Don't Tell Eve (22 page)

As promised, little more than a week after the new project had been announced, Jess presented the full details to the editorial, sales, marketing and publicity teams. Zoë and Jack were paraded and fêted. For the first time in months there was a feeling of excitement, not just nervous tension, in the building.

Only a few were not caught up in the whirl.

Instead of another predictable piece of accessible M-rated food porn by the once reliable Alex, Roger had to sell something new. That Jess had signed up two hot, young, imaginative people who already had public profiles was true, and in terms of media there was no doubt it was an opportunity. They’d get coverage. In terms of sales, however, it was more difficult to predict. Roger liked stability, and untried original projects brought him out in hives.

Eve had a different concern. She was sure Jess had known Alex’s book wouldn’t happen for a lot longer than she was admitting. However, it was fortunate that the replacement idea was good – very good. What impressed Eve most about it wasn’t the content but that the CEO loved the concept. If it went global it would cement Eve’s reputation not only
as a financial success, but a creative one. In short, the project could be her ticket home. The CEO’s visit might have had its awkward moments, but the timing of Jess’s announcement couldn’t have been better. Eve had been able to present the idea and claim it as her own just before the CEO’s plane boarded.

Despite her doubts about Phil, the food and fashion project had shown Jess that he knew what he was doing, which, it also occurred to her, had probably always been the case. How else could he have managed to develop such an impressive list while appearing to do so little? Bravado and balls could only get a person so far, even at Papyrus. She was sitting at her desk contemplating what this meant, rather than making decisions about formats, paper, covers, price and the million other things that needed to thought about, when she felt a presence behind her.

‘Even after this – I still don’t trust you,’ said Jess, without turning.

The voice that answered was not Phil’s.

‘What do you mean by “all this”?’

Hilary was already seated in a chair behind her and picking non-existent lint from the sleeve of her light woollen jacket by the time Jess had spun round.

‘What can I do for you, Hilary?’ Jess’s recovery was quick.

‘I think you know, Jessica.’

The only other person who called her ‘Jessica’ was her mother, the woman who’d been responsible for that “Jess” on her birth certificate, and she did so very rarely. The most recent ‘Jessica’ incident had been due to her break-up with Jack.

It was amazing the poor guy had lasted as long as he had, Jess thought, considering the way her mother had pulled him aside the first time she’d taken him home and quizzed him on his family history of everything from heart disease
and mental illness to colour blindness and webfootedness. To Jess’s despair her mother hadn’t even bothered to try to solicit the answers as part of a cleverly constructed conversation. On the contrary, she had sat him down after consulting her checklist and then casually begun to knit a Red Cross trauma teddy as he attempted to answer the questions. Jess’s younger brother’s last two girlfriends had broken up with him after similar sessions. The first one he’d been upset about losing, the second he’d taken home on purpose.

A tree-changer thirty years before the term was coined, Jess’s mother had moved to the country assuming she was the agent of change; she hadn’t imagined the country would change her.

Unlike her mother’s ‘Jessica’, though, Hilary’s ‘Jessica’ wasn’t threatening, just irritating. ‘Jess, Hilary – my name is Jess, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I’ll make it very clear then: it’s over.’

‘You might think you’re being clear, but you’re not. I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, yes. I’ve just told you that.’

‘I know what you’ve been doing. I know about your little, what shall we call it? Your little “project”. I know about the dolls, Jess.’

Jess’s hesitation was enough to show Hilary that her fishing trip had been successful; she simply needed to find out what she’d caught. Phil had put on a more convincing pretence of ignorance when she’d spoken to him earlier.

‘Check, then.’

Hilary sat perfectly still.

‘I meant to tell you the other day, I bumped into Justin recently too. Such a nice guy. Always has time for a chat, loves to talk about mutual friends, family, reminisce about old times – you obviously know how he is.’

Still Hilary didn’t move.

She’d been imagining how this conversation would work. Imagining Jess’s astonishment followed quickly by shock and, if Hilary was really lucky, tears – she so loved to see tears, real evidence of someone’s distress. Then, broken, Jess would ask how Hilary had discovered her little secret, and Hilary would turn the question around so that Jess told her everything – and that would be the end of Jess and whatever she was planning. It was a simple, happy scenario. What hadn’t occurred to her was that Jess’s plans might include Hilary herself. ‘Your days here are numbered,’ Hilary spat at her as she stalked out of the room.

Jess’s first thought was that the woman had been watching far too much television melodrama. Her second was that the woman was right. However, the project wasn’t finished, so she had to find Phil, whose interference was jeopardising more than he realised.

‘Where is he?’ Jess asked Phil’s assistant, who was hunched at her desk sucking on a Mars Bar.

‘Meeting,’ the assistant managed to get out.

‘Who with?’

The assistant put down the chocolate bar, flakes from which had dropped over the manuscript she’d been collating, and checked Phil’s electronic diary. ‘Oliver B.W. That any help?’

When Jess arrived at The Beached Whale, Oliver and Phil were comfortably settled at their table, chatting about nothing much and enjoying a dry white from a nearby but much smaller island, proudly referred to by some of its inhabitants as the Belgium of the South Pacific.

Phil saw her first. ‘Somehow I don’t think she’s here for the food.’ A man with a sixth sense about when a woman was upset – developed because he was so often responsible – Phil’s automatic response was to search for an exit. Unfortunately they were in one of the rooms overlooking the back garden and although there was a large window, there was only one door, one Jess was blocking, and from which she was shooting Phil the kind of withering look he so often deserved. He couldn’t quite work out why he was receiving it from Jess but as she approached the table he was sure he was about to find out.

‘You arse. Hilary? Of all people?’

‘For once I’m innocent. I didn’t tell her, she already knew.’

‘But you did talk to her?’

‘Yeah, we had a conversation this morning but, as I say, she already knew, although I don’t think she
knew
what she knew. If you know what I mean. She asked about dolls and
I told her she’d got the wrong guy, unless she was after the blow-up kind.’

‘Good try. Actually, it’s a very good try, but as you’re the only person who could have told her, it’s not quite good enough. There’s no one else.’

‘No one?’ Oliver recognised Jess immediately and couldn’t believe his luck. All he had to do now was locate one of these dolls – he was already convinced they’d have some distinction that would mark them as the work of JJ, if they were.

Thankful for a diversion, Phil introduced them. ‘Jess Johnson, Oliver —.’ Oliver stood up and held out his hand.

Taking it, she held it for a little too long as she processed the information that the dark-haired man from the bar and the one who’d been staring at her at the party and the journalist who’d been chasing her – subtly threatening her – were all the same unnervingly handsome person. Eventually she let go of the proffered hand and collapsed into the spare chair. ‘Shit.’

The waiter, who’d been standing patiently in the corner, was at last able to do his duty. ‘Wine, madam?’

‘You bet. Whatever they’re having – as long as it’s not chardonnay, and don’t even think about giving me that crap about it being back in fashion.’

After her first sip, Jess realised with annoyance that her anger, so carefully fostered in the taxi all the way over from the office, had dissipated. In its place was simple exhaustion.

‘So, you’re Jess,’ said Oliver.

‘And you’re Oliver.’

Phil ignored the tension and studied the menu. ‘You know what? I’m going to have the scallops. Have you had them here before, Oliver? I highly recommend them.
Garçon
.’

‘I didn’t hear you say that,’ said Jess.

The waiter had. ‘
Monsieur
?’ He then recited the specials in French and having ascertained that Jess would be staying, he graciously allowed them to ask questions and to order in English.

‘Okay, now the important stuff is out of the way, I want to clear this up,’ said Jess. ‘Besides the two of you – and we’ll get back to how you know in a sec, Oliver, but I think it’s pretty obvious – the only other person I can think of is my friend Zoë.’

‘Zoë —?’ asked Oliver.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you’re quite sure she wouldn’t have mentioned it, by accident, possibly? Without thinking? Or maybe she let it slip because she thought she was helping you in some way?’ Oliver thought Zoë would forgive him, people usually did. Eventually, if not immediately.

‘Oh God, of course – her party … You don’t just know her, do you?’

Oliver examined the glass in his hand, an action Jess interpreted in the only way that made sense.

‘You
know
her.’

While Oliver prevaricated, Phil felt a strange twinge, related, he suspected, to a negative emotion of some kind. Quickly he suppressed it.

Oliver’s lack of a denial made it clear that Zoë was his source, and judging by the way Phil was also finding his glass unusually fascinating, it appeared she’d mentioned the dolls to him as well – it wasn’t only that he’d seen one in her flat. Flaky, unreliable, they were characteristics of Zoë’s that Jess was familiar with, as were vanity, self-absorption, irresponsibility. Disloyalty, though – this was new.

‘Okay boys, you can resume your
tête-à-tête
for a few minutes, I’ve a quick call to make. You might want to use the time to get your stories straight.’

With that, Jess stood up and left the room.

Oliver and Phil soon saw her through the window and were both disappointed that she wasn’t standing closer – and that the window wasn’t open, it being an unusually cold
day. It might have been winter, but winter on the island was normally like summer elsewhere. However, if either of them attempted to lift the latch now, their intentions would have been obvious.

‘I can’t believe it was
you
,’ Jess was saying.

‘Hello to you too, hon,’ said Zoë.

‘You talked about my project.’

‘No …’ Zoë began, trying to remember. ‘No, I’m sure I didn’t – haven’t.’

Jess knew Zoë well enough to understand that this wasn’t necessarily a lie, simply vagueness. ‘Think again.’

Zoë sensed a problem. ‘Nope, didn’t tell a soul. Calm down.’

‘I don’t do anything other than calm, you know that. Keep talking.’

‘Well …’ Then Zoë remembered. Phil. The bastard, he’d been awake when she’d spoken to Jess that night. Bloody Phil. Oh, she thought, there was also Oliver. But surely Oliver wouldn’t have told Jess how he knew? He’d promised he wouldn’t. And she might have mentioned something to Chris when he’d told her about Eve and the photo that he thought Jess had taken in the Russian bar. He’d been quite upset about that. But he wouldn’t talk.

‘Well? Come up with anything?’

‘Okay, maybe, but don’t get your knickers in a knot. I might have told one person – or, not told him exactly, but he might have overheard.’

‘Go on.’

‘Obviously from the tone of your voice, you know already. It was Phil. I’m really sorry, I honestly thought he was asleep,’ said Zoë, adding for unnecessary clarification, ‘but I guess he
wasn’t. He did seem to wake up pretty soon after I’d been speaking to you. Remember, after the launch?’

After the launch? Jess was confused. Hadn’t Zoë been with Oliver then? ‘And you’re sure there wasn’t anyone else?’

Zoë knew she’d been caught. Oliver had said something to Jess. Bugger him. Bugger both of them. Thinking quickly, she dropped her phone and with Jess off the line, she dialled Oliver’s number. ‘You bloody well told her, didn’t you?’

Oliver recognised the voice, seductive even when it was aggressive, or perhaps because it was aggressive. ‘No choice, sorry, she guessed.’

‘Fuck! Aren’t you guys trained to protect your sources? Does “off the record” mean nothing to you?’ Zoë cut him off before he could answer.

She rang Jess back. ‘Sorry, bad line. Now, where were we?’

‘Exactly where we were before you cut me off so you could call that journalist and find out what he’d told me. Never go into espionage – you’re too transparent, Zed.’

‘I’m so sorry, it just happened. He was interviewing me and then, well, anyway, you know how it is, and then I thought he’d be perfect for you so I told him a little bit to get him interested. He promised not to tell you that I’d told him, I mean you know what you’re like. But … the bastard. And anyway, what does it matter? It’s just a few dolls.’

Jess said nothing.

‘Jess?’

Still Jess said nothing.

‘Jess? Are you there? Talk to me – you’ve got to agree that he’s a bastard, at least.’

‘You know what? He’s not the one I’m pissed off with right now. He was, but he’s not anymore.’

‘I know, but —’

‘That’s just it. This isn’t about “but”, there’s no room here for “but”.’

‘Okay, listen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it, but —’

‘No. You don’t get it, do you? Use your brain for once, rather than – ah, fuck it.’ Jess switched off her phone, there wasn’t any point in talking to Zoë sometimes. It was better to let her stew.

‘So, what’s going on?’ If Jack hadn’t seen her through the kitchen window, hadn’t been worried, hadn’t walked out, hadn’t touched her on the shoulder, Jess would have been fine.

‘Jess?’

She shrugged off his hand. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t sound fine.’

‘Your point is?’

‘For a start, my point is that it’s not my fault, so don’t take it out on me.’ Jack walked around to face her.

‘Okay, that’s a fair point. I’m sorry.’ Jess ran her hand through her hair, surprised, as she so often was, at how little there was.

‘You know? I like it short.’

‘You don’t have to say that, but thanks anyway.’ Jess smiled.

‘I do, it’s just Phil that – but I’m not going to argue about a compliment with you. So what’s the matter, anyway? It’s not like you to …’

‘To what?’ Jess dared him to finish his sentence.

‘To show any kind of fucking emotion.’

‘Ouch.’

‘So, are you going to tell me what it’s about?’ Jack knew a certain amount already. He knew she’d been tense when she arrived and that Phil and the bloke he was with hadn’t booked a table for three. So one of them was the cause. Most likely
it was Phil and that would explain their weird, antagonistic relationship. He wondered how long it had been going on. While they’d been together? Surely she wouldn’t have? She wasn’t that kind of person – but if she’d had a relationship with Phil then she wasn’t the person he thought he knew.
Phil.
For God’s sake, she could have tried someone the whole town hadn’t slept with, but maybe there was a reason the whole town had slept with him. But
Phil
, he thought. They were on the same team, for God’s sake.

But what if it wasn’t Phil? It could be the other bloke, the dark-haired metrosexual. Maybe Phil had introduced them? The guy had been in before with some serious babes. But surely Jess wouldn’t want someone like that? Not unless she’d really changed and Jack didn’t think people did, not essentially, which brought him back to not knowing her in the first place. ‘Come on, talk to me.’ He wanted to be put out of his misery, to know which bastard it was, and he risked putting his hand back on her shoulder. If she was upset, this meant that things weren’t going well, so maybe he still had a chance. ‘Whoever it is, he’s not worth it.’

‘It’s not a he.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s Zoë.’

‘Oh, that explains —’

Jess giggled, despite herself. ‘You’re spending way too much time with Phil. The thing is …’

‘And here was I thinking it was all about a relationship,’ said Jack when Jess had finished. ‘Which it is, really. If you want my advice, I think Zoë deserves a good slap. And as to the rest, hell, no wonder you’re tense. You’re also insane to try and pull it off.’

‘Jack?’

‘Yeah, yeah, not a word, I know – I should get inside. You okay now?’

‘I was okay before, but, yeah, I’m okay – and I should be getting back inside too. And by the way, you can move out whenever you like, it’s not like there’s a reason to stick around now that Eve knows about Alex. But thanks for being so good about the whole thing – most blokes in your situation would have told me to go jump. Oh, one more thing: what makes you think I can’t smell that you’ve taken up smoking again?’

Fuck, was Jack’s only thought as he walked back inside, in search of his mobile.