On cloud nine that the editor had caved in so quickly, she’d been able to relax for the first time in ages, and when Gabriela had finally left and Rachel
had got back home
, the three of them had had a real fun evening. They’d
binned
the contents of the fridge, sent out for pizzas, drunk a couple of glasses of red wine
,
and then a couple more, and when she’d
finally
gone to bed
,
she’d slept
amazingly well, considering the day she was about to face
.
But that was last night.
Things looked very different in the cold light of the new day, and by the time that she’d got to Tom’s house that morning, every ounce of confidence had
vanished and she’d
convinced
herself
that the editor would come back fighting.
He’
d
have
had time to think things through and he’d have found some way of backtracking on what he’d said about waiting for Friday. She could see herself being forced into a spot
where the only way out was to quit
the job there and then
, and i
f
that happened
, she might as well accept that she and Tom were history.
Even if she returned that evening to see Tom, h
e
was hardly likely to
give a positive reception to
a
confession
made
at
the end of his
over
long
work day.
Her mobile phone rang and she gasped
aloud
.
She p
ull
ed
it to her
and
glanced at the contact name – it was Gabriela. For fuck’s sake, what did she want now? She seemed to have either seen Gabriela or spoken to her every other minute since the woman had arrived in England
. S
he
was beginning to feel
as if
she had a sodding stalker in her life
.
‘Hi, Gabriela,’ she said into the phone. ‘This must be quick
as
I’m snowed under with things to do.’ She glanced at her almost empty desk and felt a twinge of guilt. She owed a lot to Gabriela, and it wasn’t really her fault that she was so damn needy. ‘Well, I suppose I could take five
as
I haven’t yet had a break. So, how are things with you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she heard Gabriela say. ‘More important, how are you? I was wondering if everything was al
l
right with you, or if maybe you had heard from your editor today.’
‘Great minds think alike. I’ve been panicking all day that the shithead would ring at any minute. I’ve been dreading him regretting what he said yesterday and coming out with all guns blazing this morning, but so far not a dicky bird from him. I guess I’m not going to hear from him after all
. I
t’s pretty late in the day for him to ring now. I can probably let myself relax again.’
She
heard Gabriela give an audible sigh of relief.
‘That is very good to hea
r. And now, Evie
,
now that I am reassured about you, I must go
.
I have someone I must see. I just wanted to check that my friend was feeling cheerful today. I shall speak to you very soon. Yes?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Evie heard the line go dead. She flipped shut her phone and sat back heavily against her cushion.
Gabriela was a good friend – she’d certainly proved that
–
and she’d sounded genuinely anxious about her just now and really relieved that their plan was still on track. If her relationship with Tom survived the huge hurdle it was facing, it would be thanks to Gabriela. She knew that, and she
’d always be grateful to her, b
ut she could really do with having a break from hearing her at the
other
end of the phone or
from
seeing her in person.
At least
for a while.
All she wanted now was a bit of time in which to settle down to normal life again, and to have some space in which to move on with Tom. If only Gabriela could be sent on a course to a place that was miles away and didn’t have phone coverage, or if only Alessandro would
collect her from
England and whisk her off to a desert island.
Every clou
d may well have a silver lining,
but she was fast learning that behind the silver lining, there could be one enormous black cloud.
Tom walked into his house
Thursday evening
, disabled the alarm, dumped his black leather hold-all at the foot of the stairs and threw his suit jacket over the banister. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, he went into the drawing room, and stopped abruptly in the middle of the room.
Silence hung heavily in the air. He could almost hear it, almost touch it. He looked around him for a minute or two, then he started to walk slowly towards the kitchen. Silence walked with him at his side; it was there with every step that he took.
His brow furrowed
;
he’d never been aware of such a sensation before. At some point
–
he didn’t know when
–
the peace and solitude that he’d always valued so highly seemed to have changed into a sterile emptiness. An oppressive sterile emptiness. And he couldn’t really put his finger on the reason why this should have happened.
Shaking his head
,
he went down the three steps that led into the kitchen.
It must be the Italian effect, he decided as he went over to his granite worktop. That week in Italy, in the land of art and music, must have brought out a fanciful streak in him that he’d never known he had. It would gradually fade, of that he was confident, and he’d go back to being the way he used to be, but for the moment it was all very unsettling.
He switched on the kettle. He’d have a cup of tea – the English answer to everything, even if there wasn’t anything that needed an answer – and then he’d go up to his study and read through the draft of his opening statement to the court.
He made his te
a, put a couple of ginger nuts o
n his saucer with a wry smile, and then, carrying the cup in one hand and his leather hold-all in the other, he went upstairs and sat down behind his desk.
Leaning against the back of his chair, he picked up one of the ginger nuts and
dunked it in
his tea. His gaze slid along the desk to the place where Evie worked and to her chair on the opposite side. He noticed that the cushion was crumpled up and he quickly finished the biscuit, stood up and went around the desk to her chair. He gave the cushion a good shake and propped it against the back of the chair, ready for the following day. Ready for the last day she would be working for him.
He slowly returned to his seat
,
sat down again
and picked up his cup. His
eyes on Evie’s chair
,
he sipped his tea
. His tea finishe
d, he mentally shook himself. H
e must get on
;
he had work to do. He pulled the hold-all towards him, took out a bundle of papers, put them on
to
the desk in front of him and began to skim through the top
sheet. Minutes later, he real
ise
d that his eyes had returned to Evie’s section of the desk, and
to the
piece of paper on which she’d been doodling that day. She’d left it at the back of the desk, weighted down with the heavy stapler. He’d almost missed it.
Pushing his papers aside, he
reached
across the desk to the sheet and pulled it to him. The usual squiggles covered the page, and yes, it was there
–
the heart she always left him. She’d drawn it very clearly in the space at the bottom right-hand corner. She’d remembered what he’d said about liking the notes
she left
him, especially the little heart that she
drew
at the end of each message. There was no message this time, but there was a heart.
He smiled to himself, sat back in his chair and looked around him, the sheet of paper still in his hand.
The following day, he wouldn’t be coming home to
an empty silence
, to a discarded doodling sheet with a small heart on it; the following day he would be coming home to Evie. He was amazed at how much he was looking forward to that, he who had always dreaded the thought of someone invading his space. He would never have believed that he could ever have welcomed such an invasion, but there was no doubt that he was very much looking forward to
her
being
there
when he got home the next evening.
It just showed that nothing was written on tablets of stone, he mused, and that even someone like him, who’d been con
fident
that everything in his life was filed in the correct slot and was going to stay that way,
could
mellow somewhat in the face of a person who was a really pleasant companion. How long his life was going to be out of kilter like this, he didn’t know, but he
’d do well
to make the most of it while it lasted.
Reluctantly, he put
Evie’s piece
of paper
back
on
the
desk, picked up the draft of his statement for the court and glanced at it. He gave a deep sigh
–
it obviously still needed wo
rk. He
couldn’t leave it all for the weekend
,
not if he
wanted some
time with Evie
,
so h
e
must
get his head together fast and read it properly
. Which
wasn’
t going to be easy. H
is concentration was all shot to pieces because, if he was really and truly honest with himself, he wasn’t just looking forward to the following day – he bloody well couldn’t wait for it to come
.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The best laid plans …
The clock on Tom’s desk said
twelve
thirty.
She’d woken up at four that morning and had tossed and turned for the rest of the night, wondering
how the day would end.
She’d
already
decided that she
was going to
ignore
all of the ed
itor’s phone calls until she
’d
reached the point
that she couldn’t ignore him any longer
; anything to reduce the risk of Tom hearing about it before she could tell him
. But i
t was a
delicate
balance – leaving it as late in the day
as s
he dared, but not leaving it to
o late to
reach
him
– and she was nervous about getting it wrong.
Whatever happened, s
he had to quit before she saw Tom. That was a must.
On the way to Tom’s house, she’d rehe
arsed her speech for the editor
. One part of her was dreading the conversation; the other
part
wa
s longing to get on with it
, longing for the moment when
she’
d be free of
Pure Dirt
forever. By the time that she’d reached Tom’s house at nine o’clock, she’d completely lost count of the number of times she’d gone through her words.
As she’d expected,
he
had already left for his Chambers. She’d switched off the house alarm and hung the clothes that she’d brought to wear that evening in the cupboard beneath the stairs; then she’d made herself a cup of strong coffee and taken it upstairs, just as she’d done every morning. Sitting down at her desk, she’d taken out her mobile phone, put it next to her, and then switched on the computer to see what Tom had left for her to do that day.
Time had passed slowly, and she’d felt every minute go by.
Although it was h
er la
st day working for Tom, he
hadn’t left
her
much work, and she’d
resorted to looking for things to do to make the time pass more quickly. Finally, she’d given up the search,
switched
off
the computer
and sat
there doodling, impatient to get the conversation over with,
but
still
determined
that it
was going to take
place
later rather than
earlier
.