Torrent.” Her voice remained flat, her eyes calm as they met Julia’s. “Am I sorry for it? Yes. Charlie was one in a million, and I loved him. Never the way he loved me, but I loved him. Do I blame myself? No. We made our choices, Charlie and I. Survivors live with their choices.” She inclined her head. “Don’t they, Julia?”
Yes, they did, Julia thought later. To survive, one lived with choices, but also paid for them. She wondered how Eve had paid.
From Julia’s seat at an umbrellaed, glass table on the terrace of the guest house, it looked as though Eve Benedict had reaped only rewards. Working on her notes, she was surrounded by shade trees, the fragrance of jasmine. The air hummed—the distant echo of a lawn mower beyond the stand of palms, the drone of bees drunk on nectar, the whirr of a hummingbird’s wings as it fed on a hibiscus nearby.
Here was luxury and privilege. But, Julia thought, the people who shared all this with Eve were paid to do so. Here was a woman who had reached pinnacle after pinnacle, only to be alone. A stiff payment for success.
Yet Julia didn’t see Eve as a woman who suffered from regrets, but as one who layered successes over them. Julia had listed people she wanted to interview—ex-husbands, one-time lovers, former employees. Eve had merely shrugged her approval. Thoughtfully, Julia circled Charlie Gray’s name twice. She wanted to talk to people who had known him,people who might talk about his relationship with Eve from another angle.
She sipped chilled juice, then began to write.
She is flawed, of course. Where there is generosity, there is also selfishness. Where there is kindness, there is also a careless disregard for feelings. She can be abrupt, cool, callus, rude—human. The flaws make the woman off the screen as fascinating and vital as any woman she has played on it. Her strength is awesome. It is in her eyes, her voice, in every gesture of her disciplined body. Life, it seems, is a challenge, a role she has agreed to play with great verve—and one in which she takes no direction. Any miscues or broken scenes are her responsibility. She blames no one. Beyond the talent, the beauty, that rich, smoky voice or sharp intelligence, she is to be admired for her unflagging sense of self.
“You’re not one to waste time.”
Julia started, then quickly shifted to look behind her. She hadn’t heard Paul approach, had no idea how long he’d been standing reading over her shoulder. Deliberately, she turned her tablet over. The wire binding clicked smartly against the glass.
“Tell me, Mr. Winthrop, what would you do to someone who read your work uninvited?”
He smiled and made himself at home in the chair across from her. “I’d cut off all their nosy little fingers. But then, I’m known to have a nasty temper.” He picked up her glass and sipped. “How about you?”
“People seem to think I’m mild-mannered. It’s often a mistake.” She didn’t like him being there. He’d interrupted her work and invaded her privacy. She was dressed in shorts and a faded T-shirt, her feet were bare and her hair was pulled back in an untidy pony tail. The carefully crafted image was shot to hell, and she resented being caught as herself. She lookedpointedly at the glass he lifted to his lips again. “Shall I get you one of your own?”
“No, this is fine.” Her obvious discomfort amused him, and he liked the fact that she was so easily rattled. “You’ve had your first interview with Eve.”
“Yesterday.”
He pulled out a cigar, making it obvious that he intended to settle in. His hands, she noted, were wide at the palms, long of finger. More suited to lifting the silver spoon he’d been born with, she thought, then crafting complex, often grisly murders for the pages of books.
“I realize I’m not sitting in an office with my nose to a grindstone,” Julia told him. “But I am working.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He smiled pleasantly. She’d have
Yes, they did, Julia thought later. To survive, one lived with choices, but also paid for them. She wondered how Eve had paid.
From Julia’s seat at an umbrellaed, glass table on the terrace of the guest house, it looked as though Eve Benedict had reaped only rewards. Working on her notes, she was surrounded by shade trees, the fragrance of jasmine. The air hummed—the distant echo of a lawn mower beyond the stand of palms, the drone of bees drunk on nectar, the whirr of a hummingbird’s wings as it fed on a hibiscus nearby.
Here was luxury and privilege. But, Julia thought, the people who shared all this with Eve were paid to do so. Here was a woman who had reached pinnacle after pinnacle, only to be alone. A stiff payment for success.
Yet Julia didn’t see Eve as a woman who suffered from regrets, but as one who layered successes over them. Julia had listed people she wanted to interview—ex-husbands, one-time lovers, former employees. Eve had merely shrugged her approval. Thoughtfully, Julia circled Charlie Gray’s name twice. She wanted to talk to people who had known him,people who might talk about his relationship with Eve from another angle.
She sipped chilled juice, then began to write.
She is flawed, of course. Where there is generosity, there is also selfishness. Where there is kindness, there is also a careless disregard for feelings. She can be abrupt, cool, callus, rude—human. The flaws make the woman off the screen as fascinating and vital as any woman she has played on it. Her strength is awesome. It is in her eyes, her voice, in every gesture of her disciplined body. Life, it seems, is a challenge, a role she has agreed to play with great verve—and one in which she takes no direction. Any miscues or broken scenes are her responsibility. She blames no one. Beyond the talent, the beauty, that rich, smoky voice or sharp intelligence, she is to be admired for her unflagging sense of self.
“You’re not one to waste time.”
Julia started, then quickly shifted to look behind her. She hadn’t heard Paul approach, had no idea how long he’d been standing reading over her shoulder. Deliberately, she turned her tablet over. The wire binding clicked smartly against the glass.
“Tell me, Mr. Winthrop, what would you do to someone who read your work uninvited?”
He smiled and made himself at home in the chair across from her. “I’d cut off all their nosy little fingers. But then, I’m known to have a nasty temper.” He picked up her glass and sipped. “How about you?”
“People seem to think I’m mild-mannered. It’s often a mistake.” She didn’t like him being there. He’d interrupted her work and invaded her privacy. She was dressed in shorts and a faded T-shirt, her feet were bare and her hair was pulled back in an untidy pony tail. The carefully crafted image was shot to hell, and she resented being caught as herself. She lookedpointedly at the glass he lifted to his lips again. “Shall I get you one of your own?”
“No, this is fine.” Her obvious discomfort amused him, and he liked the fact that she was so easily rattled. “You’ve had your first interview with Eve.”
“Yesterday.”
He pulled out a cigar, making it obvious that he intended to settle in. His hands, she noted, were wide at the palms, long of finger. More suited to lifting the silver spoon he’d been born with, she thought, then crafting complex, often grisly murders for the pages of books.
“I realize I’m not sitting in an office with my nose to a grindstone,” Julia told him. “But I am working.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He smiled pleasantly. She’d have
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