‘Yes,’ Eve says, mystified. ‘It’s a beautiful apartment. We love it, don’t we, angel?’
‘We do,’ Oxana confirms.
‘Because a job has come up,’ Gladstone says. ‘A vitally important job.’
‘For us?’
‘For Villanelle.’
A shiver runs up Eve’s spine. Her eyes find Oxana’s but Oxana’s gaze is noncommittal. ‘We work together,’ Eve says. ‘That’s kind of the point of us.’
Gladstone removes his glasses and begins to polish them with the silk square from his breast pocket. ‘I’m just the messenger,’ he says. ‘Johnny Fernandes will give you the details. Tomorrow at noon. He says you’ll know where.’
‘Can you tell us anything more?’ Eve asks him.
He smiles apologetically. ‘I wish I could, but you know how it is. Need to know, and all that.’ He stands. ‘I’m going to creep back inside. Don’t want to miss the speeches.’
‘What do you know about this?’ Eve asks Oxana.
‘Literally nothing.’
‘Why was he asking about the flat?’
Oxana shrugs.
‘But it’s both of us or neither of us, right? I mean, we agreed that.’
‘Can we wait and see what Johnny has to say?’
‘Angel, don’t backtrack on me. We agreed, right?’
‘I’m not backtracking.’
Eve stares at her. ‘You’d better not be, because seriously…’
‘Seriously what?’
Eve stares at her, a sharp look in her eye. ‘I want to go home, OK? I’ve had enough of this wedding.’
‘Now? Balice is not going to be happy if we?—’
‘Oxana, I want to go. Right now.’
They travel back to London in near silence. Oxana spends most of the journey pretending to be asleep, and that evening, very unusually, she cooks. Banning Eve from the kitchen, shepainstakingly creates a dish of coronation chicken from a recipe on her phone, and serves it with a bottle of cold Spanish cava. It’s warm in the flat, even with the windows open, and after clearing the meal, Oxana puts on a nightdress, switches on Eve’s favourite TV dating show, and curls up next to her on the sofa, laying her head on Eve’s shoulder. ‘I like cooking for you,’ Oxana murmurs. ‘It feels like we’re…’
‘Like we’re what?’
‘I don’t know. Living a nice life together. Happy.’
‘That’s exactly what we are doing. And we are happy, but you could always cook more often, just to make sure.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘What are you not telling me?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t tell me. You had a final fling with Balice.’
‘Babe, no. How can you think that?’
‘You’re up to something. Iknowyou, angel.’