you must have known whether or not you intended going to Trinidad!” declared Sophie.
“You don’t understand. The letters my grandfather has written to me have sort of – assumed that I would want to go there. It’s obvious he regrets very much what happened twenty-five years ago and he’d like the chance to make amends. I suppose he sees me orphaned and alone, without any family of my own now that my father is dead.”
“Well, that’s true.”
“Yes, but not in the way he believes. I mean – the very last thing I need is some doting parent checking on my movements!”
Sophie sighed. Obviously the image Eve’s grandfather had of her was vastly different from the original.
“You’ll just have to write and tell him that your work won’t permit you to have leave at this time,” she suggested practically.
“No, I don’t want to do that.” Eve was resolute.
“Why?”
“Well – don’t be cross if I tell you.”
“If you tell me what?” Sophie cupped her chin in her hands.
Eve considered the glowing tip of her cigarette. “Well, they don’t know I’m a journalist –”
“What?”
Eve made a dismissive gesture. “It’s true. It was a sort of game I played.”
“A game?”
“Yes.” Eve hesitated. “When I first wrote to tell Grandfather about my father’s death, I didn’t mention my career, and when he wrote back to me it was obvious that he thought I was – well, you know – some sort of clerk. So I let him go on thinking it.”
“But why?” Sophie was astounded.
“Oh, if I’d told him I was a journalist, I guess I’d have ruined the image.”
“In what way?”
“Well, journalists – women journalists particularly – are usually very competent, self-confident types. Hard, if you like. I just knew that my grandfather wouldn’t respond to anyone like that, so I pretended to be a secretary.”
“Oh, Eve!”
Eve shrugged. “So what? I might well have been.”
“But what has that got to do with you going out there?”
“My grandfather is an old man. My letters have made him happy. They’ve reassured him, if you like. If I refuse to go out there now, can’t you see what it would do to him?”
Sophie hunched her shoulders. Of course. She could see quite well. This old man had clung to the small comfort of Eve’s letters. He had built his hopes up of seeing her, of possibly spending some of his last days with her. How could she disappoint him now?
Sophie was aware of Eve’s eyes upon her and with a helpless shrug she said: “You’ll have to go.”
“But I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“No, I mean I can’t. Apart from anything else, I have this assignment coming up. John Fellowes; you know John Fellowes, don’t you?” Sophie had heard of him and she nodded, and Eve went on: “Well, John and I have been offered the chance to go to the Middle East. The paper wants to do a series of articles about Middle-Eastern statesmen, and if it’s successful who knows where it will lead? There’s been talk of a television series –”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Sophie held up a protesting hand. “This has nothing to do with me. The trip sounds great – the Middle Eastern trip, I mean, but so far as your grandfather is concerned –”
“Darling, would you deny me the chance to work with John? It’s what I’ve been angling for for years –”
“Eve, It’s nothing to do with me! You simply can’t have your cake and eat it. You’ll have to choose.”
There was silence for a long time and then Eve said slowly: “And I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend.” Sophie sounded exasperated.
“Friends help one another. Like I helped you when you wanted to leave the typing pool and join a repertory company.”
Sophie stared at her in disbelief. “But that was altogether different.”
“How was it? Without my help you’d probably still be pounding the typewriter. Making your own way in the theatre world is no sinecure.”
“I know that, but – but –”
“But what? But you’d have made it anyway?”
“I didn’t say that.” Sophie felt shocked. “Eve, do you realize what you’re asking me to do?”
“Yes, I realize. I’m asking you to spend a few weeks on a plantation in the West Indies pretending to be me, and in so doing helping an old man to die happy.”
“You make it sound so easy!”
“It is easy. Where’s the problem? They’ve never met me. They know nothing about me except what I’ve chosen to write in my letters. You say you want to be an actress. Well, here’s a chance to prove you can do it. And there’s still the summer school in Rome to look forward to later.”
Sophie pressed her fingers through the long thick hair which fell about her slim shoulders. “You’re making things terribly difficult for me, Eve,” she admitted.
Eve pressed home her advantage. She came to kneel before Sophie, taking her hands in both of hers and saying: “Darling, I don’t want to blackmail you into doing this, but can’t you see – you can do it! Don’t you want to be responsible for bringing a little happiness into Brandt St. Vincente’s life?”
Sophie blinked. “Brandt St. Vincente? Is that your grandfather’s name?”
Eve nodded.
“Do you have a – a grandmother?”
Eve shook her head. “No, she died about ten years ago.”
“And this old man – does he live alone ?”
“No. There’s his son, my mother’s brother, Edge.”
“Edge?” Sophie tried not to become interested. “He lives with your grandfather ?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not married?”
“He’s a widower. I imagine he’s my grandfather’s manager. He must be middle-aged now.”
“Is – is that the whole ménage?”
“No.
