Don't Tell Eve (9 page)

Every silver lining has a cloud: Jess’s was that her new office was next to Eve’s. The space they had given her had been an old storeroom – and was still, when she went up to see it after the announcement, an old storeroom.

‘You’ll notice that I’ve not had anythin’ done to it yet, but the decorator’s in again next week, helpin’ me choose some new china for the dinin’ room, so he can take a look then.’ Eve had stopped to join Jess in her admiration of the space. ‘Plain white’s so nineties, don’t you think? I’m for all-encompassing colour. This room needs colour. How do you feel about turquoise? I like it, it’s bold. That’s what the room needs. Same shade as the boardroom doors, but everywhere. As to furniture, don’t worry, there were a few things I bought that weren’t right for my office. They’ll do for you and Phil. It’s like playin’ house, isn’t it? Speakin’ of domesticity,’ Eve bared her perfect teeth in what was probably a friendly gesture, ‘we need to talk about that cookbook. I want to up the marketin’ spend. It’s got to be the ONLY book that people hear about this spring. I’m thinkin’ saturation, so it’s good that he’s takin’ a break
because he’s going to be very busy – and on a personal level I can’t wait to have Todd try out some of Alex’s new recipes. When does he get back from vacation, anyway? We must have him in – no – we must take him out. You do know the cap on entertainment expenses doesn’t apply to this floor? I’ll get back to you about where I want to go.’ With that, she retired to her room, closing the door behind her.

In the silence that always followed Eve’s departure, Jess wondered how she was going to solve the problem that was Alex. How she was going to explain that Papyrus’s licence to print money was missing in action and had provided nothing in the way of material, outline or ideas? If she didn’t invent some spectacular new book soon, her – Papyrus’s – Christmas list was going to be a disaster. It might have been smart to come clean about this a few months earlier, she thought, maybe around the time that Alex said that he wasn’t going to write, or cook, ever again. That might have been wise. But she hadn’t thought he was serious and the atmosphere at Papyrus had been, and was, such that an admission like that would have proved costly.

Jack had been the one to witness Alex’s final flounce, made post-trial, just when he should have been celebrating his win. He’d been standing in the kitchen at The Beached Whale as Alex threw everything he could find that wouldn’t bounce onto the floor. Never! (Crash!) Again! (Crash!) Never! (Etc, etc.) This had been followed by tears, apologies and Jack’s suggestion that Alex take a break somewhere quiet and out of the way.

Officially, however, the country’s favourite chef – the trial, and winning it, had actually increased his popularity – was still working on his new book. Unofficially, he was meditating, or, as Jack had taken to describing it, sulking.

Jess refused to accept that it was time to confess; she still believed there had to be a solution that wouldn’t result
in yelling, screaming and security escorting her from the building.

‘I hear you’re getting turquoise.’ Along with appearing when least wanted and expected, Phil was also adept at appearing un detected. ‘Count yourself lucky,’ he said cheerfully. ‘She tells me I’m getting limoncello, which I’d always thought was a drink.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’ve got to ask though – are you surprised?’

‘About this?’ Jess nodded at the storeroom. ‘Of course I am. I’d have thought it would have been done before the announcement, especially as she doesn’t want my input. Plain bad planning, I say.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’

‘Oh, the favouritism?’

‘The well-deserved recognition of the sterling contribution to company finances and general corporate life.’ Phil lifted his arm up and served, as though beginning a game of tennis.

Jess rolled her eyes skywards. ‘Yeah, right. Of course I’m surprised, though not about you. You know it’s nothing to do with your sterling contribution. Eve interprets your obnoxiousness as charm and mistakes your arrogance for assertiveness.’ Jess gave him a speculative glance, as though weighing up a possibility.

‘No, you don’t, don’t even think it.’

‘Think what?’ Jess put on an expression of offended innocence.

‘I just happen to be good at what I do.’

‘But what
do
you do exactly? That’s what I’ve wondered for quite some time.’

Phil moved towards her.

‘I could, my dear, ask the same of you. I hear that there’s a certain author in your stable who’s sitting cross-legged chanting in an ashram as we speak. No pen and paper in sight, and certainly nothing as remotely sophisticated as a laptop. What intrigues me is how he’s managing to write his big and very expensive book.’

There was only one way that Phil could know, thought Jess: Jack. But why Jack would tell Phil was another matter. She wondered if he was more upset about the break-up than he let on. Was this his way of punishing her – by jeopardising her career? But there were simpler ways of doing that. He needn’t have agreed to stay at the flat for a start. Though it was a great flat. ‘He’s a man of many talents,’ she said, eventually.

‘Talents he may have; a miracle worker he’s not. So, what are you planning to do exactly? Print a book full of glossy blank pages? Let people imagine what might have been if there had been a co-operative author?’

‘Imagination is seriously underrated these days.’

‘Certainly around here, it seems – but yell when you’re ready for my help. After all, we’re about to be neighbours.’

The old house set one street back from the beach did not impress Eve or Hilary. Both had been expecting something chic, something distinctive, something that was more obviously an award-winning-impossible-to-get-into restaurant. Eve in particular couldn’t believe that the sprawling suburban Federation villa was the legendary Beached Whale, Alex’s original restaurant. Of course, she’d been to his new one, the one in town, when she’d first arrived – he’d asked her himself – but this one she’d only heard about.

Dropping in without booking had been a spur-of-the-moment decision made as Eve and Hilary had headed to their usual lunch spot, a place with wide water views, large plates and small servings. Eve had suggested that they swing by The Beached Whale on the off-chance and had let Hilary attempt to get them in.

Fortunately for Eve, the usual
maître d’
was at home in bed with one of the weekend waitresses.

‘What kind of position do you call this?’ said Eve, as they were led to their table. ‘I can’t see who’s comin’ in from here.’ Now that she’d got in, Eve was determined to be difficult.

‘I’m sorry, this is all we have at such late notice. Normally there’s nothing available if you don’t book, but we had a cancellation ten minutes ago.’

‘I’d heard bookin’ was so last week,’ said Eve, ‘but this will have to do, I guess.’

As they’d walked to the small room near the back, Eve’s multi-coloured coat swishing independently with every step, she’d used the opportunity to size up the clientele. She’d seen a pretty young soap actress and what she didn’t recognise as the back of Phil’s head. She’d also seen the man with the pale skin and dark unruly hair, who’d lounged so exquisitely in Sand. He was with a gallery director, so well known that even Eve recognised him. This meant, in her opinion, that the dark-haired man was someone, and she made a mental note to find out who. The rest of the place seemed to be filled with the chic and the chilled, but she didn’t recognise them and they didn’t appear to recognise her.

She couldn’t understand the attraction: there was no hook. It wasn’t new, it wasn’t shiny – it wasn’t anything really. There was certainly no USP. It was more family beach house than restaurant, with its mismatched chairs and tables, surfing photographs and artworks apparently done by someone with a drug habit and delusions of ability, or a three-year-old. And the waiters were dressed in jeans and t-shirts.

As Eve read the menu, she decided that the only thing it had in common with the places she normally ate in were the prices. They, at least, were impressive.

In one of the smaller rooms at the back of the restaurant, the waiter broke the bad news.

‘Who let her in?’ was Jack’s immediate question.

‘I’m sorry, there’s a new guy on the door. He didn’t recognise her at first, and when he did it was too late and he decided it was easier to let her in than risk a scene.’

‘She does do scenes well,’ said Todd from the other side of the table. The Whale was the one place apart from the football field where he was supposed to be safe. He dropped in often to use the computer in Alex’s office, a sleek, sexy device that had the capacity to do exactly what needed to be done. Alex was generous like that. Indeed, Alex was generous, full stop. Since they’d met at a local harbourside pool, one with a library next door that had reading desks overlooking lush gardens leading down to the water, Alex had been incredibly kind. He’d introduced Todd to Jack, the crew at The Whale and to the football team. Most importantly, he’d given Todd his own group of friends and an identity separate from Eve. ‘Who’s she with, do we know?’

‘Thin woman, dark hair, pulled back headache tight.’

‘That’ll be Hilary – thanks for the heads-up.’

The waiter left them alone.

‘They’re plotting someone’s downfall, no doubt.’

‘You’re such a drama queen, Todd.’

‘Man, you have no idea.’

‘About drama I do. Come on, I work with bloody Alex. The term was invented for him.’

‘Exactly, so don’t use it against me. I’m a lot of things, but drama queen, no.’

Jack had decided long before Alex had disappeared, and Jess suggested Eve was barred in case she heard about Alex, that the woman wasn’t welcome at The Beached Whale. He didn’t like what he’d heard about her and her methods, and while he didn’t work for her, keeping her out was a gesture
of solidarity with those she’d mistreated; it was the least he could do. ‘Okay, point taken. Look, Jess has told me a fair bit, so maybe I know more than you think.’

Todd smiled enigmatically. ‘I doubt it.’

Ignoring the open window and the frangipani, daphne and hydrangeas outside, Eve and Hilary were doing exactly what Todd had suspected.

‘We need to lose more,’ said Eve. ‘It’s such a wonderful climate for it. And I’m not talkin’ about the weather. What about Daisy?’

‘Good thought. Plus, foreign rights
is
expensive to run with all those overseas trips. Besides, she’s so sweet and obliging and agreeable – don’t you hate sycophants? I’m sure she won’t put up a fight. Or talk.’

‘Good, decision made, Daisy’s next then. Now where’s my food?’ Eve ripped a bread roll in half and plunged it into a bowl of olive oil and vinegar. ‘Would have preferred butter,’ she complained between mouthfuls.

Hilary hadn’t ordered as she didn’t eat in public. Instead she chose to slurp back health-shakes in the privacy of her office or her home. Her culinary and alcoholic abstinence didn’t deter her boss, and the latter meant Eve always had a designated driver so she didn’t have to wait for taxis.

As Eve ate, Hilary studied the decoration of the small room. ‘What
is
that?’ She pointed to a painting dominating most of one wall.

Eve tilted her head, considering. ‘Who’d know? Probably done by a mate of Alex’s – or Jack’s. No other reason for it to be hangin’ there. I mean, I know about these things and that’s not art, it’s …’ Eve struggled to find the right word.

‘It’s offensive. How do they expect you to eat with it there?’

As Hilary said this, a roving waiter topped up her water and Eve’s wine. Eve grabbed his elbow. ‘What’s that about? You don’t know, do you?’

‘Oh, that? Isn’t it fabulous? Don’t you love how the artist treads such a fine line between horribly vulgar and incredibly sexy? It’s a work that really draws you in, makes you think – you know, about relationships, links between things. It’s got a real femininity, despite —’

‘Who is the “artist”?’ asked Hilary.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you must have known. JJ, of course.’

Neither Eve nor Hilary reacted to this revelation.

‘Reclusive, mysterious – never done an interview? True identity unknown? JJ’s work does polarise people, some think it’s too confronting, but —’

‘Confronting is one word for it.’ Eve dismissed the waiter by turning back to Hilary and picking up her wine glass. ‘Certainly not an artist I’d want represented in
my
collection.’

‘I just don’t see how you put up with it,’ Jack was saying.

‘And this from a man who’s living with his ex-girlfriend, pretending he’s still going out with her and lying about the whereabouts – and state – of his business partner?’

‘That’s completely different.’

‘She makes me laugh.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘Not entirely. Although she is one of the world’s clumsiest women these days. Now, if she drank less, learned how to walk in heels … But I have it under control.’

‘Even if she doesn’t?’ Jack asked, with a smile.

‘She
thinks
she does.’

‘Don’t we all?’

‘What about you? How are you coping?’

‘Work, surf and music – best solutions there are. By the way, do you think Jess’s got a new bloke?’

‘Why do you ask? Wouldn’t you know if she had a bloke, anyway? You live with her.’

‘Nah, you know what she’s like. Something’s definitely going on though. She’s spending a lot of time in her study, door closed, which means that she must be on the phone, or the net, and she doesn’t want me to know what she’s doing. I hope it’s not a guy. I mean, she gets kind of obsessive when she’s working on —’ He stopped himself. ‘Things. When she’s working on things. But she’s not usually like this, not secretive at home.’

‘Didn’t you tell me she calls them “projects”? It’s a great word. It makes them sound as though they’re multi-purpose constructions, not just art.’

‘Don’t say “just art” around her! Social comment is a big part of what she does – and don’t, whatever you do, let her know you know about it. Nobody is supposed to know.’ Jack tried to remember when he’d mentioned the JJ business to Todd, but he couldn’t. He decided he should probably drink less – but wine was a hobby, not a problem.

Interpreting, correctly, Jack’s thoughts, Todd continued. ‘Don’t worry about it, who would I tell?’ Before Jack could answer, he added, ‘That was a joke. Really, don’t worry. But what’s your take on JJ, anyway? Why doesn’t Jess just use her own name?’

‘Too late to change? And – I don’t know – some of them are pretty full-on.’ Jack thought of the picture Alex had insisted they hang in the smallest room in the restuarant solely to provoke the patrons. Opinion about it was divided: some people specifically asked for the room, others asked for any room but that one. Personally, it wasn’t a work he’d want in front of him while he ate.

‘Interesting. You know, she might be finding having you in the flat harder than she thought.’

‘It can’t be that – I’m a delight, and I cook and clean. Anyway, she broke up with me – and then asked me to stay. She’s getting everything she wants. I’m the one who’s getting nothing out of this.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Todd gave Jack a quizzical look.

‘What’s that for? You think I think that if I stick around maybe we’ll get back together?’

‘I do think that.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe. Maybe.’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that it’s a good opportunity to decide what you really want.’

‘Jesus, Todd, you’ll be suggesting I go and join Alex next.’

‘How is he anyway?’

‘Oh, you know. Same old, same old. I spoke to him last week.’

‘He’s really not writing is he?’

‘Not a word.’

‘What about coming home?’