Private Lives Part 13

Sam shook his head and smiled ruefully. This was another reason why Eli was his manager. Most film stars these days had managers and agents who had MBAs from Yale and Harvard. They wore designer suits, ate j.a.panese food and plotted everything on a spreadsheet. But which of them could see through the clouds thrown up by this media storm and ask the one question at the heart of it? Eli was right. If Sam had wanted to screw some other girl on the side, he could have done it. Plenty would have volunteered and he could have found a discreet out-of-theway venue for their trysts without much trouble. What Eli was getting at was that this wasn't about s.e.x and it wasn't really about wanting to let off steam either. Had he wanted to get caught? Why else pick up a girl in such a public place? Why else dance the electric boogaloo with her in front of a gaping crowd? Why else get so drunk you were practically begging her to blackmail you? Sam let out a long breath.

'Okay, so you've got me,' he said. 'What should I do now?' Eli was old-school. He wasn't the most fashionable manager, but you could rely on him in a crisis, and right now Sam needed him more than ever.

Eli shrugged.

'These things will pa.s.s.'

'Come on, this is serious, Eli.'

'I know it's serious, son. I can tell you what movies to make, what commercial to do, which parties to avoid. I can guide you, advise you in all things professional. But this is your heart and I can't see inside it.' He turned in his seat and looked at Sam searchingly.

'Sam. As my client, I want you and Jessica to stay together and make lots more lovely money. As my friend, I want you to be happy. The two things really ain't the same. If you love her, then beg for forgiveness and get yourself to Vegas, tie the knot. If you don't love her, then tell her so. There's plenty of saps willing to take your place.'

Sam gazed out the window. Funny, wasn't that exactly what Anna Kennedy had been trying to tell him back in Capri?

'So you think I can get through this?'

'Hugh Grant did. But I'll be honest, it really depends on Jess. Liz Hurley could have crucified Hugh but she chose to take the dignified route and that worked out for both of them. But Jessica? If she goes on Ellen DeGeneres Ellen DeGeneres on a revenge mission, you're dead. If Jess hates you, then America hates you.' on a revenge mission, you're dead. If Jess hates you, then America hates you.'

'Gee, thanks, Eli.'

'Hey, I'm just telling it like it is. You gotta do what's right for you. But remember, what affects your career affects my career. And I need a new pool.'

The car stopped outside a wide cedar gate and the driver pressed an intercom to announce them. When the gate opened and the car pa.s.sed down the drive, an enormous white Cape house in an acre of lawns came into view.

Sam stepped out of the car. He'd half expected to see newsroom helicopters roaring overhead, but he could hear nothing except the swoosh of the sea crashing on the sh.o.r.e and the squawk of gulls above him. He closed his eyes, inhaling the warm, salty air a moment of calm before the storm. Eli buzzed his window down.

'I'll wait for you at that bar just by the highway,' he said, leaning out. 'Gimme a call when it's all over. And Sam? Think of my new pool, huh?'

As the car's tail-lights disappeared, Sam took a deep breath and walked to the door. Just as he was lifting his hand to knock, the door was wrenched open.

'You've got a G.o.dd.a.m.n nerve!'

Barbara Carr, Jessica's mother. The style magazines were always tripping over themselves to say how much the two women looked like sisters, not mother and daughter, but Sam had always thought Barbara looked like a waxwork of Jess that had been left out in the sun.

'How dare you come up here, you cheap b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she shouted. 'Hasn't she suffered enough?'

'If you'll just let me see her for a minute ...'

'She doesn't want to see you,' snapped Barbara. 'She never wants to see you again.'

'I understand that, but we obviously need to talk.'

'Yeah? And what could you possibly say that would make this any better?'

'I just want to tell her what happened.'

'I think that's pretty G.o.dd.a.m.n clear.'

Behind her mother, Jessica appeared. She was looking pale and serious, no make-up, her green eyes red from tears, her famous body enveloped by an oversized jumper. In photographs of her on the red carpet, she looked toned and perfect in those curve-skimming dresses showing acres of tanned flesh, but today, the voluminous sweater emphasised how tiny her body really was.

'Hey, Mom,' she said. 'Just give us a minute.'

Barbara looked as if she was about to argue, then shrugged.

'One minute. He's not worth any more.'

Jessica turned and moved through the house, then out through gla.s.s doors that led on to the beach. Sam followed her and they walked on to the sand. Ahead of them there was a thin ridge of scrubby dunes to the left. Out to sea, across the sparkling Nantucket Sound, Sam could see Martha's Vineyard shimmering in the distance.

'Well?' she said.

'I'm sorry,' he replied, taking a step towards her.

'Don't touch me,' she snapped. 'I don't even like being this close. Say what you've got to say, then go.'

'Please stay calm, Jess. I just want to explain.'

'Explain? Explain? Explain? You want to explain that you've screwed a wh.o.r.e and humiliated me in front of the whole world? Excuse me if I can't stay calm, Sam.' You want to explain that you've screwed a wh.o.r.e and humiliated me in front of the whole world? Excuse me if I can't stay calm, Sam.'

'It was wrong, I know that,' he began.

'Oh, it was more than wrong, Sam. It was career suicide, and I'm not letting you take me down with you.'

Sam felt his stomach turn over. He had seen people get on the wrong side of Jessica before and it hadn't ended well for them. He'd always known she had a vindictive streak, but he'd never been on the receiving end and he certainly didn't want to start now.

'For one minute can we stop talking about our careers? This is nothing to do with them. It's about me and you.'

Her eyes pooled with tears. 'This is everything to do with our careers. We're a brand, Sam. We stand for something. We're wholesome and happy, a perfect young couple; everyone wants to be us. But you've messed all that up, haven't you? All that work I put into it, it's all gone. And for what? Some cheap s.l.u.t in London who ma.s.sages your c.o.c.k and your ego. Is that all it takes to spoil everything?'

She looked at him with contempt and he knew it was entirely justified.

'It wasn't like that. Jess, I never meant to treat you like that.'

He put out a hand to touch her arm, but she flinched back.

'Don't!' she sobbed. 'And don't think you can come crawling back to me with "I'm sorry" and think that's the end of it.'

For a moment he could hear Anna Kennedy's voice nagging in his head.

Think about why you slept with Katie in the first place.

His fiancee's exquisite, tear-streaked face made him feel so ashamed he could no longer look at it. But he knew his guilt and sympathy couldn't distract him from what he wanted, needed needed to say. to say.

'I'm not crawling back, Jess,' he said finally, and felt a sweet, powerful relief as the words came out of his mouth. 'In fact, I'm not coming back at all. I just wanted to come here to tell you that. I am sorry, I really am. But it's over.'

She stopped still on the sand and looked at him.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she growled.

'Maybe. Maybe you're right. But this is for the best.'

'How is this for the best, Sam?' Her voice was trembling. 'How can this possibly be for the best?'

'I hate how this has happened, but in a weird way I'm glad it did, because we don't want to end up at fifty still together and not in love. Not even close.'

The wind whipped at her honey-blond hair and for a moment Sam could see just how beautiful she really was, free from the make-up and the grooming, a real woman, not the Hollywood doll she had become since their stars reached the stratosphere. He remembered the day they had first met on the rom-com Who Needs This? Who Needs This? It was the sort of movie that only worked if the leads had real chemistry, and they'd had it in spades. They were filming in the romantic paradise of Maui, they were young, free and single, and to be frank, they both knew an on-set affair never harmed any movie's publicity. Looking back, their relationship should have ended the moment they got back to LA, but by then it had caught the attention of the American public. Jess's TV series was taking off the American public loved her, and they were all too happy to buy into the romance of her whirlwind courtship with this handsome Brit. Suddenly the two of them were hot. Everyone took Sam's calls. Directors, producers came knocking. And when It was the sort of movie that only worked if the leads had real chemistry, and they'd had it in spades. They were filming in the romantic paradise of Maui, they were young, free and single, and to be frank, they both knew an on-set affair never harmed any movie's publicity. Looking back, their relationship should have ended the moment they got back to LA, but by then it had caught the attention of the American public. Jess's TV series was taking off the American public loved her, and they were all too happy to buy into the romance of her whirlwind courtship with this handsome Brit. Suddenly the two of them were hot. Everyone took Sam's calls. Directors, producers came knocking. And when Who Needs This? Who Needs This? became a genuine smash hit, Sam immediately joined the A-list. It had all been too fast, too soon. He knew that now. became a genuine smash hit, Sam immediately joined the A-list. It had all been too fast, too soon. He knew that now.

'Can I ask you a question?' he said quietly.

'So now you want to play quiz host?'

'Why have we never talked about our actual wedding? Why have we avoided setting a date?'

Sam had proposed twelve months ago, because it seemed the next logical step. By then, 'Samica' were one of Hollywood's most famous couples, and it seemed as though the whole world was holding its breath waiting for an announcement. But from the moment he had slipped the four-carat Harry Winston ring on her finger, he had felt unsettled. Now he knew why.

'Because we've been too busy for a G.o.dd.a.m.n wedding, Sam. What, you think we should have gone off to some s.h.i.tty little chapel in Vegas?'

'Maybe.' He shrugged. 'Maybe we should have. Or maybe we never set a date because we both knew it wasn't right.'

'So now you're justifying the hooker with the fact that I wouldn't name the day? Screw you.'

He stepped towards her again.

'Jess, you deserve someone who gets you,' he said softly. 'We both do.'

'The only thing you deserve is herpes,' she spat.

He grabbed her arms and looked into her eyes. She struggled for a moment, then stopped.

'I'm lonely, Jess,' he said. 'Aren't you?'

She looked away, down at the sand. He thought she wasn't going to say anything, then she suddenly turned back and met his gaze.

'Yes,' she said. She looked so fragile and vulnerable swamped in that huge sweater. Part of him wanted to put his arms around her and protect her, but he knew it would only make it worse.

'I'm sorry, Jess,' he said, 'I really am.'

She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

'Just go,' she said.

'Can't we-'

'MOM!' she shouted back towards the house.

He held his hands up in surrender. 'Okay, okay ...'

He backed away, started walking up the beach, feeling the sand collect in his loafers. He pulled out his phone and called Eli. He could hear laughter and the tinkle of honky-tonk music in the background.

'd.a.m.n, that was quick,' said Eli. 'I'm guessing that's a big fat no, then?'

Sam sighed. 'Just come and get me,' he said.

'Hang tough, cowboy, I'm on my way.'

When Sam turned around, Jess had gone.

12

'First client?'

Helen popped her head around the door, her immaculate bob framing her smile.

Matt nodded. He had been at the firm two weeks and finally he had brought in some business of his own.

'Good,' she said briskly. 'And I want every nanosecond on that time sheet.'

For a moment, Matthew thought about pointing out that he was a shareholder and as such shouldn't be treated like a rookie, but he knew it would have little effect. Helen even talked that way to Larry.

'Oh, and remember, these are celebrities we're dealing with. The rich are different.'

'I think I read that somewhere,' muttered Matthew, but Helen had gone.

Jesus, he thought. It's like working in a fish tank.

Since he had started at Donovan Pierce, he had felt Helen's gaze on him every moment of the day, a.s.sessing him, criticising him. He'd thought that once he was starting to generate his own client list, she might ease off, but she was still 'popping in', dropping little t.i.tbits of advice, subtly undermining him. Maybe I'm being paranoid, he thought. But then what was that saying? 'Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not after you.' It would certainly suit Helen Pierce if he decided to move on. 'Helen Pierce a.s.sociates' had quite a ring to it.

He had no more time to dwell on it, however, as his secretary Diane led a neatly dressed man into the room.

'Mr Beaumont for you, Mr Donovan.'

Matt stood up and shook his hand.

'Good to meet you,' he said. 'Please, have a seat.'

Personally Matt wouldn't have known Rob Beaumont if he had fallen over him in broad daylight, but a quick look at IMDB had told him that his new client was a film director with a string of critically acclaimed indie pictures to his name. To most teenagers, though, Beaumont was more famous because of his marriage to Kim Collier, the singer in a now-defunct girl band who continued to be popular, as far as Matthew could tell, by appearing in gossip magazines.

'It's a right bunfight outside your offices,' said Rob, settling into his chair. 'What's going on?'

Matt glanced towards the window, which looked on to the street. It was six o'clock, yet there was still a pack of photographers on the square.

'We had a high-profile case last week. The leading players are in hiding and the paparazzi seem to think we've got our client stashed away in here somewhere.'

'You weren't acting for Sam Charles, were you?'