Cover Your Eyes

by Adele Geras

  ‘A question? Sure. Go ahead.’ He took a sip from the brandy he’d poured himself.

  ‘Have you … that is, do you … I mean, is there someone else? Another woman?’

  ‘Another woman? No, of course not. Why’d you say such a thing?’ He frowned and his face darkened. Eva hated that angry look of his so much that she now made a habit of trying to please him. But she had to know. Not knowing was slowly wrecking her peace of mind. She took a deep breath.

  ‘You’re away a lot. More than ever. You’re absent-minded when you are here. Not with Rowena, but with me. I feel as if I’m not there sometimes … I mean, for you. Not there as far as you’re concerned. Also, there are the telephone calls. Someone keeps hanging up on me. So … I wondered. It’s the obvious thing to think.’

  Antoine said nothing for a moment or two but sat and stared at his hands. Eva felt as though her whole being was suspended, as if she weren’t breathing. She wanted to scream: Speak! Say something. Anything. Say anything.

  ‘It’s not a woman,’ he said at last. ‘It’s a man. I prefer men. There. Do you know how many years I’ve been wanting to tell you that? Since the beginning. Since I first met you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you, then?’ Eva felt as though someone had scooped her body quite empty and left it echoing and hollow. Her head began to swim and she closed her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? There were so many chances to do that …’

  ‘I thought you knew when we met. Didn’t you? Be honest? I’m sure you did, at some level. ‘

  Eva said nothing for a moment. Was it true? She’d stopped wondering why sex with Antoine was somehow unsatisfactory. She’d tried not to think about it too much. It had crossed her mind to wonder whether Antoine was homosexual, but there was nothing camp about him and she hadn’t heard any gossip. Was that because she’d deliberately ignored things for all this time? She asked, in as steady a voice as she could muster:

  ‘But us … we’ve … the two of us … are you … I mean, don’t you like women as well?’ It was a feeble question but she needed to know.

  ‘I wouldn’t say I’m bisexual. Of course I enjoy our times together, Eva. You know I do, but that’s because it’s you. And I love you … in every other way, I love you. You know that, don’t you? You’re my best friend in the whole world. I mean it, Eva. Say you’re not angry. Say you forgive me. Please say it.’

  ‘Of course I forgive you,’ Eva said, wondering whether she did or not. She had to. If she didn’t, then he’d leave. He’d go and live with his lover, and that was something Eva knew she couldn’t bear. She added, ‘There’s nothing to forgive. You can’t help what you feel. It makes no difference to how I feel about you.’

  She was lying, and realized it even as the words came out of her mouth. Despair washed over her and she had to make an effort not to cry. She felt as though someone had knocked her hard in the stomach. It crossed her mind to wonder whether Antoine had deliberately chosen her as a kind of alibi. When they’d first started living together, homosexual acts were punishable by law. If the world knew he lived with a woman, that made him safe, almost impregnable. How could he be homosexual if Eva Conway loved him? If they shared a house? They were photographed at parties, film premières, rock concerts, and fashion shows. I was, I am, a good cover for him, Eva thought and then felt guilty for it.

  There were a million questions she wanted to ask and couldn’t. Is there someone you’re in love with? Do I know him? She would have said she knew which of the men of their acquaintance were homosexual but evidently she didn’t. Or maybe this man wasn’t someone she knew, but a man Antoine had met on his own.

  Eva stood up and went over to the window. She pulled back the curtains a little and looked out at the dark garden. A terrifying question formed itself in her head and she had to ask it, before he said another word.

  ‘Can you promise you won’t leave me, Antoine? Will you stay with me? With Rowena?’

  That, she knew, was a deciding factor. Antoine adored his daughter. He was the one who had moved his studio to the house so that he could be with her more often.

  ‘Of course I want to stay, Eva, but you can see the problem. Now that you know …’

  How could she actually say the words she knew he wanted to hear? Yes, fine, have all the lovers you want as long as you keep up the pretence of being my husband? As long as you stay here with me? She knew she should probably kick him out, but then they’d have to divorce and he’d never leave her Salix House. He’d created it as much as she had. He loved it as much as she did. They’d have to sell it. And, worse than anything, the most damning thing of all was the realization that she still loved him. No, she wasn’t going to kick him out. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Stay. Please stay … I … we … I don’t want to live apart from you.’

  *

  Now she thought: perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I ought to have asked him to leave. Would he have let her buy him out of his share of Salix House? But I loved him and he did love me, even if his love was worse than useless because he didn’t mean the same thing by it as I did. Eva often wondered whether she could have borne infidelity better if it had been other women. As it was, she’d had to get used to the men. And until that last dreadful night which still returned to her in dreams, she’d managed to do that.

  Eva picked up the scissors and began to cut around the lines she’d drawn on the stiffened gauze. I should never, she thought, have given up my work. I shouldn’t have let him destroy my career. There had been, she saw now, no need for it. She should have divorced him at once, even at the cost of losing Salix House. Always, always it came back to those two things: she loved Antoine and she loved Salix House.

  1972

  ‘Phyllis? Where are you, Phyllis?’ Eva called out as she took off her coat and flung it on to a chair in the hall. ‘Antoine?’

  She went to the kitchen. Antoine was there, overseeing Rowena’s supper. The child was sitting at her high chair, eating some unspeakable mush with every appearance of relish. ‘Hello, Rowena darling, Mummy’s home!’ She went to kiss her daughter who waved a spoon dangerously close to Eva’s blouse. ‘Careful, sweetheart!’ she said as she kissed the top of Rowena’s head.

  ‘You’re late today,’ Antoine said. He was in a bad mood. Eva knew this at once – she would have known it even if he hadn’t spoken. She knew by the way he looked at her, the way he stood, the way he breathed, almost, what kind of a state he was in. Today had clearly not gone well and Eva took a deep breath. Did she have the energy to cope with this? Would he be okay to put Rowena to bed?

  ‘I’ve had a nightmare of a day,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘On the phone all day long to Italy about that silk … remember I told you about the silk? And I’m still not sure if it’s going to arrive on time. I despair. I’m making some tea. Would you like a cup?’

  Antoine pretended to be absorbed in Rowena’s doings and looked up only after he’d wiped her face carefully. ‘No, no tea for me. I’m going to run Rowena’s bath. Unless of course you’d like to?’

  ‘God, no, not after the day I’ve had. I’m finished. I’ll come up and kiss her goodnight.’

  ‘Right,’ said Antoine, lifting Rowena out of the high chair. A whole universe of resentment was contained in the way he said that single word.

  ‘Where’s Phyllis? Why are you doing this now? I thought you had work to do in your darkroom.’

  ‘I did. I haven’t done it. Phyllis is in her room. Migraine. So I had to step in.’

  ‘Angel! How lucky that you were here.’

  ‘I’m always here. Nearly always.’

  Eva could see the words unlike some people I could mention hovering above her husband’s head as clearly as if they’d been outlined in neon. He left the room holding Rowena’s hand.

  When Eva went up to kiss her daughter goodnight, the child was already asleep. She felt, for no good reason, as though Antoine and Rowena were deliberately plotting against her.

  ‘We need to talk, Eva,’ Ant
oine whispered as they left the room. ‘Come to the study.’

  They went downstairs together, not speaking. When they got there, Antoine sat down behind the desk in the seat which Eva thought of (though she’d never mentioned this) as hers. She went to the sofa, but felt too tense to lean back. She perched there awkwardly, dreading what was coming.

  ‘I can’t go on like this,’ Antoine began.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Do you love Rowena at all?’

  A pulse began to beat in Eva’s head. Didn’t Antoine realize how much she hated him being angry with her?

  ‘Of course I do. Whatever are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about the fact that you couldn’t give a damn whether you see her or not. You don’t care if you come back from London after she’s in bed. Don’t care if you never put her to bed. Just … you don’t give a shit about her.’

  Eva sprang to her feet. ‘How can you say a thing like that? She’s my daughter. I love her more than anything in the world.’

  ‘Then why the fuck can’t you show it?’

  ‘Please don’t swear at me, Antoine. You know I hate that …’

  To herself she said: Don’t cry. Don’t on any account cry.

  Antoine sighed. ‘Okay. Okay, I won’t swear but I can’t go on like this. I’m responsible for all the childcare round here.’

  ‘But …’ Eva said, ‘that’s why we have Phyllis, isn’t it? That’s what her job is, looking after Rowena.’ She made an effort speak gently, doing her best to sound sympathetic; not to be seen to be making light of what was worrying Antoine.

  ‘And cleaning this enormous house and cooking our meals. Doing all kinds of things that you’d do if you were ever home for more than five minutes.’

  Eva turned her back on Antoine and moved over to the bookcase. He went on, ‘So this is what I’m suggesting. Come and sit down and listen to me.’

  Reluctantly, Eva went back to sit on the sofa. I’m like a school child in the Head’s study, she thought. How can that be? This is my house as much as his. More … a nasty, unworthy, horrible thought came into her head: It’s mostly my money that pays for everything. I’m the one earning the real money in this household.

  ‘Why couldn’t you be here? Every day. Whenever Rowena needs you. If you can’t do that, I’ll have to think of some other way of organizing the household. Phyllis can’t do housework and cooking and childcare. Stephen could come and help me. He could even move in, if that was more convenient?’

  Stephen was Antoine’s latest lover. He’d lasted some months and Antoine was besotted with him. Almost every time Eva came into the house, or so it seemed, her husband was giggling on the phone to this man and always, always cut the call short when she appeared. ‘Only Stephen,’ he’d say and then: ‘I can call him back later.’

  ‘I see what you’re doing, Antoine. A form of blackmail. You’re saying: Give up your job or I’ll move my lover into our house. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Just about, yes. I think that is what I’m saying. I’m just tired of being the one who does everything. Who’s always on duty. Not that I don’t adore Rowena, you know I do, but I have a career of my own and besides, it’s not on, the way you just shove off any responsibility for her happiness to other people. I think it’s time you grew up and did something for your own child.’

  Eva said nothing. She wanted to answer but could find no words for anything she wanted to say. Didn’t she do something? Was what Antoine was saying true? How could she admit how important her work was to her? How much she loved it? Antoine saw her hesitation and added, ‘I know how much your work means to you, and of course there’s the money to consider, but even if you gave up designing tomorrow you’ve saved enough and invested wisely enough for years to make sure you’ll have everything you might need. We own this house outright, don’t forget. And I have work to do as well, you know.’

  ‘I do know. Of course I do. I’ll think about it,’ Eva said, making a move towards the door. Staying at home with Rowena and Phyllis. Every day. Knowing that Antoine was with someone else. Stephen. But he’s threatening to bring Stephen here to Salix House. She would know that while she was absent he wouldn’t be alone. Her space, her rooms, her furniture would become tainted. If I’m here, she had told herself, I can look after the house. Phyllis will help me with Rowena. Maybe I can learn to be a good mother to her. Antoine said, ‘Hang on, there’s something else. I didn’t want to say this, Eva, but I think I should.’ He hesitated.

  ‘Well? Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘Remember I’m speaking as someone who’s always loved your work. Loved it. The fact is, Eva, you’re past your best. The last two collections haven’t exactly been … earth-shattering, have they? The focus is on younger designers, isn’t it? You know it is, if you’re honest with yourself. You might think about the benefit of quitting while you’re ahead, so to speak.’

  Eva shuddered, even now at a distance of more than forty years, at how hurt, how soiled Antoine had made her feel that night. Retrospectively, she felt more fury than anything else and more at herself than at Antoine for the bloody spineless fool she’d been. She’d thought there was no alternative, but maybe she ought to have moved out, on her own and left Salix House and Antoine and Rowena and flown to Paris to start over again. Something.

  For a while after she’d closed the design studio there had been articles in the fashion magazines mourning her departure, but as Antoine kept on telling her, things move quickly and before you know where you are, you were no longer what was wanted. No longer part of what was going on.

  *

  ‘Ma? When you’ve finished cutting that … are you listening to me?’

  ‘Of course, of course. I do know. I realize. You can’t stay here in Salix House just to please me. I will find somewhere, I’m sure, but you can’t expect me to be happy about it.’

  ‘But why do you have to tell Megan these things? Why don’t you tell me? She’s not your daughter, I am!’

  Rowena might be in her forties but the tone of her voice took Eva right back to when she was a teenager. It wasn’t exactly a whine but it was a thread of discontent, of complaint, quite audible to anyone. For a second she thought of answering frivolously: Are you seriously jealous of Megan, Rowena? But she said only, ‘Megan just happened to catch me at a low moment, that’s all. Conor sent her to find me when I went out to walk my bad mood off. I’m not trying to hide anything from you.’

  Rowena nodded. ‘Glad to hear it.’ She stood up. ‘We’ll find some other places to look at, don’t worry.’

  ‘That’s fine. Dee’s wings are the only thing on my mind now, so you can stop fretting about me. I shall go up in a moment when I’ve done this bit.’

  ‘Goodnight, then,’ Rowena said and walked round the table to bend down and kiss Eva on the cheek.

  ‘Goodnight, darling.’ Eva turned to kiss her back, but Rowena had already straightened up and was on her way out of the room.

  She is jealous of Megan, Eva told herself. She remembered how much it mattered to Rowena that Antoine loved her the very best. ‘Better than Ma?’ she used to ask when she was tiny and he always answered, ‘Best in the whole wide world. I love you all there is.’ Which, she now reflected, he never said to me. As soon as Rowena was born the baby became the centre of his life, but even before that and certainly afterwards, there was a whole series of men who were more important to him than Eva was. There wasn’t much she could do about that, having come into the marriage knowing from the beginning that it was less than what it should be and learning later how much of a compromise and a deception it was.

  The angel wings were lying on the blanket. All she needed to do now was sew on the ribbons. Finding them wouldn’t be a problem. There was a shop in Amersham she could go to. She couldn’t borrow Conor’s car tomorrow as he was using it and Rowena hated lending hers. She sighed. She would have to ask Megan to give her a lift, even though she disliked having to do it: disliked having to
depend on other people. Never mind. She would make a determined effort to think about pleasanter things.

  How lovely it had been, talking to Lissa earlier! Now, thinking about their long conversation made Eva feel happy. They’d arranged to meet for lunch in London later in November. Also, she had a plan. Dee had shown her how to find her way more skilfully around the Rightmove website, and earlier in the day, as soon as she’d finished talking to Lissa, she’d gone back to the computer and almost at once had found somewhere that looked possible. She’d come across it by accident, almost, and could hardly believe what she’d read. She wrote the estate agent’s number in her notebook. Tomorrow, she’d ring them up and make an appointment to see the place on the same day she was seeing Lissa – two birds with one stone. Who said she had to live next door, practically, to Rowena? There were other parts of London that might be much nicer for any number of reasons.

  *

  I lay in Tom’s bed staring up at the ceiling. The green numbers on the digital clock on the bedside table said 22:30. I could get up and go home now. Tom was lying on his back with his eyes closed. He’d been dozing but I knew he was awake now because he’d put out a hand and was stroking my thigh.

  ‘Darling Megan,’ he murmured. ‘That was …’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said. I didn’t want him to say anything. I couldn’t say I hadn’t enjoyed it, but something was missing. The whole time Tom was asleep, I’d been trying to work out my emotions. Were my memories of Simon getting in the way, somehow? Or not Simon himself, but what I felt about his baby? That hadn’t gone away. I came to the conclusion that I didn’t deserve to be happy. I hadn’t felt as if I deserved to be happy since the abortion. The memories of that time were always there, even though they had been pushed to the back of my mind, especially after I met Simon. For a while I thought I was over it, that I’d forgiven myself, but I hadn’t. I thought getting to know Tom would be a help. But even while we were making love, I was on my guard: watching out for the pictures in my head to return: blood, a small curled-up creature that was both a baby and not a baby. Everything was there, and I would never be free of the guilt.