by Liz Harris
‘I can see what you mean. OK, I won’t ring him until you give me the all clear. I’d hate to hurt him. I do like him very much. Now, Gabriela, to change the subject. Jess and I want to know your secret.’ Gabriela seemed to stiffen slightly. How strange, Evie thought. She shrugged inwardly and carried on, ‘How do you manage to look as immaculate at the end of the day as you do at the start of the day?’
Gabriela gave a tinkling little laugh, slipped off her gold jacket, sat back in the armchair and crossed one cream-trousered leg over the other.
How easy it all had been, Gabriela thought with an inward sneer as she walked away from the Camden Town house. It was like taking candy from a baby, as the Americans would say.
A few well chosen words, and there was no longer any risk of Evie contacting Eduardo when Tom threw her out of his life. As he would. Very soon.
There would never again be any risk of an alliance between Evie and Eduardo, and the Evie and Tom abomination would not survive beyond the start of the following week. And it had all been so easy.
With a spring of euphoria in her step, she raised her arm and hailed a taxi.
Chapter Twenty-two
… and the sky darkens.
For the second time in five minutes, Evie stared at the clock on the corner of the large mahogany desk. It now said a quarter past two.
As soon as she’d arrived at Tom’s house that morning, she’d turned the clock to face her and she’d glanced at it at regular intervals ever since. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on her work at all, she’d been in such a state of anxiety. And her anxiety had got worse with every silent passing minute.
She was absolutely certain that her editor was going to call. He would give her a verbal lashing, followed by an ultimatum that reversed everything he’d said the evening before, and it was all going to go pear-shaped.
How different everything had looked that morning when she’d got up, compared with the way it had looked the night before.
The night before, she’d been on a super high.
On cloud nine that the editor had caved in so quickly, she’d been able to relax for the first time in ages, and when Gabriela had finally left and Rachel had got back home, the three of them had had a real fun evening. They’d binned the contents of the fridge, sent out for pizzas, drunk a couple of glasses of red wine, and then a couple more, and when she’d finally gone to bed, she’d slept amazingly well, considering the day she was about to face.
But that was last night.
Things looked very different in the cold light of the new day, and by the time that she’d got to Tom’s house that morning, every ounce of confidence had vanished and she’d convinced herself that the editor would come back fighting.
He’d have had time to think things through and he’d have found some way of backtracking on what he’d said about waiting for Friday. She could see herself being forced into a spot where the only way out was to quit the job there and then, and if that happened, she might as well accept that she and Tom were history. Even if she returned that evening to see Tom, he was hardly likely to give a positive reception to a confession made at the end of his overlong work day.
Her mobile phone rang and she gasped aloud.
She pulled it to her and glanced at the contact name – it was Gabriela. For fuck’s sake, what did she want now? She seemed to have either seen Gabriela or spoken to her every other minute since the woman had arrived in England. She was beginning to feel as if she had a sodding stalker in her life.
‘Hi, Gabriela,’ she said into the phone. ‘This must be quick as I’m snowed under with things to do.’ She glanced at her almost empty desk and felt a twinge of guilt. She owed a lot to Gabriela, and it wasn’t really her fault that she was so damn needy. ‘Well, I suppose I could take five as I haven’t yet had a break. So, how are things with you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she heard Gabriela say. ‘More important, how are you? I was wondering if everything was all right with you, or if maybe you had heard from your editor today.’
‘Great minds think alike. I’ve been panicking all day that the shithead would ring at any minute. I’ve been dreading him regretting what he said yesterday and coming out with all guns blazing this morning, but so far not a dicky bird from him. I guess I’m not going to hear from him after all. It’s pretty late in the day for him to ring now. I can probably let myself relax again.’
She heard Gabriela give an audible sigh of relief.
‘That is very good to hear. And now, Evie, now that I am reassured about you, I must go. I have someone I must see. I just wanted to check that my friend was feeling cheerful today. I shall speak to you very soon. Yes?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Evie heard the line go dead. She flipped shut her phone and sat back heavily against her cushion.
Gabriela was a good friend – she’d certainly proved that – and she’d sounded genuinely anxious about her just now and really relieved that their plan was still on track. If her relationship with Tom survived the huge hurdle it was facing, it would be thanks to Gabriela. She knew that, and she’d always be grateful to her, but she could really do with having a break from hearing her at the other end of the phone or from seeing her in person. At least for a while.
All she wanted now was a bit of time in which to settle down to normal life again, and to have some space in which to move on with Tom. If only Gabriela could be sent on a course to a place that was miles away and didn’t have phone coverage, or if only Alessandro would collect her from England and whisk her off to a desert island.
Every cloud may well have a silver lining, but she was fast learning that behind the silver lining, there could be one enormous black cloud.
Tom walked into his house Thursday evening, disabled the alarm, dumped his black leather hold-all at the foot of the stairs and threw his suit jacket over the banister. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, he went into the drawing room, and stopped abruptly in the middle of the room.
Silence hung heavily in the air. He could almost hear it, almost touch it. He looked around him for a minute or two, then he started to walk slowly towards the kitchen. Silence walked with him at his side; it was there with every step that he took.
His brow furrowed; he’d never been aware of such a sensation before. At some point – he didn’t know when – the peace and solitude that he’d always valued so highly seemed to have changed into a sterile emptiness. An oppressive sterile emptiness. And he couldn’t really put his finger on the reason why this should have happened.
Shaking his head, he went down the three steps that led into the kitchen.
It must be the Italian effect, he decided as he went over to his granite worktop. That week in Italy, in the land of art and music, must have brought out a fanciful streak in him that he’d never known he had. It would gradually fade, of that he was confident, and he’d go back to being the way he used to be, but for the moment it was all very unsettling.
He switched on the kettle. He’d have a cup of tea – the English answer to everything, even if there wasn’t anything that needed an answer – and then he’d go up to his study and read through the draft of his opening statement to the court.
He made his tea, put a couple of ginger nuts on his saucer with a wry smile, and then, carrying the cup in one hand and his leather hold-all in the other, he went upstairs and sat down behind his desk.
Leaning against the back of his chair, he picked up one of the ginger nuts and dunked it in his tea. His gaze slid along the desk to the place where Evie worked and to her chair on the opposite side. He noticed that the cushion was crumpled up and he quickly finished the biscuit, stood up and went around the desk to her chair. He gave the cushion a good shake and propped it against the back of the chair, ready for the following day. Ready for the last day she would be working for him.
He slowly returned to his seat, sat down again and picked up his cup. His eyes on Evie’s chair, he sipped his tea. His tea finished, he mentally shook himself. He
must get on; he had work to do. He pulled the hold-all towards him, took out a bundle of papers, put them on to the desk in front of him and began to skim through the top sheet. Minutes later, he realised that his eyes had returned to Evie’s section of the desk, and to the piece of paper on which she’d been doodling that day. She’d left it at the back of the desk, weighted down with the heavy stapler. He’d almost missed it.
Pushing his papers aside, he reached across the desk to the sheet and pulled it to him. The usual squiggles covered the page, and yes, it was there – the heart she always left him. She’d drawn it very clearly in the space at the bottom right-hand corner. She’d remembered what he’d said about liking the notes she left him, especially the little heart that she drew at the end of each message. There was no message this time, but there was a heart.
He smiled to himself, sat back in his chair and looked around him, the sheet of paper still in his hand.
The following day, he wouldn’t be coming home to an empty silence, to a discarded doodling sheet with a small heart on it; the following day he would be coming home to Evie. He was amazed at how much he was looking forward to that, he who had always dreaded the thought of someone invading his space. He would never have believed that he could ever have welcomed such an invasion, but there was no doubt that he was very much looking forward to her being there when he got home the next evening.
It just showed that nothing was written on tablets of stone, he mused, and that even someone like him, who’d been confident that everything in his life was filed in the correct slot and was going to stay that way, could mellow somewhat in the face of a person who was a really pleasant companion. How long his life was going to be out of kilter like this, he didn’t know, but he’d do well to make the most of it while it lasted.
Reluctantly, he put Evie’s piece of paper back on the desk, picked up the draft of his statement for the court and glanced at it. He gave a deep sigh – it obviously still needed work. He couldn’t leave it all for the weekend, not if he wanted some time with Evie, so he must get his head together fast and read it properly. Which wasn’t going to be easy. His concentration was all shot to pieces because, if he was really and truly honest with himself, he wasn’t just looking forward to the following day – he bloody well couldn’t wait for it to come.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The best laid plans …
The clock on Tom’s desk said twelve thirty.
She’d woken up at four that morning and had tossed and turned for the rest of the night, wondering how the day would end.
She’d already decided that she was going to ignore all of the editor’s phone calls until she’d reached the point that she couldn’t ignore him any longer; anything to reduce the risk of Tom hearing about it before she could tell him. But it was a delicate balance – leaving it as late in the day as she dared, but not leaving it too late to reach him – and she was nervous about getting it wrong. Whatever happened, she had to quit before she saw Tom. That was a must.
On the way to Tom’s house, she’d rehearsed her speech for the editor. One part of her was dreading the conversation; the other part was longing to get on with it, longing for the moment when she’d be free of Pure Dirt forever. By the time that she’d reached Tom’s house at nine o’clock, she’d completely lost count of the number of times she’d gone through her words.
As she’d expected, he had already left for his Chambers. She’d switched off the house alarm and hung the clothes that she’d brought to wear that evening in the cupboard beneath the stairs; then she’d made herself a cup of strong coffee and taken it upstairs, just as she’d done every morning. Sitting down at her desk, she’d taken out her mobile phone, put it next to her, and then switched on the computer to see what Tom had left for her to do that day.
Time had passed slowly, and she’d felt every minute go by. Although it was her last day working for Tom, he hadn’t left her much work, and she’d resorted to looking for things to do to make the time pass more quickly. Finally, she’d given up the search, switched off the computer and sat there doodling, impatient to get the conversation over with, but still determined that it was going to take place later rather than earlier.
In her mental planning, she’d assumed that they’d expect her to email the story early in the morning – perhaps at about eight o’clock – and that they might start to think about phoning her when they hadn’t received it by mid-morning. She wouldn’t answer the first calls, though. When it got to the afternoon, she’d use her judgement about when to respond.
By the time that the hands on the clock had said ten thirty and there’d been no word from the editor, her growing amazement at not hearing from him, or from anyone else at Pure Dirt, began to be tinged with fear, although she didn’t quite know what there was to be afraid of.
The editor must be frantically busy, she’d told herself. He would have been at his desk since God knows when, and there was bound to be chaos everywhere, given that it was so close to Monday’s publication day. His feet probably hadn’t touched the ground since he’d got to the office that morning. And a further possible reason was that he might be trying to give her as long as he could – she held all the power, after all, as Gabriela had said. It was just a matter of being patient.
She’d watched the hands of the clock crawl slowly around the face until they reached twelve thirty.
Every instinct told her that something was wrong, and she’d waited long enough – she was going to ring him.
She picked up her mobile and clicked on the editor’s number.
‘What?’ she heard him bark down the line.
She cleared her throat. ‘It’s Evie Shaw.’
‘What d’you want, Evie? D’you wanna add something? It was fucking good stuff as it was, but now that the boys have gone to town on it – it’s dynamite. So what d’you wanna add? Better still, send it in. It can go in the follow-up. That’s best. I’m up to my fucking eyes in it; we all are.’
‘What are you talking about? What’s good stuff?’
‘You fucking losing it or what? Your story, of course. The one your mate dropped off at reception a couple of days ago. The gen on Hadleigh. What else would I fucking mean? Glad you didn’t wait till today – the raw material hit the spot, but it needed work to get it up to the standard our readers expect. The boys would have been pushed to do it in a day. But well done, anyway. Not bad for a first story. It’ll certainly run for a couple of editions, and if what else you’ve got ticks the right boxes, it might even stretch to a third. That fucking Hadleigh’s gonna find himself up to his neck in shit. Now, if there’s nothing else …’
She heard someone in the background shout out to him.
‘Gotta go. Use email – it’s what it’s fucking for.’
The phone went dead at the other end of the line.
The clock ticked loudly in the silence of the room.
She’d stood up, she realised. At some point in the short conversation, she must have got to her feet, but she didn’t remember doing so. Numb, she flipped her mobile shut. Her arm fell limply to her side and the phone slipped from her fingers and landed on the parquet floor with a dull thud. She stared down at the place where it lay.
They had a story, a story about Tom, a story that she hadn’t given them – a story that someone else must have given them. But how? And who? She needed to think clearly about what the editor had said, about what it could possibly mean, but she couldn’t. Her mind was frozen in fear as an ice-cold shroud wound tighter and tighter around her.
Only her instinct was working, and her instinct was telling her to get as far away as she could from Tom and his house, and as quickly as possible. There would be time for thinking later, much later. But not yet.
Her heart thumping fast, she pulled a piece of paper to her, wrote a hurried few lines, put the paper in front of Tom’s place at the desk, then she picked up her bag and her phone, spun round and ran to the door.
Full of anticipation for
the evening ahead, Tom left his Chambers as early as he could. He had to make a short detour on the way home to collect the present he’d had made for Evie, but fortunately, given his state of impatience, it didn’t take long and he was soon back on the road.
His excitement growing with every passing minute, he drew up at the kerb in front of his house, switched off the engine, got out and crossed the pavement to his front door in long strides, pressing the car’s central locking device as he went. He couldn’t wait to see Evie’s face when he gave her the present. He couldn’t wait to see Evie, period.
He turned the key in the lock and went into the entrance hall.
‘Evie!’ he called as he kicked the door shut behind him. ‘I’m back.’
He slung his jacket over the banister, felt in his inner pocket to make sure that the small package was safely there, and then went into the drawing room, loosening his tie as he walked. It wasn’t just seeing her and giving her the present that he was excited about, he couldn’t wait to see the expression on her face when he told her the plans that he’d made for that evening.
He knew the name of the show that she was really keen on seeing, and he’d called a friend in the theatre world and managed to get good tickets, which would be waiting at the door when they got to the theatre. After that, he was going to take her to The Ivy for dinner. With luck, they’d spot some celebrities – she’d like that, he thought. The evening would be a good way of celebrating the month that she’d worked for him and a pointer towards the fun that they were going to have together in the future.
The gift he’d bought her was for later, when they returned to his house at the end of the evening.
He’d called her a couple of times on his way home, not to tell her what they were doing that evening, but just to hear her voice. Frustratingly, however, her mobile had been switched off each time, and when he’d tried the land line, he’d got the answerphone. But he was home now and could speak to her in person, which was better all round. He went back out into the hall.