by Adele Geras
‘I am checking them,’ Megan said.
‘You never used to do that so much before last week. Now, mysteriously there seems to be a great deal of traffic.’
Megan shut the laptop, put it beside her on the sofa and stood up. She went over to Eva at the desk, put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her.
‘What a nosy person you are, Eva! Okay, okay. I confess. I get about five emails a day from Luke. He’s much more … well, much more demonstrative on email than he seems in real life. I’ve told him everything. Everything about Simon, and the baby and the way I felt about it and Angelika … you didn’t mind that I told him about your sister?’
‘No, of course I don’t. Everyone can know the whole truth now. And you must start your relationship knowing as much as possible about one another. I think that’s very important.’
‘And I answer every single message of his because, in case you didn’t know, I can’t wait to see him and basically every email says a version of that. I’m in love.’
Eva felt, suddenly, as happy as she could remember feeling for a very long time. ‘How lovely. And Rowena told me earlier that you’ll be away for the weekend. Let me guess: he’s coming back and you’re spending it together. Am I right?’
Megan nodded. ‘He’s coming to fetch me at six o’clock.’
Eva got up. ‘I must get ready for supper now, but you have a wonderful time and tell me all about it when you get back, won’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Megan laughed. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be the kind of weekend I’d want to describe to anyone.”
‘Excellent,’ said Eva. ‘That’s the best kind of weekend there is.’
FOUR MONTHS LATER
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
Subject: Catalogue etc
Have just had a brilliant idea! I think it is, anyway. That young woman who interviewed you for lipstick, whose name escapes me, might be just the person I’m looking for. I want to produce a series of pamphlets for the Museum, about different bits of the collection. It strikes me that she could write the Eva Conway pamphlet. Kind of an extended interview/overview of you and your work. With pictures, natch, of you and the dresses. Hope you approve. If you do, pl. send me her email address and I’ll write to her. She’ll have time, won’t she? Even with the nannying? Let me know.
Hugs, darling Eva,
Lissa
xx
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
Subject: Catalogue etc
That is a really brilliant idea. I’m sure Megan (Megan Pritchard) will be very pleased indeed. She is not going to be a nanny for much longer. She and Luke Fielden (buyer of Salix House) are getting married in October. He was going to turn S.H. into a spa hotel but now they’ll live there together which I am thrilled about. R and C have found a very pleasant house not too far from Frobisher Court and they’ll be moving any day now. So your timing couldn’t be better. I know Megan wants to go back to freelance journalism very much indeed. Her email is: [email protected]
Love, Eva
I was right, Eva thought. That’s exactly the right place for the mirror. She glanced up and caught sight of herself sitting at the round table in the dining area of the flat. The mirror, a large antique glass in a wooden frame decorated with swags of carved and gilded ribbons and flowers had become the centrepiece of the room, doubling the space and reflecting everything in a way that seemed to soften every hard edge.
She’d spotted it in a nearby junk shop shortly before she moved into Frobisher Court and bought it at once, liking the slightly wavy reflections she saw in it. The silvering at the back of the glass must be very old, she thought. It gave her enormous satisfaction to know that it could live in her home and be something that made the place more beautiful – something that wasn’t a source of anguish and terror. It was hard to believe that she’d been settled here for a whole month, but remembering Salix House and the years when it had been her home was like thinking of a movie she’d once seen, starring someone else. Not her; not the Eva she was now.
Writing to Lissa had turned Eva’s mind to thoughts of the wedding. The reception would be at Salix House. Megan wanted bronze velvet for Dee and Bridie’s dresses, and Eva approved of that decision, but what about their hair? Ribbons? Flowers? There were still so many things to work out. It was eight o’clock at night and the last light of the April day was still filling the room. Eva felt no need yet to switch on the lamp. She was no longer afraid of twilight, or shadows or mirrors. She was no longer afraid. There are no ghosts here, she thought. Not any more. Not even the ghost of a ghost.
She stroked the heavy white paper spread out on the table in front of her and picked up a pencil. It was time to think about the present she’d promised Megan: a wedding dress which would not only be perfect on the day, but which would have a life when the ceremony was over. An Eva Conway creation.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Laura Cecil, Linda Newbery, Linda Sargent, Sally Prue and Jean Ure have been with me throughout the writing of this novel and I’m very grateful to them.
Thanks also to Jane Wood and everyone at Quercus; Leslie Wilson, who translated into German everything that needed translation; Fanny Blake, who told me about magazine deadlines; Margaret Taylor, who shared her experience of living with a gifted child and Jane Mitchell of Kerry Taylor Associates, Auctioneers.
Jenny Geras and my late husband, Norman Geras, gave me, as always, constant support and encouragement. And to Sophie Hannah, who was involved with the book from the very beginning and was its first reader, I owe more thanks than I can measure. Her insight and skill have helped me enormously.
