Cupid's Way

by Joanne Phillips

  ‘I’m here on business,’ she said, shaking back her hair and reaching for her folder.

  ‘I don’t doubt it for one minute,’ Michael said gravely. There was no sign of his dimples today. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Evie found herself acutely aware of his movements, of every tiny detail. In the harsh light from the floor to ceiling windows, his eyes were a new shade of brown, almost hazel. His hair had grown a little too long again, curling around the tops of his ears. His skin was smooth, freshly shaved, and he gave off an intoxicating scent – not musky or citrusy but something she couldn’t name. Something expensive.

  ‘So,’ he said again, nodding his head towards the folder Evie held in her slack hand while she gazed at him. She gave herself a tiny shake and took out a sheet of paper.

  ‘I’m here to make a proposition to Dynamite Construction,’ she began, focusing on the words of her prepared speech. The last time she’d had to give a speech, Michael had been at the back of the room looking up at her with those encouraging eyes, just the way he was now.

  ‘Okay. And what’s your proposal?’

  Evie jumped out of her reverie and started again. ‘Right. Yes, okay. The new Cupid’s Way residents’ association would like to explore the possibility of repurposing the city council’s plan for the aforementioned site with the view to seeing it used as a–’

  ‘Evie?’ Michael tipped his head to one side and reached out his hand. With one finger he gently traced a line down Evie’s arm, all the way to her wrist. When he reached her hand he turned it over, stroked her palm with the lightest touch, then traced the line back up to her elbow, watching her face the entire time. She felt his touch through the thin fabric of her top, and she didn’t only feel it on her skin. The charge went further, heating up her chest and throbbing deep between her legs. It was, for the briefest moment, so erotic Evie almost forgot to breathe.

  So much for him losing interest.

  ‘Evie,’ he said, taking away his hand and leaning back again, ‘why don’t you just tell me what it is you want?’

  She bit her lip and tried to gather her thoughts. Just think, Evie. Don’t let him distract you by being gorgeous and sexy. Concentrate, woman.

  With a huge effort of will, Evie forced her body to relax. ‘We want you to tell the council you’re not going to build their medical centre, but that you’re going to support the development of a housing cooperative instead. It’s just as good for the local environment, but far less costly, and there’s no reason why the council shouldn’t let you go ahead with your housing plans regardless. We’ve come up with two alternative sites for the new medical centre should the council insist on it as part of your deal, so really, when you think about it, this new plan makes far more sense from every angle.’

  And breathe. Evie shrugged down her shoulders, which seemed to have made their way up to her ears somehow, and lifted her chin. She looked around the office, suddenly parched. ‘Might I have a drink of water?’

  Michael nodded and left the room, returning seconds later with a jug-shaped glass of ice-cold water, which he placed on a low table in front of them.

  ‘Very trendy,’ Evie said, heaving the glass to her lips as he turned away and began to root around in a cupboard that looked like it was fashioned from driftwood. ‘But not quite as user friendly as your bog-standard normal glassware.’

  Michael turned around holding a normal-sized glass in each hand. ‘Evie – that’s not a …’ He grinned, the dimples back in business, and filled his own glass from the jug that now bore the tell-tale imprint of Evie’s peach lipstick. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he told her, still smiling. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. That night we spent together at the conference, I just felt that–’

  ‘The thing is, Michael,’ Evie said, her face still burning with embarrassment, ‘I’m not here to talk about that. I really want to get your thoughts on this project so I can take it back to the residents’ association and plan our next move.’

  It helped a lot to just shut him down, she reflected. If she allowed him to go there, to the time they spent together in Cardiff, she’d be lost. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.

  ‘Fair enough. Run it by me again. I’m afraid I was a bit distracted before.’

  Evie sighed and talked through her ideas again. This time she went into detail, allowing herself to get fired up all over again when she told him about how the cooperative might work, drawing pictures in the air with her hands and showing him the notes she’d made. He listened, nodding in all the right places, and Evie began to think she might be on to something. Maybe Cissy had been right – maybe it was a good idea to come and talk to him. And maybe, just maybe, she could convince him on the merits of the idea alone. Maybe it wouldn’t come down to feminine charm after all.

  When she finally ran out of steam, Michael ordered them coffee through an intercom and moved around to sit behind his desk. The change in position left Evie feeling a little lost, but as soon as he started to speak she understood why he’d done it.

  So she wouldn’t hit him, most likely.

  She watched him talking, only picking up distinct words here and there – words like ‘problematic’, ‘other considerations’ and ‘cost-effective’ – and wondered why she’d ever allowed herself to believe this might actually work out.

  ‘You know what, Michael,’ Evie said, suddenly finding herself on her feet. ‘Just forget it. Just wipe it from your mind and get on with whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted you.’ She took in the showy room with a sweep of her hand. ‘I guess you have to work pretty hard to achieve all this. You wouldn’t want the memories of a few old people and the hopes and dreams of their neighbours to get in the way of your massive salary, would you?’

  She turned towards the door, but Michael was behind her so fast she figured he must have vaulted the desk.

  ‘Hold on, Evie. That’s not fair, and you know it. This has got nothing to do with my salary. It’s business. It’s a business deal, pure and simple.’

  ‘There’s nothing simple about it.’ Her voice rose, drowning him out. ‘These are people’s homes, not just bricks and mortar. I’ve come to you with a brilliant idea for the street, a way for the council to save face and still get their precious medical centre and the cash from Dynamite Construction, but you’re just coming at me with all these crappy reasons why it won’t work.’

  ‘Because it won’t work. It’s a stupid idea, frankly. An airy-fairy let’s-all-live-in-fantasy-land idea. And I’d have thought better of you, to be honest. You’re an intelligent woman. You know how these things work. For pity’s sake, Evie, that firm of architects of yours have done worse than this and you know it.’

  Evie reeled at his words, barely aware of his hand gripping her forearm. ‘FYI, I resigned from Lee, Lee and Meredith two weeks ago.’ Her voice came out low and flat. ‘You’re wrong, Michael. About Cupid’s Way, about the cooperative, and about me. Most of all about me.’

  ‘Am I? I know that this thing between us, whatever the hell it is, isn’t going away. But whatever I feel about you, I can’t pull out of a development deal just because some people you know will have to move house.’ He let go of her arm and held out his palms to either side. ‘And move into houses that are better and warmer and not falling down. Is that so terrible?’

  ‘Yes, it is. It’s not just the people. It’s the history, the beautiful architecture, the fact that those houses are there now and they have been for years and years and if you knock them down they will be gone for ever. Don’t you see that? Isn’t that the whole point of conservation?’

  Michael gave a disparaging huff. ‘Conservation? This city is full of terraced houses – go and have a look. You’re turning this into something it isn’t, can’t you see that? This is a business deal, Evie, and it’s one that will provide essential services for local people and hundreds of new homes. That’s what it’s about, not tree-hugging conservationism.’

  It w
as the tree-hugging that did it. All Evie’s life she’d been sensitive about her father, mostly defending him from her mother who took out her disappointment at being left a single parent by disparaging everything Evie’s dad had stood for. Evie had been left to do her own research into Greenpeace and the Rainbow Warrior because she’d got nothing positive from Angela. And throughout school and university, anyone who wanted to diminish the efforts of those who put themselves on the front line to make the world a better place resorted to those tired old insults. Evie had had enough. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and licked her lips. Michael’s last words hung in the air between them like an endless echo.She reached blindly for the door handle, just as it was pushed open by a young woman carrying a tray of coffee.

  ‘Where would you like this?’ the woman said, heading for the desk at the far side of the office.

  ‘Over his head, please,’ Evie told her, not taking her eyes off Michael’s.

  ‘Grow up, Evie,’ he said in a low voice.

  She laughed. ‘When I do grow up, I hope I don’t turn into an asshole like you.’

  The woman with the coffee clattered the tray onto the desk and looked around, her hand flying up to her mouth.

  ‘I think you should leave,’ Michael said. His eyes were flat now; his lips drained of colour. For the briefest moment, Evie wondered why she’d let it go this far. But it had gathered its own momentum and there was no way she could take any of it back. She couldn’t control her anger, and she couldn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth as if by their own volition.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving,’ she said, and then she walked through the open door and out into the glass atrium, where the lift waited like a spaceship ready to drop her back down to earth.

  Chapter 21

  The date of the formal planning meeting came around far too quickly. Although Evie had put in the application to English Heritage weeks ago, there was still no news on their listed building status by the end of March. On a sunny Friday morning, Mavis, Frank and Evie joined the other residents at the council offices with no viable way to counter the inevitable planning consent. Evie was beyond dispirited – not even Tim’s report on the colourful history of their beautiful street could cheer her up. If anything it only made it worse. Now Tommy wasn’t the only ghost needing protection. Now there were all the young men who had lived in Cupid’s Way and died for their country in the Great War – and the wives they’d left behind. Bob Peacock’s great grandmother had been among them, and Tim’s research had turned up a society called the Hearts Club, formed by the widowed wives and dedicated to raising funds for wounded soldiers.

  The stories crowded around her as Evie parked her granddad’s supermini and went around to hold the door open for her gran. Like the railway workers who’d been the first residents over a hundred years ago, living in the two-up, two-down houses with one entire family to a single room. Or the Petersons – a young couple who had lived in Cupid’s Way in 1950 and had fostered a staggering fifty children. If only she could find some of those children, Evie thought, and get the former residents to add their voices to the fight.

  Not that it would make any difference. The one thing Tim’s research hadn’t shown was any sign of real architectural significance. Cupid’s Way hadn’t been designed by a prominent architect, or even an up-and-coming one. It was beautiful and graceful and perfectly preserved, but it was still, in architectural terms at least, bog-standard. And Michael had been right – although Evie would rather poke out her eyes than admit it – when he said that Bristol was brimming with Victorian terraces. In fact, if Evie allowed herself to be brutally honest, many of them were prettier and better preserved than Cupid’s Way.

  She had no intention of sharing these facts with the other residents. Until English Heritage came back with a final decision there was still hope that the social history might swing it. There was time, after all. Planning was a long process. That much Evie did know.

  ‘Stig’s here,’ Mavis said as they entered the council offices.

  Evie waved at him across the reception area. She looked back at her gran, then let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Get over it, will you? He’s a harmless old man and he’s one of us. You can bet Stig won’t be selling out any time soon.’

  Mavis had to concede this point – Stig’s distrust of anything official was legendary. ‘If only he’d wash, though,’ she said, pulling a face.

  ‘Well, at least his house looks better now. Zac did a good job of those windows.’ Evie looked around for Zac but couldn’t see him. Since her horrible argument with Michael she’d avoided their local builder, not trusting herself with a situation where she might get drawn into going for a drink, or looking for a shoulder to cry on, all on the rebound from something that never really was. Zac had been a bit of an idiot over the Roman artefacts scam, but he was basically a nice guy. Evie didn’t want to be tempted into yet another relationship with a man who so clearly wasn’t right for her.

  Michael could have been right for her. This thought had crossed her mind so many times these past couple of weeks it was like a mantra. But she did what she always did and forced it out of her head. That way madness lay, and she’d had it with crazy, problem-fraught relationships. From now on she was going to keep it simple, and if that meant lonely, so be it.

  ‘Much good it’ll do us,’ Mavis said, responding to Evie’s comment about Stig’s freshly painted windows. ‘No point if it’s all going to be knocked down.’ Her desperation about Tommy and the street had turned into something else recently, and this new mood worried Evie more than the tears and the talking to herself. Evie had noticed an unpleasant anger creeping into her gran’s usually upbeat demeanour, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

  Evie took her gran’s hand and held it briefly to her chest, before standing up at a gesture from the clerk. It was time to go inside.

  ‘It’s not over till it’s over,’ she whispered as they took their seats near the back of the room. ‘There’s always hope.’

  ‘Semper spes est,’ came a voice at Evie’s shoulder, followed by the slightly sour smell of unwashed clothes. She looked around and there was Stig, winking. ‘There is always hope,’ he translated. Evie gave him a warm smile and turned back.

  Councillor Martin sat at the head of the U-shaped arrangement of tables, listening to a worried-looking man who was crouched on his left. Frank, sitting on Mavis’s other side, had tension fairly oozing out of him. Evie had already reminded them both that in a formal planning meeting the public weren’t allowed to speak. They were allowed one short statement only, and Evie had joined the others in voting Sarah for this role.

  The members of the planning committee filed in and Evie clasped her hands together on her lap. The stifling room was packed, every seat taken, and she knew Michael would be in here somewhere too. She had already resolved to force herself not to look for him. His words rang out in her head – tree-hugging conservationism, let’s-all-live-in-fantasy-land ideas – and she felt her nostrils flare in righteous anger. The nerve of the man. And how smug he must be feeling right now. Sitting there waiting for his big moment, for his cut-throat plans to get the red stamp of approval. She vowed that she would not react when the decision was announced. She would smile calmly and begin planning their appeal.

  The councillor sat up and rapped on the table for silence. Under her breath, Evie whispered, ‘Semper spes est,’ and closed her eyes.

  *

  ‘Evie, do you have any idea what’s going on?’

  By the time Mavis turned to Evie, her questioning eyes narrowed in confusion, Evie was just as bewildered as her gran. She shook her head.

  ‘But you’re an architect!’ Mavis’s tone was accusing, and more than a little petulant. Evie sighed.

  ‘I know it’s frustrating, Gran, but we’re just going to have to wait it out. I can’t exactly stand up and demand they tell us what the hell’s going on, can I?’

  Although this was exactly what Evie felt like doing.
Ever since they’d called the meeting to order, the members of the planning committee had been whispering among themselves without so much as a glance in the direction of the now mumbling and shuffling spectators. Evie had spotted Michael a few minutes ago, despite her intention to ignore him. He was sitting in the third row from the front, his shoulders rigidly erect. She’d kidded herself for a moment or two that his apparent anxiety was down to her presence at the meeting, but Evie knew it was far more likely to be solely due to the mounting tension in the room. She imagined he wasn’t used to being out of the loop in situations like this.

  Councillor Martin’s tie today was pale blue with yellow stripes, which Mavis had condemned as a bad omen. Now, as the man’s expression darkened even further at the words being muttered in his ear by the suited messenger, Evie wondered whether her gran might have been on to something. She’d been in enough of these meetings to know that this was not how things were supposed to go. In fact, the huddled whispering and holding everyone up for so long was unprecedented. Whatever was going on, Evie doubted it was good. Judging by the councillor’s expression, it was very bad indeed.

  Which didn’t, she realised with a sudden jolt of excitement, necessarily mean it was bad for Cupid’s Way.

  ‘They’re getting ready to say something,’ Mavis hissed, and Evie sat to attention. Councillor Martin tapped his microphone then cleared his throat. He took a sip of water from a tall tumbler, replacing the glass just so on the table in front of him, then he picked up a sheet of paper and began to speak.

  ‘We are sorry to have wasted your time here today, ladies and gentlemen.’ He glanced again at the note in his hands. ‘This planning meeting will now be rescheduled for a later date.’ A man with round glasses and an even rounder head leaned in and said something in a low voice. Councillor Martin nodded and carried on. ‘There is only so much I can tell you at this stage, but suffice it to say that the council is in receipt of a counter offer for the land containing the street known as Cupid’s Way, and therefore will be reconvening to discuss our options in the interests of the community and the council’s interests forthwith.’