Grace struggled to take it all in. ‘And yet Eva continued to stay with Hiver after the war?’
Madame flashed her a look. ‘Now you know why we didn’t speak. But Eva had no willpower. By then, she was nothing more than a drunk. You see, for Andre, meeting Eva again in Monte Carlo was a turning point, the beginning of his success. But, for her, it was already too late.’
‘Too late for what?’
‘By the time Andre met her again she’d already been ruined. Even though she was still so young, she’d developed ways of surviving that made her hard. She and Lamb lived far beyond their means. They always had. For years, Eva had tried to put money aside but Lamb drank most of it, gambled the rest. The dresses she wore were remodelled a thousand times. The illusion they presented was just that. They stayed at the finest hotels, placed the biggest bets, knew all the right people. But at a tremendous cost. Though, I believe,’ she added, ‘that for all his faults, Lamb truly cared for her. In fact, I know he did.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘He did for her something no one else could do.’ Madame eased back into her chair. ‘Love is self-serving – we do all sorts of things for our own comfort and call it love. But revenge is an intimate thing, don’t you think? Would you be willing to enact another person’s vengeance?’
It was a disturbing manifestation of devotion; one that seeded itself uncomfortably in Grace’s imagination.
‘Please don’t misunderstand me,’ Madame continued. ‘He owed her that much. And for once in his life, he made good on his debts.’
Crawley, West London, 1928
It had been raining all week without respite. Cold, unrelenting rain, all day and night. He’d walked to the hospital from the flat they were renting. He would’ve liked to have taken the bus but he’d lost a great deal on the horses yesterday and money was tight. If he could just hold out until tomorrow, there was a poker game in a club in Soho he had high hopes for. And his luck might finally change.
When he arrived on the ward he was drenched, shaking the water from his raincoat the way a dog shakes out after a swim, raindrops rolling round the brim of his hat.
The nurse on duty was young; a plain, solid girl with a round, doughy face. She stared up at him with wide eyes. He looked like Douglas Fairbanks. When he spoke, it was clear he was a gentleman.
‘How is she?’ he asked.
‘She’s still recovering, sir.’
‘How long until she’ll be able to come home?’
‘Perhaps a week. She lost a great deal of blood.’
‘And the baby?’
‘A girl, sir. A lovely healthy girl.’
‘I see.’ He frowned, staring at the floor.
The nurse had seen this reaction before. Men who’d wanted sons. But Mr Lamb seemed particularly disappointed.
‘Would you like to see your daughter?’ she offered brightly. As soon as they saw them, their feelings often changed.
‘My daughter?’ He looked up at her with surprise, as if she’d just slapped his face. Then he paused, remembering himself. ‘Ah, perhaps later. I’d like to see . . . to see my wife first.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
The nurse led him down to the far end of the maternity ward, bustling in front of him with a proprietorial air. She wanted to appear efficient; to impress him with her expertise.
But as it happened, he wasn’t looking at her.
It was visiting hour; there were clusters of family groups gathered round several of the other women’s bedsides, cooing over newborns. The new mothers had made an effort; they were sitting up, wearing bed jackets knitted in soft candy colours for just this occasion, their hair freshly combed, wearing lipstick, with proud, beaming faces. There was a celebratory, party atmosphere around them.
Lamb watched as they passed the babies from one pair of hands to another.
Eva’s bed, however, was at the end of the row, nearest to the nurse’s station; separated from the others. The curtain was drawn; the blind on the window pulled down, shutting out the grey sky. The nurse quietly drew back the curtain.
Eva was sleeping. Her face looked drawn and pale, her arms thin. And he was struck again by the fact that she was only a child; a girl at best.
He turned to the nurse, his voice suddenly accusatory. ‘She doesn’t look well.’
The girl blinked. ‘As I said, she lost a lot of blood. It was a very difficult labour,’ she explained.
‘I want her to be taken care of,’ he insisted, suddenly frightened for her. ‘Properly taken care of!’
‘Of course, sir. We’re doing everything we can.’
He glared at her and she backed away.