The Secrets Women Keep (20 page)

First knocking back the pills with a glass of water, she took her coffee over to her desk. Across the room was her new non-caffeine-drinking assistant’s. She blessed the day she’d
heard of May Flynn, a promising editorial assistant who had been made redundant in a swingeing round of corporate cuts at Customhouse Books. What a difference May had made to her life, although she
had yet to make much of an impression in the office itself. Eve couldn’t help but still notice Amy’s absence. Amy had cleared out, taking all her file copies, all the small gifts from
grateful authors. Her pinboard, to the left of the desk was denuded of the funny postcards, bits of paper, photos of Amy with clients at this occasion and that. May had stuck up a few things of her
own, but without the familiar chaos from before. The low bookcase that ran by the wall had been left like a mouthful of rotting teeth, full of gaps where Amy had removed the books she wanted. May
had swiftly reorganised them, ordering the replacements they needed, but it remained far from full.

Eve cradled her head in her hands. God, she felt awful. She should have gone easier on the wine once they got home after

Daniel’s do, but Terry had shut himself in with the TV to watch whatever horse racing he had recorded and she had been left in the kitchen with her whirling thoughts. Will! After all these
years, and how easily she’d let herself be swept along by the moment. Perhaps that was what came from being caught at a particularly low ebb. For four miserable months she’d been
dealing with her grief privately, guilt-ridden for feeling Daniel’s loss so keenly when such deep-seated grief for him belonged to Rose, her dearest friend and his wife, not to her. She could
not get out of her head the image of Rose bent over Daniel’s body where they had found him on the stony track, his face scarlet from having lain unprotected in the sun for what they were
later told must have been almost three hours. Rose had cradled his head, brushing away the insistent flies. The only sound they heard from her was a second terrible animal-like howl that seemed to
go on for ever. The three of them stood around her, shocked into immobility, waiting for the ambulance, until Anna’s racking sobs made Eve aware that she had to do something.

The loss of such an old and dear friend before his time had hit Eve hard. Not just because she missed him, but because his death had brought home to her the brevity of life and the imperative
not to waste it. Will’s unexpected appearance had rocketed her back to those heady student days in Edinburgh when all things were possible and none of them had a care in the world. Being with
him, even for that short time, had made her feel like that again, despite the thickening waistline and the other all-too-obvious signs of age.

Taking a sip of the scalding coffee, she thought about the day ahead. May wouldn’t be in. Her working part-time suited both of them, leaving May free to pursue her writing career on her
days off and Eve to make some useful economies.

Amy had finally declared her hand when Eve had been back from Italy for about a week. Obviously, in Amy’s eyes at least, seven days was long enough for her boss to recover from the death
of one of her closest friends. Eve had dragged herself into the office when a day under the duvet would have been infinitely preferable. Amy was already slotted in behind an unusually tidy
desk.

She waited while Eve removed her coat and put her Tall Cappuccino and a skinny muffin – a comfort habit she’d since broken on the back of a briefly held New Year’s resolution
– on her desk, before coming to stand in the middle of the room, centre stage.

Even now, Eve remembered looking round the edge of her computer screen, as Amy cleared her throat. ‘Something up?’ she’d asked, hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t take
long. However much she didn’t feel like working, there was plenty to get through thanks to her protracted absence in Italy.

‘There is, actually.’ Amy shifted from one sheer-black-stockinged leg to the other, while Eve made a mental note to mention the unsuitability of the length of her skirt – it
barely skimmed her buttocks – or was that too old-womanish for words? Probably. Did she care? No. Good impressions were important in business. She was adding it to the mounting list of
must-dos that had already begun to crowd her mind, claiming her attention, when Amy began to speak.

‘The thing is, Eve. Well . . .’ She paused. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. I’ve decided to leave the agency.’

Eve took in the sharp but determined face, the discreetly applied make-up, the hair perfectly in place, the whitened teeth, the wide mouth, and felt . . . precisely nothing. Perhaps Amy’s
leaving wouldn’t be such a bad thing. A nuisance, yes, but they weren’t working well together any more, and no one was irreplaceable.
Except Dan
. The words echoed in her
head.

‘What’s brought this on? I thought you were happy here.’

‘I was. But I want to develop my career and I think I’ve got as far as I can get here.’

Eve raised her eyebrows, surprised by the young woman’s directness. ‘Are you joining another agency? Moving from Cambridge to London?’ That would be a natural progression for
someone with her ambition. One of the big boys would hoover up Amy without a second thought and reward her with the freedom she wanted.

‘I’ve had a couple of expressions of interest, but I’m not sure. I’ll stay until you find someone else.’ She returned to her desk, subject closed, and didn’t
address another remark to Eve for the rest of the morning.

Over the following weeks, Amy worked out an awkward period of notice filled with frequent and mysterious absences that she never attempted to explain. An editor Eve knew had mentioned
May’s name, and within a short time their arrangement was sealed and her terms of employment settled. By the time Amy left they were barely communicating at all. May joining the agency just
before Chistmas came as a huge relief. She was bright and willing, was picking things up quickly and would soon be fulfilling exactly the role Eve had imagined for her. The clients liked her and
Eve was back holding the reins of the agency.

Then a week ago, the trade press carried the announcement of a new London-based agency for children’s authors: AFA – the Amy Fraser Agency – running out of a Wandsworth
address. Among Amy’s much-heralded initial client list were four authors who until that moment Eve had believed were represented by her.

The cutting was still on her desk. With a red pen she underlined the authors’ names: the first in what might be a haemorrhage if she didn’t react. At least these were four Eve could
afford to lose if she absolutely had to. They were slow writers, and as far as she knew, they had nothing immediate in the pipeline. She was rather surprised that Amy wanted them, but the girl
clearly had more cunning than Eve had credited her with. While Eve had mourned, functioning more on autopilot than anything else, Amy had gone behind her back, exploiting Eve’s state of mind,
working the retirement story no doubt, insinuating her way into the clients’ trust until the first agreed to join her new venture. And unless Eve was careful, they might not be the last.

As Eve reached for the phone, she knocked her mug off the desk so that it bounced off a pile of papers by the side of her chair, then smashed against its leg. A tide of greyish lukewarm coffee
washed everywhere. Mopping one of the rough (thank God!) illustrations for Rufus’s new book with a bit of kitchen roll, Eve felt a cosmic gloom threatening. Her agency was under siege, one of
her oldest friends was dead, her children had left home, her marriage was far from fulfilling, and Will had reappeared. Could things get any worse?

She looked around the office at the photos of her award-winning authors, of her children armed with body boards on a Cornish beach, of Terry at a local point-to-point, grinning after winning on
a race. These were the people who cared about her and towards whom she had a huge responsibility, especially now that Terry was unemployed. A recent addition was the framed LP sleeve of the Rolling
Stones’ ‘Sticky Fingers’. Rose had asked Daniel’s closest friends to pick something that belonged to him as a memento. His extensive vinyl collection was irresistible, and
Eve had chosen the album that she remembered him obsessing over at Edinburgh when everyone else’s tastes had moved on. She tossed the kitchen roll in the bin. Sod it! Where was the old Eve
Rutherford who didn’t give a damn, and who never let anyone or anything get the better of her? What was she doing with her life?

She took the other mug and went to the sink, where she poured the undrinkable coffee away, gripped by a new resolve. She would fight the gloom to show everyone, and most importantly herself,
what she was still made of.

Two hours later, a rug had been pulled over the coffee stain, the random paperwork sorted and put in May’s filing tray, and a bunch of yellow tulips stood on her desk. She still had a
couple of hours before Rufus was due to arrive for lunch: plenty of time to open the post and get some admin out of the way. There might even be time for her to read more of that promising
paranormal teen romance that had arrived unsolicited a couple of days ago. For the first time in ages, she felt braced and ready to go.

As she settled to deal with her emails, the phone rang.

‘Mum!’ The sound of Millie’s voice always lifted Eve. Immediately a picture of her daughter flashed up in her mind: long, slim legs poured into skinny-fit jeans, ankle boots,
cheap black leather bomber jacket, hands in fingerless mittens, a big scarf, and a tumble of unruly hair tied in a ponytail on top of her head.

‘Millie, my love. Where are you?’ She checked her watch. Eleven thirty. Most likely still in bed, surrounded by the contents of her wardrobe, that she was happier keeping within easy
reach on the floor. Why her beloved daughter had turned out to be by far the untidiest of her four children she didn’t know. In fact, her attempts to drum the basic principles of housekeeping
into all of them had met with abject and frustrating failure.

‘I’m dashing out to an exhibition with Flo, but I wanted to be sure that you’d paid that cheque into my account.’

As she spoke, Eve pictured the cheque deliberately propped up on top of the key cupboard by the front door, where they wouldn’t forget it. ‘Sorry, darling, we completely
forgot.’

The despairing sigh that followed told Eve all she needed to know about what Millie thought of them. ‘I need it for my rent. I told you.’

‘It’s not too late,’ she protested. ‘I’ll call Dad and get him to do it this morning.’

‘How is he?’

‘He’s fine,’ said Eve breezily, not wanting their children ever to be worried about either of them. That was not their job. ‘This’ll give him something to
do.’

‘That sounds a bit patronising.’

‘Did it? Wasn’t meant to be.’ She thought of Terry, still in his pyjamas and dressing gown when she’d left home, and showing no sign that he was thinking of changing out
of them. She rammed her memory stick into the side of her keyboard with satisfying force.

‘Well,’ Millie sounded unsure, ‘if you’re positive.’

‘Of course I am. You get on and I’ll call him right now.’

After they’d said their goodbyes, Eve dialled Terry while Millie was still in her mind. The phone rang for so long that, thinking he must have gone out, she was beginning to retract her
predictions about the way he was spending his morning. Finally he answered. Her heart sank as she heard his sleep-heavy voice stumble over their number. She explained her reason for calling.

‘But I can’t.’ He sounded almost panicked by this simplest of requests.

‘How do you mean, you can’t? All you have to do is get dressed and bring the cheque into town. What else have you got on?’

‘Well, nothing. Not exactly, but . . .’

She heard the whisper of turning newspaper pages. She didn’t need to be told. The sports section, no doubt. For heaven’s sake!

‘Terry, I don’t ask much of you.’ She spoke patiently, as if coaxing an intransigent horse into its box. ‘But I have a day of meetings and catching up ahead. It would
mean a lot if you could just get off your backside and help me for once!’

Not really fair, but with one final shove the horse bolted up the ramp.

‘All right. I’ll do it this afternoon.’ But he made no effort to hide his reluctance.

‘Why not this morning?’ And she made no effort to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

‘Eve! I’ve said I’ll do it. Now leave me alone.’

She took the phone from her ear and stared at it. He’d hung up! Furious, she pressed redial, but this time her call went unanswered. Short of going home and having it out with him face to
face, there was nothing more she could do. She banged the phone down on her desk. Immediately it rang. She considered not answering, then cautioned herself. She had a business to run, and if this
wasn’t Terry apologising – which it bloody well should be – she needed to take the call. She couldn’t afford to lose any more of her clients. In fact they were in for a spot
of timely love-bombing, did they but know it. She checked the number. Not one she knew. But she recognised the voice immediately.

‘It was so good to see you again yesterday, Evie. I wondered whether you’d meet me for lunch. There’s so much we didn’t talk about.’

‘There is?’ She had an urgent desire to make this difficult for him. Who the hell did he think he was, exiting then re-entering her life at will? She managed a grim little smile at
the pun. The fact was, she didn’t want to see him again. Yesterday had been an aberration, and she had more important things to attend to right now.

‘Please, Evie.’

She felt herself give a little.

‘I’d like to see you again.’

As Will carried on speaking, Eve’s gaze travelled to Rose’s Tuscan watercolour hanging on the wall over the mantelpiece. If only they could all be whisked back there, to when Daniel
was alive. In four short months, how much everything had changed. If he hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have this potential problem with the agency; Rose’s girls wouldn’t be
arguing; Dan would be shoring up Terry in the way he needed; and as a result, she and Terry might not be at each other’s throats at every opportunity. And of course, Will wouldn’t have
reappeared.