Private Lives Read online

‘And she looks great,’ said Anna politely.

  Her gaze met Sophie’s and they exchanged a look: rolling eyes, raised eyebrows, a look that said, ‘Mum’s put her foot in it again.’ It was a familiar look, a code from their childhood, just one of many secrets they’d shared growing up in the same room, and it made Anna suddenly terribly sad. Her anger had passed. But it was regret now that nearly took her breath away. Regret that every happy memory of childhood – singing along to cheesy pop on their bedroom stereo, birthday parties, trips to the movies – now seemed tainted. Regret that the whole sorry episode of Sophie and Andrew’s betrayal had changed her; she didn’t want to be a cold, bitter and lonely person, but she knew that it was the reason she hadn’t had a relationship since. She felt herself getting emotional. She didn’t want her mother or sister to see that.

  The waiter was approaching again. Anna took a deep breath.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said, getting up. ‘I can’t do this right now. I need to get back.’

  Sue Kennedy looked incredulous. ‘But we haven’t even ordered yet.’

  ‘I’m not that hungry,’ said Anna, pushing her chair in. ‘You two enjoy yourselves.’

  She turned and walked out, squeezing her nails into her palm, desperate not to cry. She returned to the pool area as fast as her spa slippers would allow, needing to grab her book and trainers from where she’d left them. And then she could get the hell out of there.

  She was just gathering her things when Sophie came up behind her, looking upset and concerned.

  ‘Anna, please wait. Can’t we just talk?’

  ‘About what?’ she said simply.

  ‘I know how hurt and angry you must have been . . .’

  Anna closed her eyes and the whole horrific scene leapt towards her, as if she was seeing a slideshow of images. The key turning in the lock as she let herself into the flat. Glancing at the stereo on the sideboard, wondering why Coldplay was playing so loud. Walking through to the bedroom and bending to pick up Andy’s shirt that he had dropped in the corridor. And then opening the bedroom door. Legs entwined on the bed. Sophie’s face, her eyes wide. Andrew chasing Anna down the stairs on to the street. ‘It didn’t mean anything,’ that was what he had said. But it had. It had meant everything.

  ‘No you don’t,’ she said quietly. ‘These things don’t happen to you, Sophie. You can’t possibly know how it feels to have your heart stamped on, to feel so betrayed that you don’t know if you will ever really trust anyone again.’

  Someone at the far side of the pool looked up from their daybed.

  ‘I’m sorry that we hurt you, Anna, but we fell in love,’ Sophie said, lowering her voice to avoid a scene. ‘And ask yourself this: did you really love Andy? I’m not sure, because if you did you wouldn’t have put your career above him.’

  ‘Don’t try and make out that this is my fault.’

  ‘I miss you, Anna.’ For a moment her words sounded heartfelt. ‘I miss you and I can understand why you don’t want to come to the wedding, but please, at least come to my hen party.’

  ‘To celebrate the happy occasion,’ Anna said bitterly.

  ‘Because you’re my sister.’

  Sophie’s voice trembled, and Anna felt a wave of regret so strong she felt as if it could knock her down.

  How bad could it be? a little voice in her head reassured her. It’s time to move on.

  ‘Please,’ pleaded Sophie. ‘There are lots of people coming and they’re going to wonder why you’re not there . . .’

  Anna snorted.

  ‘You almost had me there again, Soph.’ She shook her head ferociously. ‘You know, I don’t believe you’re a bad person. Just an extremely selfish one. You expect people to give, give, give. And you take, take, take, even things that aren’t or should never be yours, and you don’t care what depths you have to plumb to get what you want, because you expect them to be yours. The food column you lied to get your hands on – the editor told me all about your years of work in the Dorset Nurseries restaurant, which is funny, because I thought you were in Thailand while you were apparently sharpening knives in Dad’s kitchen. But then those came in handy, didn’t they, for when you stabbed me in the back and slept with my boyfriend. How many times did you tell me it happened? Once, twice? Funny, I don’t believe that any more.’

  ‘It was a handful of times,’ Sophie said sheepishly.

  ‘How long?’ Anna snapped, the details that she had never dared broach again suddenly seeming of urgent importance.

  ‘We were together for about two months before you found us.’

  Anna inhaled sharply, and when she breathed out, she felt an enormous sense of relief.

  ‘I know all I need to know now. You can’t hurt me any more.’

  ‘Anna, please,’ said Sophie, grabbing her sister as she pushed past her at the side of the pool. Anna tried to shake her off, and as she did so Sophie slipped. In slow motion Anna saw her falling away from her, her arms waving, hands clutching at the air, her mouth in a perfect ‘O’, landing in the swimming pool with a huge splash.

  ‘Anna!’ shouted a voice. It was her mother, full of anger and disapproval and disappointment. ‘What have you done . . .?’

  Anna ran so fast out of the spa, she didn’t hear another word of what her mother was about to say.

  23

  ‘I assume you’ve seen page eleven of the Sun this morning?’

  Helen watched with satisfaction as Anna Kennedy flinched. It was 7 a.m. and the Donovan Pierce boardroom already had half a dozen people sitting around the table; Helen’s team for the Jonathon Balon libel case. They were in court first thing and she wanted a counsel of war before they started.

  Well, at least she has read the papers, thought Helen as she watched Anna sip her coffee, obviously trying to appear unruffled. Interesting. Perhaps there’s more to this than the story suggested.

  Helen spread the newspaper out on the long walnut table.

  ‘“Celebrity Chef in the Drink”,’ she read aloud. The story was accompanied by a grainy photograph of Sophie Kennedy emerging from a swimming pool – bedraggled, but still sexy. ‘So what’s the real story?’ she asked, silently noting two trainees who craned their necks to read the piece. She expected her employees to be completely up to date with all media – TV, papers domestic and foreign, even reading the wires from AP and Reuters. These two would be made to pay for their slackness, even if it was early.

  Anna put her coffee cup down and shrugged.

  ‘I was at the spa with my mum and my sister. My sister fell in the pool and someone must have taken the shot with a mobile phone. There’s nothing more to it than that.’

  Isn’t there? thought Helen. She hadn’t got to her lofty position in the legal profession without being able to sniff out a lie. Usually she wasn’t interested in the private lives of her employees, unless they were doing something that might impact on the firm – and this could quite easily fall into that category. Anna Kennedy had been castigated over the Sam Charles debacle and Helen really hadn’t been pleased to see her name in the tabloids again: ‘sister of the bride-to-be and solicitor for shamed actor Sam Charles’. She knew it could have been worse, of course. Only last week she’d seen Donovan Pierce referred to as the lawyers behind ‘the bungled Charles injunction’. That had put her in a bad mood for days.

  ‘All right,’ she said, looking around the table expectantly, ‘any ideas what damages we could seek for Anna or her sister here?’

  Trainee Sid Travers raised her voice nervously.

  ‘Breach of privacy? Her sister thought she was in a secure area.’

  ‘And the citation for that?’

  Sid fell silent.

  ‘Sienna Miller versus Xposure Photo Agency,’ suggested Toby Meyer more confidently. ‘She’d been on the movie set and the paparazzi had taken nude photos of her with a long lens.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Helen, pleased that her trainees weren’t complete idiots, but careful not to show it. ‘Al
though privacy damages aren’t huge, so sometimes it’s not worth the client’s time.’

  She stabbed her finger down on to the table.

  ‘But the case we are going to win is this one,’ she said, turning her gaze on each of the team one by one. ‘Jonathon Balon is relying on us. He employed us because he believed we could prove in court – and to the public – that these charges are groundless and malicious. We have a reputation to uphold, both ours’ – she looked directly at Anna as she said this – ‘and his. It’s not enough that we win this case; we need to destroy the opposition’s arguments and prove ours beyond a shadow of a doubt. This is war, people.’

  She tapped her hand on the desk.

  ‘Okay, let’s go to work.’

  Anna leaned over and handed a twenty-pound note to the cabby. What was this? Her sixth cab journey today? And it was only 3.30 p.m. She felt as if she was on a piece of elastic. In the course of the morning she’d shuttled back and forth between court and the offices twice, grabbing another stack of files or looking up some vital piece of case law. So far they’d only scratched the surface of the Balon case, but at least they were under way; after weeks of intensive preparation, the whole team was hyped up and full of energy, keen to win at all costs. The day had begun with Nicholas Collins QC delivering the claimant’s opening statement, and right now the barrister for the defence was putting his initial case. She’d drunk a gallon of coffee and had at least three blisters from speed-walking along the marble corridors of the High Court, but Anna was in her element. This was exactly the sort of work she’d joined Donovan Pierce to do. Meaningful, exacting work that required meticulous preparation, but which nevertheless was edge-of-the-seat stuff: most libel cases settled long before they got to court and if they didn’t, both sides must believe they had a decent chance of winning. The courts were buzzing, because you never knew exactly what the other guy was going to throw at you.

  Anna walked across the road to the office, skirting around a flaming red Ferrari that was parked halfway onto the pavement, and took the stairs to the Donovan Pierce reception.

  ‘All right, gorgeous? Buried any good actors lately?’

  Her heart sank as she saw Wayne Nicholls coming her way. Wayne was an East End wide boy who owned one of the most notorious picture agencies in town. He was rich, cocky and had the sort of unshakeable self-regard that allowed him to wear cowboy boots and sunglasses indoors. They had crossed swords more than once: the photographers contracted to Wayne’s agency seemed to take gleeful pleasure in flouting the privacy laws firms like Donovan Pierce were there to protect.

  ‘Pleasure to see you, Wayne,’ she said, knowing the sarcasm was wasted on him. He kissed her on the cheek, almost overpowering her with his aftershave.

  ‘Nice picture of your sister in the Sun this morning,’ he said with a wink. ‘I wish we’d had it, could have made a few quid on that. Hey, how about winging some exclusive little wedding snaps of her bash in Italy over to me? I’ll make it worth your while.’

  ‘Wayne, what are you doing here?’ Anna said, changing the subject. ‘I’d have thought it was like Dracula walking over consecrated ground.’

  ‘Doing a job for your boss, aren’t I?’

  ‘For Helen?’ she said, wondering why she hadn’t heard about it.

  ‘The other one, Matty D,’ said Wayne, tucking his shirt into his tight jeans.

  ‘Really? What sort of job?’

  Wayne tapped the side of his nose.

  ‘Privileged information, darling. You wouldn’t want me to abandon my principles, would you?’ He glanced at his chunky Jacob & Co. watch. ‘Must fly, sweetheart. Car’s on a meter.’

  ‘Let me guess – the badly parked Ferrari?’

  ‘That’s her. Any time you fancy a quick spin, my door’s always open.’

  Anna couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said, watching him prop up reception to try his luck on Sherry, the telephonist.

  Anna walked slowly, thoughtfully, past her own office towards Matt Donovan’s and lingered at the door. She hadn’t really spoken to him since their showdown in the kitchen and had no desire for a rematch, but given that he was, as Wayne had helpfully reminded her, the boss and she needed to hold on to her job, it would be good politics to try and help him out. She looked inside – Matthew was bent over his computer screen, tapping away at the keys, his brow furrowed.

  ‘Dipping your toe into the shark-infested waters of media law, are we?’ said Anna with a smile. Matthew glanced up.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I’ve just seen Wayne Nicholls, puppet-meister of the paparazzi, hanging around the entrance.’

  ‘He’s helping me with something,’ said Matt casually, looking back at his computer. Anna knew she was being dismissed, but curiosity had got the better of her.

  ‘Anything I should know about?’

  He looked at her, unsmiling. ‘Checking up on me again, are you?’

  Anna flushed. He was obviously still annoyed about her advice regarding Rob Beaumont’s visit to the office, but she was bothered he was about to make the same mistake twice.

  ‘No, not snooping, just wondering if I could help. I know Wayne and he’s not, shall we say, the most trustworthy of individuals.’

  ‘I think I can make up my own mind about that, thanks,’ said Matthew, not looking up.

  ‘Yes, of course, it’s just—’

  ‘If you must know, I’ve been trying to track down some information about Kim Collier.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Kim wants to take their son to live in Miami. Rob has no idea why, so we’re trying to find out in the hope that it might give us some leverage in the divorce, which is turning nastier by the second.’

  ‘And you want Wayne to help you?’ said Anna, trying not to sound judgemental.

  ‘Actually he’s done a bloody good job,’ said Matt, sliding some photographs across to Anna. They were shots of Kim Collier in a car, coming out of a shop, having lunch in a restaurant, the usual paparazzi fare you found in celeb mags.

  ‘Well, there doesn’t seem to be much here,’ said Anna.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Matt. ‘She’s had five meetings over the last forty-eight hours. Her manager, her friend from school, her make-up artist, nothing at all controversial. Certainly nothing Wayne Nicholls can sell on to the tabloids, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, I made it clear that if he screws us over, we’ll come down on every single set of pictures he takes like a ton of bricks.’

  Anna frowned. Paparazzi were better at following celebrities than conventional private eyes as they had a network of drivers, waiters and doormen to tip them off, but it was a risky strategy.

  She hesitated. ‘I’m just worried that Wayne will have worked out that you’re a divorce lawyer, and as you have him following Rob Beaumont’s wife, he’ll put two and two together and “Kim and Rob Love Split” will mysteriously be all over the the Sun tomorrow morning.’

  Matthew gave a small smile. ‘I had, of course, thought of that,’ he said. ‘I’ve drafted a confidentiality agreement so tight not even Houdini could get out of it.’

  ‘I still don’t like using Wayne Nicholls, though,’ she said.

  ‘As it happens, having her followed has paid off.’

  He leaned over and tapped one of the photographs; a middle-aged man in a leather jacket was sitting with Kim in a café.

  ‘Fabio Martelli. Hotelier. Businessman. Old friend of Kim’s.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘That’s what Wayne said. Why shouldn’t she be having a drink with an old friend? You could see from Wayne’s face that he was secretly pleased his paps hadn’t found anything; that way he was getting ten grand from me while I got nothing. But Wayne doesn’t have the other piece of the jigsaw.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Martelli owns four homes, in New York, London, Milan and Miami, where he’s opening a live entertainment venue at Christmas and where he
intends to base himself full-time in preparation for the launch.’

  ‘Miami. Where Kim Collier’s taking her son.’

  ‘He doesn’t know it, but your pal Wayne has been very helpful.’

  Anna couldn’t help smiling to herself as she left Matthew’s office. Wayne Nicholls helpful. That was a first. She had to admit, however, that she had underestimated Matthew. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye after all.

  As she walked into her office, she frowned. Her windows overlooked the street and she could hear yelling and swearing coming from that direction. She peered down and was pleased to see the irate figure of Wayne Nicholls standing next to his Ferrari, waving his arms at two burly men in overalls. Behind them in the street was a pick-up truck labelled ‘Secure Towing Co.’.

  Giggling to herself, she ran back down the stairs and out into the sunshine.

  ‘Little problem?’ She smiled innocently.

  ‘Thank God! A lawyer!’ Wayne said. ‘These meatheads are refusing to release the Ferrari from this bleedin’ truck. Tell him I’ll sue them.’

  The first clamper merely raised his eyebrows. He’d clearly heard it all before.

  Anna was tempted to let them carry out their threat, but she had an idea forming in her mind, and for that she needed Wayne on side.

  ‘Listen, Wayne, let me have a word,’ she said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  She went over to talk to the clampers. What Wayne didn’t know was that the towing company was employed by Donovan Pierce to prevent people parking outside their office building – Larry had wanted it kept clear so he could park his Bentley.

  ‘Yeah, and don’t come back, either!’ shouted Wayne as they drove off. He turned to Anna and winked. ‘Cheers, darling.’

  ‘Actually, I need a favour.’

  If Matthew Donovan could use the pap boss to his advantage, why shouldn’t she? Anna knew a lot about Wayne’s organisation. When she’d sued him as often as she had, it paid to know the background. Thanks to the explosion in demand for celebrity pictures over the past few years, he had expanded and diversified: a photographic studio and a model agency that specialised in glamour girls.