Free Goodbye Ruby Tuesday by A. L. Michael Page B

the dark wood. Bookshelves were on almost every wall, reaching the ceiling, and Esme gasped and ran over to the portable ladder that slid across the shelves.
    ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding,’ Evie looked up in awe.
    Evelyn raised a perfectly drawn-on eyebrow, ‘I never joke about books, wine or men, darling.’
    ‘Good to know.’ She suppressed a smile, and watched as Esme skipped about before flinging herself onto one of the array of chairs arranged in a circle in the centre of the room. Evie loved how mismatched it was – a turquoise loveseat, a dark, worn Chesterfield, and a ludicrously high-backed throne. The coffee table was set low, and there were cushions on the floor around it. There were wine glass rim marks on the coffee table, which Evie found strangely endearing.
    ‘I used to entertain in here,’ Evelyn smiled, looking around at the walls, conjuring memories. ‘It’s always everyone’s favourite room. We used to sit around, listening to records, talking art and politics. Drinking too much. It was a wonderful time.’
    ‘Was that when you were a model?’ Evie asked tentatively. If Wikipedia and a couple of biographies were anything to go by, Evelyn Glass been the muse/lover of many an up-and-coming London artist. It all sounded terribly important and romantic back then. What she really wanted to ask was if Ruby had been around during some of these parties.
    ‘Yes, offering up a pretty face in return for being remembered eternally,’ Evelyn rolled her eyes and turned to Esme. ‘Esme, what do you want to be when you grow up?’
    ‘A marine biologist,’ she said without pause, and then opened one of the musty books and sniffed, ‘oooor a librarian, with a weekend job as an ice cream taster.’
    The adults laughed, ‘You’ve really thought this through, Ez!’
    Esme widened her eyes, ‘It’s a real job! I asked!’
    ‘Wouldn’t you ever get sick of ice cream?’ Evelyn asked the little girl.
    ‘Do you ever get sick of books?’ she replied, and turned back to the shelves.
    Evie shared a look with the woman, snorting quietly. ‘Don’t worry, you get used to being chastised by a ten–year-old… eventually.’
    ‘It’s refreshing… I think.’
    Evie perched on the Chesterfield, tilting her head, ‘Did you not like being a model? It sounded like you were the toast of the town back then. Parties and galas and exhibitions…’
    Evelyn smiled softly, ‘Oh yes, the men loved me, wanted to take me away from it all. The older women wanted to protect me, the younger ones were desperately waiting for me to age so I’d no longer be a problem… I just wanted to make art. I started out as a photographer, you know. But the only things anyone was interested in were my self-portraits.’ Evelyn rolled her eyes, ‘And then it was all Warhol and pop art and Carnaby Street… it was a wonderful time, of course, but… well, I often wished I’d made something beautiful, instead of just being beautiful for a brief time.’
    ‘You’re still very beautiful!’ Esme said from across the room, not even looking up.
    ‘You’re very kind,’ Evelyn replied, amused.
    ‘She also only speaks the truth. It’s a terribly dangerous habit I’m trying to curb.’
    Evelyn looked at the little girl, head buried in her book. ‘I just wanted to create something
real
, something that was mine. I seemed to just belong to other people for so long. Married the wrong people.’ She sighed and looked out of the window, ‘I wasn’t terribly good at life, I have to admit.’
    Evie looked around at the room, ‘You said your husband built this room for you.’
    ‘Reggie,’ Evelyn’s face lit up, ‘my darling, darling Reggie. He was a comedy writer, family had money, and I… well, I just loved him. He never saw me as the others did. In fact, I was hanging around on a set and moaning to him because I was convinced I’d started getting wrinkles. He told me he’d been waiting for a sign that I was only human, and asked