by Roberta Kray
‘How about meeting up again over the weekend?’ he asked.
She picked up her glass, took a sip and gazed at him over the rim. She felt a frown forming on her brow and raised a hand to disguise it. Okay, she liked him, was undeniably attracted, but she couldn’t afford to get any closer. Her life was already too complicated. ‘Sorry. I’m in London for a couple of days. I’ve promised to catch up with some friends.’ There she went – lying again. Although the story contained an essence of truth. And she could hardly explain the real purpose of her visit.
‘Oh, right,’ he said.
She saw the disappointment in his face, the way he quickly glanced away. It wasn’t the kind of expression that was easy to fake. So perhaps he was really interested, but so what? It was time to cut and run. Then, ridiculously, she found herself saying, ‘But next week would be good – if you’re free.’
His mouth broke into a smile. ‘I’d like that,’ he said.
God, what was she doing? This was supposed to be the last supper. She’d already got the information she wanted. Thank you and goodbye. Why on earth was she agreeing to see him again?
The answer was sitting right in front of her. Love at first sight might be a fantasy but lust was another matter altogether …
Her mobile was going off. Eve scrabbled in her bag, pulled it out and examined the number. Unrecognized. She had a moment’s hesitation, worried that her heavybreather might have tracked her down, before she finally decided to answer it.
‘Hello.’
‘Eve?’
She sighed her relief down the line. ‘Henry’
‘How are you?’ he said.
‘I’m fine.’
‘I’ve been trying to call. Where are you?’
She heard the anxiety in his voice. She could have made up some story but she didn’t want to lie to him. ‘Something’s come up. I’m on my way to London.’ And from telling him that, it was only a short step to agreeing to meet him at Frith Street. It was the easiest option; surrounded by all the other passengers, she couldn’t go into detail and she knew he wouldn’t rest until she told him exactly what was happening.
Eve slipped the phone back into her bag.
‘So your friend’s joining us,’ Sonia said, not even attempting to pretend that she hadn’t been listening. She laid a sly emphasis on the word as if it was a euphemism that they both understood.
‘He is just a friend,’ Eve insisted. ‘I used to work for him.’ She didn’t know why she was bothering – it didn’t matter what Sonia thought – but she felt obliged to at least try and protect Henry’s reputation. These days, it seemed, she exerted more effort into denying relationships than in actually forming them. Jack Raynor sprang uninvited into her mind again; he lingered for a few delightful seconds before she rapidly dismissed him. ‘It’s only for a quick drink. He’s been concerned about Terry and everything.’
‘So he knows?’
Eve glanced at the man and woman sitting opposite, both with their heads in newspapers. But that didn’t mean they weren’t eavesdropping. ‘Some of it,’ she murmured, hoping Sonia wouldn’t pursue the subject.
Thankfully she didn’t. Instead she simply raised her dark eyebrows, gave her a searching look and returned her attention to the magazine.
It was only as they were approaching London that Eve began to get a serious case of the jitters, to worry that she might be being followed again (she peered around the carriage but saw nothing suspicious), to worry about finding Jimmy Reece, or, perhaps even worse, not finding him, to fret about seeing Patrick, to stress about compromising Henry, and last but not least to question the fairness of involving Sonia in this whole mad venture. Perhaps her neighbour had only insisted on coming out of some misplaced sense of obligation to her father. Although she was glad of the company, it was hardly fair on Sonia, especially when she wasn’t in possession of all the facts. Should she tell her about the attack, about being followed?
Eve decided she would. As soon as they got off the train and could talk with some degree of privacy. She’d tell her everything. She definitely would. And then, two stops later, she changed her mind again. Was there any point in stressing her out unnecessarily? She hadn’t even heard from Joe Friendly in the last few days. Maybe he’d realized he’d got the wrong person and moved on. She might never hear from him again.
Or was she just fooling herself?
She was still mentally arguing the point as the train cruised gently into Liverpool Street. Eve stared out of the window. Grey, grimy and … God, so infinitely glorious! She couldn’t resist a smile. She wasn’t looking forward to the evening ahead but there were certain consolations.
If nothing else, she was back on home ground.
Chapter Fourteen
They descended into the underground and took the first available tube along the Central line to Tottenham Court Road. Standing up, sardine-squashed between the weary commuters, they were assaulted by the intermingling odours of stale tobacco, sweat, garlic, and the sickly scent of perfume. Eve tried not to breathe too deeply.
A briefcase jolted for the second time against her thigh, its hard edge hitting precisely the same spot. She winced. By this time tomorrow, she’d have a bruise the shade of violets. Another bruise. Shifting a fraction, she glared at her assailant but the portly middleaged businessman, oblivious to the lethal weapon he was carrying, stared blankly down the length of the carriage.
‘Nearly there,’ she said, as much for her own benefit as Sonia’s. She was starting to feel a creeping claustrophobia, a sense of oppression from the bodies pressing in around her. Dark thoughts invaded her mind: Cavelli’s obsession with Jimmy Reece, the danger Terry might be in, the death of her father. She closed her eyes. That persistent question, the one that wouldn’t leave her alone, caught the rhythm of the rocking train and fell into a loop: What are you doing? What are you doing?
When the train finally drew to a halt and the doors swished open, Eve urgently elbowed her way through the crowd. She had to get out, break free. Sonia, accustomed to the rather more polite ways of Norwich society, followed in her wake, mumbling, ‘Excuse me. Ta. Excuse me.’
They half-fell on to the platform, took a moment to orientate themselves, and then made their way to the escalator. Eve, still preoccupied, frowned as it carried them upwards. Behind her, Sonia embarked on a low but heartfelt monologue about the gross perversities of tube travel. ‘Like a cattle truck … right on my foot he was … the stink … Can’t think how they do it every day. Not natural, is it?’
Eve nodded as the words flowed over and around her, only partially heard, only partially recognized. Her heart was beating faster than it should. Like a drowning woman, she felt the urge to rush, to scramble towards the surface, but forced herself to stand perfectly still. Now wasn’t the time to panic.
Once outside, she gradually regained her calm. Away from the stuffy confines of the underground the air had a different quality, the cool sharpness of dusk overlain by petrol fumes. There was something else too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was just the familiar smell of the city.
From the station it was only a short walk to Frith Street. After a while, Eve stepped up the pace, eager to get on with whatever lay ahead.
‘Hang on,’ Sonia complained, tottering behind on her high heels. ‘Where’s the bloody fire?’
‘Sorry.’ Stopping, Eve waited for her to catch up, taking a moment to look around, to take in the surrounding restaurants and bars. Already they were starting to fill up, to bustle with their Friday night clientele. In a few hours they’d be packed solid, filled to bursting, buzzing with that volatile combination of relief and anticipation – relief that the working week was over, anticipation of the two free days to come. She sighed. There was nothing like the atmosphere of a West End Friday night. Strange that she’d almost forgotten it.
It was twenty to seven when they arrived at the pub. They were early but Henry was already there, seated at a table with
the evening paper. As if a sixth sense had alerted him, he raised his head as she approached and got smartly to his feet. His mouth broke into a smile. It faded a little as he realized she wasn’t alone. Usually, he’d have leaned forward, placed a hand on her shoulder and given her a kiss on the cheek, but this evening, constrained by the unexpected presence of a stranger, he seemed at a loss as to how to greet her.
To cover the awkwardness, she quickly made the introductions. ‘Henry, this is Sonia, a friend of mine. Sonia, this is Henry.’
They shook hands.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Henry said.
‘Likewise,’ she replied.
There was a brief silence, an uncomfortable pause, while the two of them stared at each other. Eve was aware of their mutual scrutiny. Glancing from one pair of eyes to another, she could almost read what they were thinking. Henry, without looking down, was still absorbing the cheap shortness of her skirt, her black stockings and high heels. Who was this woman? Sonia, on the other hand, was blatantly examining his smart but rather tired grey suit and the lines on his face. What could this ageing man offer Eve?
He was the first to recover his composure. Gesturing towards the chairs, he said, ‘Please, sit down. Let me get you both a drink. What would you like?’
‘Gin and tonic,’ Sonia said. ‘Ta.’
Eve asked for an orange juice. She could have done with a real drink, a large one, but the night might be a long one. She couldn’t afford to take the easy option. There was too much at stake. She had to try and stay sober.
Sonia, who had clearly decided that Henry was some kind of eccentric sugar daddy, examined his back as he stood at the bar. She tilted her head. ‘He’s a bit older than I imagined.’
Eve raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Not that old.’
‘But nice enough. You could do worse. At least he’s got manners.’
They were still sitting round the same table over an hour and two drinks later. The conversation was starting to wane. She’d updated Henry on the latest events, trying to keep it low key, acting like it was no big deal to go searching for some dubious guy in the back streets of Soho. He wasn’t convinced – she could see it in the way his mouth drooped down at the corners – but he kept his opinions to himself. Had they been alone, it would have been different, but the presence of Sonia created a useful barrier against a more probing and intense interrogation.
It was only when Sonia excused herself and went to the Ladies that he sighed and leaned forward. ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’
She shrugged. ‘What is the right thing?’
‘You don’t know anything about this Jimmy Reece, Eve. He could be involved in all manner of stuff. He could be dangerous. He could be—’
‘He could,’ she said. ‘But from what I’ve heard, I doubt it.’
And what about Cavelli?’
She frowned. ‘What about him?’
‘How dangerous is he?’
Eve shrugged her shoulders again. She couldn’t answer with any honesty. Very was the word that sprang to mind but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. ‘He’s got his own agenda,’ she murmured. ‘That’s his business, not mine.’
‘And you’re happy with that?’
She lifted the glass to her lips and drank down the last of her juice. ‘What do you think?’
‘So why are you doing it?’
‘You know why. A deal’s a deal. He’s taking care of Terry and I’m …’ She gazed down into her empty glass. ‘I’m sticking to my side of the bargain.’
Henry laid his hands on the table, his fingers restively touching and intertwining before breaking free again. ‘But what kind of bargain is it?’ he asked. ‘What about the rest, the man who’s been following you?’
‘That’s over,’ she said, with more confidence than she felt. ‘I’m sure it is. There’s been nothing for days, no phone calls, no threats. It must have been some kind of mistake. They got the wrong person and now—’
Before she could finish, Sonia came back. She slid into her seat and gazed at them both. ‘Sorry. I’m not disturbing anything, am I?’
‘No,’ they declared simultaneously.
Eve glanced over her shoulder towards the door. Patrick, unsurprisingly, was late. For all his fancy watches, he had never been able to get anywhere on time. It was almost eight o’clock. What would she do if he didn’t turn up? She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him but was dreading even more the prospect of haphazardly roaming the local bars, searching for a man she might not even recognize. All she had to go on was the tiny photograph she’d printed off the internet.
‘Shall we go?’ Sonia said. ‘I’m starving.’
Eve looked up at the clock. She hadn’t mentioned that there was going to be a fourth member to their party which, all things considered, was probably a wise move. Why she had ever imagined that Patrick would keep to any arrangements they had made was a mystery. He was probably still hustling in some dim seedy pool room on the other side of London.
‘Yeah, let’s make a move.’ She stood up and put on her coat. There was no point waiting around any longer. He had her number; if he ever managed to make it to Soho, he could give her a ring.
Pushing their way through the crowd, Eve tried not to feel too resentful. It wasn’t as if he had ever been the reliable sort. And she knew she could easily pick up her phone and give him a call but she was too stubborn and too proud to go chasing after him.
They were only feet from the door when it swung open and there he was – Patrick Fielding in all his sexy, blue-jeaned, smiling glory. Dramatic entrances were always his speciality.
‘Evie!’ he said, rushing forward and wrapping his arms tightly around her. ‘Great to see you again!’
‘You’re late,’ she snapped into his shoulder.
‘Late for what?’ he murmured seductively in her ear.
She felt his warm breath against her neck. Struggling free, she took a step back and gave him a cool look. ‘I believe you said seven.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He grinned. ‘Have I missed something important?’
It came as no surprise to find he still had the same flippant wisecracking attitude. She was sure he’d been born with it. And just to make matters worse, that pretty face of his had hardly changed at all, just a few faint lines around the eyes, which, if anything, made him appear even more attractive.
Eve tried to keep her tone light, to pretend – although it was a pointless exercise – that he hadn’t got under her skin. ‘Well, you’ll never know now, will you?’
‘Hey, we’ve got plenty of time to catch up. Our mutual friend won’t be coming out to play before ten. That’s if he’s sobered up by then.’ He turned and bestowed the glorious pleasure of his smile on her two companions. ‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘Patrick Fielding, devoted ex-husband. Delighted to meet you.’
Sonia didn’t waste a second in grabbing his hand. As if an angel from heaven had miraculously descended, she squeezed his slender fingers and gazed up at him with awestruck wonder. ‘Sonia Marshall,’ she eventually managed to murmur.
While this touching exchange was taking place, Henry shot Eve a confused and questioning glance. His expression said it all. What on earth was going on? Having only just come to terms with the unexpected presence of her garishly made-up neighbour – a woman who looked, and even Eve couldn’t pretend otherwise, rather less than respectable – he now had to deal with the sudden appearance of her long-divorced husband. His handshake, although not overtly unfriendly, was of a hesitant and cursory nature.
She should have warned him, Eve thought. He wasn’t the kind of man who dealt too well with surprises.
‘So, quite a posse,’ Patrick said, his amused eyes sweeping over the three of them. ‘Shall we go somewhere quiet? I think we need to talk.’
As they made their way slowly towards Greek Street, their progress impeded by the Friday night throng, he managed to skilfully manoeuv
re her away from the other two. Linking his arm through hers, he slid them smoothly through a gap in the crowd. ‘You look wonderful, Evie. You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘And you can still lie for Britain.’
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You still look as great as the day I first met you.’
She paused a moment before she burst out laughing. ‘You bastard! I was flat on my back and lying in the gutter.’
‘You were doing a runner from The Ivy.’
‘Not a runner,’ she corrected. ‘I was making a hasty but discreet exit from a slightly compromising situation.’
‘Ah, yes, very discreet. And the way you slid off that pavement was the epitome of grace. If I recall rightly, you were being followed by an irate banker’s wife with nothing but murder on her mind.’
‘Yes, well,’ she grinned. ‘Not one of my finest moments.’
‘It had its consolations.’
‘For you, perhaps,’ she said.
He shook his head in mock astonishment. ‘There’s gratitude for you. I saved your skin, babe!’
‘You reckon? What’s that saying – out of the frying pan and into the fire?’
‘I don’t recall you complaining at the time.’
As she laughed again, their bodies instinctively drew together. ‘Well, you know me. Never one to cause a fuss.’ And slowly, as her laughter dissolved, she leaned against him, her shoulder fitting neatly under his. Just like old times. The past was like superglue; no matter how hard you fought, it always held fast. And their past was stickier than most.
He sighed. ‘I wish you’d told me, Evie, about your dad. He was … I could have been there for you.’
She shook her head. ‘It all happened so quickly.’
‘We should have stayed in touch.’
‘Should we?’ Perhaps he was right. You couldn’t just throw away history. It was always there, always a part of you.
He pulled her closer, placing his chin on the crown of her head. ‘You could have called me.’
