Page 56 of You Can't Hurt Me

If Nate and Priya weren’t in contact, how had she managed to see some of the material in the book? I think of Nate’s study, his printer, various edited chapters lying around on his desk—

Jade.

Of course, who else would have such easy access? She’s been a source of intelligence for her mother all this time. I hesitate for a moment, distracted by the pretty window display of recent baking books, carefully arranged around a vintage cake stand scattered with silver almonds. The work of a frustrated set designer, perhaps.

I remember Nate telling me that Kath had shared the same creative flair as her younger sister, but she liked to claim there was room for only one artistic ego in the family. Eva made up for the two of them, she said. At university she studied classics rather than fine art, spending a year in Greece where she met Jade’s father, Michel, a lawyer from Athens. After Kath’s and Eva’s mother died, Kath used her share of the inheritance to buy an old betting shop, transforming it into Emerald Books, the name above the paneled door in swirling gold italics.

I finally step inside, wandering from one table to another until I spot her, perched on a small book ladder. Kath reaches to the top shelf in a balletic posture. I can see the shadow of Eva in her profile; the delicate curve of her cheekbones, the straight-edged nose and heart-shaped chin. There the similarity ends. Images from my lost hours in Eva’s wardrobe flash back to me, the giddy extravagance of all those outfits. Where Eva was exceptional, Kath is more conventional in her Breton top, ballet flats and white jeans.

I head for Biography while she finishes chatting to a customer, study the rows of bestselling memoirs from Michelle Obama to Elton John, Tara Westover to Deborah Orr. As I take down Henry Marsh’sDo No Harm, a voice behind me breaks the silence. A voice that sounds eerily familiar to her younger sister’s.

“Aiming high. I’m not sure Henry Marsh needed a ghostwriter either. He could manage pretty well on his own.”

I twist around and meet Kath’s stare, clear and shrewd and searching. Before I can think of a suitable reply she extends her hand, as cool and dry as parchment.

“Anna? I recognize you from your byline pic,” she says, half smiling. I follow her to the back of the shop where there is a cluster of tables, the smell of roasting coffee and fresh pastries. She brings over two mugs and sits down opposite me.

“Thank you for coming this morning. I appreciate you seeing me at such short notice. None of this is easy, especially since Nate and Priya seem so unwilling to talk to me.”

“I understand you hadn’t been offered a chance to read it, but I’m sure once the draft is finished you can—”

Her sleek eyebrows ruffle, her eyes a hard arctic blue. “I’m her sister, and no one has even asked my opinion about it or offered to involve me at any level.”

I hold her gaze for a moment as we assess one another. I guess she is closer to fifty than forty. Her complexion is line-free, her skin glowing from a recent trip that Jade told me about, visiting relatives outside Athens. I imagine a strict regime of Pilates and raw vegetables, elemental coastal walks and restorative spa breaks on Aegean Islands.

It dawns on me that perhaps Eva’s death is the first time wealth and privilege has failed to protect Kath. I had read in the news about her quiet, articulate anger when she told reporters the police had been neglectful in their duty, that she wouldn’t rest until a second inquest was opened.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But you say you have read bits of it?”

“It became obvious to me I wasn’t going to get a chance to see the book until it was too late, so I asked Jade to intervene. What?” she asks, catching my anxious expression.

“Nothing. It’s just, well, maybe there was an easier way for you to read it. I’m sure Nate would have let you—”

“Really? I very much doubt it. You two have been locked away, according to Jade, in your bunker creating this thing that has no bearing on Eva’s life. None of what I’ve read is true to who she really was or, I believe, to what really happened between them. You made her up. There’s nothing of the sister I knew in there at all.”

“My job was to write down Nate’s memories of her and that’s all I’ve done. I haven’t made anything up,” I say steadily, catching her eye, hoping I’m not betraying the guilt I feel inside. Although maybe it’s a case of touché—Eva recorded, unwittingly, a version of my life in her journal, now I’m fashioning a version of hers. “Believe me,” I add, “I want to get to the truth of Eva too.”

“I can see you’re in a difficult situation and none of this is really your fault. I understand that. You’ve been drawn in by Nate, manipulated even.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, Anna. You have no idea what he’s capable of, how persuasive he can be.” She shakes her head. “But I need him and Priya to know that I will take legal advice over this. I don’t want it going ahead, if what I’ve read already is anything like the rest of the book.”

I inhale sharply. “Look, I’m sorry you’re so upset by it but maybe you’ve taken it out of context. Reading the odd chapter here and there can be misleading.”

She gives a small dismissive laugh, makes a vague gesture with her hand. “I doubt that. I got a pretty good impression of how you’re painting her. As some fucked-up hedonist, a beautiful victim defined by a powerful man. I mean, couldn’t you or he be a little more original at least? If you are going to do a memoir, surely it should have some integrity? You can tell Nate from me, Eva would have been furious.”

She steeples her hands on the table in an effort to regain her composure, a large opal stone glitters on her wedding finger.

“Look, I know how crucial it is to get this right for Eva,” I say. “If I talk to Priya, there may be stuff I can add in. I’d need to run it by Nate obviously.”

“Obviously,” she says and I ignore her pointed look.

“What sort of stuff would you want included?”

“I have plenty of anecdotes, if anyone had bothered to ask. I know my sister wouldn’t have wanted a sanitized version of herself in print. Anna, I can help you make it truer to Eva, give you a bit more background, convince you that what I’m saying is true. Especially if your subject seems so...hard to fathom?”

“Why do you say that?”

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