My Name is Eva An absolutely gripping and emotional historical novel - Suzanne Goldring Page 0,43

and you could do better for waiting.’ He sipped the vintage port she’d poured from Papa’s decanter, then added, ‘And the house? What about that? Did you give it any more thought?’

‘I did rather like the idea of weddings,’ she said. ‘We have got such a beautiful space out there on the lawns for a marquee. I can just see a beautiful bride posing beneath the rose arch for photographs. Making people happy would be rather nice.’

‘No one goes into business to make people happy.’

‘Don’t they?’

‘And you’d probably have to provide the marquee yourself, I think. I’m pretty certain brides and grooms don’t bring their own kit and they are damned expensive to erect and maintain. You have to get heaters for the ruddy things too.’

‘Oh, really?’ She pretended to look downcast as she cracked a water biscuit between her fingers. ‘And of course I would be a little concerned about the furniture and the paintings. It would be such a worry having a lot of strangers here, running about and looking through one’s possessions.’

Stephen glanced around the panelled dining room with its George IV oak sideboard and Chinese famille rose urns. ‘You’re right to be worried – you’ve got a lot of valuable stuff here. Have you had any of the contents checked over in recent years, for insurance?’

‘For insurance? I haven’t had to claim anything on insurance.’

He gave a queer scoffing laugh and said, ‘No, I don’t mean a claim. I meant insurance valuation. Please tell me you have got contents insurance.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean by valuation. I know I pay insurance every year for the house and the contents.’

He peered at her. ‘You mean you haven’t checked whether you’re fully covered recently? You’ve just carried on, year after year?’

‘Yes, I suppose I have. Isn’t that what everyone does?’

‘Evelyn, with an extraordinary house like this and valuable antiques like the ones you’ve got here, you have to review and update your insurance from time to time. You are probably vastly underinsured.’

‘So you don’t think weddings would be a good idea then?’

‘Not without a full risk assessment. And if you did want to go ahead as a wedding venue, your insurers would certainly impose new conditions, as the place would then be classified as a business and that would mean your premium would increase.’

‘Oh dear, it all sounds awfully complicated.’ Evelyn sighed, then looked across the room at the large oil painting of ruined temples under dark, thunderous clouds. ‘Perhaps I should just sell a few things.’ She pointed to the picture. ‘I’ve never liked that gloomy thing for a start, reminds me of a bombed-out city.’

He glanced at the picture too, the oil darkened by years of smoke from cigars and open fires, relieved only by its curling gilded frame. ‘You’d be better off talking to a good auction house, for a start. Getting their advice on the kind of prices you might get. In fact, that would be a sensible move altogether. They’re always interested in finding good pieces for their sales and they’ll give you an idea of value both for selling and for insurance. Do you want me to fix that up for you?’

She waited a moment before replying, pretending to be unsure, but then said, ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly trouble you any further. I’ll arrange for some people to come round and then we can have another nice chat when they’ve given me some figures. Would you like to do that?’

He eased himself back in his chair, his balding head lit by the glow of the fire. ‘I think that’s a very good idea. We’ll talk about it together. You don’t want to be pressurised by some pushy know-it-all auctioneer.’

33

Evelyn, 11 November 1985

What a Lot You’ve Got

Evelyn polished the wine glasses with a clean linen tea towel and glanced at Stephen. He was hunched over the auction house valuations spread across the scrubbed kitchen table. A mug of coffee steamed in his hand and the overhead light shone on his bare pink scalp. Now and then he scribbled some figures on a notepad. He was totting up her valuables, figuratively rubbing his hands with delight at the thought of sharing in her good fortune. Evelyn stopped polishing – she felt like throwing the glasses at his head.

Even now, after forty years, Evelyn remembered exactly when she had made the promise. It had been piercingly cold that day, with the first hint of winter snow, but it was even colder in the cells,