by Susan Lewis
Remembering how she’d laughed the first time she’d read that, she gave a gentle sigh now as more waves of nostalgia swept over her, drawing her more deeply into the days when she’d revelled in her wildest dreams and loved with a young and innocent abandon. Though she’d worked gruellingly long hours in a world governed by tyrannical egos, unlike some of her contemporaries she’d loved every minute of it – perhaps because she hadn’t had time to grow tired or jaded, or to fall out of favour with a fascinated press and public before it had all come to such a horrifically abrupt end.
Since she had no more power to turn back the clock than she had to erase the scars she still bore, she let her memories fade into the shadows, and reminded herself of how lucky she was to be alive – and to be where she was now. This magnificent white house on the wildly dramatic cliffs of Dorset that she’d painstakingly and lovingly restored, during the years following the attack, was her pride and joy, her haven, her passion. It was as though they’d come back to life together, and now they were as much a part of each other as the spectacular views all the way out to Lyme Bay were part of the landscape, and the waves that rolled on to the shore were a part of the sea. The house’s light and spacious interior, now that its original grandeur had been restored, was her very own paradise, with as much sumptuousness in its style as there was welcome in its heart and history in its walls.
Hearing a low-level buzz coming from the wall-mounted CCTV monitor in the kitchen, she looked up from the magazine to watch the solid iron gates at the end of the drive start to glide open. Since she was expecting her sister, Patty, who had her own remote control and whom she’d called the instant she’d discovered the article, it came as a not altogether pleasant surprise to see that her seventeen-year-old stepdaughter, Jasmine, had decided to turn up. For a brief, shaming moment, she toyed with the idea of pretending she wasn’t at home, but since that would mean having to lock up and alarm the place before Jasmine reached the house, not to mention hiding once the girl had managed to let herself in, she resigned herself to a difficult few minutes before Jasmine breezed on through and up to her room at the top of the house. She rarely spent much time talking to Eva, which might have been a blessing if Eva weren’t still hopeful that one day they might find a way to get along.
Glancing down at the four-page spread again, she found herself wondering what Jasmine might have to say about it if she saw it. Not that Eva had any intention of showing her. They never discussed Eva’s previous life, or indeed anything much about the current one either, though Jasmine was well aware of what had happened to Eva in the past. She also believed, because it was what her sadly embittered mother had told her, that Eva was responsible for the break-up of her parents’ marriage. However, that wasn’t the case, in spite of some press claims to support it, because Don had told his wife – Allison – long before Eva had even come into his life that sooner or later they’d have to face the fact that their marriage wasn’t working. That he’d ended up moving out of the family home around the same time as Eva had finally left hospital had been nothing more than coincidence – in fact, Eva had been at Patty’s, in Dorset, for more than three months before Don had even come to visit. This was when he’d surprised them all with the news that he’d resigned from the force and was in the process of setting up a security business of his own. It was also when Eva had started to hear about how often he’d visited her bedside while she’d been undergoing the frequent and painful surgical procedures to repair her wounds.
In fact, Don had become something of a rock for her whole family, she’d found out, most particularly for her father, who’d gone to pieces after the attack. Even her stepmother, whose spiritual strength could normally be relied upon during times of crisis, had found it difficult to cope, so she too had leaned on Don. Eva often wondered now if her father had ever really got over the attack, because right up to his death just over three years ago he’d never been able to discuss it, or even look at her without seeming to experience every one of the stab wounds and moments of terror himself. And perhaps it was her attacker’s shockingly early release from Broadmoor that had triggered the stroke that paralysed her father. There had been no more communication between them after that, so she still had no idea if he’d been able to hear Don telling him that Micky Bradshaw had been found dead at his mother’s house after taking an overdose of drugs. At the time she’d hoped, prayed that the news would unlock something inside her father to help bring him back to them, but it never did.
Closing the magazine, Eva slid from the barstool she was perched on and went to open one of the sliding doors that formed an entire wall of the kitchen and allowed easy access on to the sweeping half-moon terrace outside. The kitchen, with its impressive bank of appliances along the back wall and stylish crescent-shaped bar that housed the double sinks, a five-ring hob and numerous under-counter cupboards, was one of her favourite places in the house. Since it faced fully south it was almost always flooded with light, even on a dull day, and because it was so welcoming it was where everyone seemed to congregate when they came.
Moments after the sound of Jasmine’s car door slamming carried through from the carport the CCTV monitor buzzed again, this time signalling Patty’s arrival – Eva hoped. Indeed, it was her sister’s familiar white Audi with its roof down for the first time in more than a week after a virtual non-stop deluge of rain. Eva had been more than glad of it. Loving her garden as she did, she’d almost felt it sigh with relief when the violent downpours began. This summer had been persistently hot and humid, a boon for local businesses and tourists who flocked to the coast, but a great hardship for lush green lawns, thirsty beds, and a pond whose level had started to alarm its resident ducks. Even Eva’s precious wild-flower meadow and orchard that sloped gently towards the cliff path had started to wilt. Happily all heads were up on stalks now, faces turned gladly to the sun as new energy made them sparkle and shine in the late season’s cascading bands of light.
Watching Jasmine stalking in through the conservatory, Eva summoned a smile as she said, ‘Hi, I wasn’t expecting you.’
Jasmine’s regal attitude was, apparently, her mother all over, as was her diminutive frame, the cornflower-blue eyes and honey-gold hair. The winning smile was a gift from her father and the troubled complexion was, Eva thought, nature’s reminder to teenagers that they weren’t quite as perfect as they might like to think.
Not bothering with a greeting, Jasmine kept her focus on her mobile as she said, ‘Where’s Dad?’
Starting to wipe down the counter tops, Eva said, ‘I’m not sure. Probably at the office.’
Still texting, Jasmine said, ‘It’s Saturday. Anyway, I called and they said he’s not there.’
‘Then I imagine he’s playing golf.’
Jasmine’s eyebrows rose, though her eyes remained down. ‘Aren’t you interested to find out? He’s your husband, after all. Most wives would care.’
Wondering why she was even getting into this, Eva said, ‘I do care, but I’m familiar with his habits, and if I need to get hold of him I only have to call his mobile.’
‘But he’s not answering it, is he?’
Deciding to cut out of the pointless exchange, Eva gestured to the fridge. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘No thanks. I’m going out again in a minute. So how come you’re not at the shop today?’ The shop was Perdita’s – a small boutique in Bridport that Eva owned.
Since Jasmine knew that Eva’s Saturdays were always devoted to her charitable works, both local and national – international too, though she rarely did more than send cheques for them – Eva simply said, ‘I might pop down there later to make sure everything’s OK.’
‘Oh, you mean Olivia might not be able to manage,’ Jasmine retorted with a sarcasm that Eva knew was spawned from a jealousy she’d rather die than admit to.
‘I’m sure she can,’ Eva responded mildly, knowing full well that her twenty-one-year-old niece and their part-time assistant Zoe were more than capa
ble of running the place without her, particularly with business being so slow.
‘So Olivia still doesn’t have a proper job?’ Jasmine commented archly, showing no reaction to the sound of another car pulling up outside. Eva suspected she thought it was her father, so she probably wasn’t going to be best pleased to discover it was no less than Olivia’s mother.
‘She does if you count working for me,’ Eva replied, starting to sift through a pile of mail she’d left on the table.
Jasmine snorted.
Eva cast her a glance.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, or anything,’ Jasmine lied, ‘but surely she could find something better to do with her degree than running a crummy little boutique in Bridport?’
Eva’s eyebrows rose.
Jasmine had the grace to blush. ‘You know what I mean. You’d think that someone who’s got a first in fashion and textiles from St Martin’s would be able to do a bit better for themselves than hanging about around here.’
‘Dorset is Livvy’s home,’ Eva reminded her, ‘and the kind of jobs she’s going for are extremely hard to get these days.’
‘But with all your contacts I’d have thought …’
‘That was a long time ago,’ Eva interrupted, trying to ignore the face Patty was pulling behind Jasmine’s back. ‘Anyway, fortunately for you, you’re not following Livvy’s footsteps into fashion and textiles, but if you’re still set on reading business studies, I’m sure I can find a job for you too.’
Jasmine’s lip curled. ‘In your dreams,’ she retorted, and without even glancing over her shoulder to answer Patty’s friendly hello, she stalked on across the kitchen to disappear into the hall beyond.
‘I see she’s being her usual charming self,’ Patty remarked as she came to kiss Eva on the cheek. ‘I’ve no idea why you put up with her.’
‘I’ve told you often enough, because underneath it all you can tell she’s lonely and insecure and …’
‘You’re too forgiving, that’s your trouble.’
‘I just don’t want to make things any more difficult for Don than they already are where she’s concerned. It’s only been two years since her mother allowed her to start visiting …’
‘So you’d think she’d be trying a bit harder to fit in by now.’
‘She’s made quite a few friends round here.’
‘I meant with us. It’s not as if we haven’t tried to make her welcome, and frankly …’
‘Patty, let’s drop it, please. I’m as frustrated as you are by the way she is, but we can’t blame her for the way her mother’s poisoned her against me. Now, what’s really bugging you, because something obviously is and I’m willing to bet it’s not Jasmine.’
Patty sighed irritably. ‘Everything’s fine, unless you count the twit of an entertainment manager who’s just gone and thumped one of the magicians, and the fact that the regular cleaning company has apparently gone bust. Oh God, who’s this?’ she groaned as her mobile started to ring. ‘Great,’ and clicking on she promptly launched into a stinging tirade that left Eva in little doubt that the entertainment manager with flying fists was at the other end of the line.
Used to these frequent and often lengthy breaks in their conversations, Eva carried on clearing up the kitchen while Patty stomped on to the terrace to add some verve to her reprimand by pacing up and down. Though she was as tall and slender as Eva she was a full eight years older, and her hair, which had once been as blonde, was now a chaotic shock of short caramel tufts that framed her lovely face like a rakish sort of hat. She’d been wearing it that way since chemotherapy had robbed her of her crowning glory, and time and nature apparently hadn’t felt the urge to restore it to the lustrous mane it had once been. However, she was still a remarkably striking woman with their father’s shrewd but gentle grey eyes, and the kind of smile that could easily light up a room. No sign of a smile right now though, as she dealt with the issue at the caravan park she’d managed for the past twenty years along with half a dozen or more holiday cottages. (No dazzling career for her thanks to playing parent to Eva and running the household for her father.) Anyway, when the demands of her job were put together with the stress of her divorce and the challenge of supporting two children who still hadn’t quite flown the nest, she had enough going on in her life, she often remarked, to keep the lines on her face from the danger of extinction.
‘So, is this it?’ she demanded reaching for the magazine with the offending article as she came back indoors. ‘What page?’
Before Eva could answer Patty’s mobile rang again, and seeing who it was Patty groaned with frustration. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to take it,’ she sighed. ‘It’s Coral.’
Eva looked at her askance, but made no comment as Patty clicked on and turned her back. ‘Hey, Coral,’ she said quietly, ‘how’s it going? Where are you?’
As she wandered into the conservatory Eva tried to bite back her irritation, or was it resentment at the way Coral Best and her wretched affair were forever claiming Patty’s attention these days? It wasn’t that Eva felt that she always had to come first with her sister; on the contrary, that place definitely belonged to Patty’s children. Anyway, it wasn’t a contest; it was simply that to Eva’s mind Coral was taking advantage of Patty’s good nature by embroiling her in a web of lies and deceit that was highly likely to end up backfiring on Patty in a way that she really wouldn’t deserve.
Deciding to abandon the idea of making tea and pouring two large glasses of ginger beer instead, Eva carried them out on to the terrace where the abundantly colourful hanging baskets and overflowing pots of petunias, fuchsias and trailing begonias were still, in spite of it being mid-September, in exuberant bloom. Noticing that the birdfeeders were in need of refilling, she put the drinks down and went to scoop some seeds out of the storage container beside the rainwater barrel. Hearing a grunting behind her she turned around and laughed to see Elvis, her adorably mischievous Kune Kune pig, trotting off across the lawn with a tennis ball in his mouth that belonged to Rosie, the golden retriever. With his comically smiley pink snout, black and ginger hide and cute little piggy eyes Elvis was a real Babe, Don often remarked (enjoying the pun), and he was so much a part of the family it was hard to remember a time when his hilarious antics and perky personality hadn’t entertained them.
Since Rosie was nowhere in sight Eva guessed that Jack, the gardener, had stopped for elevenses, and Elvis was now on a mission to distract Rosie from pole position in order to get to the food first. What a pair of characters they were, the pig and the dog, providing hours of amusement for the family and never ceasing to surprise with their devotion to each other. Both had been rescued from a farm in Devon, around four years ago, while the two Shetlands and four geldings, who now blissfully grazed the buttercup field that flowed away from the garden walls on the opposite side to the wild-flower meadow, had come to Eva via an animal refuge just outside Poole.
By the time she’d dealt with the feeders and wandered on to the oriental footbridge to throw handfuls of bread to her greedy collection of Aylesbury and Cayuga ducks, who came paddling at full speed from under the weeping willow, Patty still hadn’t finished her call. Resisting the urge to go and stand in front of the conservatory with her hands on her hips, Eva sank down in a chair and picked up her drink. How on earth Patty could summon any sympathy, never mind patience, for Coral Best and her adulterous affair after what she’d been through herself when she’d found out that her husband, Reece, was involved with someone else, Eva simply didn’t know. Surely to God cheating women were the last members of their sex Patty would want to deal with, especially when Patty – and Eva – were so fond of Will, Coral’s slightly dull but unfailingly sweet-natured husband.
Still, Eva decided she should hardly be surprised by Patty’s concern, when she of all people knew how impossible Patty found it to turn her back on someone in need. Ever since Eva could remember Patty had been there for her, taking care of everything from what time she went to bed, to sorti
ng out Eva’s petty squabbles at school, to helping her get ready for her first date when the time came. In fact, since their mother’s untimely death in a car crash when Eva was only four Patty had all but taken charge of Eva’s world. There were even times when Eva actually felt like Patty’s eldest child, though she’d never voiced that thought to her sister, partly because she didn’t think Patty would like it, but mainly because she didn’t want to make Patty feel even more responsible for her than she already did.
‘Why doesn’t Mummy come back?’ she used to ask Patty during the months after the crash.
‘Because she can’t,’ Patty would say.
‘Doesn’t she love us any more?’
‘I don’t know if it’s possible for dead people to love, but she definitely loved us when she was here.’
‘Did we do something wrong?’
‘No, you know what Daddy said, it’s not our fault. It just happened. She was driving too fast and lost control of the car.’
‘Does he know where she is?’
‘Nobody knows where dead people go, and you mustn’t ask him, because it’ll upset him.’
Hating the very idea of her adorable, indulgent father being upset about anything, Eva would usually drop the subject then, at least for a few weeks, or maybe even months until she needed to bring it up again.
‘When is Mummy’s birthday?’ she asked Patty on the day she was six.
‘I can’t remember,’ Patty answered.
‘Shall we ask Daddy so we can send her a card?’
‘We don’t have anywhere to send it,’ Patty cried angrily, ‘now stop keeping on.’
Eva tried to stop, but she never could.
‘I want Mummy to come to my birthday,’ she sobbed the year she was seven. ‘It’s not fair that everyone else has a mummy who makes them cakes, and puts a bouncy castle in the garden and tucks them up at night and we don’t.’
‘You’ve got a bouncy castle, and Daddy always tucks you up – and he bakes cakes every now and again.’
