The Secrets Women Keep

by Fanny Blake

  ‘Then talk to him,’ Rose suggested warily. ‘Tell him you want to go back to the way things were. That you don’t want it to affect the business.’

  Anna curled herself up in the chair. ‘But I like him, Mum. I don’t really want to go backwards. And if I talk to him, then he might agree. That’s what I’m frightened of.’ She punched the arm of the chair with a fist. ‘I really don’t know the best thing to do.’

  ‘Then do nothing,’ advised Rose, wishing she could provide a solution, but falling back on that tried-and-tested course of action. ‘Do nothing until you do know, and perhaps by then he’ll know too.’

  Anna didn’t stay for long. All her life she had hopped from one thing to the next with the speed of a demented butterfly. Voicing the problem had been enough for her. That, and checking in on Rose. Then it was time to go home for a bath and whatever the evening held in store.

  ‘I hope you’re going to like this.’ Terry stirred the ingredients of a casserole on the hob with a metal spoon.

  Eve just stopped herself in time from suggesting he use a wooden one that wouldn’t mark the dish. At least he was cooking. Far better than the ready-meal she would have brought home in a last-minute rush.

  ‘Sure I will. Smells heavenly.’ But her attention was more fully on the editorial notes that she was making for an author. They had a meeting the following morning, and she wanted to be completely ready with her advice. That, after all, was what would be expected of her. Some authors required more of her input than others, and Erica Johnson was particularly demanding. Not that Eve minded. She loved the editorial involvement, helping shape the work, ready to sell.

  ‘Have you nearly finished that?’ He sounded impatient. A repeated bone of contention was that she liked to work at the kitchen table when they had a perfectly good desk in the living room. But the desk was too small. She liked to be able to spread her work out. Terry thought work shouldn’t encroach on the kitchen.

  ‘One more chapter.’ She wished he wouldn’t complain. They both knew how important her work was to their financial future at the moment. ‘Then I’m done.’

  There was the pop of a cork, then Terry was standing beside her. ‘Glass of wine for the worker. A cheeky little Verdicchio. You’ll like it.’ He touched her shoulder, his thumb briefly on the back of her neck, before returning to the cooking.

  Just as she took a sip, her BlackBerry rang. Terry tutted as she took the call, but she couldn’t ignore it despite his accusing stare. Fortunately it wasn’t a client needing reassurance, but Anna. After the initial pleasantries, she came to the point.

  ‘I’ve been round to Mum’s and I’m really worried about her. Jess is too. She’s obviously not eating much and looks like a ghost.’

  Eve had worried that Rose was coping badly. The fact that she hadn’t returned Eve’s last couple of calls was a bad sign. She let Anna go on.

  ‘When I got there, she’d been crying again. Nothing we do seems to work. I tried to talk to her about Dad. But it’s soooo difficult. I’m doing my best to support her by trying to show I can handle it, but inside I still feel so muddled. One minute I’m furious with him, the next I feel sorry for him. I mean, how awful for him not to be able to be true to himself. Jess is the same. And then I tried to take Mum’s mind off the whole thing by asking her for some advice, but it was hopeless. Auntie Eve! You’re her best friend. Couldn’t you go and see her? I know she’d love that.’

  Eve prevaricated. She wasn’t sure she could leave Terry on his own. Not that she wanted to take the role of prison warder, but there seemed no alternative at the moment, however much she longed to get away to London.

  When she hung up, Terry was ladling up the fish curry. Something had prevented her from telling him about Simon and Daniel. She didn’t want him to change his view of Daniel, a man for whom he’d always had such admiration. He wouldn’t understand. But she knew Rose would insist on his knowing sooner or later, once the rest of their lives had been sorted out. She relayed the conversation without going into unnecessary detail. ‘Do you think we should go and stay with her for a few days?’

  He pulled out his chair and sat opposite her, leaving on the Domestic Goddess apron that Millie had given him for Christmas. ‘We could. But why don’t you go without me? I’ll just be in the way.’ He stalled her objection. ‘I’ll be all right here on my own. Promise.’

  Was this a clever plan to give himself space to gamble again? He wouldn’t, would he? Not after being so determined to find a counsellor and a local Gamblers Anonymous. Since his confession, he’d been dead set on proving to her that he meant what he said. He could get the better of his addiction. Hating herself for distrusting him, she put a forkful of curry into her mouth. Immediately she reached for her glass of water.

  ‘Not bad, is it?’ he asked proudly. ‘Perhaps a bit too much chilli.’

  A bit! The top of her head had practically blown off. ‘Mm-hm,’ she agreed, swallowing. ‘I still think we should go together.’

  He tucked in enthusiastically. ‘You’ll do a much better job of cheering her up on your own. I think it’s a good idea. And I promise I won’t slip backwards. I know that’s what’s worrying you.’

  ‘Won’t you?’ She shouldn’t ask but couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for any relapse, not now they were on the road to putting his debts behind them. Thank God for Daniel and the hotels. Without them . . . well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

  He stopped eating and looked at her. ‘Absolutely not. You’re going to have to learn to trust me, otherwise it’s hopeless. I can’t have you watching over me every hour of the day and night. I have to do this myself.’

  He was right. However difficult she found it, she couldn’t babysit him for ever. Her initial anger on learning what he’d done had been channelled into a ferocious determination to get their fortunes back to square one as soon as she could. If that meant temporarily forfeiting her London assignations with Will, then she was prepared to wait for as long as she had to. Fortunately he had been travelling, so hadn’t been pressing to see her. She couldn’t abandon Terry when he was at his lowest ebb, just couldn’t. Seeing him like that had brought out all her loyalty and support for him. She had surprised herself as much as him. Having reached the nadir, he really did seem to be doing all he could to clean up his act. He wanted to save his marriage, believing the distance between them had grown thanks only to his addiction. He had no idea of Will’s involvement.

  In fact, Eve could think of nothing she would like more than seeing Rose. If she could do anything to help her or cheer her up, she would. Being in London wouldn’t be wasted because she could double up and make some overdue work appointments too. In fact, she had a couple of projects that would benefit from her talking them up in person. The office would be safe in May’s hands, and besides, Eve would be only a call away. And then of course there was Will . . .

  29

  Will was late. Eve held her wrist as far away as she could, twisting it as she tried to make out the time on her fashionable but minuscule watch. Even with her reading glasses, she still could barely see the numbers. She moved her arm irritably, trying to catch the light. She had been waiting for twenty minutes and her mood was thunderous.

  As she groped in her bag for her BlackBerry to check her emails, the bristle of her hairbrush pierced down behind her middle nail. She cursed under her breath and squeezed the tip of her finger until the pain wore off.

  They hadn’t seen each other for weeks, and yet he couldn’t be bothered to get himself here on time. What did that say for their relationship? But it was typical of him. First time round, this had happened time and again. Once she had thrown a glass of water over him when he appeared, protesting that he’d had to watch the end of some Wimbledon match when she knew one of the players he named had been knocked out of the tournament the previous day. After that, he had mended his ways – to a degree. But time had helped them both forget.

  This time she extr
icated her phone successfully and called up his number. She heard his recorded voice apologising for not being able to get to the phone and inviting her to leave a message. Why? What the hell was he doing? They’d made this arrangement days ago. Her last words to him had been ‘Don’t be late.’ He’d just laughed.

  She flicked over to her postbox. Her emails mounted up with the speed of a Tetris game if she didn’t deal with them whenever she could. This was one of those opportunities, she reminded herself, trying to take the positive from the situation. One from Rufus, asking to see her. She flagged it to attend to later, intrigued but not wanting to fire off a reply without some thought. Others from clients and a couple of publishers whose queries could be quickly answered. One from Terry. He had promised to email after every Gamblers Anon meeting.

  I still feel like a bit of an amateur beside some of the others. But I’ve been and I’ve kept my word and not placed a single bet. Don’t worry. Enjoy yourself.

  Terry had continued to encourage her to visit Rose. He was genuinely concerned for his sister’s prolonged grief over Daniel’s death and believed Eve could help her. Of course he had no idea that Will might be an added temptation in the equation. She had told Rose she was meeting Will for coffee, just coffee, for God’s sake. Rose had been icy in her response, despite this brief interlude taking nothing away from the long, lazy evenings and the couple of outings the two of them had planned. Eve had also persuaded herself that she and Terry needed a few days apart to take stock. She needed distance to weigh up what was important to her now.

  She sat back and sipped her coffee. Around her, the café was filling up. She had arranged to meet him in the morning because she wanted to get back to Rose. Guilt at going out to meet Will warred with her longing to see him again. The longing had won. She’d even left the house early and bought the gun-smoke linen dress especially for the occasion. And he still wasn’t here.

  As she returned her attention to her BlackBerry, it rang – too loudly for the two primped and suited women on the next table, who glared and muttered to each other. They no doubt still depended on their landlines and enjoyed the freedom of a mobile-free existence. Despite their annoyance at the interruption, Eve answered, whispering as a concession to them. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Eve! Don’t hang up, please. It’s Simon.’ She almost dropped the phone.

  ‘Why the hell are you phoning me?’ she hissed, turning her back on her neighbours, whose hostility was quite open now.

  ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’ His urgency kept her listening when she knew she should hang up. ‘Let me explain. Please.’

  ‘Explain what?’ She kept the phone to her ear.

  ‘About Daniel. You’re the only person who’ll understand. I know you knew everything about him. He told me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Then, all at once, she knew. She hadn’t made a mistake. Dan had been one of the two men on the Royal Mile all those years ago after all. He had seen her, and said nothing. That kiss. Two men standing so close, in the shadows. She’d seen them but hadn’t wanted it to be him, hadn’t wanted the rumours she’d heard to be true. Back then, a little sexual experimentation was far more shocking that it would be now. He would have worried that her knowing would change his relationship with her and their friends. So rather than mention it, admitting or denying, he’d decided it was better for him to say nothing. With luck, she would convince herself she was mistaken. Exactly as she had, thus burying the secret deep. Why would she have thought anything when he hooked up with Rose so soon afterwards, so obviously devoted to her from day one? But by doing that, he had based their continuing friendship on a conspiracy of silence that she had failed to recognise until this minute. He couldn’t even admit the truth to her when he’d had that very last chance. How naive she had been.

  ‘I need your help to see Rose again.’ Still urgent, but pleading too.

  ‘Why would she want to see you after what’s happened?’ She was shocked by his nerve.

  ‘Because I can help her through this. We can help each other.’

  His arrogance silenced her for a second. As she tried to find an appropriate put-down, she was distracted by a commotion on the other side of the table. Will had pulled out the opposite chair and was sitting down, dropping a shopping bag, mouthing apologies, passing a crimson rose across the table – an embarrassingly showy gesture of conciliation. All this to the now intrigued glares from the neighbouring table.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she muttered, acknowledging Will’s presence with a smile, before returning her attention to the call. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Then I’ll call you tomorrow so we can talk. Same time?’

  ‘No! Don’t do that.’ The last thing she wanted was to be pestered until she gave in. Instead, she’d take control. ‘I’ll meet you upstairs in the Patisserie Francine in Covent Garden at ten tomorrow morning. I’ve got a meeting in Bloomsbury at eleven thirty.’

  She hung up, already half regretting the arrangement. Before she had time to think further, the rose was being pressed into her hand as Will leaned across to kiss her. He smelled as if he’d just emerged from the shower, damp and fresh. His face was smooth, newly shaved. He’d changed his cologne to something more floral than before. She wasn’t sure that she liked it. Feeling a thorn prick her finger, she pulled her hand back, letting it tear through her skin. The rose fell between them on to the table.

  ‘Great start,’ he said, as if it was her fault, then passed her a paper napkin.

  She pressed it on the cut to absorb the beads of blood, then picked up the rose and stuck it in her long water glass to admire the velvety claret-coloured petals that unfurled from the even darker centre. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘To make up for keeping you waiting. You haven’t been here long?’ That smile again.

  ‘Is over half an hour long in your book? It is in mine.’

  Her snippiness obviously surprised him. He wrinkled his nose in boyish appeal. ‘Come on, darling. Don’t be like that. I couldn’t help it. Unavoidably delayed.’ He reached across the table for her hand. But before she had time to take it, his cuff caught the glass holding the rose and sent it flying towards the floor, at the same time splashing water all over the leg of one of the women at the next table.

  While their incandescent neighbour was mopped up and placated with a piece of chocolate torte, Eve’s thoughts returned to Simon. Meeting him would give her a chance to tell him what she thought of him. She would hear what he had to say and then dispense with him fairly but firmly, however convincing his self-justification. That was the very least she could do for Rose. She had seen for herself how important his friendship had been to her. He had given her the sort of kindness and company that even Eve, her closest friend, could never have provided. That was another reason why finding out the truth had to be so hard. Rose had lost both him and Daniel now. However, Eve knew what she had to do. And to tell the truth, she quite relished the idea of involving herself – just a bit.

  Eventually she had Will to herself again. His earlier good humour was teetering on the edge of extinction, most of it having been used to sort out the shenanigans on the next table.

  ‘What kept you?’ She couldn’t stop herself asking.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ he said vaguely. ‘Wasn’t watching the time. I’ve got a lot on at the moment, before I head off to Africa the week after next.’

  Eve had forgotten he was off again, this time to the Okavango delta, in his tireless quest for photographically obliging wildlife. But she was unhappy with his excuse. ‘Doing what?’ she asked, noting the flicker of irritation in his eyes.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Evie.’ He always called her that when he was making up to her. ‘We’re not married any more. This and that, OK? Anyway, what does it matter? We’re here together now.’

  In fact, no, it wasn’t OK at all. Their time together was precious and she hated wasting it. There was something different about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was
just the new scent, the new grey-and-red-checked shirt that he wore like a jacket over the dark T-shirt, or her own predisposition for suspicion. Despite all that, she forced herself to concentrate on the little time they had left. Within minutes they were back on an even keel, the chaos of his arrival forgotten, and she had a hundred per cent of his stomach-melting attention.

  ‘You’re looking better than ever,’ he said, once again reaching for her hand, this time successfully avoiding everything on the table. ‘And you’re wearing the bangle. That means a lot to me.’

  Eve glanced down at the bracelet Terry had given her and said nothing. Instead she gave what she hoped was a smile that smouldered, at the same time remembering the bangle Will had given her still wrapped up in the sanitary towel bag buried among her wash things. She would never be able to ask him if she could change it. Too complicated. Too many ramifications. Another secret. She swiftly changed tack, reminding him of the time he’d given her a silver Russian wedding ring that she’d thrown at him in a temper. It had rolled away into a drain in the gutter outside their flat. Their efforts with a number of unbent wire coat-hangers had met with nothing but failure. They laughed, reminded of their shared past. Neither of them mentioned their future but it was there, as large as any elephant in the room. Eventually he asked the question she’d been hoping to avoid.

  ‘Have you told Terry yet? About us?’ His eyes were so intent on her, she felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. To avoid them, she bent to return her BlackBerry to her bag.

  ‘No, I couldn’t. Not yet.’

  As she faced him again, she saw that flare of irritation, gone as quickly as it came.

  ‘I haven’t been able to. He’s got too much on his plate.’ She couldn’t confess how torn she was between the two of them. Will or Terry. Terry or Will. Will wasn’t interested. Nor would he be interested in Terry’s problems and how it was Eve’s immediate duty to support him, whatever her final decision. He didn’t want her problems, just solutions for them both. And he wanted her. But ever since the anniversary party, she couldn’t ignore the two most pressing issues, of Terry and the agency – she remembered Rufus’s email and wondered briefly what he could want with her. Walking away from her marriage was much more tricky than she’d imagined.