Private Lives Page 9

  ‘Love sucks.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. My ex-husband was a jerk, but I live in hope.’

  All too soon, the car pulled up outside his flat. Erica was looking up and down the deserted street.

  ‘So what’s Chiswick like for a night out?’

  ‘Well, there’re a few great places but nowhere that could compete with your social life.’

  ‘You mean the red-carpet premieres, the gala dinners, the fashion shows, all those glittering events you see me attending?’

  ‘Yes, those.’

  ‘I go where I’m forced, contractually. Where you have to starve for weeks to be squashed into some sparkly gown, then make small talk all night with the most ruthless people on earth. You can keep it. Give me a burger and a beer any time.’

  ‘Well, beer we can do in Old Blighty,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Here . . .’ she said, reaching into her bag. ‘My number. If you ever want to show an out-of-towner the giddy sights of Chiswick.’

  He looked down at the card. It was like he was having an out-of-body experience. Erica Sheldon had just handed him her number.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Beats watching another movie on Blu-ray.’

  Matthew stood outside his apartment block and watched the black Mercedes disappear down the street. For a moment he looked down at the card still clutched in his hand and a schoolboy grin spread across his face. Erica Sheldon. The biggest film star in the world wanted to go out with him. Him.

  He glanced at himself in the reflection of a car. Matt was not vain in the slightest, but he had been teased so often about his good looks, by ex-girlfriends, by his old secretary, that he almost believed in them. But while his even features, thick dark hair and sporty physique had ensured a steady stream of gorgeous women at Cambridge, he was still no way a match for a movie star.

  He shoved the business card into his pocket and let himself into the flat, a small two-bedroom apartment that overlooked the river. He chucked his keys on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge for a beer.

  Sitting back on the sofa, he slugged back his lager and put his feet up on the coffee table.

  Maybe it was time to start dating, he told himself, staring absently out on to the water. He was sure Erica’s offer was just a friendly gesture, but what a place to start. At thirty-three, Matthew’s social life had shrunk to almost nothing. After his divorce, the friends he’d made as a couple had been unwilling to pick sides, and had slowly vanished off the radar, while his good mates from university had started disappearing into family life just as he had done following his own marriage seven years earlier. Every few months he’d be invited to a barbeque or a dinner party, where almost inevitably there would be a couple of single girls dangled in front of him, complete with raised eyebrows and gentle shoves. And yes, he’d slept with a few of them, but the truth was, he’d been so battered by his ex-wife’s betrayal that his heart wasn’t in anything more serious than no-strings sex.

  He touched Erica’s card with one fingertip. Maybe he should call her. After all, she was nice. For a Hollywood star. He smiled to himself at how ridiculous that sounded. She was one of People magazine’s Most Beautiful People. She earned upwards of fifteen million dollars per annum. Which meant that what she had earned for that minute-long arse-crack scene today was more than he took home in a year.

  The growl of the intercom made him jump. He frowned. The only people who usually rang his doorbell were pizza delivery boys.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, pressing the button.

  ‘It’s Carla,’ said the tinny voice.

  He was completely thrown by the sound of his ex-wife’s voice.

  ‘Can I come up?’ she pressed.

  Carla never visited him. When their son Jonas came to stay, Matthew picked him up and dropped him off at the beautiful Notting Hill home that Carla shared with her second husband. They had a cordial but remote relationship, which was the way he liked it, because he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her for what she had done.

  There was a rap on the door and Matt slipped Erica’s card back into his pocket before he opened it.

  ‘Hi, Matt,’ Carla said softly. ‘How are you?’

  She looked beautiful and more casual than usual, in a white summer dress, her honey-blond hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. From the moment he had first seen her in a crowded bar in Fulham, she’d always had the power to floor him with her beauty.

  ‘You heard about Larry?’

  He’d tried to contact her about Larry’s heart attack the day it had happened. After all, Larry was Jonas’s grandfather, and although the two of them had only met a handful of times, Matt had decided to let his ex-wife know. He had got through to Carla’s voicemail and she had yet to call him back about it. Matt could only suppose it was the purpose of her visit.

  ‘How is he?’ she said briskly.

  ‘He leaves hospital today, although he’s got to watch out for another attack.’

  ‘I was sorry to hear about it.’

  Matthew looked at her carefully. Larry’s illness was clearly not the reason she was here. As he scanned her face, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed pink. He had a stab of panic about his son.

  ‘Carla, what’s wrong? Where’s Jonas?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Jonas is fine. Although I’ve been better.’

  She wrapped her thin, sinewy arms around her body. She had slimmed down since they had lived together and she was groomed and styled immaculately. The perfect little millionaire’s wife, he thought, immediately regretting the childishness. Then again, he knew he was still bitter. The night he had found out about Carla’s affair still felt like yesterday. He remembered waving her off on a girls’ night out. He remembered how she had forgotten her mobile and how he had seen it chirping on the breakfast bar, an insistent text message waiting to be answered. So he’d opened the message just to stop the noise. My bed is still warm from you, when can you get away again? Dxx

  And just like that, his marriage, the stable family life he had always craved, was over.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked, walking over to the kitchen. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Coffee. One of your specials.’

  He’d had so little contact with Carla’s life in the last few years, but still there was this code between them. He guessed four years of marriage did that to you.

  He brewed up a mug using the shiny chrome single-guy coffee machine and took it through to the living room. Carla was standing by his bookcase, looking at a framed photograph of her and Jonas lying in the sand cracking up with laughter. He knew it wasn’t the done thing to keep photos of your ex-wife this long after the divorce, but well, it was a great picture, especially of Jonas. He’d been so excited to be on holiday.

  She looked around at him and he could see that her eyes were full of tears. ‘We look so happy there,’ she managed, before her face crumpled and she was sobbing. He walked over and put an awkward arm around her shoulders.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said gently. ‘What is it?’

  ‘David’s left me.’ Her words were almost inaudible among the sobs. ‘He’s left me.’

  My bed is still warm from you, when can you get away again? Dxx

  David. A Notting Hill banker and a former client who’d invited Matt and Carla to his Christmas party after his divorce had been finalised. Six months later, Matt had found out that David and Carla had been having an affair from that very night. When he’d finally confronted her, Carla was defiant, telling Matthew that for all his desire to escape his father’s influence, he had turned into him, devoting more time to his work than his family.

  ‘Jonas barely knows you,’ she had said with a brutality that was designed to wound.

  She’d left him that night and moved straight into David’s house, taking Jonas with her. The next day she’d delivered the coup de grâce by serving divorce papers on him, citing his ‘unreasonable behaviour’.

  For three years Matthew had hated D
avid, funnelling all his anger and hurt on to the man who had taken his family away. He’d tried to step away from it, but it was always there in the back of his mind, colouring everything he did. Carla and Jonas were the real reason he had taken the job at Donovan Pierce. It was an opportunity to make some real money; money that would bring him back his pride, money that would pay for the best schools and holidays for Jonas. His son would want for nothing and he would pay for it. He’d hated David giving his family the security and comfort his ex-wife had always wanted. Donovan Pierce was the chance to level the playing field, make him David’s equal.

  Except David had gone. Matthew took a deep breath. How long he had wanted to hear those words. The banker with the smart house, the fast car, the fortune, the man who had turned Carla’s head and taken his son. But somehow, now it had come, the victory felt hollow.

  ‘Have you got a tissue?’ sniffed Carla.

  He gave her a piece of kitchen roll.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jonas is with a friend,’ she said, blowing her nose and taking a seat on the sofa.

  ‘And where’s David?’

  ‘Fucking his new girlfriend, probably,’ she said with surprising venom.

  Matthew resisted the urge to laugh. Carla had always been very against swearing, scolding him whenever he had uttered an expletive.

  ‘He’s having an affair?’ he asked.

  She snorted.

  ‘Predictable, isn’t it? And don’t say “I told you so”.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you for doing cartwheels right now,’ she said, more tears rolling down her face. ‘I know I screwed up, but I didn’t know where else to go.’

  Matthew took the coffee cup and pressed it into Carla’s unsteady hands.

  ‘I need you, Matt,’ she said, and he felt something deep inside him flutter.

  ‘You need me?’

  ‘You’re a family lawyer.’

  ‘You want me to advise you?’ he asked, sitting down beside her.

  ‘Why not? You’re the best.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t matter. I can’t do it. It’s a conflict of interests. Besides, are you sure this is what you want?’

  It was a question he always asked his clients: ‘Are you sure?’

  She frowned.

  ‘I know you’re hurt at the moment, but you really need to be sure that divorce is the right way to go for you.’

  He couldn’t believe he was asking her to think about it, when all he had wanted for the last three years was for her to walk out on David. The truth was, he wanted to hear her say it.

  ‘Yes, I want to divorce him,’ said Carla, taking a small sip of her coffee. ‘And I want to take him for every penny he’s got.’

  ‘Tell me what happened, from the start.’

  ‘You really want to know?’ She smiled weakly. ‘If you can’t represent me, what’s this? Free advice?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she moved across the sofa and hugged him. ‘Really, Matt, it’s far more than I deserve.’

  He froze for a moment, then hugged her back, smelling her hair, that same familiar scent of happier days.

  ‘Right then,’ he said, grabbing a notepad and a pen. ‘From the beginning . . .’

  He sat back down on the chair ready to hear her story, Erica Sheldon’s phone number in his pocket well and truly forgotten.

  10

  ‘So is this injunction locked down or not? ’Cos from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re just sitting on your keisters over there.’

  Sitting in the barrister’s chambers, Anna looked at the computer screen wishing that Skype conference calling hadn’t been invented. Not only could she hear Jim Parker calling from five thousand miles away in LA, but now she could see him. And Jim Parker really didn’t look happy. She glanced over at Sam and Nigel Keyes, their QC. They didn’t look over the moon either.

  ‘As you know, Mr Parker, we arranged the temporary injunction last week, so we’re here in court today to get everything finalised by close of play. We can’t go any quicker than we are already going.’

  ‘Sure, yeah,’ snapped Parker. ‘Meanwhile this hooker and her shyster PR guy are talking to the papers.’

  Anna clenched her fists. Up until now she had been dealing with Sam’s straight-talking manager Eli Cohen. Eli was old-school, he understood the process and trusted Donovan Pierce to deliver. Jim Parker, Sam’s agent, on the other hand, seemed to think lawyers were slightly below criminals in terms of trustworthiness.

  ‘The temporary injunction does gag them, Mr Parker,’ said Anna. ‘But obviously we’ll all be happier when it’s formalised.’

  ‘And you can guarantee me this will kill the story dead?’

  Anna exhaled, trying to keep her cool. She suspected that this was just Hollywood power play – Parker was flexing his muscle in front of his client, showing Sam that he was prepared to fight his corner, even if these Limeys weren’t.

  ‘There are no guarantees,’ said Anna patiently. ‘Last week’s application was an ex parte injunction, which means Blake and Katie weren’t in court. Today they’ll be there with their lawyers. But still, today should be just a formality.’

  ‘Don’t give me a formality,’ sneered Parker, his voice crackling through the speaker. ‘There’s always ways to fuck with people. It’s what I do for a living.’

  ‘With respect, Mr Parker, this is the British judicial system . . .’

  ‘Cut the crap,’ said Parker. ‘I want a result. I want it by the end of the day. You call me as soon as you get that gagging order in your hands, okay? And Sam?’

  ‘Yes, Jim?’

  ‘You let me know if there’s anything you need. I’m always at the end of the line for you, you hear?’

  ‘Thanks, Jim.’

  The screen went blank and Anna let out a silent sigh. Nigel Keyes QC raised a bushy grey eyebrow.

  ‘Well, I think Mr Parker’s position is clear,’ he said, rising. ‘Let’s go and appease our American friends then, shall we?’

  ‘Could you just give us a moment?’ Anna said, glancing at Sam.

  ‘Of course,’ Nigel replied. ‘I’ll be outside.’

  When he had closed the door, Anna turned to Sam.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Jim can be a little abrasive at times. I think he’s just worried about getting this nailed down.’

  Sam’s skin still had a deep glow, having returned from Capri a few days earlier. But the actor looked far from relaxed.

  ‘It’s only natural to be anxious at times like this,’ said Anna. ‘But what I said was true, it really is only a formality. I have done lots of injunctions like this; if a judge is prepared to grant a temporary gagging order, there’s no reason for him to change his mind about the permanent one.’

  Sam nodded, but he didn’t look reassured.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing else we can do now,’ he said, standing. ‘I’ll push off so long as you call me the second it’s done.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She felt for him, but she was confident that his worries were unfounded. The important thing was that he understood how close he had come to disaster. Experience told her that some clients never learned their lesson, but she suspected that this episode had put Sam Charles off parties and tequila for life.

  ‘Did you tell Jessica?’ she asked suddenly. She still didn’t approve of his unfaithfulness, of course, but she felt invested in his future. She wanted him to do the right thing.

  ‘No, I bloody didn’t,’ he said, looking at her incredulously.

  ‘But what about the chat we had in Capri? About you being happy?’

  ‘Anna, I hired you to sort this out and keep it quiet,’ he said, a note of anger in his voice. ‘Yes, I made a mistake, but I don’t plan on making it again, so why rock the boat?’

  She held up her hands.

  ‘I’m on your side, Sam.’

&
nbsp; ‘I know, and I’m grateful for everything. But I just want to put this behind me.’

  ‘Of course, I understand.’ She paused, thinking of something else to say. She knew that this was probably the last time she would see him.

  ‘Well, I’d better get off to court,’ she said briskly, moving towards the door. ‘I’ll call you the moment it’s over.’

  Suddenly he stepped in front of her.

  ‘Look, can I take you for lunch?’ he said. ‘To say thank you when it’s all done, a little celebration? I can book a table for one o’clock and I can get a car to take you back to work.’

  Her heart began to hammer. After their night in Capri, when their taxi ride had made her feel happy and heady, she had convinced herself that it was just Sam’s star quality pulling her into its tractor beam. But the truth was, she was attracted to him. It was impossible not to be. You’re such a cliché, she chided herself.

  ‘Lunch?’ she said vaguely, playing for time.

  ‘You know, the meal between breakfast and dinner.’

  Get a grip, girl. Say yes.

  ‘Okay.’ She had to stop herself from laughing. ‘Just a quick one. That would be lovely.’

  ‘You can even bill me for it, if it means you won’t be running off after an hour.’

  She smiled.

  ‘I might hold you to that.’

  The Royal Courts of Justice, situated at the far end of the Strand, were housed in a huge Gothic wedding cake of a building a short walk from Nigel’s chambers. Anna trotted after him, her long stride still struggling to keep up with the six-foot-five barrister. As he walked, Nigel chatted cheerily about the case and the judge, who was an old friend of his, every now and then glancing around to make sure Anna was keeping up. It was only a small gesture, but for Anna it separated Nigel from the rest of the pack. The law was certainly better than it used to be, but there was still a macho, old-boy superior culture hidden under the long black gowns. Half the time barristers thought solicitors – and particularly female solicitors – were the hired help, just there to carry the files and get them coffee, even though she was effectively their boss, having instructed them to do the job.