Page 14 of The Woman Who Said Yes

Of course I don’t say any of this. And obviously this is a genuine, exquisitely cut emerald set on a slim golden band. Dom has money. He adores Eva and this is what wealthy people do to mark their engagement. Whereas Phil just said, ‘Shall we get married, then?’ while crunching a pork scratching in the Coach & Horses in Greek Street.

‘It’s gorgeous, Eves,’ I enthuse. ‘My God, it’s huge!’

‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ She blinks down as if she can’t quite believe that it has landed upon her finger.

‘It’s definitely a statement piece.’

She chuckles at my usage of the fashionspeak that peppers her world. ‘I guess you could say that.’

I smile. ‘Sure it’s not from that jewellery heist at The Louvre?’

‘Actually,’ she says, ‘he did look a bit shifty when he gave it to me!’

‘Really?’

‘Well, not exactly. Just nervous, I suppose. I think he was worried I’d changed my mind⁠—’

‘So you didn’t go and choose it together?’

‘Of course not.’ She splutters. ‘You think I’d have picked something like this?’

‘Well, no but⁠—’

‘Not that I don’t love it,’ she adds quickly. ‘But I’d have gone for something slightly less terrifying to wear outdoors…’ She bares her teeth in a grimace. ‘And honestly, it’s way too much. I mean, it’s embarrassing, really. How can I match up to that?’

I look at her, confused. ‘But he loves you and wants to show it.’

‘No, I mean, it makes anything I’ve given him seem so pathetic in comparison,’ she explains. ‘I’ve bought him little things – fragrance from a place in Bloomsbury that I found. They import these gorgeous scents from Florence. And a book I thought he’d like, a silly little book of love poems⁠—’

‘—They’re not pathetic,’ I insist. ‘They’re lovely things.’

‘Yes, but…’ She tails off, looking a little helpless. ‘I feel guilty that he’s spent so much. I hadn’t a clue he was getting me a ring at all. He said he’d got hold of one of those ring-sizer stick things and tried my favourites on it when I’d popped out to the shops… you know how I leave them scattered all over the flat?’ I nod, because I do know. One of the zillion things I love about Eva is that she’s even messier than I am.

‘And it fitted perfectly?’ I ask.

‘It did.’

‘Oh, darling.’ I squeeze her hand. ‘Just enjoy it. That’s what he wants, right?’

‘Yeah, I guess,’ she says, adding with a smile, ‘I never had this kind of issue with Giacomo…’

‘No, you didn’t,’ I say, and I mentally crumple up Sam’s script of how I might broach the fact that she’s rushing in. Instead, I try to rev myself up for an afternoon filled with phoney enthusiasm as I follow her through to her candy-pink kitchen. Here, pictures snipped out from magazines are spread chaotically all over the table.

‘What’s all this?’ I ask.

‘A sort of mood board,’ Eva explains, ‘for ideas and stuff, just to get us thinking.’ She makes us coffees and we settle down together, poring over pictures of dresses in vivid blues, greens and scarlets, all evoking her quirky style. Eva is brilliant at throwing pieces together that you wouldn’t imagine getting along. She’ll pick a slippery silk dress, a man’s corduroy jacket, a fluffy bolero and a crocheted hat: an ensemble that would make me look as if I’d been inebriated while dressing myself. Yet on her they look fabulous; not crazy-lady fabulous but stylish and unique.

‘D’you want to buy your outfit today?’ I ask.

Eva shakes her head. ‘I’m just getting a feel for what I might like. I thought it’d be more fun for me and you to go out shopping together.’

‘To the real shops?’

‘Yeah, of course! Are you up for that?’

‘Oh, definitely,’ I say, conscious of my back teeth setting tightly together.

She beams at me. ‘What d’you think you’ll wear?’