Stuart followed her away from the Butlers. “I realise this is disappointing, but I have to insist.”
“Is it true you said water isn’t an inalienable right?”
He drained his champagne, holding his glass out to his wife, who took it and walked away in search of a full one. “We all know it, I’m the only person courageous enough to say it. Water is the scarcest resource we have. It’s fair that everyone pays for it.”
“It’s hardly the same for people in crisis.”
“This is the way of the world, you can’t be an idealist forever. Now, where’s that Indian girl? She can do it.”
“The one born in Whitechapel?” Stuart didn’t appear to get Eva’s sarcasm.
“She ticks more diversity boxes than you, she should have been doing it anyway.”
“Apart from her not having the experience, knowledge or passion, and the guests not knowing who she is—”
“I’ve made up my mind.” Stuart’s attention snagged behind Eva. Jonathan Trainer and his wife had arrived, the best potential donor there amongst a lot of heavy hitters. Stuart walked over to greet the new arrivals as though they were long-lost family and it had been his idea to invite them.
Eva would rather meet him away from Stuart’s fake camaraderie. She found Vaishali at the bar to give her the heads up to ignore whatever Stuart said. Eva’s electric blue sequined dress felt as though it was trying too hard next to Vaishali’s exquisite embroidered turquoise sari.
“Thirsty?” Eva gestured at the two shots lined up in front of her.
Vaishali picked up one, Eva grabbed the other and coughed as the fire after downing it spread through her chest. “Aren’t you supposed to have lemon with that?”
Vaishali shrugged, signalled the bartender. Eva shook her head at him and he turned away from them in mid-stride.
“You okay?” Eva asked.
“Another couple and I will be.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Don’t you need to mingle or something?” Vaishali gestured at the bartender again.
“Would you rather go home?”
In Vaishali’s eyes Eva could see a shadow beyond the tequila. “If you’re not okay, go home, we’ve got this covered.” Vaishali looked more miserable. “Get a taxi on our account, reception can arrange it for you.”
“I just, I,” Vaishali shook herself. “I’m fine.”
“Two more, please.” Eva ordered. “Let’s do this the right way. Thanks, again, for all your help, couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I only do social media.”
“Nothing is anything without it.” They clinked the tiny glasses and drank. “Want to help me round this lot up for dinner?”
Gordon’s warning whispered through Eva’s mind as the waiter offered the vegetarians on her table their meal choice. She took the meat option as though she could eat the exquisitely presented lamb. She picked at the vegetables and potato, trying to not be obviously wiping the gravy off them, pushing the meat to one side.
“Shame about the no show, Charles Buchanan.” The man beside her read the silver calligraphy on Charles’ placeholder.
Eva tried to smile. What in his work had become more important this time? He never spoke about it, in fairness she wouldn’t have understood it if he had. But she told him about her setbacks and triumphs at Every Drop. It was that sharing she wanted; to feel a connection to that part of his life. She didn’t even know what of his work he’d put before the Nobel Committee.
While coffee was being poured, Eva pre-empted the celebrity MC’s announcement of the keynote speaker, limping up to the lectern before he could announce Vaishali.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” She moved the mic closer to her mouth. “I hope you’re having a good time. I’m sure you’re wondering what happened here,” she waved a hand in front of her face, “why I look like an extra from Casualty.”
It was then, looking around at the smiles in her audience, that Eva noticed him. The man who didn’t belong.
10
Eva hadn’t seen him before, she would have remembered.
A whispered ripple pulled her attention to the fact she was standing in front of over a hundred people, all expecting her to say something. It had almost been a flippant comment to Gordon that she’d be in public, lots of witnesses, like Eric and Hunter Malone. She pulled her gaze from the man, licked her lips. Focus.
“In shanty towns and slums around the world, water is a currency.” But the facts and figures she was going to tell them had evaporated like liquid on sand.
The stranger smiled at her. Around her age, brown hair perfectly styled. With the chiselled looks James Bond casting directors loved, the way he wore his tux would have won him the role instantly.
Eva gripped the lectern. “It’s, I. . .” The whisper was rising.
He couldn’t hurt her from there, shooting her would be too obvious, he’d be stopped before he could make his getaway. She had to get it together.
“Women and girls mostly, walk miles to access water we wouldn’t wash our clothes in.” Eva picked up her glass as though emphasising her point to her audience. It looked safe, it should be, it had been beside her since the waiter poured it from a half-empty jug. She scanned the room. No one was bending over, rushing out. She replaced the glass in its sunken spot on the lectern. “Too many end up looking like me, simply fighting for the right to hold on to what they’ve managed to carry. Cartels of criminals supply grey or brown water at exorbitant rates. Or worse for those with no means to pay.”
No whispering now, she could have been the only one in the room. The weight of the stares on her was heavy as the truth made her audience uncomfortable, but none as much as that from the man on her right. She patted at her forehead, checked her fingertips. Not red-coated, she was just sweating from the lights, the
