Cover Your Eyes (17 page)

‘How dare you say that? Take it back. I don't care if you believe me or not but I
wasn't
thinking about me, or this job or anything. I just thought it was worth putting Eva's point of view again. Telling her daughter that she's miserable, but I was dead wrong, wasn't I?'

I suppose I would have gone on like this if Rowena hadn't come round to my side of the table and taken me by the shoulders.

‘I'm sorry, Megan. You're right. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Eva's not the only one with frayed nerves around here. Please forgive me.'

She sounded so imploring that I said, ‘Oh, God, Rowena, I'm the one that's sorry. I shouldn't have shouted like that, only I was hurt—'

‘I know, I know and you have every right to be hurt. Unforgiveable, what I said. Only you will forgive me, won't you?'

‘Of course I will,' I said. I added, ‘I'd better go and see what the girls are up to', but I had no intention of doing that. I wanted a chance to be on my own a bit before supper, to calm down. Once a thing has been said, it's out there. I left the room wondering whether there was even the tiniest part of Rowena's remarks which might be true. It didn't make any difference to the fact that I was worried about Eva.

*

I went to my room. When I first came to Salix House, I used to spend ages in there. I'd never in my life had such a beautiful bedroom and I enjoyed being in it, even now. Recently, though, I'd been much more aware of the mirror. Every time I came in, I approached it anxiously, trying to see as soon as I opened the door whether there was a shadow, a shape lurking in the glass. So far, I hadn't caught sight of anything sinister, but I was nervous of my dressing table, which was, when I thought about it anywhere else in the house or outside the house, completely mad and ridiculous. Somehow, though, when I was here, with the door closed behind me, especially at night, the idea of seeing that face again seemed quite possible. I hadn't covered anything up. I didn't want to admit that I was scared of such a stupid thing, but I did avoid looking into the mirror and there were times when I could have sworn that there was something not quite right about the glass. It looked, in certain lights and from certain angles, as if it were liquid, or pliable. As if it could move and slide and reveal whatever might be hidden within it.
Don't be so daft
, I told myself. Mirrors don't slide and bend and reveal things. They're solid. Hard. You can break them. They can shatter. I shivered. I didn't even like thinking about the glass breaking. More than the seven years of bad luck, I feared that whatever might be trapped behind the surface would come out.

So whenever I came upstairs, I deliberately pushed away such thoughts and immediately went to my laptop and sat looking at the internet with my back to the dressing table. I liked catching up with what was going on in the real world, as I still thought of it. What did that mean? That this place was somehow unreal? I wasn't sure exactly, but it was true that since I'd started working here, I'd had less and less contact with my friends, apart from Jay. I'd spoken to Felix on the phone a couple of times. I texted Tanya occasionally but only when she'd texted me first. Tonight, there was a message from Felix. I always dreaded hearing from anyone at the
lipstick
office, because of Simon's name maybe cropping up, but there wasn't that problem with Felix. He knew he had to avoid the subject.

Only Felix would use words like
métier
.

At least writing to Felix would stop me thinking nonsense thoughts about mirrors. I typed him a long message, telling him about the Nativity Play, the bonfire we'd just had and how much I was enjoying life. I even mentioned Tom, though I didn't go into any details. Maybe if he thought I had some kind of boyfriend, he'd be happier about me vegetating in the country, as I was sure he'd put it. I ended up by saying:

‘I do intend to come back one of these days, Felix. I'm not always going to be a nanny. Don't worry. Will be filing copy before you can say boo to a goose. Love, Megan.' I closed my laptop and got up and wondered if that was true. The girls were in bed but it would be time for supper soon, and I'd have to go down and chat as though nothing had happened. No one was going to say anything even remotely real and honest. Just as I was about to leave my room, I heard the whooshing noise of a text arriving in my phone. I almost left it. It would be Tom. I went back to read it.
Goodnight, dearest Megan. Can you come round again? Soon. I miss you. Tom x.
I smiled and texted back,
Yes. Soon. Mx.
He did make me feel better about some things and I was glad about that.

*

‘Megan, can I have a word?' Rowena caught me just as I was leaving the sitting room to go to bed. We'd had a perfectly normal evening, even though Eva was a bit quiet and Conor even more deliberately chatty than usual.

‘Sure,' I said. She followed me out to the hall and we stood by the table. I could see from the way she looked, from the way she was standing, that I wasn't going to like what she intended to say. I almost told her not to bother but she'd started so I listened.

‘I haven't been able to speak to Conor yet about Ma and her situation, and he's off to a conference first thing tomorrow. I'll speak to him when he gets back on Saturday night. I hope you agree that I'm being fair. I mean, in one way, I don't have to discuss it with him at all because I know what he'll say: the same as me, I'm sure. But I did promise you. You'll just have to be a bit patient. Okay?'

‘Fine,' I said. ‘That's fine. I was just thinking of Eva, that's all.'

‘I know, I know,' Rowena smiled. ‘And it's an enormous help having you to show her some of the flats. I'll be taking her to one or two tomorrow, but all your driving and so on is much appreciated. And I'm sure Eva prefers going round flats with you than with me.'

I wanted to contradict her but I couldn't. I thought it was true. Whenever we went out together, even if it was to look at horrible places to live, we always had some fun along the way.

‘I'm sure she
will
find somewhere nice in the end,' I said, but I didn't know if I believed that completely. One of these days, I promised myself, maybe when we're in the car, driving to yet another flat, I'll ask Eva why she and Rowena aren't close. They're always polite and pleasant to each other but Eva seems readier to talk to me than she does to her own daughter.

‘This is really kind of you,' said Luke Fielden, smiling.

‘I'm very happy to show you the garden,' she said. ‘Rowena works in London as you know, but even if she were here, I'm a much better guide to the outside of Salix House. I made the garden, and so I know everything there is to know about it.'

They walked round the property, starting from the house and going down the drive, past all the salix trees. ‘They're not so impressive at this time of year,' Eva said, ‘but they're beautiful in the summer. The pale leaves look almost like small feathers.' From the gate, they took a path across the lawns, round the side of the building and on to the terrace.

‘In the sun, it's almost warm,' she said. ‘But only if we keep moving, I think. Are you going to make an offer for the house, Mr Fielden?'

‘I think I am,' said Luke. ‘It's beautiful.'

Eva looked at him. He was much taller than she was, but had shortened his stride to accommodate her. He'd been interested, or seemed to be interested, in everything she'd shown him. His eyes were very unusual: amber-coloured, with very long, thick lashes. If I were a young woman, she thought, I'd find him attractive. She didn't approve of matchmaking, but it occurred to her that Megan would do much better with this man than with Tom. What business is it of mine? she told herself. She seems happy now that she and Tom are seeing one another. It had been hard for her to hide what was going on. The girls cottoned on to the fact that she'd been out with him at the weekend and Dee had made up her mind that her teacher and Megan were practically on the verge of marriage. Luke interrupted her thoughts. He said, ‘The young woman who showed me round last time … Megan, is it?'

‘That's right,' said Eva. He knew her name perfectly well, she was sure of it. He went on, ‘Will she be coming with you to London when you go?'

‘Well, she'll be coming to London, I'm sure, but not with us, I don't think. She's a journalist. She left her job at
lipstick
for personal reasons, but I'm sure she'd be only too happy to get back to that kind of work. Even though she's very good with Dee and Bridie, and they love her.'

‘I know the editor of
lipstick
. Well, when I say “know”, I come across him here and there from time to time. Rarely, actually, but still. Simon Gradwell. It's a small world.'

Eva looked up at him. ‘Don't tell Megan you know him,' she said. ‘It wouldn't be a good idea.'

‘Right,' said Luke. Eva was prepared to deflect any further questions but he began to ask her about the espaliered peach tree on the south wall and she was relieved not to have to explain.

The kitchen door opened just as they were passing it and Megan came out. ‘I saw you both through the window. Aren't you freezing?'

‘I am, a bit,' said Eva. ‘Maybe you can make us both a cup of tea?'

‘Sure. No problem,' she said. They followed her into the warmth of the kitchen. As soon as I've drunk a bit of my tea, Eva thought, as they sat down at the table, I'm going to leave them on their own. This might, she realized, be exactly the kind of matchmaking she normally disapproved of, but on the other hand, what was the harm in it? If Megan was really keen on Tom, nothing would come of it. Anyway, she thought, just because I think he's an attractive man, it doesn't mean she will. She hoped fervently that he'd remember not to mention Simon Gradwell.

*

‘Are you offering for it?' I asked Luke Fielden. Eva had made an excuse about going to her room and had left us to our tea.

‘Yes, I think so. I love it. And Eva's shown me the bits of it I didn't see properly last time. It must be spectacular in the spring and summer.'

‘She'll find it very hard, moving,' I said and then wished I hadn't. What business was it of mine, after all? I was hardly going to tell him how I'd found her crying about it only a short while ago.

‘Well, I can understand that. It must be very difficult when you've lived in a place for so long and invested so much of yourself in it, too.'

I said nothing. He added, ‘You know, someone's going to buy this house if I don't. You mustn't blame me for loving it and wanting to acquire it, you know.' His voice was quite gentle and I wondered why I'd ever found him arrogant. But I hadn't said a word, so how had he guessed at my feelings? I said, hastily, ‘No, no, of course I don't. It's just—'

‘You don't have to explain. I think you're very protective of Eva, aren't you?'

‘I just … well, I'd like her to be happy, that's all. She's been very kind to me.'

‘I'm sure that she'll find somewhere good,' he said. I found it hard to stay angry with him. It
was
ridiculous to blame him for Eva's unhappiness. She seemed to like him. When I'd caught sight of them out of the kitchen window, she'd looked perfectly happy. He was smiling now and his stern face was quite transformed.

‘Would you like another slice of cake?'

‘No, thanks. I ought to go now. I've taken up far too much of your time already.'

‘That's okay. I've got to go and fetch the girls from school soon but I've got a few minutes.'

‘No, no, I'm off.' He stood up, so I did as well. ‘Shan't hold you up. Thanks so much for this …' He nodded towards the table. ‘Goodbye, Megan.' We shook hands. Or at least, it started as a handshake but then my hand was enveloped and squeezed in both of his, and when he'd gone I sat down again. I didn't have to go to school quite yet and I was trying to process how I felt. As though something had flipped over in my stomach. I tried to remember details of Luke's face and found myself dwelling on his mouth. Stop it, I told myself. I tried to conjure up an image of Tom, of Tom leaning over me, kissing me, making love to me, but the only thing I could see was Luke's eyes; how there seemed to be some kind of light behind them, shining through them. Thinking about them was unsettling me. I got up and walked quickly out of the house to my car.

*

‘Granny! You're not concentrating. You have to type in the name that you want. In the space here.' Dee pointed to the long rectangle at the top of the screen. Eva peered at the word
Google
, which had struck her at first as a silly, childish name but which she was gradually getting used to. She was at least getting the hang of the mouse and managed to type Rightmove without mishap and click on the correct little symbol … icon. That was the right word.

‘There!' Eva smiled at Dee. They were in the study. Dee had the proper desk chair and Eva had pulled up a hard chair right next to it and was looking past her granddaughter at the screen of Conor's old laptop, which she'd inherited when he bought an iPad. Dee liked being in charge of their computer sessions. She (sometimes with help from Bridie) was the teacher and Eva was the pupil and she loved telling Eva about the internet. Dee had first shown her the Rightmove site when Salix House went on the market and Eva liked looking round her own house on the virtual tour. It became a game with the girls: they'd guide the cursor from room to room and the screen would fill with images of her house, looking both familiar and strange: unusually empty, unusually quiet, strangely tidy and clean and somehow not like itself. Now, she needed Rightmove for reasons of her own. The letter that had arrived that morning was in the pocket of her cardigan and she patted it from time to time, to make sure it was still there. Later, when Dee went for her tea, she'd read it again to make sure she hadn't made any mistake about its contents.

‘Where do you want to live, Granny?' Dee was asking. ‘I'll type it in for you if you tell me how to spell it. And then we have to put in how much you want to pay for it.'

‘Goodness,' said Eva, slightly taken aback by the knowledge her young granddaughter seemed to have. She could also see that this looking around at properties might easily become addictive. What was to stop you putting in Mayfair and three million pounds in the right boxes and gawping at properties you couldn't possibly afford? Nothing, really, except the pointlessness of the exercise. Today, however, she had a reason to be looking at the site. A proper reason.

‘Dee! Come along,' Megan called from the kitchen. ‘Time for your tea. What are you doing?'

‘Helping Granny with the computer,' Dee called back. ‘But I'm coming in a second.' She turned to Eva. ‘I'll come back after if you like.'

‘No, darling, that's all right. I can manage now, I'm sure. In any case I've nearly finished.'

Dee ran off. Eva peered at the screen. Tentatively she typed the postcode she'd memorized into the little box. She added a sum of money that she thought might be about right and clicked. A display showing houses of every kind filled the screen. Damn. She should have put ‘flat' into the mix, somewhere along the way. She sighed. I'll ask Megan, she thought. She liked being helped by Dee, who took such pride in being grown-up about technical matters, but Megan knew what she was looking for. She would have to do something called ‘
refining your search
'.

The lettering of the Google page (designed, she thought, to appeal to children, with its bright primary colours and its friendly-looking typeface) appeared on the screen again as she closed the
Rightmove
site. I'm all by myself, she thought. I can try. If anything goes wrong, I'll just close down and go back later, with Megan. Very tentatively, she typed in a name:
Lissa Dovedale.
The screen filled with references to Lissa. Well, it wasn't surprising. At the very top of the page was Wikipedia, and Eva felt huge relief. One of the first things she'd ever done on a computer was go to her own entry. And here was one for Lissa.

A famous model in the sixties, Lissa Dovedale's name defined the London fashion world at that time. Together with Jean Shrimpton and Twiggy, her androgynous, leggy look and her long, red, pre-Raphaelite-style hair made her an icon of her day. She is particularly associated with the designer Eva Conway, whose characteristically elegant and understated but exotic designs she wore to perfection.

Eva smiled, remembering how in this very house, when it was nothing more than a shell, with a few broken old desks standing on dusty, cracked floorboards and cobwebs hanging in swags from the light fittings and the banisters, Lissa had posed in the grey and mauve and oyster chiffon of the
Ghost
collection, looking beautiful and as though she were about to fade into the woodwork, like a ghost herself. Very pale lips. Very dark eyes and that hair, the curls like ribbons of copper unscrolling over Lissa's bony shoulders.

In 1970, she retired from the fashion world to marry property billionaire, Herman Abernathy, after a much-publicized romance. Her husband, who was more than twenty years her senior, died in 1990. Even though she has stayed away from the limelight, Lissa Dovedale is prominent in the USA as a sponsor of several important arts foundations, all over the world.

In the seventies, Eva reflected, we didn't know the meaning of ‘much-publicized'. A few articles in the paper and that was it, more or less. She imagined what would have gone on today. Twitter and Facebook and the hacking of phones by the papers … they'd have had a wonderful time dissecting the story of Lissa and Herman, who was short and not particularly good-looking and moreover, thoroughly married. People drew their own conclusions at the time and would have done so even more now. Lissa was represented as a gold-digger and a homewrecker and today she'd have been torn limb from limb. As it was, she went to America and wasn't heard of again till Abernathy died, leaving her a very rich woman indeed, but also (and this came as a surprise to many people) bereft at the loss of a husband she loved more deeply than anyone could have imagined. We love, Eva thought, the most unlikely people and for the most ridiculous of reasons but if your story doesn't fit a template laid down in fiction and the media, then it was not always to be believed. Me and Antoine Bragonard, she thought. Not many people had understood that, either, and now with the benefit of hindsight, Eva wasn't altogether sure she could make sense of it herself. I ought to have tried, she thought. I ought to have explained it much earlier and better to Rowena, then our whole relationship might have been different.

Suddenly, she felt exhausted. Enough for one day, she thought. I know as much as I need to know. She closed the laptop, got up from the desk and went to sit on the sofa. The velvet and satin cushions were piled up behind her. She leaned against them and took the letter out of her cardigan pocket.

The house was quiet. Dee and Bridie must have finished eating and gone upstairs with Megan. Rowena wasn't due home for some time and Conor was busy getting ready for his conference. Why shouldn't I phone now? What's stopping me? Nothing, Eva decided. I'm just going to do it. I'm going to pick up the phone as though forty years and more haven't gone by since we met, and speak to Lissa. She left her nest of soft cushions and went back to the desk, where she picked up the receiver and began to key in the numbers.

*

‘What do you reckon?' Tom said. He and Megan were sitting in the school hall, watching a Nativity Play rehearsal. The teacher in charge, Mrs Plumtree, was marshalling the ranks of angels, shepherds, kings and Mary and Joseph in a final tableau.

‘That's right. Tall ones at the back, please. Melissa, come to the front at once. Dee, you'll be on Mary's right and I want someone about Dee's height … that's right, you, James … on Joseph's left.'

Megan said, ‘I'm just glad I don't have to organize it, that's all. I don't envy Mrs P. Nor you, come to that.'

‘I love it. I have to make a real effort to teach the kids something that isn't to do with the play. We've got our words to learn now.'