by Karen Guyler
“I don’t have the scientific data—”
“You don’t need scientific data to see that you’re poisoning them.”
“We’re not poisoning anyone, but I won’t comment beyond that until I know the full picture.”
“If you’re giving me a ‘no comment’, I’ll just print that you don’t care.”
Amelia Moore had a lot to learn about interviewing if she thought going low right away would get her what she wanted. ‘You get more flies with honey’, Eva’s father’s words flickered through her mind. It was almost funny. The night affirming his legacy and here she was being roasted by a young reporter.
“Research me, it’ll take you less than a minute to see how much I care. That’s why I won’t comment until I know the truth. Speculation and innuendo might sell articles, but the truth is what matters.” Eva made for the lift, dogged by Amelia. “The event I’m going to is ticket only.”
“That’s okay, I’ll wait until you come out.”
Making the guests feel scrutinised and uncomfortable wasn’t the way to get them to open their wallets.
“Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow morning and I’ll give you your comment then.”
“An exclusive?” Amelia looked as though Eva had offered her a promotion.
“Until I know what I’m dealing with, I can’t promise that, but I will give you first shot at this, if it’s even a story.”
No time for Eva to wonder if she’d sold her soul, just enough after going through the reassuringly tight security, to fail to reach Charles again. If he was angry she hadn’t backed him up that morning, now was the time for him to let that go. She needed him here, smiling, talking the science.
Everything in the ballroom looked perfect. Eva toasted her staff her thanks just as the guests began to arrive and they dispersed to be perfect hosts. The security process nicely staggered the arrivals into the pre-function room so she had time to mentally cross reference every face she greeted.
“Eva.”
She turned around. From the Chairman of Every Drop’s Board’s expression, she could have been forgiven for thinking she’d walked into the room, but her dress had stayed outside.
“Hello, Stuart. Pleased to meet you, Felicity. I’m Eva.” Stuart’s new wife shook Eva’s hand as though her injuries were contagious. She reminded Eva of a wren, tiny, unobtrusive, unnoticeable even, on the periphery. Stuart was more like a hawk. His grey curly hair was still thick, but age had not been kind to his nose, which now dominated his face, ruddy with the pay-out from long-term drinking. Much taller than both women, he looked down at Eva, staring at her face longer than the doctor who’d stitched her up. “What on Earth happened?”
“Nothing serious. Did you see my interview on ‘Your Good Morning’?”
Perhaps not the best time to question him on his alleged quote, but at least here, in front of this crowd, he’d have to answer her something. She gestured to the enormous bar behind them, wanting to help that along. “What would you like?”
“Someone else to do the keynote. You can’t do it looking like that.” Stuart’s hand wafted between them.
“It’s about what I say, not what I look like.”
“There’s an image commensurate with Every Drop.” He smoothed the lapel of his tuxedo, tailored well enough to make it less obvious he’d put on more weight. “The right one makes the donors feel more at ease. You have to know how to court them.”
Clearly she did, they couldn’t turn around without hitting a peer, celebrity or captain of industry. Lord and Lady Butler meandering behind her were an ideal foil.
“Lord and Lady Butler.” Eva said as though surprised they were there. “How lovely to see you.”
“Oh, my goodness. What happened to you?” Lady Butler asked.
“I had a disagreement with the pavement. It’s fine, it looks worse than it is.”
“You’re very brave to go out looking like that.” Her hand flew to her carefully maintained jawline. Her face might have been as aghast as Stuart’s if it had still been able to form any emotional expression.
“So tell me, Lady Butler, which lots do you have your eye on?”
“Well, I am rather partial to the ‘have your portrait painted’. I have just the spot for it in our drawing room, don’t I?”
“Yes indeed, it would look splendid in the drawing room.” Her husband replied.
“Did you notice the opportunity to be featured in a spread in the House Beautiful Yearbook? It would be rather lovely to have your portrait in one of those photos.” Eva said it innocently.
“Yes, it would.” Lady Butler’s face tried to light up. “I want that one too.”
Eva’s work there was done. “It’s been lovely to chat but please forgive me, I must mingle.” She beamed at them both, trying not to wince at the cracking of her grazes.
Stuart followed her away from the Butlers. “I realise this is disappointing, but I have to insist.”
“Is it true you said water isn’t an inalienable right?”
He drained his champagne, holding his glass out to his wife, who took it and walked away in search of a full one. “We all know it, I’m the only person courageous enough to say it. Water is the scarcest resource we have. It’s fair that everyone pays for it.”
“It’s hardly the same for people in crisis.”
“This is the way of the world, you can’t be an idealist forever. Now, where’s that Indian girl? She can do it.”
“The one born in Whitechapel?” Stuart didn’t appear to get Eva’s sarcasm.
“She ticks more diversity boxes than you, she should have been doing it anyway.”
“Apart from her not having the experience, knowledge or passion, and the guests not knowing who she is—”
“I’ve made up my mind.” Stuart’s attention snagged behind Eva. Jonathan Trainer and his wife had arrived, the best potential donor there amongst a lot of heavy hitters. Stuart walked over to greet the new arrivals as though they were long-lost family and it had been his idea to invite them.
Eva would rather meet him away from Stuart’s fake camaraderie. She found Vaishali at the bar to give her the heads up to ignore whatever Stuart said. Eva’s electric blue sequined dress felt as though it was trying too hard next to Vaishali’s exquisite embroidered turquoise sari.
“Thirsty?” Eva gestured at the two shots lined up in front of her.
Vaishali picked up one, Eva grabbed the other and coughed as the fire after downing it spread through her chest. “Aren’t you supposed to have lemon with that?”
Vaishali shrugged, signalled the bartender. Eva shook her head at him and he turned away from them in mid-stride.
“You okay?” Eva asked.
“Another couple and I will be.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Don’t you need to mingle or something?” Vaishali gestured at the bartender again.
“Would you rather go home?”
In Vaishali’s eyes Eva could see a shadow beyond the tequila. “If you’re not okay, go home, we’ve got this covered.” Vaishali looked more miserable. “Get a taxi on our account, reception can arrange it for you.”
“I just, I,” Vaishali shook herself. “I’m fine.”
“Two more, please.” Eva ordered. “Let’s do this the right way. Thanks, again, for all your help, couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I only do social media.”
“Nothing is anything without it.” They clinked the tiny glasses and drank. “Want to help me round this lot up for dinner?”
Gordon’s warning whispered through Eva’s mind as the waiter offered the vegetarians on her table their meal choice. She took the meat option as though she could eat the exquisitely presented lamb. She picked at the vegetables and potato, trying to not be obviously wiping the gravy off them, pushing the meat to one side.
“Shame about the no show, Charles Buchanan.” The man beside her read the silver calligraphy on Charles’
placeholder.
Eva tried to smile. What in his work had become more important this time? He never spoke about it, in fairness she wouldn’t have understood it if he had. But she told him about her setbacks and triumphs at Every Drop. It was that sharing she wanted; to feel a connection to that part of his life. She didn’t even know what of his work he’d put before the Nobel Committee.
While coffee was being poured, Eva pre-empted the celebrity MC’s announcement of the keynote speaker, limping up to the lectern before he could announce Vaishali.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” She moved the mic closer to her mouth. “I hope you’re having a good time. I’m sure you’re wondering what happened here,” she waved a hand in front of her face, “why I look like an extra from Casualty.”
It was then, looking around at the smiles in her audience, that Eva noticed him. The man who didn’t belong.
10
Eva hadn’t seen him before, she would have remembered.
A whispered ripple pulled her attention to the fact she was standing in front of over a hundred people, all expecting her to say something. It had almost been a flippant comment to Gordon that she’d be in public, lots of witnesses, like Eric and Hunter Malone. She pulled her gaze from the man, licked her lips. Focus.
“In shanty towns and slums around the world, water is a currency.” But the facts and figures she was going to tell them had evaporated like liquid on sand.
The stranger smiled at her. Around her age, brown hair perfectly styled. With the chiselled looks James Bond casting directors loved, the way he wore his tux would have won him the role instantly.
Eva gripped the lectern. “It’s, I. . .” The whisper was rising.
He couldn’t hurt her from there, shooting her would be too obvious, he’d be stopped before he could make his getaway. She had to get it together.
“Women and girls mostly, walk miles to access water we wouldn’t wash our clothes in.” Eva picked up her glass as though emphasising her point to her audience. It looked safe, it should be, it had been beside her since the waiter poured it from a half-empty jug. She scanned the room. No one was bending over, rushing out. She replaced the glass in its sunken spot on the lectern. “Too many end up looking like me, simply fighting for the right to hold on to what they’ve managed to carry. Cartels of criminals supply grey or brown water at exorbitant rates. Or worse for those with no means to pay.”
No whispering now, she could have been the only one in the room. The weight of the stares on her was heavy as the truth made her audience uncomfortable, but none as much as that from the man on her right. She patted at her forehead, checked her fingertips. Not red-coated, she was just sweating from the lights, the heat, her break-neck heart rate. That was all. Please, not a poison.
“It’s so easy for us to not even think of how it must feel to not be able to trust what you’re putting into your body.” Don’t poison me, I haven’t done anything to you. “What choice is that? If I don’t drink, I will die but the dirty water in the jar I’ve collected, what is in it that might kill me? Will it make my child sick? My mother, my husband?”
Eva resisted the call from her dry mouth.
“In our auction this evening, we have an amazing array of lots that money can’t buy. If you’re wondering how much is enough to pledge, think of my injuries on a seven-year-old girl beaten for the water she trekked five miles to get for her family.”
Eva lifted her glass, the man was doing the same. “Sip your water, hold it in your mouths, taste it, this miracle that supports life on our beautiful planet. You have the power to give that gift to others, to save their lives. To safe water for everyone.”
The audience rumbled the toast back to her and silence held for that moment while they did what she asked. She hoped they were thinking about what she’d said, really thinking about it.
“Now I’ll hand you over to our fabulous auctioneer,” Eva grasped the lectern and leant towards her audience. “Please, be generous.”
Gordon’s warning propelled her downstairs to hotel security, where she asked to see their registration list for her event. She took her time studying the list of guests they’d checked in. What the uniformed security guard represented felt oddly comforting, even though she was certain the stranger upstairs would best him if it came to it. They had admitted no one unexpected; the hotel prided themselves on giving their clients exactly what they requested they explained to her twice.
An icy worry trailed down her back when she checked her phone. Radio silence from Charles still? Surely he wouldn’t let himself be so distracted that he’d miss the biggest night of her career? He knew what this meant to her. Had something happened?
She was staring at her phone screen as if she could conjure up an answer when the door to the disabled toilet clicked open and a couple practically fell out of it into her.
In that snapshot second she looked up at Jonathan Trainer, Head of the Transit Group. Not Mrs Trainer stumbling with him but one of the other guests, Annabel Grayson, apparently having forgotten about her Prince Charming fiancé.
In a blur of red designer exquisiteness, probably real diamonds and an animalistic, most unladylike roar, Annabel launched herself. She collided with Eva in a scream of “No, you don’t!” knocking Eva’s phone onto the marble tiled floor. The possibilities of broken glass made her wince more than the slapping, scratching onslaught.
Jonathan Trainer was sidestepping away, disappearing in the opposite direction of the running footsteps of the concierge.
“Ladies, please.”
Everywhere Eva looked, tried to move away, she met slaps and scratching, hair pulling, squealing, yelling.
“Stop it.” Eva tried to push Annabel Grayson off with one hand, defending her stitches with the other.
More running feet, a crowd gathering.
One last shriek from her attacker, followed by the horrendous ripping of a dress not designed for a catfight. Hands on Eva, not pinching or scratching, but unwelcome all the same.
The man she didn’t recognise was right there, too close, lifting the tattered remnant of the front of her dress to cover her bare breasts.
11
Eva snatched the torn fabric of her dress from the hands of the man she didn’t recognise. His hazel eyes held her gaze as he took his jacket off. She looked right back at him, hoping somehow that would cut off his peripheral vision so he couldn’t see anything he shouldn’t be seeing.
He held his jacket out to her. “It’ll detract.”
Annabel Grayson was yelling something about selling pictures, but at least now it was at the hotel staff, busy trying to calm her down and move the indiscreet guests filming this disaster away. Jonathan Trainer was nowhere. Eva hoped they’d got him sneaking off.
Who was she kidding? She’d be the one all over YouTube, not to mention probably back on ‘Your Good Morning’ on the ‘what’s in the papers today’ feature under some innuendo, ‘CEO of Every Drop drops everything for charity auction’. Breaking one of her cardinal rules.
Realising she didn’t have enough hands, the stranger stepped behind her and laid his jacket over her shoulders. She looked at him, his face close to hers.
“It’s okay.”
Eva shivered into his borrowed warmth, slipping her arms into the sleeves, buttoning his jacket while trying to hold the front of her dress up underneath it.
Reinforcements of hotel staff had arrived to restore the five star order the guests paid for.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, I’m suing your arse.” Annabel Grayson had a lot to learn about being ladylike. “Don’t even think about touching me.”
She slapped the manager trying to cajole, placate. He stepped backwards, letting his colleague try, turning to Eva.
“Madam, how can I be of assistance?”
“Can you get me a taxi, please?” Home to change and hopefully back before the auction finished, before anyone questioned where she was. Time enough after tonight to weather
how this would undermine Every Drop’s reputation, that image Stuart was so concerned about. If he thought a couple of bruises would destroy it, he’d be apoplectic about this.
“Of course.” The manager strode away.
In the now emptying space, she could see it. “Oh, no.”
“I’ve got it.” The stranger collected as many of the smashed remains of her phone as he could, although, really, what was the point? There was no putting that back together. But such an extension of a person, the way we interact with the world through those tiny rectangles, it felt like she was leaving a glimpse into her soul over the marble floor. “Is this yours too?”
He held out her clutch bag. She wrestled both lapels into the grip of one hand to take it.
“Who are you?”
“Luke Fox.”
“You’re not on the guest list.”
“I’m here on behalf of Addison Clarke. He was supposed to tell you.” He hefted the remains of her phone. “This is pretty irredeemable. You want me to take out the SIM?”
“Please.”
“Shall I?” he gestured at her clutch.
“Thanks.” He stepped towards her to take it from her. “Do you mind if I borrow your jacket, while I get changed?”
“Not at all, my driver can take you.”
“No need, the taxi’s probably already here. Thanks.”
In the cab, Eva stared at the shimmery beauty of the skirt of her dress. This disaster hadn’t featured anywhere in her planning for all eventualities. Surely, once she sobered up, Annabel Grayson would make the rational decision to keep her prospective in-laws’ press office away from YouTube by staying silent about the whole thing. Her minor royal fiancé might not have a title or as much of a fortune as Jonathan Trainer, but he was still a Windsor, the catch every ‘it’ girl desired.
Eva unlocked her front door. No deadlock on? How ironic, rushing out with the police meant she hadn’t locked up properly. Had that only been this morning? She slid her key into the top lock and pushed the door open.
