Virtually Perfect (40 page)

'Imagine my surprise when Amy's husband, that arrogant little arsewipe,'  Eve had to swallow a snigger,  'had a few too many over the Christmas turkey and told me he'd just sold Eve's flat.'

Eve's face dropped instantly.

Bastard...

'The one I'd stumped up the deposit for,' grumbled Roger.  'That's when I cut her off.'

Eve knew it was him.  Amy had denied it point-blank, but she'd always known.  Who else could have told him?

'It only took her a year to get through the proceeds of sale.'

I'm going to sue him. 
Eve's eyes were wild.
Hasn't he heard of client confidentiality?
  She wanted to rip out his throat.

'
Eighty thousand in equity!' Roger blustered.  'She'd gone through her savings too.  I mean, Eve always did have expensive tastes, but that kind of money?  That little cockroach must have seen her coming.

'Twelve months later, she turns up on my doorstep.  Ben... I didn't know her until she said
Dad. 
It was pitiful, she was a bag of bones.' 

Roger tutted, shaking his head. 

'You can't imagine how much it hurts to see a loved one like that.  To know someone has just stood by and allowed it to happen.'

Ben remembered the photograph in
Hawaii News
.  He didn't need to imagine.  He'd seen it for himself.

'My daughter came back with a habit,' Roger said gravely.  'And I'm not talking about biting her nails or playing sudoku.'

Eve's eyes bulged.  Her jaw clenched.

Ben was staring at him.

...Oh great, Dad.  Thanks a lot.

What was he trying to do?

'She couldn't stay in London, that was for sure,' he blathered on.  'Everyone knows it's on tap in the City.'

...For Christ's sake Dad!  Please, shut up!

'I couldn't bear to watch her destroy herself.  I was too selfish, to be honest...  If it hadn't been for Marcus stepping up and giving her a job, I dread to think what might have happened. 

'She did seem to find some stability here,' Roger mused.  'We were getting on...  Well, we were speaking at least!  Then lover boy turns up out of the blue,' Roger shook his head.  'Filling her head with hare-brained schemes...  You do know they opened up a surf shop, of all things?  I mean, in
Brighton
, for crying out loud!' 

Roger grinned.  Ben scoffed.  Eve sat behind them, scowling. 

She'd cleaned herself up by that point.  She was sober as a judge.  It was her idea.  It would have worked, if Dan hadn't been creaming off the profits.  They were doing well, on paper at least.

'You can imagine how well that went.  I dread to think how much debt she racked up on that little venture.'

Eve's nails gouged into her leather handbag, her eyes boring into the back of her father's silvery head.

'I gave her an ultimatum.  I told her she had to choose.  Me and her inheritance, or
Dan.
'  He dragged on his cigar.  'I knew what the outcome would be.  

'When she takes up with someone, it's them versus the world.  My daughter is incredibly loyal.  It's just such a crying shame she has such appallingly bad taste in men.'

Ben stubbed the cigar out under his shoe.

'Apart from this time around, obviously,' Roger added quickly.

Ben looked up at him and smirked.

'No, no.  I had a sneaking suspicion that once my money was out of the equation, our surfbum friend would disappear.  And low and behold, I was right.'

'Why are you telling me all this?' asked Ben.  He tried to sound polite, but he'd had enough.  He wanted to find Eve.  He wanted to go home.

'She looks well,' Roger smiled.  'Is she?'

'I think so,' Ben nodded back.

'You haven't...   You haven't seen her, you know...  Self-medicating?' blurted Roger.

Eve cringed.

Oh, God!

She watched Ben fidgeting under the weight of Roger's stare.

'No,'  Ben told him, crossing his ankles and staring at his shoes.

Ben hated telling lies.  He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.  He hadn't actually seen her, that much was true, but he had seen the baggy on her coffee table.

'Good,' said Roger.  'That settles it.  I think it's time I reinstated her allowance.'

Eve shook her head.

I don't want to be on your payroll...

'No,' she heard Ben say.  'There's no need,' he told Roger quietly.  'I'll sort it.  Leave it with me.'

There was a noise.  It took a second to register, Eve was too busy gawking. 

Shit!

Her handbag was buzzing.

Ben's head  turned.  He peered through the bushes.  Eve froze.  He was looking straight at her. 

She swallowed, thrusting her purse up her skirt, clamping it between her thighs.  Ben turned back to Roger and smiled.

'What's that?' asked Roger.

'Eve,' said Ben.

Her eyes bulged, heart flipped, mouth fell open. 

'She's ringing me,' said Ben, pretending to check his phone.  'Roger, I really do have to get back.'

They got up.  Eve realised they were coming her way.  She yanked out her bag, clutching it to her chest, scampering around the bushes in the opposite direction.

'Amy?'  she whispered, once she was out of earshot.  'OK.  What have you got?'

Eve leant back on the seafront rail, taking her weight on her elbows, smoking a cigarette, staring up at Percival Terrace, the scallop shell building glowing white against a light polluted sky,

'One, two, three, four...'

She stood there, counting the frontages.

'Five, six, seven, eight, nine...'

He doesn't just own a flat, Evie. 
Amy told her excitedly. 
He's the freeholder!  He owns the whole damned building! 

There were ten sections in total.  Christ knows how many apartments - maybe fifty?  Maybe less, maybe more.  It was bigger than Buckingham Palace.  It may not have had a marching band or a Royal balcony, but its seafront location made it pretty damned impressive.  Eve expected a flyover at any second. 

She took a long drag, blowing the smoke towards one of his windows, the one she'd stood at, a fortnight before.  She flicked the nub high into the air.  It landed near the bushes.  Eve threw her head back, exhaling through her nose, breathing in the ocean breeze, watching; waiting.  The light was on, but he wasn't home.

She'd wanted to find out whether Lydia owned it with him.  Since the Land Registration Act 2002 came into being, every property that is bought or sold in England and Wales must to be registered on the Land Registry database.  It's a public record.  Eve had a vague recollection from when she sold her own flat.  She knew her bastard-brother-in-law could help. 

For the price of a phone call, her pride, and the princely sum of £8 (and God knows, the tightwad would hold her to that), Eve knew Simon could give her the answer.

Lydia wasn't registered.  The property was in Ben's sole name.  It wasn't subject to a mortgage.  He owned it outright.  Amy was pleased as punch.  No doubt, in the next breath, she'd be on the phone to their dad, snitching, but Eve had to know, for her own peace of mind.

A quick search of 192.com pissed all over that bonfire.  For a paid subscription, Eve discovered that Lydia had been registered to vote at number 15 in the 2010 elections.  There was a possibility she was still living there, distinctly so from where Eve was standing.

She'd been Googling as she traipsed along the beach, rejecting all of Ben's calls, feet plunged in the icy water, bathing her burning blisters.

Lydia Benjamin Macy.

Eve fought back a dry wretch.  Legs a mile long, magnificent tits, beautiful smile, long blonde hair.  A catwalk model, for crying out loud.
Of course.  How could she be anything else?

She stood watch for him.  If she had to, Eve would have stood there all night.  As it transpired, she was only there for an hour before she saw him swerve into his space, blipping his alarm, running through the front door.

'Eve!' he half called, half whispered, wandering around the gardens. 

'Eve!'

He was met by silence; the occasional confused blackbird twittering under a lamppost, a teenage couple exchanging bodily fluids in the shadows. 

He tried her number twenty times, but he kept going to voicemail.  Either it was engaged, or she'd switched it off.

Ben came to the spot where he'd last seen her.  He checked behind him, then climbed into the bushes.  He tripped over her shoe, soon finding the other.  He saw the unsmoked cigarette lying on the ground. 

Her shoes felt cold in his hands.  It gave him the creeps.  Where could she be?  Ben started to panic. 

He scooted around the interior of the Pavilions looking for her, pasting on an awkward smile.  He got caught in the ladies by Hilary Clinton
again
.  It was difficult to know who was more embarrassed.  She obviously had a bladder problem.  She patently thought he was some sort of pervert, even more so now, staring down at the stilettos in his hands.

He spent another twenty minutes looking around the grounds for her.  He wandered off to the carpark. 

'Eve!'

Nothing. 

He tried her phone again.  Straight to voicemail.  He hoped to God she'd got a taxi.  If she had, she'd organised it herself.  They knew nothing about it at reception, but she had collected her coat. 

He was just about OK to drive.  He was under the limit, but Ben was knackered.  The jet lag was really kicking in.  He popped a nicotine gum from the blister pack and fired up the engine, rolling off to her flat.

Ben knocked on her door for ten minutes.  He heard Bo meowing on the other side.  He peered through the letterbox, the hall light was on.  He knocked again.  There were no signs of life.

He took his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts, tapping on her.  He listened hard, ear pressed to the door. 

Ben frowned.  He couldn't hear anything on the other side.  Straight to voicemail, again.

'Can I help you?'

Ben turned on his toes, looking down the metal steps at the twenty something swaggering up.  

'I'm looking for Eve,' Ben said, eyeballing him, sliding his phone back into his pocket. 

Grey eyes, well-groomed black hair, symmetrical face.  He worked out.  He had good taste in clothes.

Who the hell are you?

'Do you know her?' Ben asked suspiciously.

'Do I know Eve?' the interloper cooed, rolling his eyes with a grin. 

He sounded awfully rah-rah. 

'Of course I do!  I'm Jackson!  I run the coffee shop across the street!'

He thrust out his hand, grabbing Ben's, pumping his arm.  He started preening himself with the other and giggled. 

Oh...

'I'm Ben,' Ben told him in his deepest voice.

'I know!' crooned Jackson.  'Can I just say, I'm your number one fan!'

Ben smiled and frowned, all at the same time, awkwardly pulling his hand away.

'Have you seen her?' Ben asked, rubbing his head.

'Who?'

'Eve.'

'Oh!' sighed Jackson.  'Oh, of course!  ...No, I haven't.  I think she's out...  Didn't she have a wedding or something?'

'She left.'

'Oh...  Well I don't think she came back,' Jackson told him.  'The light in the living room's been off all night.' 

'Well, if you do see her, would you do me a favour?'

'Of course!" Jackson gushed.  "Anything!'

'Do you think you could ask her to call me?'

'Will do,' Jackson nodded eagerly.  He wilted a little. '...Although I will be going home soon.'

Ben nodded.

'Well, you know.  If she should happen to come back before you do?'

Jackson nodded back.

'Absolutely.

'I saw what happened this morning!'  Jackson raved, clasping to hands to his chin, eyes sparkling again.  'I saw you thump that buffoon!  You know... Dan.
I can't tell you how long I've been waiting for someone to do that!'

'You know... him?'

'Let's just say I know
of
him,' Jackson said disapprovingly.  'Thieving, good-for-nothing little louse! ...You do know he stole from her?' he gossiped.  'Oh yes!  Her dead mother's pearls, of all things.  Can you believe that?  She had to buy them back.  From a pawn shop, can you imagine?'  He shook his head in disgust. 

Ben could barely keep up.  He was so tired.  The words came at him like machine gun fire. 

'I heard shouting up there when I was putting the signs out this morning—'