‘I’m Eve,’ she answered.
‘Why are you cross?’
‘I’m not cross,’ said Eve but then she checked herself and realised she was cross. Very cross.
‘You sound cross.’ The cupboard closed again.
‘That’s Flora in the potato cupboard. If she stays there much longer she might sprout,’ Hilditch said in a loud voice.
The door opened again. ‘I’m not staying in here, just until Daddy’s horrid friends go away. Why doesn’t he ask me to play with him instead of them?’
‘Hush, Flora.’
‘Myles hates them also. He hates everyone though, especially Daddy.’ The cupboard door slammed again.
‘Who’s Myles?’ asked Eve looking around.
‘No one, just her invisible friend,’ said Hilditch quickly.
Flora opened up the door again. ‘He’s not my friend – he’s awful and mean to me.’
Hilditch closed the door with her foot. ‘Mr Priest has friends here for the evening and then tomorrow he will be resting.’
‘Resting? Does he have consumption? This is ridiculous,’ exclaimed Eve. ‘I’m missing Christmas with my family because of this book and he can’t even respect me enough to write. I don’t think I’ve met a less professional author, and I’ve met a few.’
Hilditch shrugged.
‘But were they as successful as me?’ She heard Edward’s deep voice behind her and a shiver ran up her spine to the top of her head. She was sure her hair was standing on end.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned to him.
‘No, but they at least met their deadlines so people didn’t give up personal time with their important loved ones.’
Edward raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You could have said no if you didn’t want to be here.’
Eve crossed her arms and shook her head. ‘I didn’t have a choice, not if I wanted to keep my job. Not that you would understand the concept of a job, working for a living and having to navigate corporate rubbish and keep your personal integrity and live on a shitty wage and not hobnobbing it like you’re in some sort of Elizabethan cosplay or amateur drama performance.’
‘Very witty,’ he said to Eve. ‘You should be a writer.’ He walked behind the counter and opened the cupboard.
‘Hello, sweetie, don’t eat the raw potatoes. You’ll get a tummy ache. Your ancestors did it eons ago and we’ve had starch allergies ever since.’
He wandered about the kitchen, opening cupboards at random intervals.
‘Hil, I’m looking for the case of Vosne-Romanée that was delivered. Is it up here or in the cellar?’ he asked Hilditch.
‘Butler’s pantry.’ She tossed her head at the door behind her.
Edward went in and then came out holding three bottles of wine. He looked at Eve. ‘Can you bring some glasses to the library?’
Hilditch didn’t stop chopping and Eve looked around.
He was staring at her expectantly.
‘Me? You want me to serve your guests?’ Oh, this man was something else and not in a good way.
Edward part scoffed and snorted at her. ‘No, Miss Pilkins, I was wondering if you wanted to come and drink wine with myself and my friends. Who knows? It might loosen the muse inside me.’ He made a silly face at her and then he was gone.
Eve sighed and Hilditch looked up at her, while still chopping without missing a beat or losing a finger. How many turnips did this woman need?
