Her father had swung between furious and worried, exploding into a tirade of ‘how could you’s and ‘so selfish . . . your poor mother, your friend finding you like that . . .’ until finally he had sat down next to her, picked up her hand and looked at her, imploring.
‘Did you really want to die?’
‘Of course I did,’ she replied, feeling a pang of guilt at the way her father shuddered when she said this. ‘Why else would I do it?’
Her father hesitated and Evie understood. Mama. Her mother, who had for years been using threats of taking her own life to attempt to control her family. She remembered finding her, as a child, lying dead on the sofa – her father’s anger at her mama which had confused and frightened her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. She had done what she’d done because she could see no way of carrying on day after day with the terrible secret of what had happened hanging over her. A man’s life, taken, and the responsibility hers. But her father had no way of knowing that, of course.
‘What happened on Saturday night,’ her father leaned in close, his eyes flicking to the door to make sure it was closed properly. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You aren’t responsible for what happened, it was an overcrowded party in the Addlingtons’ monstrosity of a fire-trap. And when I said it was better no one knew you were there I wasn’t implying that . . .’
‘It’s okay, Papa,’ Evie said, gently covering his hand with her other. ‘I know you weren’t saying the fire was my fault.’ She searched his face for a clue that he might know the truth about the fire. ‘I think it was just seeing James and Camille together, knowing that they are going to be married, after the baby and . . .’
Dominic sighed. ‘Oh Evie. I wish you would forget about all this. Your friend Rebecca is getting you some clothes to wear and as soon as you’ve had your evaluation you are coming back home with me.’
‘No!’
Evie couldn’t think of anything worse. What if she were to run into James? What if Harriet wanted to talk to her about Saturday night? About what had happened? What if Camille heard she was back and thought she was making an attempt to see James? No, she would stay here.
‘No, I have things to do here. Classes to go to. I’ll be fine, honestly.’
‘And who is going to look after you here? Make sure you don’t pull this kind of stunt again?’
‘I will,’ a voice came from the doorway and Dominic turned to see who it had come from. Rebecca stood in the doorway, a duffle bag and an overnight bag in her hands. She lifted both. ‘I got your things. I’ll look after her, Mr Rousseau, I promise.’
68
Rebecca
Richard had been sitting outside the hospital room when I arrived, laden down with everything I could think Evie might need. The doctors had said she would be staying at least forty-eight hours while they arranged a psychiatric evaluation and for Evie that meant at least four outfits, with accessories.
He stood when he saw me. ‘Her father’s in there,’ he said, gesturing at the window where I could see Dominic Rousseau sitting next to his daughter’s bedside holding her hand. ‘She woke up about twenty-five minutes ago.’
‘You okay?’ I moved forward to take his hand and inexplicably Richard flinched.
‘I’m fine, thanks. Just a bit of a shock, you know?’
He hadn’t taken his eyes off the window – off Evie. That’s when it dawned on me, the flinch, the weirdness in his voice . . . it had all happened exactly the same to me the first time I’d met her, and I hadn’t saved her life. Richard was in love with Evie. Of course it wasn’t love yet – right at that moment in time it was a weird kind of instant infatuation, the inability to tear your eyes from her, the urge to put out a hand and touch her light brown skin, to make those lips twitch upwards in a smile that you knew would be the most beautiful thing you would see that day. I didn’t believe in instalove, but I believed in the knowledge that one day he would love her. It started like this, like a tickle in your throat that you knew without a doubt would be a full bout of flu in a week’s time. And I could either try and hold onto him, fight my best friend for a man I’d known two weeks and inevitably lose or give in gracefully. Of course, if Evie knew that Richard was the boyfriend I’d been so keen to introduce her to she’d never go near him in a million years anyway, but the relationship would be fractured in a way that could only be repaired by cutting one of them loose. Evie or Richard. It was a choice that I had to make now, before this could go any further.
‘Richard,’ I said, my heart splintering a little as I watched him tear his eyes from my best friend. ‘This thing, between us? I don’t think it’s going to work.’
69
Evie
Although she’d been waiting for it for months, she hadn’t looked for it – somehow she just knew the news would find her.
The three of them, Evie, Richard and Rebecca, had been out all day in what had felt like the first ray of sunlight all year, breaking free of the fug of indoors like daffodils breaking free of the ground. Evie had been awake at the crack of dawn – sleep didn’t come as easily for her these days – and, vowing for today not to let the black thoughts pin her to her duvet, she got up, leaving images of a house engulfed in flames and the sound of screams in the bed behind her. She glanced at the empty bottle of wine on her kitchen countertop but didn’t open the cupboard to look for a full one. Today would be a good day. Downstairs in the street the smell of warm bread and bubbling jam drew her into the deli like she was a child following the Pied Piper.
‘Salut, Claude!’ Evie greeted the old man behind the counter in his native tongue and he rewarded her with a grunt and a lift of his hand. Claude had been running the deli for as long as Evie had lived in London, but she suspected it was actually since time began, he was that old and crabby. He had never smiled at her and it had taken him a year of her regular appearances to lift his hand when she entered, and yet she was exceedingly fond of the old man and she could tell he was of her. For a start she had never seen him converse with anyone except her – he would give her snippets of conversation every now and then, but only ever in French, and she thought that once she’d seen a flash of a smile when she entered, although it was gone in an instant. He had a daughter her age who had stayed in France and she wondered if she reminded him of her.
‘I got new cheese,’ Claude spoke in French as he wrapped up a block of creamy white cheese speckled with red. ‘Strawberries and champagne. Stupid if you ask me but Verity says it’s popular in La Dordogne so I give it to you. What else you want?’
Evie smiled. ‘Careful, Claude, that was almost a nice gesture. I’ll have some of that bread you gave me last time and the brie, some grapes and do you have the pâté with the wild mushroom? I’m taking my friends on a picnic.’
‘It will probably rain,’ Claude grunted and Evie laughed.
‘It might even snow, Claude, but what is the point in worrying about what might happen?’
Neither Richard or Rebecca had been particularly happy about being dragged from their (separate) beds so early in the morning to go on a road trip but neither had put up much of a fight. Evie had hoped that they would have got together by now. Of course she knew Richard had his sights on her but she’d made it clear that a relationship between them wasn’t going to happen. Why couldn’t he see that he and Rebecca had more in common anyway? Evie had seen the way Rebecca looked at him when she thought no one was looking, and things with the new boyfriend she’d texted Evie about seemed to have fizzled out, possibly because of the appearance of Richard himself. But if they were going to get together it would happen eventually, Evie just had to let them take baby steps and step aside when it was time for it to happen. The thought of her two best friends moving forwards without her made her a bit sad but Rebecca deserved some happiness – and she did not.
Stonehenge was three and a half hours away by train and when Evie got back to her apartment that evening, exhausted but exhilarated, it was nearly ten pm and the e
nvelope was the first thing she saw. She’d been expecting it, waiting for it even, but seeing it still sent a punch to her stomach. She lifted the magazine article out and smoothed it down on the coffee table. James looked as breathtaking as ever, just as she had imagined him at their wedding. His bride looked beautiful, and triumphant.
Evie screwed up the article and tossed it into the bin, picked up the phone.
‘Richard, it’s me. I was wondering if you’d come over, please? No, Rebecca’s not here. It would just be you and me.’
Evie put down the phone and sighed. She just needed some company for tonight. Was there really anything so wrong with that? She wouldn’t let it go too far, she didn’t want anyone getting hurt.
Four months before the wedding
70
Evie
‘Stop being a grade A bitch and answer the question.’
‘Yes. You know it’s yes. But honestly, Eves . . .’
‘Eeeeee!’ Evie squealed. ‘Honestly Harriet, we’re so happy and I want you to be happy for us too.’
‘What, all three of you?’
‘Don’t be mean.’
‘Well seriously, I’m surprised you ever got any time to yourselves to get engaged. Was she there when he popped the question? Will she be there when you conceive your first child?’
‘Ten seconds.’
‘What?’
‘Ten seconds you managed to stop being a bitch,’ Evie grinned. ‘Becky is a good friend. My best friend.’
‘Oh sod off. I’m your best friend and you know it. She’s got this weird thing about knowing you the bestest in the whole wide world. I’ve only met her twice in God knows how many years and both times she looked like she was sucking a lemon whenever I mentioned anything from our past. Like she thinks you came into being when you met her.’
‘I called to ask if you’d be a bridesmaid – not to slag off my maid of honour.’
‘Oh God, she’ll be frigging unbearable. Fine. I’ll toe the line and be nice to single white female. Four months? You’re lucky I’m not already booked, who arranges a wedding in four months? DM me the details and I’ll have my assistant respond accordingly.’
Evie laughed. ‘You are unbearable. I don’t know how Penny puts up with you. Speak soon. Love you.’
When the phone rang again Evie grabbed it off the cradle. ‘Morning, Penny.’
‘Who’s Penny? Are you cheating on me?’
‘Anna! Sorry, I thought you were my friend’s assistant. How are you?’
‘Perfect, sweetheart. Even better when you agree to come on board with the biggest project OnBrand has ever had.’
‘No, Anna, listen,’ Evie took the phone through to the kitchen and lowered her voice. ‘I told you I don’t plan on taking any more jobs. It was fun, honestly it was, and I’m grateful for the experience,’ and the break from the tedium, she thought, ‘but it’s not really something I want to do.’
‘But you’re so good at it, darling woman!’ Anna’s voice went to her London luvvie that only ever came out when she was trying to get someone to do what she wanted. ‘And this client, he asked for you specifically.’
‘Me?’ Annoyingly she felt the exact prickling of pride that Anna had intended. Damn, the woman was good.
Which Evie had known from the day she met Anna at the gallery. She had taken the position when her university degree was over, intended at first as a stopgap while she built her own portfolio, but apparently her camera had other ideas. Evie had scarcely taken a decent set since the fire, barely scraping through her degree with her backlist and some not-totally-shit project pieces, but she and her tutor both knew that the passion she’d had when she started the course had waned and eventually fizzled out completely.
Anna had seen something in her, though. Evie had come back from grabbing a lunchtime bagel to find a ridiculously tall woman, all bottle-red hair and patterned shrugs over skintight leather leggings, poring over one of her old portfolios she’d left behind the counter.
‘Oh, those pictures aren’t for sale, sorry,’ Evie had said, slightly annoyed that the woman had let herself behind the counter, and also that Gareth had done another disappearing act.
‘I don’t want the photographs,’ the woman had smiled and Evie had instantly forgiven her transgression. ‘I want the person who took them.’
It transpired that Anna was from a marketing agency that worked with clients to produce and reinforce brand awareness, and after stumbling across Evie’s portfolio she had immediately asked her to do some work for OnBrand. Evie had refused initially – that was not what her photography was about, she had no intention of using her talents to benefit multi-national corporations. But Anna had been persuasive. It was a small, family-owned business she would be working with – who paid their taxes in full, she added – and Evie’s work would be helping them build something to pass on to their children, and their children’s children. Evie had agreed, secretly excited about the chance to develop a new set of skills, and had risen to the challenge admirably – if she did say so herself. Now though, Anna was back, as Evie should have anticipated.
‘He saw your name on the campaign website and was very impressed. He’s offered to double your asking fee and wants to come and meet you face to face – it’s a huge client from an IT consultancy based in Wareham.’
An IT consultant from Wareham. A coincidence, surely? And yet Evie found herself saying yes, she would meet with the director of the company, at four pm on Tuesday, leaving Anna thinking she’d worked her persuasive magic once again.
She hadn’t told anyone about the work she’d done for OnBrand so it had been a stupid mistake to allow them to put her byline on the campaign. For some reason, she didn’t want to admit to her friends, colleagues at the gallery, or even Richard or Rebecca, that she had ‘sold out’ – even though she knew Richard would be proud of the work she’d done. After everything she’d demanded her work had stood for in the past, after the difference she was supposed to be making in the world. She didn’t allow herself to wonder what James thought of headstrong Evelyn Rousseau, whose photography was going to change the world, working the desk hanging other people’s pictures on the walls. For a start, it was unlikely to be him – she was still going by her mother’s maiden name these days and James Addlington had never met Evie White. In fact, it was more likely to be her father asking for her by name, although why he’d do such a thing when he barely bothered to call her on the number he had for her was beyond her.
So, as she prepared to leave the gallery on Tuesday in a new black shift dress and heels, she told herself that she wasn’t deceiving Richard because of the possibility that it was him she might be meeting, that this job was no different to the last. She was meeting a potential client, nothing more. So why, as she approached the OnBrand offices, did her mouth dry up and her palms begin to tingle?
‘He’s in there already,’ Anna hissed, as Evie approached her desk, and she noticed that her boss had applied a full face of make-up more colourful than usual.
‘Come on, Anna, enough of the air of mystery. Give me a name.’
She had asked more than once for the name of this mystery director, or even the company, but Anna had said that he wished everything to remain a closed secret until the deal was done – adding further fuel to the fire of Evie’s suspicions. Now, Anna screwed up her nose in contemplation.
‘I suppose it can’t hurt now – it’s Addlington Consultancy. Don’t keep him waiting.’
Evie had known, since the first phone call, that James had finally made contact. She’d been preparing for this meeting with the knowledge that she was about to face the man who made her abort her child, the man who took her virginity, the first man she ever loved, and the man whose father she killed. Still, when she pushed open the door to the conference room, she realised how underprepared she had been to see the face she’d imagined so many times.
71
Evie
‘James Addlington,’ Evie cleared her throat
and crossed the room to greet him. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
He gave her that deep, appraising look he had had since he was nine. So confident, and yet she was the one who had been able to tease out his insecurities, the fears he had that he would never live up to his father, the thoughts that maybe he didn’t even want to. Obviously his wife had convinced him that he should, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. He was every bit as alluring as he had been the night she last saw him across the room with his fiancée the night his father died. The thought made her stomach contract.
‘Evelyn Rousseau,’ he said, drawing her name out as though it tasted good on his lips. ‘It’s been so long.’
He leaned forwards and she offered him her cheek. James moved his lips to hers and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers a second too long to be professional. Oh God, even after all these years she longed to let herself fall into him, feel his body against hers. It had been nine years; it felt like two hours.
She pulled away first, her cheeks burning.
‘How’s business?’ she asked, willing her face to return to its normal colour.
‘Booming. Although we could always use some help from someone of your considerable skill. I saw the campaign you did for Travis Bolton – it was amazing. Imagine my shock when I saw your name on the byline.’
The barb may or may not have been intended but Evie felt it anyway, her temper flaring, a temper she had barely felt since she was seven years old and being told she couldn’t join a party because her mother worked in the kitchens.
‘And your marriage?’ Evie shot at him. ‘Could that use some help also?’
The Night She Died Page 19