she felt sure that in the same circumstances she would have had to have tried to show her father that because there were just the two of them they should mean more to one another. But it was not her affair and aside from mentioning occasionally that she thought that Eve ought to visit with her father more often, there was nothing she could do.
Then about six months ago Eve’s father had died. She had attended the funeral accompanied by Sophie, and afterwards had confided that she supposed she would have to let her mother’s family know. This was the first Sophie had heard of Eve’s mother’s family, and she had been fascinated when she had learned that they were wealthy plantation owners in Trinidad. The further information that Eve’s mother had run away to marry James Hollister when she was only eighteen years old had explained why, until then, Sophie had never heard Eve mention them. But now the whole story came out. Eve’s father had been an engineer, working on a constructional job in Trinidad, when he and her mother met. Compared to the wealthy St. Vincente family, James Hollister had been considered a very poor match, and besides, Eve’s mother was already engaged to the son of another of the wealthy families on the island.
But, rather cynically, Eve had gone on to explain that it was love at first sight, and the young couple had run away to England and never returned to Trinidad. Of course, her grandfather had cut off his daughter completely, and not even the knowledge that she had died in childbirth had softened the hardness of his heart. Eve’s father was heartbroken at the death of his wife, and apart from ensuring that Eve was well cared for, he had paid little attention to her. She had grown up with a series of nannies, progressed through boarding school, and had finally displayed the fine talent for writing which had enabled her to obtain one of the highest paid posts in British journalism.
Sophie had heard nothing more about the St. Vincentes until a few weeks ago when Eve invited her to spend a weekend at her flat. Then she had confessed that she had been corresponding with her grandfather for the past few months. He must have softened with the years, because he had replied almost by return to her brief missive concerning her father’s death, and since then he had written several times.
Sophie had been delighted at this news. She had thought that at last Eve was to know the pleasure of belonging to a real family. But, as usual, Eve was unpredictable.
She admitted that in the beginning the idea of effecting a reconciliation with her mother’s family had amused her, but now her grandfather had suggested that she should go to Trinidad, to their house at Pointe St. Vincente, and spend several weeks getting to know her relatives.
“Can you imagine it, darling?” she had asked Sophie, with that wide-eyed stare which men seemed to find so appealing. “Me, cutting myself off from civilization for several weeks! Heavens, I’d go mad! I really would.”
Sophie had not known what to say. She had been able to understand Eve’s consternation in one way. She was simply not the type to exist without the hectic whirl of her present life, but on the other hand she had written to her grandfather and virtually invited just this situation.
“So what do you intend to do?” she had asked at last, and that was when Eve had exploded her bombshell.
“I thought you might like to go instead of me, Sophie,” she said, and before giving Sophie a chance to utter any protest, she went on: “Don’t say no straight away. Give it some thought.”
Sophie drew a deep breath. “You can’t be serious!”
“Why not?”
“Well, because – because it’s impossible!”
“Why is it impossible?”
Sophie’s eyes searched Eve’s face for some sign of amusement, some indication that this was all just a joke and not to be taken seriously. “Eve –”
“Listen to me, Sophie. Didn’t you tell me a few weeks ago that Roderick Harvey was holding an actors’ summer school in Rome later this year?”
“Sir Roderick Harvey,” corrected Sophie automatically.
“All right then, Sir Roderick Harvey. Well? Isn’t he?”
“Y–es, yes, of course.”
“Well, how would you like to attend?”
“Me?” Sophie stared at her friend in amazement. “Attend the summer school?”
“Yes. I – er – I could arrange it.”
“I couldn’t afford it,” stated Sophie flatly.
“I could.”
“Oh, Eve, for heaven’s sake, what are you trying to say? That if I go out to Trinidad in your place you’ll arrange for me to go to Roderick Harvey’s summer school?”
“That’s right.”
Sophie was flabbergasted. “But why? Why should you do that?”
Eve had risen to her feet then and paced barefooted about the soft carpet of her lounge. “Does there have to be a reason? We’re friends, aren’t we? I thought we could help one another without there having to be too many reasons why.”
Sophie stretched her legs out in front of her. “You know I’d do anything to help you, Eye, but this – well, this is something different.”
“How is it different?”
“You know how.” Sophie examined a tiny hole in her tights, trying not to think about what she was turning down.
“I don’t.” Eve leant negligently against the mantel. “Here I am, offering you not only the chance to attend this summer school you’ve been enthusing about but also several weeks’ holiday on one of the most exciting islands in the world. I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance!”
“Would you?” Sophie’s tone was dry.
“Yes, I would. Honestly, Sophie, where’s your spirit of adventure? Don’t you want to see something of the world before you’re too old to appreciate it? You’re not going to get anywhere at that third-rate playhouse in Sandchurch!”
Sophie flushed. “The Playhouse is not third-rate. And I’m glad you reminded me that I’m employed there!”
“You could get leave of absence.” Eve was impatient. “You’re not indispensable, you know.”
She could be cruel when opposed, Sophie had learned that earlier in their relationship, and she tried not to be hurt by the things Eve was saying. She realized it was just her way of trying to make Sophie change her mind, and she returned her attention to her legs, curving one foot to rest against the ankle bone of the other.
Eve seemed to realize that her present tactics were getting her nowhere, for she sighed and then said apologetically: “I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m a bitch. But I was really depending on you to get me out of this.”
Sophie looked up. “Out of what?”
Eve shrugged, reaching for a pack of cigarettes. She offered them to Sophie, but she refused. She smoked only very occasionally, and usually when she was suffering from nervous tension on the first night of a play.
“I’ve virtually agreed to go to Pointe St. Vincente,”
