But it was a long time since she’d met anybody quite as camp as Graydon. He’d arrived last night, wearing what could only be described as a rhinestone boiler suit and shoes with a little heel, like a flamenco dancer’s. He was only staying a week – after that the younger designer would be overseeing things for a month or two – but had nonetheless arrived with eight matching suitcases in hand-stitched leather, his initials stamped on to each one in solid gold.
‘Have you ever seen such a flamer?’ Henry asked Eva in bed last night, in a distinctly horrified tone. Henry was very old-school when it came to things like that. Time was when men were men, and pansies things that grew in the field …
‘What did you expect?’ Eva smiled. ‘This is Graydon James. Everyone knows he makes Elton John look macho.’
‘Do you think he’s … you know? With that other chap?’
Eva laughed loudly. Henry’s face was hilarious. As if he’d just seen a particularly revolting spider crawl out from under the covers.
‘I have no idea. But try not to think about it, darling. Just remember why you hired them. Graydon James is the best in the world.’
This was true. It was Brett Cranley who’d recommended Graydon for the Hanborough Castle job, but Henry had known Graydon by reputation long before that. The whole world knew Graydon James. Just having his name attached to your project gave a property a cachet that translated into millions of dollars of added value.
Graydon was the best, and Henry Saxton Brae only ever worked with the best.
Watching Henry now, pointing out some architectural feature or other to the great designer, Eva felt a surge of love for him. It had been a difficult week. She’d been so cross with him for bailing on the village fete that they’d ended up giving one another the cold shoulder for days.
Work was Henry’s excuse for everything. As he was the one who’d moved them all the way out here, Eva felt that the least he could do was to help her in her efforts to fit in.
‘You embarrassed me!’ she told him.
Henry just shrugged. ‘You shouldn’t be so easily embarrassed. It was only a stupid raffle.’
‘Stupid to you, maybe. But you made a commitment, Henry.’
‘Seb was there, wasn’t he? He was happy to do it. No one cares except you, Eva.’
In the end, as usual, it had been Eva who’d cracked first, even though Henry was in the wrong. He could keep up the silent treatment indefinitely, but Eva needed affection and companionship the way a plant needed sunlight and water. She’d reached over and touched his arm in bed one night, and of course then he’d pounced on her like a cat on a mouse and proceeded to have sex with her with the sort of crazed intensity only Henry was capable of. Over the two years they’d been together, Eva had learned to draw immense comfort from the desperation of Henry’s lovemaking. He approached her body every time like a man who’d just come out of prison. There was a profound neediness there, which was reassuring given how arrogant and aloof Henry could be in other ways.
He’s a complicated person, Eva told herself. But he loves me. And I love him.
I understand him.
In Eva’s opinion, it was Henry’s childhood that was responsible for what some people might see as his character flaws. Growing up as the second, neglected son of a great old family had left him with a burning impetus to succeed, to make his own way. All those years training to make it as a tennis star had taught him iron discipline, but they’d also taught him to be selfish, to trample down the competition whatever it took. Eva blamed his being sent away to boarding school at seven for his emotional coldness, and his parents’ divorce for his manipulative side.
‘Give it a rest, Sigmund,’ Henry would say, whenever she brought these theories up. Henry wasn’t a big believer in psychoanalysis, especially not when practised by his own girlfriend. He’d fallen for Eva because she was stunning, and because she loved him unconditionally. But if she needed something to fix, she should take up charity work. Or buy a model aeroplane kit. Henry used to love those at school.
A buzzing on the side table made Eva jump.
Henry’s mobile.
She picked it up without thinking and touched the new WhatsApp message. Instantly she felt her chest tighten and a lump rise up in her throat. The thumbnail picture was of a busty, dark-haired girl Eva had never seen before. Marie J. The message read:
‘Where r u handsome? Missed u this week. Again. When u back in London? M’, followed by a whole string of emoji winks and hearts, the sort of thing a schoolgirl would send.
Don’t jump to conclusions, Eva told herself. But it was hard. Especially after that ‘again’. She started scrolling back through Marie J’s chat history. There were far too many ‘handsomes’ for her liking, but nothing a hundred per cent conclusive of an affair. Yet—
‘What are you doing?’
Eva spun around guiltily. She hadn’t heard Henry come inside, but suddenly there he was, standing right behind her.
‘I might ask you the same question,’ she shot back, unable to help herself. ‘Who’s Marie?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that, sweetheart,’ Henry drawled. ‘May I have my phone, please?’
‘No!’ Eva was shaking now, her eyes welling with tears. She was leaving for a modelling assignment tomorrow morning and the last thing she wanted to do was fight with Henry. Not until she had an explanation. ‘I want to know who Marie J is. And why she’s missing you and asking when you’re going to be back in London. I can’t go back to this, Henry. I just can’t!’
‘Eva,’ Henry’s voice softened. ‘For God’s sake. Marie J is a stupid little girl who works at the wine bar on Ebury Street. I’m one of her regulars.’
‘Regular whats?!’ Eva blurted hysterically.
‘Regular customers. At the bar. You’ve met her.’
‘No, I haven’t! I’ve never seen her before in my life!’
‘Yes, you have,’ Henry insisted patiently. ‘You’ve just forgotten. Because she’s instantly forgettable. Eva, I am not shagging the girl behind the bar at Ebury’s. Give me some credit.’
Eva hesitated. She wanted to believe him. She did believe him. Mostly. But with Henry’s past it was difficult to rebuild trust.
‘How does she have your number?’
‘She asked me for it and I gave it to her.’ A note of exasperation was creeping into Henry’s voice.
‘Why?’
‘Why not? Christ, if I went through your address book right now, how many blokes’ names do you think I’d find on there? D’you think I’d know all of them? Of course I bloody wouldn’t.’
This, Eva supposed, was true.
‘You want to know about paranoia, try dating a supermodel,’ Henry quipped. Taking the phone gently out of Eva’s hand, he slipped it into his pocket. Then he wrapped his arms around her tightly. ‘I love you,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘I love you too.’
‘Nothing’s going on.’
Eva exhaled into him, relief flooding through her like the antidote to some deadly poison. Breathing in the lemon and patchouli smell of Henry’s Penhaligon’s aftershave, she felt a sudden rush of longing, and was just thinking of taking him back up to bed when Graydon James and Guillermo appeared in the drawing-room doorway.
‘Yoo-hoo!’ Graydon yodelled, gesturing at Henry like someone trying to bring a plane in to land. ‘Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds. But Guillermo and I are done for now in the great hall. We were hoping you might