Don't Tell Eve (2 page)

‘But,’ said David, ‘this isn’t my fault – I took the book seriously and I believed the agent was sincere.’

‘You fuckwit,’ muttered Roger, proving himself, as usual, the consummate wordsmith.

The meeting continued in this vein, with Eve working her way around the table, asking rhetorical questions and picking up books, occasionally throwing one against a nearby wall when she felt the need for emphasis. Finally, ritual public humiliation out of the way, it was time for the new projects to be pitched. In the old days, before Papyrus had been taken over by the international communications giant MaxMedia, Papyrus’s publishers were allowed to buy whatever they wanted. Some speculated that this was how the company had ended up being taken over. Regardless, things were different now and they all knew that Eve’s primary agenda was to get the place making money because then she’d be sent home to some flash, important job. The office gossip was unusually accurate on this occasion.

Dedication to her goal meant that while Eve’s Papyrus wasn’t the relaxed, comfortable place it had been, there were a few people prospering under the new regime. Jess, for one, thanks to her insurance policy. And Phil. The Phil who sauntered in leaving the aquamarine doors swinging, saloon style, just after everyone had presented their new projects – and had been told these projects were too new, too old, too dull, too small or too, too, just too.

‘So, where are we at, kids?’ was his opening line; there was never a ‘Sorry I’m late’ from Phil. He glanced lazily at the agenda in front of Daisy in foreign rights – being
admin-focused, she always ticked items off as they happened – and then tilted his neatly trimmed goatee in Eve’s direction. ‘I have four words for you: football, key, player, signed. My work, for this fiscal, then, is done.’

‘And everyone’s budget, for this year, then, spent? How much did you pay?’ Jess addressed Phil in a manner that she reserved for him alone.

‘Don’t you worry your pretty little shaved head about it, sweetie-pie – more noughts than you can count.’

Jess’s pretty little head wasn’t close to shaved, despite Phil’s regular description of it as such. It was simply that he liked women with long hair and had been appalled when Jess turned up one day with a messy pixie cut. Before that he’d considered her attractive, in a blue-eyed, honey-haired, slim-figured way that required little imagination for any viewer to admire. Now, though, he wasn’t sure what to make of her.

‘I’m sure Phil ran it by Finance before offering,’ said Eve.

Jess wasn’t. If he hadn’t run it by his beloved leader, he wouldn’t have run it by Finance. She’d worked with Phil long enough to know how he operated.

But Eve believed that anyone who could have been a body double for a young Clint Eastwood could only be a straight shooter, incapable of deception. ‘Speaking of money,’ she said to Jess, ‘tell me about Alex.’

Jess’s insurance policy was known as Alex, superstar chef, best-selling author, national treasure and the sole reason the company remained solvent. He was also the business partner of Jack, Jess’s ex-boyfriend. Not that anyone was supposed to know that Jack was now ex – Jess had decided it was strategically wise to keep that a secret. Jack had been an amenable and easygoing boyfriend, and was proving an amenable and easygoing ex – he’d agreed with her request, having understood why she’d made it.

‘He’s working hard and we should have some material soon. We’re still on track for an early October release,’ Jess lied.

‘I heard he was on vacation.’

‘Yep, that’s right, recharging the batteries, but the book’s under control.’ Jess’s legs, toes and fingers on the hand under the table were all crossed. Her other hand was touching wood. Alex was on much more than a holiday. The book didn’t exist, and if Alex had anything to do with it, wouldn’t. Ever. He’d told Jack that he planned to stay in his Himalayan mountain retreat indefinitely.

‘So when will we have material?’ It might have been years of marketing experience that gave Roger the ability to sense when someone wasn’t speaking the whole truth.

‘Soon.’

‘When?’

‘Soon – I’ll let you know.’

Phil raised an eyebrow. For him this wasn’t a subtle movement, as it also involved cocking his head. But nothing Phil did was subtle.

For some reason, Jess had a sudden conviction that Phil knew something. It was conceivable that he did. After all, he and Jack and Alex played on the same social football team. But Jack had promised not to say anything, he knew how it important it was that Jess resolved the problem before her colleagues, and in particular her new boss, discovered there was one. Had been one. She would solve it. And as for Phil, he couldn’t know, she was just being paranoid. There was a lot of it going around.

Just as the shuffling that denoted the end of a meeting began, Eve, ever the performer, held up an ornately manicured hand. ‘Wait, I’m not finished.’

Daisy studied her agenda.

‘You won’t find it there,’ Eve said, patronisingly.

They were all nervous about unscheduled announcements from Eve, with good reason. It wasn’t just that she filled them with fresh paradigms, new matrices and exciting synergies. That would have been bad enough. The problem was that these fresh paradigms, new matrices and exciting synergies actually meant something. Generally they meant that Eve had been speaking to the Finance department, and everyone knew that nothing good could ever come of that.

‘As y’all know, I’ve been working hard to get Papyrus back on track, and I have already made a number of important changes.’

From somewhere to her left Jess heard a snort – or more likely a snore. The source was Noel, the contracts director, a man who hated the place, with the sort of concentrated hate that put a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye. He’d hated the place since he’d arrived at Papyrus twenty-five years ago, long before MaxMedia existed, let alone had mastered the art of the hostile takeover.

Eve ignored the interruption. ‘But more changes are needed, and that’s where y’all come in.’ Here she stopped momentarily, giving the team time to imagine the worst. ‘We value your input and believe y’all have something special to give, so, to that end, we’re going to give you the chance to make a real difference to the company. I don’t just mean doin’ your job, I mean thinkin’ bigger than that. What we’re gonna do is hold a competition. They’ll be a prize for the best money-saving idea – submit as many as you like and be as creative as you like. No need to limit yourself to your department or area. Think laterally, be ambitious. The new Papyrus rewards ambition and what we want is blue-sky thinkin’.’

She let Hilary explain the rules, then stood up and sashayed out, fuchsia ra-ra skirt swishing, parrot earrings swinging. The rest of the team scurried after her, Jess hiding her sketches, Phil attempting to peer over her shoulder.

Hilary waited until the room was empty before pulling on the cord of a pistachio-coloured blind to reveal the end less, irritatingly clear skies and a glaring harbour fringed with green and dotted with lazy ferries, busy fishing boats and glossy maxi-yachts. She understood exactly why Eve loathed the place.

Although Eve liked to imagine that her husband, Todd, spent his time lying in their waterside residence on their ponyskin chaise longue watching daytime television while she kept him in Coke, this wasn’t the case. For a start, the chaise was the wrong shape. While perfect for a siesta it certainly didn’t lend itself to the sprawling position Todd favoured for serious viewing; the lime-green beanbag was better for this. Not that Todd spent many hours in front of the wall-mounted screen. He only watched a few programs regularly –
Oprah
,
Ugly Betty
and
Mad Men
were among them. Food porn was sanctioned, but unlike most adult males he didn’t drool over Nigella’s sensual spoon-licking, he preferred Delia’s bossy, school-marmish approach. He also had a soft spot for Jamie’s tousle-haired enthusiasm.

Eve would have been surprised to learn that Todd had activities other than daytime television to occupy his time. A recent exercise, for instance, had involved painstakingly replacing the hundreds of pieces of paper surrounding the lampshade that hung large and low over their dining-room table. Like most things in Eve’s new house it had been acquired by her decorator, the one also responsible for
the Papyrus boardroom, and, like the boardroom, it was designed to make a statement. Everything was about statement with Eve: big, bold, but not necessarily beautiful. Big and bold was enough. Todd, who had a certain aesthetic sensibility himself, had spent two months staring at the white pieces of paper before it occurred to him – Todd was not a man to hurry – that what the lampshade needed was the personal touch, so he had added some thoughtful graffiti.

While gnawing on a chicken thigh and listening to Eve, he contemplated his handiwork.

On the way home Eve had stopped to have a drink with Hilary – not that Hilary drank – so she was late. Again. If Todd hadn’t spent two hours preparing and cooking dinner, maybe this tardiness wouldn’t have been too much of a drama. Maybe if Eve had apologised when she’d arrived, it wouldn’t have been too much of a drama. Perhaps if she’d acknowledged him, instead of putting Hilary on speakerphone while they ate, he might have forgiven her. As it was, his wife sat in front of him waving her fork and absentmindedly revealing the half-chewed contents of her heavily lipsticked mouth, while addressing the black box in the centre of the table – seemingly oblivious that such behaviour engendered neither love nor loyalty in her partner.

‘While the idea of the competition was inspired,’ she was saying, lingering on the second syllable of inspired, ‘we do need to keep
editin’
that staff list.’

A cackle emanated from the black box.

‘Besides, the more frightened people are about their jobs the harder they’ll work, and the harder they work the fewer of them we’ll need. There’s a beautiful kind of symmetry to it.’

Todd, a man of considerable self-restraint these days, made no comment, instead telling himself how delicious the chicken
provençale was, how tolerant he was and how lucky Eve was to have him – and wondering if she’d notice if he left.

She certainly didn’t notice the tender meat on her fork as she plumped up her hair with her free hand. ‘So, what’ve we got so far anyway?’

The machine in the middle of the table answered. ‘Well, there was an entry from one of those sad, deluded girls who knit together at lunchtime and still believe the long-outmoded concept that
Vogue
is a vehicle of female repression, rather than just admitting the truth about themselves, that they’re jealous and have no hope …’

Eve laughed as the machine explained what the pathetic girl had suggested as a way of saving money. ‘What else have you got?’

‘This one is from the publicity administrator, who thinks that we might give staff encouragement in the form of free biscuits for morning and afternoon tea. She seems to think it will make people work harder.’

‘My God – have you seen the size of her? She sure as hell doesn’t need any more cookies, and don’t these imbeciles understand that the point is to
cut
spendin’? Mind you, there’s something in her idea. It would be useful for the workers to feel as though they get something for free from us. I suggest we give them fruit: we could ration it to one piece a day.’

‘Perfect. It would also make us appear to care about their health, and – if the amount of hot chips eaten in the café is any indication – most of them won’t take up our offer, so the outlay will be minimal. In fact, I’m sure I can source the stuff cheaply. I’ll ask a few contacts.’

‘I like it.’ Eve smiled to herself. This sort of thinking was exactly why she’d hired Hilary. She’d hired Hilary because of her background, not in spite of it, as many others might have done. Of course, Hilary might not have been so open with other potential employers. Eve wasn’t sure why, but Hilary
had opened up to her the very first time they’d met, and Eve never ceased to be glad that she had. Perhaps Hilary knew it would give her a unique advantage over her competitors, though her revelation was certainly a risk, as was providing Eve with such a hold over her. But, once again, Eve was sure Hilary knew this. The woman was shrewd and calculating: she had no doubt done her homework on Eve.

‘It is, after all, important that we’re seen to introduce some staff-friendly initiatives. It’s good marketing, both internally and externally. What else?’

‘That daft Daisy suggests turning off the lifts and making everyone use the fire stairs, her rationale being that it would save power and get people fit.’

‘Hmm. That has possibilities.’

‘You’re not serious?’

‘Not
all
the lifts. Anything else interestin’?’

‘There were only four worth mentioning today. The last one is about executives taking pay cuts, catching public transport – to do with reducing our carbon footprint, I think – and not receiving additional financial incentives in times of financial uncertainty.’

Eve sighed. ‘Who was that from – another earnest, over-educated and under-sexed editorial assistant? Or some little upstart in Finance who thought he was being funny?’

‘No, it was Phil,’ said the machine.

‘In matters of grave importance,’ Todd read from the piece of paper fluttering in front of him, ‘style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.’ It had taken forever to decide on the quotes. In the end, after many walks along the waterfront, lattes in hip cafés and long discussions with Alex, before he’d stormed out of the country, Todd had decided on an eclectic and somewhat
eccentric range of words, aphorisms and affirmations. So, next to an over-represented Oscar Wilde sat Confucius, Shakespeare, Edward Lear, Dorothy Parker and, for personal reasons, the
Little Red Engine
. While he was recovering from what he thought of as his period of subconsciously imposed enforced hibernation, and Eve referred to as his fucking breakdown, his last therapist had suggested that he take up some hobbies. He’d chosen calligraphy, along with cooking, football and web-page design, the latter choice having been derided by Eve as a pointless waste of time – after all, what good would it do him? The calligraphy, though, meant that the reworked lamp was less like a collection of badly scribbled notes and more like a selection of chic invitations. The real beauty of it was that it made any meal with Eve palatable.

‘Such a tease, that Phil.’

‘Yes.’ The machine didn’t sound like it agreed. ‘But I should go.’

‘Yes, you probably have to fetch yourself something to eat,’ said Eve, with queenly condescension. ‘You should get yourself a man for the kitchen.’

With that, Eve switched off the speakerphone and spoke directly to Todd for the first time since she’d sat down at the table. Gesturing towards the lampshade with her knife, she said, ‘Even you have to admit that he was a genius to find this. It’s such a crazy piece, and those quotes, they’re so smart – it just wouldn’t work without them, would it? Now, did you pick up my dry-cleanin’ for tomorrow’s launch?’

‘Yeah honey and I’ve —’

‘Of course you have. Now, for accessories I need something particularly attention-grabbing, something … hmm …’

‘I’d suggest —’

‘Something bright. I wonder …’

‘What about —’

‘Exuberant, eye-catchin’, somethin’ that spells out personality. It’s all about the endgame, it’s all about makin’ people sit up and take notice, so when I get off this fuckin’ island, they’ll remember me.’