The Book of Eve

by Julia Blake

  As for Scott, he would later tell me he took one look into Annaliese’s eyes and fell completely and instantly in love. That a deep and sincere friendship was formed that day, one which lasted for over twelve years, with never a disagreement or a cross word until the day she died.

  Scott told me the story of his introduction into Annaliese’s life one summer’s evening as we sat outside on the steps, him smoking his guiltily illicit cigarette and me keeping him company in an agony of unrequited love. He was quite open with that particular story, yet no matter how I pushed or questioned, I could never get him to go any further back in his life than the day he met Andrew. It galled me the man I loved trusted no one with his origins. Not even Andrew, his best friend, knew for certain where he’d come from, who his family were. Like Annaliese, he appeared to have sprung, fully formed, into adulthood, his childhood a secret.

  ‘So, what is your real name?’ I’d asked curiously and he’d hesitated, quirking his brow at me in obvious reluctance.

  ‘Nigel,’ he’d eventually said, and my lips had twitched with amusement.

  ‘Nigel?’ At my snort of laughter he’d glared at me sourly, before a reluctant smile crept onto his face. ‘I prefer Scott,’ I’d remarked and he’d shrugged, stubbed out his cigarette on the step.

  ‘So do I,’ he’d said, holding down a hand to heave me to my feet, the tone of his voice indicating the subject was well and truly closed.

  Mimi, as the first of Annaliese’s close little circle of friends, had been accepting and charming to Miles, appreciating his intelligence and gentle humour. Scott she’d also liked, understanding on some basic level his reticence, his reluctance to trust and maybe, in one respect, admiring him his self-control. She’d watched the quiet understated way he conducted his business and his life, found nothing to condemn or criticise in his behaviour.

  But with Andrew it was a completely different story. Right from the beginning, she’d hated, loathed and detested him for his red hair and large muscular body, preferring the sophisticated slim elegance of Frenchmen or men like Scott. He was too loud, too confident, too brash and just too Scottish. His devil may care attitude to his career made her snap at him for being reckless and flippant, not seeing beneath his brash exterior there lay a canny and shrewd mind, a loyal heart and a generous friendly nature.

  Refusing to look any further than the surface, she’d clashed royally with him at each and every occasion, her fiery French spirit making sparks fly every time she took on his volatile Scottish temperament. In vain, Annaliese begged her to cease this endless hostility, as far as Mimi was concerned, Andrew was a bluff arrogant bore, with no finesse or manners, his simple, unassuming personality the complete antithesis of everything Mimi found attractive in a man.

  At first amused by her constant sniping, then perturbed, then annoyed, Andrew railed about the tiny Frenchwoman to Scott, who’d listen in brow raised amusement, wondering when Andrew and Mimi would stop all this nonsense and acknowledge the truth the others had known all along. Completely amazed his usually observant friend could be so blind to the sexual chemistry which churned and bubbled between him and Mimi. That the reason why she gave him such a hard time was because she found him intensely attractive and was angrily fighting against it, refusing to believe she could go so off type, desperately denying her own feelings.

  Things finally came to a head one sunny day in late July.

  In the centre of the park surrounding the Hall was a large and peaceful lake, the habitat of swans and ducks. In the middle of the lake was a small wooded island, perfect for picnics, and it was to this island an even more silent than usual Scott rowed Andrew and Mimi one day. They were meeting the others, and he’d watched out of wryly amused eyes as they studiously ignored each other, furious the others had gone ahead and they were stuck in the same boat.

  They’d landed at the small shingle beach, Andrew holding out a hand to assist Mimi, a hand which she’d all but slapped away, her long brown legs flashing in the midday sun as she’d climbed nimbly out of the boat and splashed through the shallows onto dry land.

  Carrying bags and rugs, they’d made their way to the normal picnic spot, a beautiful clearing in the middle of the island, surprised to find it empty. It was clear someone had been there, from the spread out rugs, baskets of food and the large tin bucket already full of cold lake water in which rested several bottles of champagne.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ demanded Mimi in surprise, surveying the deserted clearing and glaring evilly at Andrew, as if he was somehow responsible for their absence.

  ‘Dunno,’ Scott shrugged. ‘I’ll go and get the rest of the stuff from the boat, why don’t you two go down to the other beach and see if they’re there. Maybe they’ve gone for a swim.’

  And before Mimi could complain at being left alone with Andrew, or demand she accompany Scott instead, he’d slipped away quietly through the trees, leaving the two protagonists staring at each other in mutual distrust.

  ‘Do you think they’re at the other beach?’ demanded Mimi eventually and Andrew shook his head puzzled. The island was only small, if the others were already on it then unless they were keeping unusually silent for some reason, they should be able to hear them.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Mimi began. ‘They must be...’

  Andrew tensed, held up his hand for silence. Furious, Mimi was about to let rip, then heard what had caught his attention, the sound of oars being dipped into water. They’d looked at each puzzled, the same thought simultaneously striking and hurtled back through the trees, skidding to a halt at the lakes edge, staring in disbelief at Scott rowing determinedly and unhesitatingly away from the island.

  ‘Scott!’ bellowed Andrew. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Come back!’ screamed Mimi, angrily, ‘Don’t leave me here with this imbecile!’

  ‘Sorry guys,’ Scott’s voice was calm and toneless. ‘You’re there until you sort out whatever your problem is, because we’re all sick and tired of you two constantly sniping and bickering like a pair of six year olds.’

  Speechless with shock, Andrew and Mimi looked at each other in a shared moment of mutual horror, before letting vent their feelings in Scott’s direction, Andrew’s voice deep with indignation and Mimi’s shrill with incensed rage.

  Studiously ignoring them, Scott reached the other side as Annaliese slipped through the trees and helped him tie up the boat. Waving to her stranded friends and blowing them a kiss, she’d waited as Scott climbed out of the boat, slung an easy arm around her shoulders and the pair of them had set off for the Hall without so much as a backwards glance.

  ‘Swim across and bring me back a boat!’ Mimi demanded; her tone imperious, her dark eyes haughty. Andrew looked at the deep, icy cold water of the lake with distaste and shook his head.

  ‘There’s no way in hell I’m going in there,’ he’d stated mildly, and Mimi had screamed in disbelief before launching into a stream of French which she’d loosed in his direction, accompanied by much gesturing and hand waving. Andrew’s French was strictly of the schoolboy variety, but he’d comprehended enough that his brows shot up at some of the crude, violent and downright anatomically impossible insults Mimi was subjecting him to.

  He’d listened patiently for a while, but, when it seemed she was never going to run out of steam, simply picked her up, ignoring the blows her small fists rained down on him, and walked to the water’s edge. ‘Lady,’ he’d stated flatly. ‘You need to cool down,’ and he’d dumped her into the lake, turned his back on her outraged howls and made his way to the picnic site.

  By the time Mimi heaved herself out, drenched, covered in duck weed and had stomped furiously after him, beside herself with rage, he was sitting in a deck chair sipping champagne, showing evident signs of enjoyment, listening to her crashing and cursing her way through the trees.

  ‘
You bastard!’

  ‘Champagne, my sweet?’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘My, my, little lady, that’s real pretty language coming from such a classy woman.’ A further stream of French was his answer and Andrew raised his brows, lips quirking into a smile.

  ‘What’s so funny, you great dumb ox?’

  ‘I was just thinking how amazingly beautiful and sexy you look right now.’

  Completely wrong footed, Mimi’s jaw had dropped and she’d simply stood quietly, chest heaving with exertion, eyes wide and disbelieving as Andrew slowly rose and walked across to her, running his large thumb across her bottom lip. Their eyes met and clashed. Mimi suddenly found she had problems breathing and Andrew swallowed as heat, devastating for its unexpectedness, roared down his body, leaving him stunned and quaking.

  ‘Don’t...’ she’d said as he bent to her, and he’d shaken his head in disbelief.

  ‘I can’t not...’ he’d murmured, and she’d moaned as his mouth closed hungrily onto hers, his large hands sliding over her damp body, feeling her tremble as she’d kissed him back, hesitantly at first, then with growing need and desperation, hands pulling at clothing, mouths seeking and greedily consuming, limbs shaking with unbearable desire. Urgently, they’d pulled each other down onto the already spread rug and the peaceful clearing had been filled with the sounds of their passionate, long overdue, lovemaking.

  By the time Scott rowed back hours later, they’d admitted to each other and themselves that they were violently, passionately in love; always had been, had both been too stubbornly blind to realise it. They’d spent the afternoon making love, stunned at the blissful ecstasy they’d found in each others arms, and Andrew had quietly decided this was the woman he was going to marry.

  As Scott pulled the boat up the beach he’d looked warily around, wondering if one or both of them were going to attack him. Calling out to warn them of his presence, he’d hesitated, a small satisfied smile playing over his lips at the unmistakable sounds of people getting hastily and hurriedly dressed. He’d pretended not to notice the buttons on Mimi’s dress now done up incorrectly, her kiss swollen lips or the love bite perched jauntily on the side of Andrew’s neck. Helping them carry everything back to the boat he’d merely asked, ‘Alright now?’

  Watched the way they’d looked at each other, realised with disconcerting surprise it wasn’t just a sexual itch they’d needed to get out of their system, his friend was in love. Judging by the way Mimi was clinging to his hand, her body moulding itself fiercely to his side, the way their eyes kept meeting and holding, she loved back every bit as passionately.

  Nobody was surprised a few months later when Andrew and Mimi announced their engagement, marrying the following year and setting up home together in a delightful little Georgian former rectory on the outskirts of town. Their relationship was always going to be of a volatile, passionate nature, yet their friends rejoiced they’d found such happiness in each other, although one of their friends, Miles, nursed the secret heartache it couldn’t have been him whom Mimi had chosen. But his generous soul was happy for her obvious delight with her husband, and he genuinely liked and admired Andrew, so quietly buried his feelings for Mimi deep under layers of friendship and tried to think no more of them.

  The last of the inner circle to join, apart from me of course, was Ferdie. The group clown, his outrageous comments and explosive sense of humour masked a more sensitive and troubled side to his nature, and I wondered how he’d become a member of the coterie, later learning he’d been introduced to the group by Miles.

  Ferdie had long been known about by Miles, he lectured English history at the college where Miles worked. But, other than on a professional basis their paths never crossed and Miles knew little about him, other than the fact the students adored him and the other members of staff were constantly muttering about his outlandish manner and eccentric teaching methods.

  One evening, Miles had been making his way to the staff car park, relieved it was the last day of term and the long summer holiday lay before him, looking forward to the end of term party Annaliese was throwing in his honour that evening. Turning the corner, was surprised to see Ferdie perched on a bench, his usually smiling countenance bleak and sorrowful. Miles paused, keys in hand, he was running late and didn’t really know the man, yet it went against his nature to walk away from someone as clearly troubled as Ferdie was.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ he’d asked. Ferdie looked up, startled, and Miles had noticed with concern his pale and drawn face, the hands which were shaking, constantly twisting and pulling at the strap of his briefcase.

  ‘No, not really,’ Ferdie had replied, flashing Miles a watery smile. ‘I’ve just been dumped,’ he’d suddenly confided. ‘By text, which somehow makes it so much worse, and now I don’t really know what to do.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Miles, uncomfortably. ‘Bad luck, did she give a reason?’

  ‘No, the bastard just said he needed his space and that it wasn’t me...’ Miles had blinked, brain busily assimilating the information he’d been handed, remembering the rumours about Ferdie he’d previously dismissed as vicious gossip.

  ‘I mean, needed more space,’ Ferdie had continued, apparently oblivious to Miles staring, open mouthed, in awkward silence. ‘What exactly does that mean? I’d have given him space, he could have had all the bloody space he needed, shit, he could have gone to the moon for a long weekend if he wanted; and it’s not me? Why say that when it quite plainly is me? So, anyway, there it is, my dilemma in a nutshell, he’s back at my flat packing his stuff and moving out, so I don’t really want to go there and I can’t think of anyone else to inflict my hurt pride on.’

  ‘Come to a party,’ Miles had blurted out, could have chewed off his own tongue for his stupidity. ‘I mean, if you want to,’ he’d stuttered, as Ferdie had stared at him in surprise. ‘Some friends of mine are throwing an end of term party for me; you’re welcome to come, if you like.’

  ‘Alright,’ Ferdie had agreed eagerly and scrambled to his feet. ‘Only, I’ll have to come in your car, the bastard’s borrowing mine to move all his stuff. I’ll get a taxi back later. Thank you, I think a party will be just the thing to take my mind off it all.’ Miles had led the way to his car, with Ferdie leaping about behind him, chattering excitedly like a hyperactive leprechaun. As they got in, he’d suddenly frowned. ‘I’ve just realised, I don’t even know your name?’

  ‘Well, it’s William, but my friends call me Miles.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Erm, it’s a long story, I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Ok,’ agreed Ferdie affably. ‘By the way, I’m Ferdie.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Tell me about these friends of yours,’ demanded Ferdie, so Miles did. It wasn’t until they were driving through the ornate gateway to the Hall and Ferdie squealed in ecstatic pleasure as the Hall and its breathtaking surroundings came into view, that Miles had a sudden thought.

  ‘Ferdie,’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m not... I mean... well, that is... what I’m trying to say...’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘I’m straight,’ Miles had blurted out, and Ferdie had grinned at him.

  ‘Well of course you are, sweetie,’ he’d agreed innocently. ‘I never for a moment thought you were anything else.’

  Ferdie had been an instant hit with the group, wickedly funny and yet genuinely sweet, Annaliese had adopted him as her jester, granting him immediate access to her inner circle of friends, who in turn were amused by his unfailing good nature and flippant attitude to life.

  Yet underneath all the jokes and humour lay a dark and troubled side to Ferdie, a black dog of depression that sometimes perched on his shoulder. During these periods he clung to his friends, needing their understanding and love to pull him out of the
pit, to support him until it had passed and he was once again their dear Ferdie, naughty and bright, the life and soul of the party.

  Ferdie absolutely adored Annaliese, laughed when he told her he’d cheerfully lay down his life for her, but something in his eyes left no one in any doubt it was really how he felt. After Annaliese, Ferdie was closest to Miles, perhaps remembering it was through Miles he’d been allowed access into Annaliese’s world, or perhaps because with Andrew and Mimi being a definite couple, Scott being difficult for Ferdie to understand and Caro quite plainly having no patience with his outrageous ways, Miles was a sympathetic loner in the group, just like him.

  So there we were, our merry little band of nine, including me. Always together, we seemed bound by invisible threads of need and commitment. Although our personalities were diverse, somehow we came together and worked in perfect harmony as a whole, with Essie the child of the whole group. Thrilled to be one of her godparents, along with Annaliese and Scott, I couldn’t help feeling in reality we were all her surrogate parents, that her upbringing was a joint effort.

  Of course, I learnt all this gradually over a period of long years in which nothing much happened, other than the fact I was happy and successful. Had no idea as I sat with Annaliese in the garden, watching the others play a haphazard game of cricket almost exactly eight years after I’d first met them, this was the last weekend we would all be together like this, happy and innocent.