Chapter 2
Eve stared at the octopus. It was pearly white, with long tentacles sprawled around it, elegant and strange.
The very tip of one tentacle was black, like it had been dipped in ink.
There was a small hook on top of its head, as if it had once been attached to something else.
Its eyes were ancient and wise. Her thigh burned worse than ever.
The tentacles tattooed onto her skin were of her own design and almost identical to the ornament in front of her.
Suddenly, Eve was no longer in the auction house at all, but back home, surrounded by dozens of her sketchbooks, the pages all full of octopus drawings.
Over the years, she had filled up volume after volume with twisting tentacles and giant, staring eyes.
And every single octopus had one tentacle with a black tip.
It was such an unusual detail that she was shocked to see it in the ornament before her now.
She’d never tried to turn any of her sketches into paintings—though she had thought about it, had longed to do it—and she’d never shown them to anyone, ever.
Yet she couldn’t get away from the feeling that Max Everly knew about them somehow, that he knew about all those sketchbooks neatly stacked up at home, and the fact that octopuses both fascinated and delighted her.
When she met his eye, she was almost certain that his gaze flicked, just once, towards her thigh, as if he knew about the tattoo too.
“Some sorrows seem like too much for any one person to bear,” he said softly. “I know all about that. But there is light to be found as well, I promise you.”
Eve shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to find her way back to a normal conversation. “I don’t understand. Is this the item you were hoping to have valued?”
“Oh no, I’m not interested in valuing it. I doubt it’s worth much. Please,” he said, “take it as a gift.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s for you,” Max insisted. “It was always meant for you.”
There was a sudden catch in his voice, and Eve was startled to see that he was blinking back tears. She was sure now that he must have escaped from a retirement home or something. There was probably a group of worried carers out searching for him.
“It’s very kind of you, really,” she began firmly. “But we have policies here, and I can’t accept any gifts from clients.”
“I’m not your client.”
“Even so, I can’t—”
“You must!” he cried. For the first time since walking in, he looked a little unsure of himself, a little desperate. “You already have. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do. Now you have to do your part.”
“All right,” Eve said, speaking quickly because he was starting to sound quite distressed. Perhaps the best thing to do was to play along. “All right. It’s very kind of you and I’m sorry, I don’t mean to seem ungrateful.”
He took a deep breath. “Everyone should have something on their birthday.”
“It’s just that…Wait. How do you know it’s my—?”
“Thank you for seeing me.”
Max gripped his stick and used the edge of the desk to drag himself to his feet. Eve rose too. She wished James had never let the man into her office.
“I’ll walk you out,” she said, picking up the octopus and slipping it into her pocket. Perhaps she could toss it into the taxi after him.
“There’s really no need,” Max said, but without much conviction. “I’m sure I can find my own way.”
“I was going out to buy a sandwich anyway,” Eve lied. “And perhaps I might flag down a taxi for you? Unless you’d like me to phone someone?”
“My dear,” he said with that half smile, “there is no one to call.”
Eve didn’t know what to say to that, so they left the room and walked down the corridor to the lift in silence. But as the doors closed behind them Eve realised that something was wrong. Max had suddenly lost all the colour from his face; his breathing was too shallow and his hands were trembling.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“There is so much,” he said, his voice quivering. “So very much that I would like to say to you. But it’s all…” He waved a hand. “It’s already been said.”
Eve’s gaze went to the numbers counting down at the top of the lift; she willed them to go faster. When the doors finally slid open on the ground floor, she tried to persuade Max to take a seat in the lobby, but he insisted on heading to the exit.
“I want to be outside…,” he said breathlessly.
His words made Eve shiver. She had a sudden foreboding that something bad was about to take place. She followed him as he lurched unsteadily out onto the steps, sucking in a deep lungful of air.
“Can I help you down the stairs?” she asked, reaching towards him.
He met her gaze and smiled. The smile lit up his face, and suddenly there seemed to be so much humour, and wit, and life in his eyes. So much joy.
“I’d prefer you to go back inside, but I know you won’t. So, yes. I would appreciate your help this one last time.”
It was an odd reply, but then so much of what he’d said made no sense.
There was no time to linger on any of it, however—although Eve would replay his words many times in the weeks that followed.
But in that moment, she simply took his arm, feeling how thin and frail it was through the fabric of his smart jacket.
She heard his knees click as she helped him down one step, then another.
“Your hat,” she said, suddenly remembering that he must have left it in the cloakroom. “Shall I run back and—?”
But she didn’t finish the sentence before Max gave a sudden, sharp cry of pain. His walking stick fell from his grip to clatter down the steps and he leaned forwards, clutching a hand to his chest. Then his legs buckled, and he was dragging Eve down with him.
She shouted up to the doorman, who hurriedly got out a phone to call for an ambulance.
All around, people were stopping and staring.
Some came to see if they could help, but there was nothing anyone could do except wait.
Eve knelt on the steps by Max’s side, holding his hand in hers.
Even to her untrained eye, she could tell this was bad.
His face was white and etched with lines of pain, his breathing a shallow gasp.
“The ambulance is coming,” she said helplessly. “It’s going to be okay.”
To her surprise, Max gave the smallest of smiles. “I know.”
She looked at his face and thought his eyes had a glassy look, as if he wasn’t really seeing her at all. “Promise you’ll come back to the hotel,” he said, his voice slurring slightly. “Please.”
There was such a look of hungry desperation in his eyes that Eve nodded, even though she knew he was speaking to someone else, from some time long ago. He must have regained some lucidity right at the end, though, because he used her name when he spoke again, for the final time.
“Thank you, Eve.” His hand tightened briefly around hers. “For saving me.”
She tried to offer some stumbling reply, but it was already too late.
His hand was limp, and the life and light had gone from his eyes, which were now empty and unseeing.
She knew, even before the paramedics arrived shortly afterwards and confirmed it, that the person Max Everly had been was gone forever.
He was pronounced dead at the scene, shortly after midday.
Eve hadn’t known him—they’d barely exchanged a few dozen words—yet she felt very sad as she let go of his frail hand and watched him being loaded onto the stretcher.
It occurred to her, too, that this would do nothing whatsoever to help dispel the Black Widow nickname she’d gained at work.