‘I know,’ she says.
His eyes roam over her face and hair. ‘Well?’ he prompts, wanting to hear her say it.
‘Evelyn,’ she whispers.
‘Evelyn, yes. So you understand why I am puzzled. Your turning up from out of nowhere – like a phantom – calling yourself–’
‘Evelyn’s mother was English,’ she says, repeating what she learned from Matthew. ‘You met at Heidelberg in 2069. You were in your second year, she in her first week. You were introduced at a departmental tea party while sheltering from the rain amongst the palms under the glass of the botanical house.’
Maier shakes his head, not in denial but as if to loosen a memory. He stares into the distance. The moisture from incipient tears collects in the wrinkles around his eyes. ‘Is this just his cruel game?’ he asks slowly. ‘An attempt to cause pain?’
‘Cause pain?’
‘After all these years?’
She looks over the water, watching a gull fly low, wingtips skimming the surface. ‘I do not know whom you are referring–?’
‘I am referring to Matthew. I think you are aware of that.’
They sit in an uneasy silence, until he resumes in a softer tone, ‘Do you know how Matthew and I became friends?’
‘You were his tutor at Cambridge.’
‘That is right. And you probably also know how that came about. That I had come to England to take up a lectureship in the Faculty of Philosophy the year he arrived as a freshman. We were both new to the town, maybe neither of us quite fitted in with our peers, and despite the age difference we became friends. But then that friendship led ultimately to something terrible. I am referring to what happened to my daughter. You know that too?’
She nods.
‘Joy and sadness intertwined. Did he send you?’
‘I just wanted to see you,’ she murmurs. ‘That is all.’
‘You said that before. Is he with you here?’
She shakes her head.
‘And what is your relationship?’
‘My relationship?’ But she knows what the question means. ‘I am his wife.’
The maid returns with a tray carrying a pot of tea, cups on saucers, a small jug of milk and two glasses for water. She places it on the table beside them, laying out the things, studying Evie from the corner of her eye as she does so.
‘You are his wife,’ Maier repeats, disbelievingly, once they are again alone.
She nods.
‘How can this be?’ He passes her a glass of water from which she sips. She needs a little moisture regularly, although it is important not to overdo it. ‘How old are you? Twenty-five, twenty? Younger even than that?’
‘Twenty-one.’
He pours the tea. ‘Then, how – or rather why – are you an old man’s spouse?’
‘Was,’ she clarifies. But referring to Matthew in the past tense triggers a ripple of grief that she is unprepared for and she looks down.
‘What happened?’ Maier asks, after a period of silence.
‘He died.’
A tremor passes across his face. ‘How?’ he asks, quietly.
‘There was a break-in and he was shot.’ By saying it quickly, matter-of-factly, she gets it out, without her voice cracking. She blinks back tears. ‘I want to explain everything,’ she says, ‘who I am.’
‘Yes, I think it is time.’
‘It is just not an easy thing.’
‘Well, if it helps, I know what you are not. Yes, you are perfect in every way, even down to the heart-shaped mole below your ear – almost invisible as you blush, just as it should be. But you are not Evelyn, so surprise me. Do your worst.’
She gazes across the lake to the distant peaks. ‘Matthew had me… constructed.’
‘Had you constructed?’ He is confused. ‘What are you talking about? Are you saying… that you’re not… ? You are saying—!’ He leans back, gazing at her, open mouthed. ‘I thought such a thing was no longer possible. Never was possible.’
Evie blushes more deeply still. ‘He had me made as a copy,’ she repeats.
Uninvited, Maier reaches for her hand and, lifting her wrist, runs his fingertips along her forearm. ‘So soft and smooth,’ he murmurs. ‘Just like skin.’
‘It is skin,’ she says quietly, letting him continue to touch her.
‘I had no idea such work was possible.’ He releases her and settles back into his chair. ‘Well, this is indeed a surprise.’
The maid comes out again and irritation crosses his face, quickly replaced by renewed intrigue.
‘She turned up at the door, asking for her,’ the maid says, but Sola is already racing across the terrace with the ridiculous dog snapping at her heels.
‘And who is this?’ Maier asks.
‘Je Sola,’ the child replies, drawing to a breathless halt, although the question was not directed at her.
‘I am sorry,’ Evie says to him. ‘I asked her to seek me here, if I was gone too long.’
‘Y’wer gone ages,’ the child reprimands, pressing forcefully against her shoulder with the sharp edge of her own. ‘Je worried à mort.’ And she toys with Evie’s hair with her fingertips, then gives her plait a pointed tug.
‘What is your connection with this child?’ Maier asks, gazing curiously.
‘Elle ees ma Maman,’ Sola replies, pressing her lips forward, as if she is fighting the urge to stick out her tongue.
‘I was not asking you, Mademoiselle,’ Maier says.
‘It is what she chooses to call me,’ Evie says.
‘And is she… like you, too?’
‘If you cannot tell,’ Evie replies slowly, ‘then does it really matter?’
34
Maier gives them a room in which to rest. It is on the new side of the house, with a view onto the wooded hill.
‘Eees this to be our home maintenant?’ Sola asks, bouncing from one to the other of the two single beds.
‘I am not sure,’ Evie replies.
Sola goes into the bathroom and plays with the taps, twisting them on. ‘I think I will have a bath,’ she says, emptying pink salts from a jar onto the surface of the water, sending up a suffocating rush of scent that has her backing out of the doorway, pinching her nose. ‘Eet smells worse than Pompie in there,’ she exclaims.
She kicks off her shoes into the corner and drags her dress over her head, dropping it on the dog which, blindfolded, runs around in a circle.
‘Keep the door open,’ Evie says, as the child skips back through. Even cloaked by the steam, she can see that the girl’s shoulders are criss-crossed by welts and her neck marked with finger-shaped bruises.
Evie hears her land with a splash in the tub, and sinks into the pillow from where she watches through the mirror the child dip her head and rise again, eyes closed, nose breathing soapy bubbles. How nice it must be to be without fear, despite everything that life drops on you, from whatever height.
She needs to recharge but that can wait. They are not expected until the evening and she has all afternoon. But then, before she can prevent it, David pops into her head and quickly her imagination is on a dangerous track – fancying what could have been. Snapping herself out of it, she takes the unit from her bag and brusquely plugs herself in.
The two walk along the corridor a little before seven. Sola is bursting with excitement, which may not be a good thing. She has also insisted, against Evie’s wishes, on bringing the dog, but then again that may be better than leaving it locked in to ruin the room.
Evie ponders the evening ahead and the challenge it presents. Earlier with Maier, an understanding between them had felt at hand. Her existence was a shock, but she thought in the end a good one and surprises are, after all, intended to bestow happiness. Like the little offerings Daniels unearthed for her on his shopping expeditions.