He slowly turned the gun away. Her jaw sagged to her shoulder, eyes still pressed shut. With a last twist Timson released Eva’s arm and jabbed the gun back into its holster under his jacket. Wallace nudged Eva’s chin, coaxing her to open her eyes and meet his own.
Timson shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Forget about that crazy book. No harm done.” He wiped his palms. “Hey, folks, didn’t mean for you to see a squabble. Employees, huh?” He reached for another bottle of champagne. “How about another drink?”
No one moved. Timson receded like a buzzing insect to the periphery of Julia’s vision as she watched Wallace slip his arm around Eva. When she finally looked up, it was to Jerome. Both blood and expression had drained from her face.
“Eva, baby, go get ready,” Timson said. “Take these ladies with you.”
Wallace squeezed Eva’s elbow before releasing it. “It will be all right,” he said into her ear. She nodded once and disappeared through the side door without looking back. Julia followed, with Dolly Clark dragging on her arm for help in navigating the tilting floor.
Timson shooed them on and refilled the men’s glasses. “More trouble than the little monkey’s worth,” he complained with a gusty chuckle.
CHAPTER 10
“Oh, sweetie, not so fast.” Dolly Clark listed heavily against Julia, engulfing her in a cloud of Guerlain, perspiration, and belched champagne. “I’m not feeling so pink.” Her cheeks had drained to a grayish white beneath a film of rouge. Julia struggled to keep her from drooping to the floor as they two-stepped into the back room. Someone shut the door behind them.
“Ohhh.” Dolly surged forward when Eva stepped out of a lavatory. Dolly rushed to the toilet, shuddering with imminent sickness. Julia turned on a tap and closed the door to give the miserable woman some semblance of privacy.
Julia took Eva’s hand and moved them away from the wrenching noises. It was clammy, despite the heat. Eva’s eyes held the same deadened chill. Did she understand that her dreams might soon dissolve? “Did he hurt you?”
A muzzle-shaped pock flamed high on Eva’s cheek. The answer was more air than sound. “Not really.”
They were in some kind of exotic bedroom. A large bed dominated the far wall, piled with pillows. Everything was covered in black satin. They sat on its edge with a small bounce. Eva’s hands shook as she opened a carved box on the nightstand and pulled out a fat hand-rolled cigarette. She lit it and inhaled, holding her breath for some moments before releasing a thread of smoke and extending the cigarette to Julia.
Eva kicked off her mules as Julia declined. She sat back and stretched out her legs, her turbaned skull settling against the black padded headboard. She drew deep puffs into her lungs, savoring every vapor. From hips to head she was completely pillowed in black satin, as if laid out at an undertaker’s. She lay motionless, spine curled, eyes closed, breath faint.
“Eva?” Julia jiggled her friend’s hand to rouse her from a dangerous lethargy. Was she in shock? Did she not fathom the dire reality of Timson’s threat? He’d shoved a gun into her face.
Several seconds passed. When Eva opened her eyes, they were sheened with tears. Her voice was a mournful whisper. “Oh Lordy, I’ve queered that something royal.”
Did she mean losing her manuscript? Surely Timson and his gun posed the greater concern. “Eva, you’re not safe here. He might have killed you. You have to get away from him.”
Eva looked as if Julia were the one who didn’t understand. Her chin rose, and she spoke to the ceiling, her voice returned to its normal register. “I’m sorry you had to see that. But I’ll fix it. I have to get my book back.” She slid deeper into the bed’s dark meringue and crossed her legs. One bare foot brushed Julia’s calf.
“I don’t see how you can, unless you know the combination to that safe.” Julia lifted her voice—was there any chance?—but Eva simply closed her eyes. No.
“Do you have another copy?” Julia asked.
Eva’s jaw swung to one side. “I should have. I know that. But I didn’t think it was important, and Pablo kept suggesting things to add or take out. Carbons are just too much work, Julia. And messy.” She lifted her fingertips. “One smudge, and Leonard would have asked what I was up to. And it was hard enough to hide one copy. Where would I have tucked another?”
Julia nodded. There was nothing to be done about it now. “Is there anyone who can help you?” At Eva’s puzzled face she added, “Can Jerome do something?” She forced it into a question, though she knew the answer.
Eva gaped at her with disbelief. “Jerome? He’s a poet, not a fighter. And he’s colored, Julia. If he’d raised so much as a finger in there, he’d be dead now, shot from three directions. He loves me, but he can’t help with this.” She squirmed. “Now Mr. Goldsmith’s hopping mad too.”
At least that was simply a business problem. Authors reneged on contracts all the time. “If you return his money,” Julia suggested, “he’ll just have to accept that the book’s no longer available.”
“I’ve already spent it. I bought our tickets to Paris. We’re sailing next Thursday.” Eva wiped her eyes. “One or two more days. I was going to give Pablo the manuscript on Monday, just as soon as I made a new dedication page. It’s still dedicated to Jerome, but I want to change the wording, add something. I can’t tell you what. Not yet.”
Julia bit back a groan. Had the wording on one page cost Eva everything? If she’d simply given the manuscript to Duveen the moment the money was deposited, Timson would never have found it, never have read the passage that sent him into a rage. It was terrible to think of the small differences that could ripple out into massive consequences,
