Eve

by Timothy Pearsall

  The self-satisfied gentleman gestured proudly towards his collection of fine art prints, his voice loud and pompous,

  “Of course they're not the originals...” He laughed absurdly, “...they're all in museums...” this was apparently humorous, so Eve obliged him with a smile, “...but these are the finest prints money can buy...” He was very pleased with himself and his red cheeks bloomed in evidence, “...and what I've spent on the frames!” Eve looked at them, her inner fury barely in check.

  He turned to fix drinks.

  She joined him smiled, and offered,

  “I make a very good Manhattan, or so I've been told.” He nodded, not knowing if he had the ingredients,

  “Go ahead, by all means, use whatever-”

  “I'll need the kitchen...” She strolled across the room holding a bottle of bourbon, “...through here?...” she pointed to a likely door, “...why don't you put on something more comfortable while I make drinks?” He nodded again, pointed to another door,

  “Back in a jiffy!” He disappeared, Eve entered the kitchen. The cooker appeared unused, but there was a fine knife rack next to it, she selected the best for the job and returned to the living room. In seconds she had crushed a little pill into his glass and added the bourbon. He returned eager and expectant, she pressed the glass into his hand,

  “You don't have the ingredients...” raised it to his lips, “...I prefer it neat anyway...” raised hers and chinked, “...down the hatch...” she downed hers in one, he did the same. Game over.

  *

  Eve slipped away from the corpse, cleaned the knife and then showered, she always believed in making a quick getaway for if she had any fear at all, it was of capture, her memories of medieval incarceration too vivid for her to forget.

  She dressed looking at the wall gallery, pride of place went to Rubens' 'The Mantuan circle of friends' , it caused her to pause,

  “Friends...” She sneered at the concept, “... I never met anyone who didn't want something in return for their so-called friendship...” She gazed up at the Baroque masterpiece hanging before her, “...they always have a reason why they want to be your friend, be it for sex, or for your money or for your influence...” The painting remained unmoved by her bitter rant, “...or they want you simply so that no one else can have you...” She turned away from the painting, “...friends are just people who haven't betrayed you yet...” The magnificent painting looked down at her, “...in this world, this life...” she made for the door, “...daggers are a girls best friend.”

  *

  Chapter 6: “...could you forgive, a sinner like me?”

  Sir Clive at The Excelsior 10:30 P.M.

  “Wait for me at the bar.” Bright had been told. It was a Strip club, owned and run by Asians, they specialised in Asian girls.

  Sir Clive took a seat at a table near the front, shortly after seating himself he was approached by a waitress who led him away to a table on the far side of the club. Through the dim light and smoke Bright could barely see him.

  Sir Clive had been seated at a large oblong table with the Bangkok Chappie facing him. Behind him at the next table sat two burly men who looked like bouncers, behind the Bangkok Chappie sat two Asian girls, he could not quite see them properly.

  “Greetings Sir Clive, it is good to see you again.” The Bangkok Chappie spoke with a strong accent.

  “Likewise I'm sure.” Sir Clive was arrogant, he ‘didn't have time’ for colonial upstarts.

  It was obvious that there was to be no more small talk. The Bangkok Chappie grinned showing his gold teeth as he spoke,

  “I believe we agreed on the usual terms? Plus insurance.”

  “What!? What the bloody hell is insurance!” Sir Clive was indignant, the Bangkok Chappie raised his hands in placation,

  “Let me explain...” He said coldly, Sir Clive held his tongue, “...obtaining girls for the enjoyment of the western world is easy, fathers are always ready to offload their expensive daughters...” He smiled and lit up a black cigarette, “…however, selling them on again is not so easy. In fact, your prudish, hypocritical governments are making it increasingly difficult for me to trade effectively.”

  “That's your problem!” Sir Clive interrupted, and annoyance showed plain on The Bangkok Chappie's face.

  “Do not interrupt me! Please.” He stared ferociously at Sir Clive who became uncomfortably aware of the two ‘heavies’ sat behind him. He looked nervously towards the bar from where Bright should have been watching, but the shifty chauffeur had his eyes trained firmly on the strippers.

  “As I was saying.” Sir Clive turned back to face the Bangkok Chappie.

  “Yes, I'm sorry, please carry on my good man.” A smile returned to the Asian's face.

  “You will give me two cheques for ￡10,000 each, these are not for me, they are for the families of the girls, for this money they will be silent. For this money they will even forget that they had these daughters. I will see to it. This is your insurance.” Sir Clive had to interrupt,

  “Cheques can be traced.” With a dismissive gesture the Bangkok Chappie silenced him before he could object any further,

  “Yes, of course they can. That is my insurance. My services have been rendered at the usual terms to you, but if I am questioned about these girls at some future time I will not know if they even existed, your cheques will show only that you bought the girls yourself direct from their families.”

  There was a brief silence between the two men, but the Bangkok Chappie had no patience for the pompous English buffoon, he rasped out heatedly,

  “Do you wish to own these lovely girls or not? I have other customers you know.” He leaned to one side, allowing Sir Clive a better view of the girls, he couldn't help but look. They were young, they were tiny, and they were pretty. He thought about their brains and dreamed of his own immortality. The Bangkok Chappie encouraged him further,

  “They will be yours and yours alone, to do with as you wish. Whatever you want will be their delight” Of course the Asian had no idea what Sir Clive’s real intentions were, he presumed they were for his sexual gratification, he stubbed out his cigarette and took a sip of his drink, confident that the transaction would soon be completed.

  Sir Clive was sweating, again he looked across at Bright who was still ogling the strippers. The Bangkok Chappie continued talking,

  “See the one on the left, her name is Mai, she is a virgin. The girl on the right, her name is Rita, she has flawless skin. As I said, I do have other customers you know.”

  Sir Clive reached for his cheque book.

  *

  Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000

  Early the next morning Richard and Tsuba again took up position in the woods to watch over the house. Richard having vowed to himself that he would try to be more useful and less childish.

  They immediately notice the Rolls-Royce parked in front of the house. Richard wondered if it was the car that he’d been transported in. It made him think of the twins and he wondered, bizarrely, if they were okay. He speculated that it might be Sir Clive who arrived in the night, he remembered that the twins had spoken of him once or twice.

  A short while later they saw a youngish man drive the car around the house onto the blind side, they presumed there was a garage, Richard guessed that the man was Kelvin Bright, the chauffeur, whom Cairo had mentioned had the shotgun and the dogs. Tsuba was pleased with the extra information.

  There was very little activity during the rest of the morning, and at some point Richard gazed around the surrounding countryside until he saw that a houseboat had moored on the nearside riverbank. He did a double take and then quick as a flash he grabbed the binoculars from Tsuba and trained them on the boat,

  “It can't be! I don’t believe it, I know that boat!” Tsuba had to grab him and pull him back down into hiding,

  “Sit back down you crazy fool! What have you seen?”

  “That’s Walther's boat. You remember, the guy th
at got us involved in all this! He's here!”

  “How can you be so sure? They make many boats to the same specification.” Tsuba reasoned that it was unlikely to be the same boat, but Richard wasn’t having it,

  “Oh it’s his boat all right, believe me, there won’t be another one like that. Anyway, we have to find out.” Richard was right this time and he knew it, Tsuba knew it too,

  “Yes, my friend… you are right. We do need to know. If your friend Walther is on that boat, then I think we can safely assume his mission is the same as ours.”

  “Great, let's go then!” Richard eagerly packed up their things, then Tsuba led the way in a great loop around the house always making sure they were hidden from sight. It was nearly half an hour later when they arrived at the boat. They hid for a while and watched, then decided that one of them should approach the boat alone.

  “I'll do it, you cover me.” Richard announced in a tone that suggested no compromise.

  “Yes.” Tsuba agreed without comment and with no further pause Richard broke cover and approached the boat from the rear. All was quiet except for the birds and the ripples, carefully Richard stepped on to the little deck at the rear of the boat causing it to rock gently. Inside Susan and Walther noticed instantly and jumped into action in case it was anyone from the house. Susan quickly loaded the gun while Walther called out to the stranger on deck,

  “Who's there!?”

  “I'm looking for Walther!” Came Richard's muffled reply, Susan found the voice disconcertingly familiar but could not quite place it.

  “What do you want?” Walther demanded. There was a tiny pause before Richard replied,

  “I'm a friend of his, I just happened to be passing by when I saw his boat!” Richard knew as soon as he'd said it that he sounded ridiculous, “So what?” he said to himself, then he shouted through the door again,

  “His name is Walther. Is he in there?” Susan felt a cold shiver run down her spine, she moved forward and clutched Walther's sleeve, he turned, she was pale and seemed frightened,

  “What is it?” He asked. She shook her head and frowned,

  “It’s his voice…“ She said quavering, …he sounds just like Richard!” Walther looked doubtful and gently pushed her behind himself, carefully he opened the cabin door making sure to leave the chain on, and peering through the crack he saw a tall, gaunt, unshaven man who looked vaguely like Richard.

  “Walther! It's me! What's wrong don't you recognise me?!” Susan had heard enough, pushing Walther aside she tore open the cabin door, for a second she paused, taking all of him in. He was taller, “not possible” she thought, he was much thinner “steak and chips” his favourite meal she remembered, and he was unshaven and very dirty, “you need a shower!” she promised.

  “Richard!” She had no words appropriate. He looked at her, and his face ran through as many expressions as possible in three seconds. Shock, shame, fear, relief, and finally joy. The sudden rush of emotions overwhelmed him, his legs gave way and he sank to his knees and cried, swaying there on his own on the deck he cried. Susan watched him, powerless to touch him after all she'd been through.

  Walther quietly stepped off the boat and walked away for a few paces to give them some privacy. Tsuba watched impassively from the shelter of the bushes.

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “I very nearly was! I thought you were dead too.”

  “You look like shit.”

  “You look great!” Susan knelt down in front of Richard, they wrapped arms around each other and held tight.

  *

  Breakfast time was at 9.00am whenever Sir Clive was at home. He sat at the head of a large oval table, this time flanked on his right side by the two Asian girls Rita and Mai, on his left were Pip and Emm. Eve never ate breakfast, Franco could not stand to be in the same room as Sir Clive and nobody ever knew where Cairo was at any given time so the table was only half occupied.

  The girls, Rita and Mai, were dressed like whores, all lipstick and cheap jewellery. Pip and Emm had on their ‘breakfast’ dresses, neatly ironed Gingham check. None spoke except Sir Clive, apart from the occasional giggle from Rita whenever Anjelica appeared with another tray of food, the ordeal lasted for about forty minutes before Pip and Emm could excuse themselves. They hurried upstairs to their room and locked the door behind them.

  *

  Cairo sat, tense and uneasy on her bed, legs crossed, the forehead above her dark eyes furrowed by a frown. She always felt that way when Sir Clive was at home but this time it was worse. Recent events had changed everything, her mind was in constant turmoil. She was worried about her mother but she was in even more consternation about her own situation. She constantly thought about Richard, “Where was he?...” She pursed her neat lips, “…Will he come back like he promised?” She imagined leaving the house, running into the woods like Richard had done. She desperately wanted to talk to somebody, Mr Underhill was nice but not someone she could confide her innermost thoughts to.

  Then there was Button, she had always told him everything, but since that night with Richard she had left him neglected under the bed. She needed him again, but not like before, not under the bed with twilight whisperings, she needed him out in the daylight - in the real world!

  Slowly and a little nervously she reached under the bed, he was still there where she had left him, gently she pulled him out. She could not remember the last time she had seen him in daylight. He gave her quite a shock. The old teddy was shapeless and filthy, and worst of all he was lifeless. He was dead to her. With gut-crunching sadness she held him close for several minutes, no idea what to do, finally, with great courage, she crossed her room and placed him on a shelf with many of the other relics of her childhood.

  Sitting on the floor beneath her window, unable to cry, for the first time in her solitary life she felt completely alone.

  *

  Eve had been out riding again, Franco approached her on her way back to the house while nobody was in earshot,

  “Mistress…” He had taken the opportunity to speak candidly to her, “...We should quit this place, we should leave while we still can!”

  “Why?” She demanded simply as they approached the house. Franco stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. It was a liberty he had seldom taken recently, she flared up instantly, raising her arms to push him out of the way, Franco would not be moved, he gripped her arms tightly and forced them down to her sides. She was livid,

  “That's the second time I've been manhandled in the last twelve hours...” She hissed menacingly, “...Get away from me!” She screamed at him and punched him hard in the face. He took the blow and stood like a rock. She hit him again, splitting his lip.

  “Please listen.” His eyes pleaded. His face told her that she could do anything to him but that he absolutely would not move until he'd been heard. She regretted hitting him.

  “Very well Franco, I will listen, but not out here. I'm hot and sweaty, come with me to my room. I want to find out what’s gotten in to you!” She marched ahead of him adding,

  “And I warn you! Don't ever lay hands on me like that again!” She of course had to have the last word.

  Upstairs in her rooms, Franco waited while she showered. She had stripped shamelessly in front of him, “Was it just a tease? Or?-” He wondered. He had turned his back quickly enough anyway, not wishing to be reminded of something he had once had but could never have again.

  Eve strolled into the room wearing a short, Japanese style, dressing gown,

  “Now I feel much better!” Franco stood at the window waiting patiently as always. She spoke to his back,

  “I'm sorry I hit you, come here let me have a look at it.” They moved together at the centre of the room, she tenderly pulled down his lip to inspect the damage,

  “Hmm, you've had worse, many times, I think you'll live! Now tell me why we should leave here so urgently.” Franco looked pained,

  “It will be difficult to explain, Mistr
ess. Most of my reasons are not concrete, just intuition.”

  “I trust your intuition, you know that.” She flopped down on to her bed as she spoke, Franco had remained standing, pacing back and forth.

  “Firstly, Mistress, I know you are unhappy here. You have been for some time. Cairo is also deeply unhappy, although she probably doesn't know the full extent of it, she needs to be with other people her own age. It is not healthy for her here. But there is more to it than that, I'm afraid of what that madman in the cellar...” He paused, pointing downwards for emphasis, “...and his experiments might bring. He could bring ruin to us all...” He waited for a moment, then continued as if he’d at last come to the point, “...And I'm also afraid of Von Vohburg and his friends, somehow I feel certain that they will come here to destroy you...” He stared at the carpet, adding, “...And I'm so afraid that this time I may not be able to stop them, I am...” He clearly hated to say it, “...getting old.” With a nod Eve encouraged him to continue,

  “You must not rely on that whelp, Bright, to help you, he is...” Franco struggled for the words and settled for, “...a no-good son-of-a-bitch!...” Eve stifled a snort as he continued, “...Let us go to the continent, Spain perhaps? There I might be able to find someone to replace me, someone who would be devoted to you.” He trailed off not knowing if she'd been listening or not, feeling ashamed for admitting his fear and weakness. But Eve had been listening carefully, and she saw the sense in his words, she would be sad to lose him but had always known it would happen some day. She replied almost tenderly,

  “Thank you dear Franco, my world will be an emptier place without you, I hope you always remember that...” She flashed a smile that could melt lead, “...And yes I agree with you, we shall leave this place, and, now that the decision is made, the sooner the better. Go find Cairo, tell her we are leaving tomorrow. Tell her to pack a bag, just one mind! Well go on, don’t just stand there grinning, hurry up old man!”