My Name is Eva An absolutely gripping and emotional historical novel - Suzanne Goldring Page 0,42

smug expression that had been growing over his mean features. ‘Gosh, Stephen, you’re such a revelation! Really you are. I haven’t been very clever in my thinking, have I? Perhaps I’ll arrange a valuation, just so I know where I stand.’

He gave her that little thin smile, which was the best he could manage. ‘You’re a very capable woman, Evelyn. But sometimes a bit of analytical thinking is called for.’

32

Evelyn, 19 September 1985

Greedy Eyes

When Stephen first offered to speak to the land agents for her, Evelyn demurred. ‘Oh dear, I don’t know if you should. My family and Kingsley are very well known around here. I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong message if you appeared to be acting for me. People do talk so. I know, why don’t I meet the agents first and then discuss their valuations with you later?’

He didn’t press any further. Why should he? She was already giving him access to reams of information about the property and could see his eyes greedily totting up her worth. She had let him look at the land registry documents and read copies of the estate agents’ valuation reports after they’d met her, but she didn’t want him to know that the property was held in trust and she certainly didn’t want him being seen by any neighbours.

On his visits she kept her distance from Neil, her shepherd, if he was out in the fields, and made sure Stephen only came on days when Sharon, her cleaner, and Jim the gardener were not around. She discouraged the few friends she still had from calling these days, but on the odd occasion when someone delivered the parish magazine or a flyer for the Garden Club Annual Show, no one would think there was anything odd in seeing a middle-aged man looking through a pile of papers on the kitchen table, or wandering deep in thought around the grounds, even if he was totting up her worth rather than admiring the herbaceous borders.

Watching him reading the reports and making suggestions, she sometimes found it hard to believe he was the same man she had known in Bad Nenndorf. Certain aspects of Stephen’s old character were still evident, of course: the precision, the skilful manipulation, the eye for weakness and, most importantly, the isolation. But she remembered all too clearly his cold disregard for the pathetic men and women he had questioned as they shivered, flinched and fainted in front of him, while he probed their memories. And when I kiss your photograph goodnight each evening, my darling, I remind myself I’m doing this for you too.

‘These summaries are very interesting and the valuations are most encouraging,’ he said when he had finished reading the estate agents’ reports. ‘But they make it quite clear there’s absolutely no point in selling off land for its agricultural value. Far better to deal with the land acquisition people, that’s where the real profits lie. What do you think?’

Evelyn thought she’d like to chuck the whole lot of files on the fire, blazing away in the inglenook, and see them burst into flames, but she said, ‘I rather liked the Knightley people. If I did decide to go ahead, I’d like to deal with them. I thought some of the others were rather brash with their big shiny cars, but the Knightleys came over in a Land Rover. I felt they were more sympathetic and had a better understanding of the management and importance of a small country estate.’

He nodded. ‘Good to know who you’re dealing with, I agree. But what’s more relevant is how do you feel about actually selling the land, or part of it?’

Sunday lunch was nearly over. Stephen had started coming over for regular Sunday lunches these days. The first few times he’d visited he had driven, but now when he came, Evelyn picked him up at the station, or more often he walked, so he could enjoy a few glasses of wine with the roast beef. He had brought a meagre bunch of daffodils with him on his first visit, but nothing since then, miserly old sod, not even a cheap box of chocolates.

Evelyn toyed with the rind of the piece of Stilton she’d served after the apple pie with cream. ‘I still need time to think about the land,’ she said. ‘It’s such a big decision. I don’t have to decide now, do I?’

‘Of course you don’t. In fact, I think the market might pick up next year