then we'll leave you alone!” The woman had been stony faced as she led them around, and broke her silence only to say,

  “I don't know what you're talking about.” There was a moment of hesitation before Susan snapped,

  “Shoot her!” She cried out as she pushed the woman away towards a wall,

  “Just do it! She's obviously not going to tell us anything, so just shoot the fucking bitch!” She saw the woman stiffen and begin to tremble.

  They were in the room where Richard had fought with Franco, it had been thoroughly cleaned and showed no sign of the struggle, the drugged wine decanter was still on the shelf. Walther motioned for the woman to sit in the chair, she edged to it and sat stiffly, Susan immediately confronted her,

  “Why don't you just tell us what we need to know?”

  “I can't tell you anything.” Without warning Susan slapped her hard across the face, so hard that her hand hurt. The woman was nearly knocked out of the chair, her cheek already turning livid, but still she said nothing. Walther had busied himself by opening drawers and doors in the hope of finding a clue, he quickly realised that it would be a fruitless search. Susan turned to him, her face white with anger,

  “So what do we do now?” She asked him. He shrugged and shook his head,

  “I suppose we could wait here. Someone or something might turn up.” It wasn't much of a plan but at that moment it was all they'd got. The woman sat impassively on the chair as her nose started to bleed. Walther spoke again,

  “Susan, I want to have another look around upstairs, will you be all right down here alone with her?” He asked, nodding in Joan's direction.

  “Yes I'll be fine.” She replied as Walther moved towards her,

  “I'll leave the gun with you just in case.” He handed it over, Susan felt encouraged by the weight of it. Walther had been gone for only a few seconds when Joan spoke,

  “May I go to the bathroom?” She had been wiping the blood from her nose using her sleeve, Susan assented,

  “Don't lock the door, I’ll wait outside.” They crossed the hallway and Joan spoke again,

  “Can I take my handbag? It's my time of the month and I'd-” Susan nodded before she finished her sentence and Joan picked up her handbag from a side table, then walked on to the downstairs bathroom, Joan leading with the gun in her back. They reached the little bathroom door, Joan went in and quickly closed it, then Susan heard the lock being turned, she shouted,

  “Damn it I told you not to lock it! Open the door now!” Then Susan heard little bleeping noises from the other side of the door, Joan was using her mobile phone from her bag. Susan lost her mind in sudden panic and banged on the door with the butt of the gun, it took her a few more seconds to think of shooting the lock off, then she pointed the barrel towards the handle and pulled the trigger. The inten
sity of the blast sent her back a pace and she let off more rounds almost randomly at the door. Within seconds Walther was by her side, taking the gun from her as the door drifted quietly open. Through the smoke they saw Joan’s bloody corpse sprawled across the WC.

  “She called someone, I’m sure I heard her whispering.” Susan muttered, pointing to the phone still in her hand. Walther checked her pulse,

  “Nothing. I think we had better leave. Did you touch anything?”

  “No...” She replied blankly, “...Nothing.” Walther took her by the arm, and after looking out of the front window led her to the car.

  *

  Sir Clive’s House in the Countryside - 2000

  Eve loved to ride. Often before breakfast she would visit the stables, saddle up her favourite, Majesty, and lead her out into the fields.

  “Fly Majesty, fly!” She whispered as she crossed the field at a full gallop. She had risen early and set off while the morning air was still cold, riding hard and fast until her muscles ached. With mixed feeling of elation and regret she turned her steed back to the stables at a gentler trot. Franco was waiting for her when she returned; she could see from his face that something was wrong,

  “Joan telephoned.” He called out to her as she approached,

  “Why? What’s happened?” She replied fearing the worst. Franco continued more quietly as she pulled up beside him,

  “Her exact words were, before the gunfire started, It's his wife and another man, they're here looking for him and they’ve got a gun!” Eve climbed down slowly and handed the reins to him,

  “You say you heard gunfire? Who was shooting? Joan or the others?”

  “My guess, Mistress, is that Joan has been killed, I got the idea from the way she was speaking that she was trying to warn you.”

  “Was Sir Clive with her?”

  “She did not say.” They continued the conversation while they stabled the horse and walked back to the house. The stables were situated at the rear and to the side of the house, the gravelled path crunched under their feet. Eve paused at the doorstep and turned around to face away from the house. She looked at the lawns and the trees and beyond them the open fields, and she sighed gently before looking at Franco,

  “We shall have to go back to the house, I need to know what's happened. Get ready, we will leave shortly. But first I think I’ll have a chat with our guest Mr Richard Bryant.”

  A few minutes later she entered the attic room that served as a jail for Richard, the twins had removed his handcuff and replaced it with a chain around his ankle. He stood a few feet away from the bed and staring out of the small window. He knew she was there but didn’t turn around, he wasn't going to tell her anything more about Susan. Eve waited only a few seconds before demanding tersely,

  “Has she got a gun?” Richard remained silent. Eve baited him,

  “Perhaps you would you like me to bring her here, to be with you? Oh no, I'd better not do that, the twins wouldn't like it, they don't like sharing.” Richard came unglued immediately and whirled around, jabbing his finger at Eve's face,

  “You stay away from her!” He yelled, she smiled, unperturbed by his threatening manner, enjoying his discomfort,

  “She's quite pretty isn't she?” Eve waved his wallet photo in the air, he made a move to grab it but she nimbly stepped backwards and stayed near to the door, still taunting him,

  “I know someone who’d like to meet her. He likes pretty girls. Trouble is they're not very pretty when he's finished with them, if you know what I mean?”

  Richard balled his fists and paced around his bed, but could not think of anything to say,

  “Please, just leave her alone.” He pleaded.

  “Sorry. I can't. She's been poking her nose in where it does not belong...” Eve's tone implied that she had no choice, “…You see, she’s been to the other house. And she took a man with her, who is he?” Richard groaned inside, he guessed that Susan and Walther had been looking for him,

  “I don't know.” He replied. Eve waited for a few moments before she spoke again, her voice suddenly turned to acid,

  “You can have the photo, at least then you'll have something to remember her by!” She threw the photo onto the floor and flounced out of the room.

  *

  Cairo stood breathless in the gloom of a forgotten corridor after a game of it. She was sixteen, although she herself wasn't exactly sure how old she was, and her shabby clothes and uncultured manner made her appear more childlike. She whispered to herself,

  “Cairo, you’re a very silly girl!” A lifetime of near solitude left her talking to herself and inventing many imaginary friends,

  “Yes but she's very brave too!” She heard one of them say. The hushed conversations continued as she wound her way through the warren of abandoned secret passages at the heart of the old house.

  The house had been built around a central column of tiny staircases and passages designed by the master of the house so that he could move around without being seen by the servants. The passageways connected with all the landings of the main house and many of its rooms. The levers to the entrances to that secret domain were ingeniously concealed in the fine timber mouldings and architraves of the opulent old place. And although the current occupiers were aware of their existence they had fallen in to disuse many years before.

  Cairo lay on her back in the dust and gloom. Hands at her side she wondered what it would be like to be a ghost.

  Gradually her mind turned to the odd assortment of people in the house. There was Anjelica the housekeeper, who just about ran the house (armed with her lashing tongue and fuelled by Sir Clive’s fine brandy).

  The Irish Cook, Fidelma, she was nice but had a wicked temper, and was always “Far too busy to stand around gossiping to silly young girls.”

  There was the gardener, Mr Underhill, he was a strange old man who never spoke. Cairo could remember being fascinated by his enormous calloused hands, she sometimes watched him as he worked, never speaking, just quietly sitting close by, pretending to be looking elsewhere.

  Then there was Sir Clive; she had never had much to do with him. Most of the time he was away in London, wherever that was. She remembered that he gave her nice presents at Christmas but then there was that time she spied on him during the night in one of the upstairs bedrooms. There had been guests at the house staying over and one of them was a young woman not much older than herself. She’d thought it would be fun to visit her in the night but when she peeked through one of her spy-holes she could see that Sir Clive was there, he was ‘doing things’ to the girl that she obviously didn't like, she was crying but he wouldn't stop, he said it was too late to stop and that it was her fault for leading him on. Cairo stayed away from Sir Clive after that,

  “Horrid fat man.” all her friends agreed on that.

  And then there was the chauffeur. Kelvin Bright by name, a slimy thin man who stunk of cigarettes and liked to swagger around carrying a large shotgun. Some years before he had brought five Rottweiler puppies to the house, at first they were lovely animals but his systematic training had turned them into vicious, aggressive guard dogs. She stayed away from him as well. She giggled as she remembered what Anjelica always called Kelvin behind his back,

  “Greasy little ponce.”

  London, Hammersmith - 2000

  Eve and Franco took the twins with them when they returned to the Hammersmith house in the early afternoon, It was a dry, blustery day with bright sunny intervals and occasional iron-grey clouds. They entered the house warily but it was soon apparent that apart from poor Joan’s gory remains there was no one else inside.

  Eve peered at the mess through the bathroom door and easily put two and two together,

  “Shot her through the door while she was talking to you.”

  Franco looked closely at the bullet holes and Joan's wounds,

  “It was an old gun by the looks of it, World War two probably.”

  “Doesn't matter now. But it w
as lucky that Sir Clive wasn't here”

  “He must still be at the Club.” Franco suggested.

  “Yes, and he will probably not return until late this evening, we should clean up in here.” She set the twins to work, cleaning up the blood and gore of their mother's body. They cried, quietly, wiping away the tears and snot with their cleaning rags. Franco took pity on them, he carried Joan's body and laid it on her bed. Eve offered a little condolence,

  “Sir Clive will see to her funeral, I'm sure he will give her a good send-off.” They nodded and dried their eyes, they never liked her anyway. With a look to each other they raised a question,

  “When can we leave?”

  “Richard will be getting hungry.”

  Eve shook her head in amazement and spoke to Franco,

  “Take them back to the house. I will wait for Sir Clive...” She favoured him with a smile, “Come and collect me tomorrow.”

  *

  Hispania AD63

  From the sanctuary of a sunny hilltop the gladiatrix and the preacher watched in fascination as the battle unfolded. A Roman legion led by Maurus had caught up with a hastily assembled army of Hispanic rebels on a plain between Carmonia and Hispalis.

  Viewed from long range the slaughter held a macabre hold on them, but for the gladiatrix it was too much. She was compelled to join them, the power of their agonies drew her in. Made her so full of energy she simply had to lash out and attacked men from both sides without fear or favour. She hacked and slashed, parried and replied until her arms hung limp with exhaustion and loss of blood, finally falling comatose amongst the dead and dying.

  She woke in the arms of the preacher. At the end of the slaughter he’d wandered through the field looking for her body. Eventually he found her blood-soaked and near dead. She had many wounds and he knew she ought to die. He thought of leaving her and cursed himself for it. So he dressed her wounds as best he could and carried her away declaring to the victorious Romans that she’d fought on their side; and there was none alive who could deny it.