Genuine Lies (12 page)

She smiled. No one had ever called her Evie, but she decided she liked the way it sounded in his proper, theater-trained voice. Lifting her head, she looked down at him. His eyes were closed and he wore a foolish grin of pure satisfaction. It made her laugh, and she kissed him, grateful again.

“What to try for round two?”

His eyes opened slowly. She could see both desire and affection mirrored there. Until that moment she hadn’t realized how much she had craved both. Care for me, just for me, she thought, and I’ll do my damnedest to care for you.

“Tell you what. I’ve got a great big bed upstairs, and a great big hot tub out on the upper deck. Why don’t we make use of both?”

They did, splashing in the steamy water, tearing up the satin sheets. Like greedy children they fed off each other until their bodies begged for sleep.

It was a hunger of a different kind that awakened Eve just past noon. Beside her Rory was spread out on the enormous bed, facedown in the posture of the half dead. Still floating on the afterglow, she gave him a quick kiss on the shoulder and went off to shower.

There was a choice of women’s robes in his closet—either ones he had bought for convenience or that had been left behind by other lovers. Eve chose one in blue silk because it suited her mood, and started downstairs with the idea of fixing them both a light breakfast they could eat in bed.

Eve followed the murmur of a television to the kitchen. A housekeeper, she thought. Better yet. Now she could order breakfast, not cook it. Humming, she dug out the pack of cigarettes she’d slipped into the pocket of the robe.

The last thing she expected to see standing at the kitchen counter was a young boy. From her side view in the doorway, she caught the profound resemblance to his father. The same dark, rich hair, the sweet mouth, the intense blue eyes. As the boy carefully, almost religiously spread peanut butter on a slice of bread, the television across the room switched from commercial to cartoon. Bugs Bunny popped out of his rabbit hole gnawing wryly on a carrot.

Before Eve could decide whether to walk in or to slip quietly away again, the boy’s head lifted—like a young wolf scenting the air. As his gaze met hers, he stopped slathering the bread and studied.

In her time Eve had been measured and considered by too many men to count, yet this young boy struck her speechless with his sharp, disconcertingly adult scrutiny. Later, she would laugh it off, but at that moment she felt he had punched straight through the image to the woman beneath, to Betty Berenski, the thirsty, dreamy girl who had forged herself into Eve Benedict.

“Hello,” he said in a childish echo of his father’s cultured voice. “I’m Paul.”

“Hello.” She had a ridiculous urge to tidy her hair and smooth down her robe. “I’m Eve.”

“I know. I’ve seen your picture.”

Eve felt embarrassed. He looked at her as if she were almost as funny as Bugs outwitting Elmer Fudd. She could tell he knew what went on in his father’s bedroom. There was such a cynical curl to his lip.

“Did you sleep well?”

The little shit, Eve thought as embarrassment became amusement. “Very well, thank you.” She swept in then, like a queen into a drawing room. “I’m afraid I didn’t realize Rory’s son lived with him.”

“Sometimes.” He picked up a jar of jelly and began to coat another piece of bread. “I didn’t like my last school, so my parents decided to transfer me to California for a year or two.” He fit the two pieces of bread together, matching up the edges. “I was driving my mother crazy.”

“Were you?”

“Oh, yes.” He turned to the refrigerator and chose a large bottle of Pepsi. “I’m rather good at it. By summer I’ll have driven my father crazy, so I’ll go back to London. I enjoy flying.”

“Do you?” Fascinated, Eve watched him settle himself at the glass-topped kitchen table. “Is it all right if I fix myself a sandwich?”

“Of course. You’re making a film with my father.” He said it matter-of-factly, as though he expected all of his father’s leading ladies to stand in the kitchen on Saturday afternoons in a borrowed robe.

“That’s right. Do you like movies?”

“Some of them. I’ve seen one of yours on the telly. TV.” He corrected himself, reminding himself he wasn’t in England now. “You were a saloon singer and men killed for you.” He took a neat bite of the sandwich. “You have a very pleasant voice.”

“Thank you.” She looked over her shoulder to assure herself she was having this conversation with a child. “Are you going to be an actor?”

His eyes lit with laughter as he took another bite. “No. If I were going to go into films, it would be as a director. I think it would be satisfying to tell people what to do.”

Eve
decided
against making coffee, plucked another soft drink from the refrigerator, and joined him at the table. Her notion of taking a snack up to Rory and indulging in an afternoon tussle was forgotten. “How old are you?”

“Ten. How old are you?”

“Older.” She sampled the peanut butter and jelly and was rewarded by a flash of sensory memory. The month before she had met Charlie Gray, she had lived on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and canned soup. “What do you like best about California?”

“The sun. It rains a lot in London.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Did you always live here?”

“No, though sometimes it feels like it.” She took a long drink of Pepsi. “So, tell me, Paul, what didn’t you like about your last school?”

“The uniforms,” he said immediately. “I hate uniforms. It’s as if they want to make you look alike so you’ll think alike.”

Because she’d nearly choked, she set the bottle down. “Are you sure you’re ten?”

With a shrug he polished off the last of the sandwich. “I’m almost ten. And I’m precocious,” he told her with such sobriety she swallowed her chuckle. “And I ask too many questions.”

Under the veneer of a smart aleck was the poignant tone of a lonely little boy. A fish out of water, Eve thought, and checked the urge to ruffle his hair. She knew the feeling very well. “People say you ask too many questions only when they don’t know the answers.”

He gave her another long, searching look with those direct, adult eyes. Then he smiled and became an almost ten-year-old with a missing tooth. “I know. And it makes them crazy when you just keep asking.”

This time she didn’t resist ruffling his hair. The grin had hooked her. “You’re going to go places, kid. But for now, how do you feel about a walk on the beach?”

He stared for a full thirty seconds. Eve would have bet her
last dollar that Rory’s lovers never spent time with him. She’d also bet that Paul Rory Winthrop desperately wanted a friend.

“Okay.” He ran a finger down the Pepsi bottle, making designs in the condensation. “If you want.” It wouldn’t do to seem too eager.

“Good.” She felt exactly the same way, and rose casually. “Just let me find some clothes.”

“We walked for a couple of hours,” Eve said. She was smiling now, and her cigarette had burned down to the filter, untouched in the ashtray. “Even built sand castles. It was one of the most … intimate afternoons of my life. By the time we got back, Rory was awake, and I was head over heels in love with his son.”

“And Paul?” Julia asked quietly. She’d been able to picture him perfectly, a lonely little boy fixing a solitary sandwich on a Saturday afternoon.

“Oh, he was more cautious than I. I realized later that he suspected I was using him to get to his father.” With a restless movement Eve shifted and took out a fresh cigarette. “Who could blame him? Rory was a very desirable man, powerful in the industry, wealthy—in his own right and also through family.”

“You and Rory Winthrop were married before the picture you were working on was released.”

“One month after that Saturday in Malibu.” For a few moments Eve smoked in silence, looking out over the orange grove. “I admit I went after him, single-mindedly. The man didn’t have much of a chance. Romance was his weakness. I exploited it. I wanted that marriage, that ready-made family. I had my reasons.”

“Which were?”

Focusing on Julia again, Eve smiled. “For now we’ll say Paul was a large part of it. It’s true enough, and I don’t intend to lie. And at that point in my life I still believed in marriage. Rory could make me laugh, he was—is—intelligent, gentle, and just wild enough to be interesting. I needed to believe it
could work. It didn’t, but of my four marriages, it’s the only one I don’t regret.”

“There were other reasons?”

“You don’t miss much,” Eve murmured. “Yes.” She tapped out her cigarette with quick, jerky motions. “But that’s another story for another day.”

“All right. Then tell me what your reasons were for hiring Nina.”

Very rarely was Eve thrown off balance. Now, to give herself a moment, she blinked and smiled blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I spoke with Nina last night. She told me how you’d found her in the hospital after her attempted suicide, how you’d given her not only a job, but the will to live.”

Eve picked up her glass, studied the few remaining inches of champagne and juice. “I see. Nina didn’t mention to me that you’d interviewed her.”

“We talked when she brought the photos over last night.”

“Yes. I haven’t seen her yet this morning.” Changing her mind, Eve set the glass down again without drinking. “My reasons for hiring Nina were twofold, and more intricate than I care to get into at the moment. I will tell you that I detest waste.”

“I’d wondered,” Julia persisted, more interested in watching Eve’s face than in hearing her answer, “if you’d felt it was a way to pay an old debt? Charlie Gray had committed suicide, and you couldn’t do anything to prevent it. This time, with Nina, you could. And did.”

A sadness crept into Eve’s eyes, lingered. Julia watched the green darken, deepen. “You are very perceptive, Julia. Part of what I did was to pay Charlie back. But since I gained a very efficient employee and a devoted friend, one might say it cost me nothing.”

And it was the eyes, not the answer that had Julia reaching out to lay a hand over Eve’s before she realized she’d crossed the distance. “Whatever you gained, compassion and generosity are worth more. I’ve admired you as an actress all my
life. In the past few days, I’ve started to admire you as a woman.”

As Eve stared down at their joined hands, tangles of emotion passed across her face. She fought a brief and gritty war to control them before she spoke. “You’ll have plenty of time to develop other opinions of me—as a woman—before we’re finished. Not all of them will be anything remotely resembling admiration. Meanwhile, I have business to see to.” She rose and waved her hand at the recorder. Reluctantly, Julia turned it off. “There’s a charity dinner dance tonight. I have a ticket for you.”

“Tonight?” Julia shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked up. “I really don’t think I can attend.”

“If you’re going to write this book, you can’t do it all from this house. I’m a public figure, Julia,” Eve reminded her. “I want you with me, in public. You’ll need to be ready by seven-thirty. CeeCee will sit with Brandon.”

Julia rose as well. She preferred handling the unexpected on her feet. “I’ll go of course. But you may as well know, I don’t mingle well.” Irony spiking her words, she added, “I never outgrew that habit of driving people crazy by asking too many questions.”

Eve chuckled and, satisfied, strolled toward the house. It was, she was certain, going to be an interesting evening.

If there was one thing Julia hated more than being given orders, it was having no choice but to obey them. It wasn’t that she couldn’t enjoy an evening out, particularly at a glitzy event. If it threatened to make her feel too hedonistic, she could justify it as research. It was being told on the morning of the event that she was expected to attend. Not asked, not invited. Commanded. And she’d been human enough to spend a large chunk of time that afternoon fretting over what to wear. Time, she thought now, that should have been spent working. Just as her annoyance with Eve had reached its peak, Nina had knocked on the door, carrying a trio of dresses. Dresses, Julia was told, that Eve had selected personally from her own wardrobe, on the off chance that Julia hadn’t packed anything appropriate for a formal party.