Don't Tell Eve (6 page)

While Jess pondered existential issues, Zoë turned to the guy lying supine on the distant shore of her bed.

She wondered if it were possible that she was getting sick of this. Not of sex itself, which would be worrying and strange, but the musical chairs element, falling into the nearest bed when the party was over. Variety was educational, but just how long could a person continue to be at their most inventive, most attractive, most alluring? She was tired of doing without downtime. There was also the question of names – especially after a drink or two, or three or four. Darling, hon, sweetie – these terms had their place, but sometimes people liked to be called by whatever it was she found on their driver’s licence, although she’d occasionally discovered those things could be embarrassingly misleading. Not everyone chose to use their real names, she’d learned the hard way. Phil, however, was a name she remembered with ease.

In fact, he was a man she’d remember.

Obviously in good shape – which Zoë wasn’t but this didn’t stop her appreciating it in others – his body probably had more to do with genes than application. He was definitely her type and, beyond a few banal and unimaginative compliments about
her lips, hair and body, so far he’d managed not to say anything foolish. He hadn’t mentioned the ‘l’ word, for instance. It always amazed her how many men bandied it about as though it still had some currency, as though it might improve their standing. Impress her, even. But neither insincerity nor fools who fell in love indiscriminately impressed Zoë. A starter marriage – that was a learning experience – had cured her of any delusions she might have had about men.

So, despite Phil’s appeal, she was about to get rid of him: if even only a little of what Jess had told her of his antics was true, he wasn’t someone to take seriously. There was no point even thinking about it. Besides, if things went wrong and she did fall for him and it didn’t work out – which it wouldn’t – the usual shoulder she chose to cry on wouldn’t be available. Jess had a low tolerance for romantic stupidity and would have no qualms about using those eternally offensive words: I told you so.

She wondered why it was that Jess and Phil appeared to dislike each other so much. Had they? And, if so, when? Was it while Jess was with Jack? Did Jack know? Maybe that’s what they’d broken up over. Maybe the amicable ‘we’ve grown apart’ story was a cover-up; it was certainly lame. Was it possible that Phil and Jess had had a passionate affair? If so, there was no way that Jess would have told her about it, although she did seem to have been a little more open recently, especially in asking for her help.

When Zoë had seen the first of the sketches, her initial reaction had been surprise. It had been so long since she’d seen any of Jess’s work that she’d forgotten she had talent. When they’d finished art school, Jess had quickly moved into publishing and that seemed to be that. She’d supported Zoë while she established her business, emotionally, and even at times financially, but had never indicated that she regretted taking what Zoë considered the safe, unadventurous path.
And then, out of nowhere, she’d said that she was working on an ‘art’ project and needed help.

They’d made the prototype one night in Zoë’s studio. Jess had already constructed the base and Zoë had sourced the fabric, as requested, so the process had been straightforward. After that, Zoë’s involvement was limited solely to supplying fabrics. As these came mainly from swatches, and she worked with materials every day, this was an easy task and she’d enjoyed being able to lend a hand. She couldn’t remember Jess having asked for anything more significant than the use of a pen before.

Exactly why Jess had felt the sudden urge to create was apparently not her business, but if Jess had had an affair with Phil, Zoë wanted to know. Realistically the likelihood wasn’t great: affairs required the capacity for both passion and duplicity, from both parties. She was not convinced Jess had either.

Then Phil rolled over, awake.

He hadn’t been asleep because he didn’t actually sleep with women: he had sex and he left, sooner or later. There were sometimes complaints, but most women he met understood that this was the way it worked with him. The beauty of chick flicks, according to Phil, was that they showed girls how blokes thought and behaved, which meant he didn’t have to explain himself, or he could refer them to key scenes in seminal films. They could then discuss their own situation in relation to whichever was most appropriate.
When Harry Met Sally
, while not new, was a favourite, though the fake orgasm scene had always worried him;
Before Sunrise
, he had to explain with surprising regularity, was not romantic but a sadistic exercise in sexual frustration. What he didn’t like was having to make conversation with a girl the morning after – a few days, a week after, that was fine. They were less likely to be clingy then, or uncomfortably affectionate. Or if they were, it didn’t matter – he wasn’t close by.

He was pretty sure he was safe with Zoë though. He knew exactly who she was and how she was before Jess had introduced them. That is, he’d seen her picture in the papers with an impressive line-up of blokes and the only thing these blokes had in common was that the camera found them pretty damn pretty and they’d been replaced by someone equally photogenic the following week. He didn’t want to be one of them. Being snapped with Zoë and appearing in a Sunday supplement or a weekly gossip mag would make life unnecessarily complicated. It wasn’t just that he didn’t like the idea of being seen as an accessory, he also had the soap actress who wrongly thought herself his ‘girlfriend’ to consider.

So it was just a matter of finding the right time to leave. He’d been about to make a move when the phone rang, so he’d stayed to eavesdrop. Not that he considered it eaves dropping. His reasoning was that if Zoë didn’t want him to hear she would have taken the call elsewhere, and that she didn’t bother showed a kind of endearing self-absorption to which he could relate. It showed that Zoë knew the show was about Zoë. The conversation wasn’t, however. He hadn’t quite got the gist of it but it seemed that someone close to Zoë was involved in some project and had potentially incriminating pictures of the one and only Eve. When Zoë had finally lowered her voice he realised that she was talking to someone who knew who he was as well. While it was possible that they had mutual friends and acquaintances – the place was small, after all – there was really only one person it could be, especially considering Jack’s name had been mentioned. So it followed that Jess was up to no good. Once he’d escaped the gorgeous Zoë’s clutches, he decided to find out what was going on.

‘Zoë, honey, this has been nice, but I’ve gotta go,’ he said, before giving her a kiss and rolling out of bed.

‘Yeah,
nice
,’ said Zoë sweetly, thinking, What the fuck does he mean by nice?
Nice
? Nice didn’t come into it. She didn’t
do
nice
in bed. Kind sometimes, considerate maybe, but not
nice
.

Nice?
Where the hell did that come from? Phil asked himself as he located the clothes that had been strewn around the room earlier. It was a lot of things but nice wasn’t one of them. Still, as sadly this was to be a once-only encounter, there was really no point dwelling on one badly chosen word.

He glanced at Zoë as he left. It was a shame.

The following morning, having shaved off his goatee in favour of what he called a ‘stripe’, Phil stood at the window in his office. In one hand he held a cup of tepid coffee and in the other a pair of binoculars. Outside there was yet another cloudless sky and light breeze. Perfect weather for sailing – but it wasn’t to be. Not yet, anyway. He was going to have to hang around his desk for a few hours at least before heading out.

Phil’s office was large by Papyrus standards. Bookcases lined the walls, and manuscripts he wasn’t interested in reading, and was even less interested in picking up and moving, flooded the floor. He could have asked his assistant to tidy the place as, despite its size, it was beginning to feel cramped, but that would have given the impression he cared. It was an impression he wasn’t anxious to give. His assistant really did deserve a pay rise, however, as her hard work made his life easy. He made a mental note to speak to Hilary. Luckily, the way the poor girl looked would work in her favour for once – the yellowish skin that he hoped didn’t mean liver problems, the limp, eternally greasy hair, the science-lab-technician glasses not worn in an ironic way, and what he hoped, for her
sake, was puppy fat, meant that Hilary wouldn’t automatically assume Phil was sleeping with her.

The phone rang and the display helpfully informed him that it was Eve. He let it ring out then reprogrammed it so that all future calls went to straight to voicemail.

He wondered what Eve wanted. She generally didn’t use the phone, preferring to summon her victims by email, or ambush them with impromptu visits. He closed his door, put his feet on his desk and shut his eyes.

What might have been seconds later, the door swung open and Eve herself bustled in, shoulders back, head swivelling, absorbing the state of the room.

‘Phil,’ she drawled. ‘Why aren’t you answerin’ your phone? I’ve been tryin’ to get hold of you.’

Phil put on his startled expression, which involved opening his eyes wide and blinking. ‘Really? So sorry. I switched it to voicemail to give me some thinking space – you know what it’s like round here, impossibly noisy, full of distractions.’ He waved his hands, as though brushing away the noisy distractions. Phil’s office was next to the contract director’s, and Noel demanded – and got – silence at all times. The only voice he liked to hear was his own or, on occasions, the announcer of the 3.10 at the local track.

‘Do sit.’ Phil picked up a set of page proofs from a chair and after some hesitation placed them tentatively on his desk. After he’d done so, he glanced down. ‘What simply fantastic shoes – very flattering. I’ve not seen them before, have I? Or have I?’ He looked more closely at the snakeskin heel-less bootlets. ‘Weren’t they in this month’s
Bazaar
?’ Phil made a point of flicking through women’s fashion magazines regularly after he’d discovered that noticing what women wore, as well as being able to recognise a label, gave him a serious advantage in both the workplace and the bedroom. That these magazines were filled with half-naked babes pouting
and posing meant that flipping through them wasn’t an act he considered a chore. They were also tax-deductible.

‘Oh yeah, you’re so right, they were.’ They’d appeared in a feature on the return of eighties bonkbuster glamour, ‘Bling with Balls’, and Eve had ordered them online. They were a little tight but she didn’t mind, she’d force them to fit her eventually. Once seated, Eve hitched up her skirt and thrust out her left foot so Phil could better admire its covering. She liked a man who appreciated fashion. It was one of the things that had originally made her husband so attractive – that as well as the fact that they’d had the ‘dd’ in common, as Todd had pointed out upon learning her bra size. There was also his potential, though she’d seriously miscalculated on that front. She still couldn’t understand exactly what had happened, the change had been so quick. All she could do was thank God that she’d met Todd before his deterioration. It was frightening to imagine where she would be if she’d continued along the dire path that had been chosen for her.

‘So, what can I do you for?’ Phil was back at his desk with both feet placed firmly on it, where they appeared to belong. He stretched and smiled at Eve in a manner just suggestive enough to make her wonder if he was being suggestive.

‘I wanted to let you know in person,’ Eve began.

Phil remained perfectly still: so this was it, they were actually going to get rid of him. He was surprised that Eve was doing it in person, it was unlike her. She normally gave Hilary the pleasure, and Hilary certainly did seem to find the task a pleasure. She was never more radiant than when she’d just fired someone. Phil fantasised about Hilary now and again as there was a sexiness to her repression, plus he couldn’t imagine her being needy. He knew he should be concentrating on what Eve was saying, but at the same time he couldn’t help wondering if Hilary was as authoritative in the bedroom as she was in the office. But not being a man
who was fond of pain, he didn’t think it was worth finding out. Ilona – no, he thought, there was too much competition. Jess, no – not Jess, that would be looking for trouble and, as his mother would say, those who looked for trouble always found it. It would be a brave, bold and possibly foolish man who’d take her on, and he didn’t see himself as any of those things. Not usually, anyhow. He still remembered what she’d done to Jack’s predecessor. Talk about humiliation. The man deserved it, but still.

He was sorry about Zoë. Not about the previous night – but that it wouldn’t happen again. It had been more than nice.

Phil found Eve attractive too, despite – or probably because of, if he were honest – her generic appeal: the hair, the boobs, the lips. A bloke didn’t need much more, not for a fling, anyway. She was a little older than the girls he usually shagged, but he’d always had a thing for the Mrs Robinson type so that wasn’t an issue, and it wasn’t as though Eve was actually old anyway, just older. He wasn’t convinced about her fashion sense, but as long as a woman wasn’t actively frumpy what she wore didn’t matter too much, what mattered was that she was prepared to take it off.

‘The thing is, Phil,’ Eve said, uncrossing her legs and breaking his train of thought, ‘I wanted you, as a pivotal member of my team, to know the inside story. Obviously this is strictly between us – I don’t wanna hinder her chances of work elsewhere – but, with those kind of figures, we really have no choice but to let her go.’

She leaned back and waited for him to comment.

Phil wished he’d been listening. The only thing clear was that someone was going and it was not, this time at least, him. He moved his feet off the desk and nodded slightly, in an attempt to indicate complicity, if not comprehension.

‘I knew you’d understand.’ Eve stood up. ‘You’re doin’ a terrific job, by the way – don’t think for a second we don’t
appreciate you, darlin’.’ What Eve appreciated about Phil had little to do with his work performance and a whole lot to do with his swagger, cockiness and general blokey-ness. He and Todd were so different.

After she’d left the room Phil began to wonder who else knew whatever it was that Eve has just told him. Presumably few people, just those she’d informed for tactical reasons. Hilary – sure, but he couldn’t ask her. Jess – probably, but he wouldn’t ask her. David – no, he was very much on the outer after that fuck-up with the prime minister’s piece of self-indulgent, incomprehensible drivel. Ilona – maybe, and she was still on speaking terms with him, just. It had taken a lot of wine to convince her that everyone already knew about her and the Traitor.

Kate – the children’s publisher – that was it. She might not have been told, but she was sure to know and she was one of the few female colleagues he hadn’t hit on in the last few months. Of course, now she was single. And she was cute. She wasn’t a typical firey redhead, but the pale skin, the jaw-length bob, those unlikely blue eyes all did add up to make a nice – that damn word again – package.

Phil stood up, deciding to kill two birds with one stone.

By the time he’d reached Kate’s office, Jess was already there.

‘Just be sensitive, yeah?’ she said.

‘Why? What’s happened?’ Phil asked, striking an imaginary cricket ball with an imaginary cricket bat as he spoke. It was a habit he’d picked up at school and one that he’d never quite got around to growing out of.

Like most people, including Jess, Phil was genuinely fond of Kate. She was scatty, clumsy and far too inclined to inappropriate tears, but her fragility worked in her favour. Who wouldn’t warm to the kind of person who, on first meeting her new boss, instinctively stepped back into a rubbish bin?
And then, instead of quickly lifting the miscreant foot out of the offending bin, pretended that nothing out of the ordinary had happened and kept chatting about, of all things, her geraniums? It was only later that she discovered Eve had no interest in flowers. Kate was also pretty good at her day job and even turned up most of the time. When she didn’t, the reason was sure to be related to her nine-year-old twin boys, who were what could only be called incident-prone. The type of children that frightened Phil into condom use, they were far scarier than any STD. Their current school, their fourth already, had banned them from all excursions following their interference with the reptile enclosures at the zoo and their ‘restructuring’ – their term – of some bones at the natural history museum. He knew the local police were more than familiar with them.

‘I’m so stupid, I just didn’t see it coming,’ Kate blew her nose disconcertingly loudly. ‘They’d just let me go on that finance course, and before that the one on managing poor performance. I thought maybe the worst was over; that we were, you know – what’s the word? – consolidating; that we were all going to be able to settle back down again.’ She sniffed. ‘Idiotically, I even thought that their stupid competition meant they were trying a different approach – involving us. And I didn’t think this would happen to me, I really didn’t. And especially not so soon after, after —’ She didn’t finish the sentence, seemingly no longer willing to mention the name of her newly departed husband.

‘I didn’t think it would be you either, if that’s any consolation,’ said Phil, trying to be tactful. It was true. There were a number of people he thought would have been more likely candidates. However, Papyrus, the new Papyrus, wasn’t a predictable place. Still, he believed there must be some kind of logic to it all, and he’d work it out before long.

Behind him, watching them both, Jess had the same thought.