Amidst the chaos, she replaced the handset where it belonged. “The police are sending CSI over tomorrow. They actually call them that, the forensic people. I’ll just get changed, I need to get back.”
Rising slowly up the stairs the temperature dropped. The loft hatch was open, the coldness in the roof space sucking the warmth out of the upstairs. They’d even gone up there?
A jigsaw had rained its 2,000 pieces everywhere in its tumble to the landing. Eva moved the box to one side and pushed the hatch closed with the walking stick they used to pull down the loft ladder, discarded by the burglars.
The lamp on its timer switch in their bedroom lay on its side, illuminating the carpet. Her bedside table was away from the wall, one drawer lying on the floor, the other left open, a firework of notes, photos, bookmarks, a now unfolded silk pillowcase exploded over the floor. Coloured piles of clothes pooled in front of the open doors of the wardrobes, her shoes flung out of the boxes in which she kept them. The doors on Charles’ side were closed.
Eva laid her memory box on their bed. The lid was askew, off kilter, a bit like her. One of the small brass hinges pushed against her when she opened it, creaking alarmingly as though she was trying to force it open by crowbar. Inside, the jumble of things her father had brought back from his assignments, because he’d known his Evie would love them. Her fingertip inventory checked the precious mementoes off: sand from the Sahara, a piece of a dry stone wall which had taken bullets for him in Iraq, an exotic pressed flower from the Philippines, a worry doll from Guatemala. She paused on the bright pink and orange bracelet he’d brought her back from somewhere she didn’t remember made by a little girl just like you, he’d said, selling them to get pennies to go to school. Eva had tried to copy it but the knots in the turquoise ones she’d made, one for him, one for her, were clumpy and uneven. She picked both bracelets out from her treasures and slipped them onto her wrist.
None of this made sense. If the people who’d killed Eric were after her, why show her they’d been there? Because they could. A chill that had nothing to do with the air temperature shuddered through her. They were toying with her. We can get you anywhere.
Dropping the useless blue dress in a shimmer of dying gorgeousness onto the carpet, she changed into her other option, a purple halter neck which could just about pass as a ballgown. Shaking loose her shoulder-length hair, she pulled her falling down style out, no time to repair it.
The landline rang making her jump. She charged into the tiny boxroom they used as a study and grabbed up the upstairs handset from where it lay on the desk, knocked out of its cradle.
“Charles?”
“Stuart Worthington, why aren’t you here?”
Caught by her phone, she couldn’t lie. “My house has been burgled. I’m on my way back. Is there a problem?”
“It’s your job to be here.”
“I’m fully aware.”
“I’ve got a big donor who wants to meet with you. You’ll need to charm the literal pants off him for making him wait.”
“Have a drink—”
“We’ve all had enough champagne.”
“So give him a cocktail menu, all the shots, the best whisky, dance on the bar, whatever it takes. I’ll be twenty minutes.”
“I think I prefer you in that.” Luke looked at her hands, carrying only his jacket and her clutch. “No overnight bag? I’m guessing CSI would rather you didn’t stay here. I can get you a room at the hotel.”
She didn’t doubt that he could, even if they were allegedly full. But the decidedly un-CEO-like wage she took from Every Drop wouldn’t stretch to their nightly rate. Most months the Travelodge was out of their reach. And she had to get back to redeem herself in Stuart’s eyes. No time to pack anything, she’d figure it out after the ball. She shook her head and picked up a photo frame lying face down on the tiled hallway floor.
“Fine looking family.” Luke looked over her shoulder at the smiling Lily, Charles and her.
Eva touched Lily’s face. “Thank God she wasn’t here.”
“Good thing none of you were, put the photo back where you found it for CSI.”
Eva put the photo back on the floor. “Thanks so much for your help, you’re an excellent knight in shining armour.”
“In Alexander McQueen, at least,” he smiled.
In the car on the way back to the hotel, Luke asked the question she didn’t want to answer. “Your husband didn’t attend tonight?”
Excuses poured out, well-rehearsed, the variations different each time she used them. “He’s a kind of academic, they don’t work on the same timetable as the rest of the world, he’s at a crucial stage in some research.” Probably.
“What’s his field?”
“Chemical engineering, but it’s no good asking me anything else about it because it’s beyond me.”
“You’re a very understanding wife.”
“Our careers are important to us, we support each other.”
“Find me in the bar after your meeting,” Luke held the ballroom door open for her. “You can buy me a drink.”
She tried to join in with his easy smile. Saved by a hotel member of staff, “Ms Janssen, you have a phone call.”
Eva picked up the phone to which the young woman steered her.
“This is Eva Janssen.”
“It’s me.”
“You’re okay, where are you? I’ve been calling all day.”
“I need you to come home.”
Eva closed her eyes. “I’ve seen it, dealt with it. The ball’s not over yet. I’ll be back about two.”
“Come home now.” Charles’ voice was tight. “If you come back then, I’ll be gone.”
Nothing he was saying made
