Private Lives Part 2

Her mother was sitting at the long oak table, writing in a ledger.

'You both look bushed,' Anna said as she walked over to kiss her mother.

'My elder daughter. She always says the sweetest things,' said Brian good-naturedly.

'I'm worried about you,' said Anna with a frown. 'You're working too hard. Both of you.'

Sue closed her book with a thump, looking less pleased than her husband.

'Actually, I couldn't be feeling better. You know we're taking three months' booking in advance for Sat.u.r.day and Sunday now, so perhaps it's all paying off at last.'

'Fantastic,' Anna replied with a broad smile that belied her nerves. If the discussion wasn't about business, she wondered if it was something even more ominous. For a moment, her eyes met her mother's, but almost immediately Sue looked away.

'So how's work?' she said briskly.

'Busy. We settled our libel case on Wednesday. My client threw a big party, so my head's a little fuzzy.'

'Hair of the dog will sort that out,' said Brian, ushering her through the cottage.

The front room was cluttered and homely, with low beams, a wide brick fireplace and higgledy-piggledy pictures of her father's time in the army, her parents' wedding day, even a few framed squiggles from when she and her sister were kids. It was the sort of place where you could just curl up with a book and forget about the world, if it wasn't for the framed photograph, a new addition on the wall.

Anna flinched, then forced herself to look at it.

Her sister Sophie, clutching her National Television Award for 'Best Factual Show: A Dorset Kitchen A Dorset Kitchen'. She was looking even more beautiful than usual, her pouty mouth painted scarlet, her long raven bob teased into Veronica Lake waves; her slim, curvy body poured into a form-fitting dress made her look more fifties starlet than celebrity chef.

Her mother was watching her.

'Did you see the Awards?'

Anna shook her head.

'You know me. No time for telly.'

'We went to the ceremony. It was wonderful.'

The atmosphere p.r.i.c.kled. Her father softened it by handing Anna a large gla.s.s of wine. 'Lovely Sauvignon, this one.'

'And I have something for you,' she said. She bent to rifle through her bag and pulled out a gift-wrapped box, handing it to her father.

'For me?' said Brian, his eyes twinkling.

She grinned. 'Well I think yours is the only birthday we have in this house within the next twenty-four hours.'

'Open it tomorrow, Brian. At the party,' said Sue.

'Open it now, Dad. I'm not going to be here tomorrow,' said Anna quickly.

Sue looked at her husband, then back at Anna.

'When you said you were coming for your dad's birthday, I a.s.sumed you'd be here for the actual day.'

Anna glanced away. 'I have to get back.'

'So you can go to a client's party but not to your father's?'

Her mother's snipe hit its target. Anna shifted uncomfortably.

'I thought it was just a few friends coming round for drinks, not a proper party. You don't want me there anyway.'

'I'd love you to stay,' said Brian.

She desperately wanted to celebrate with her father. Family occasions used to be so important to the Kennedys, and whilst part of her knew she should be the bigger person, to rise above it as if what had happened had never even existed, she knew she couldn't bring herself to be in the same room as Sophie and her partner Andrew. Not yet.

'Is she definitely coming?' she said finally.

Her parents exchanged a look.

'Andrew's coming too,' said Sue briskly. 'He's managed to get the day off work, and you know how busy he is.' managed to get the day off work, and you know how busy he is.'

'Mum, leave it.'

'I'm just beginning to wonder if you are going to spend the rest of your life avoiding your sister?'

The high, taut cheekbones, the slender build that gave Sue her elegance were beginning to make her mother's face look hard. But Anna spent her entire working day standing her ground. She wasn't going to wilt under Sue's stern and uncompromising gaze.

'I'm not ready to see her,' she said, taking a swift swallow of wine.

'Well when are you going to be ready? You've not spoken to her for nearly two years. This is getting ridiculous.'

'She stole my boyfriend,' Anna reminded them.

'Yes, and she was wrong. But isn't it time you buried the hatchet? For us? For you?'

Anna looked away. They still didn't get it. She supposed to them it was just some romance gone wrong. Living in Dorset, far away from Anna's London life, they hadn't seen how badly hurt she'd been, how devastated by the betrayal. And if they had recognised it, then they hadn't wanted to take sides or get involved. She'd tried to block out the memory with work, with cigarettes and alcohol, with distance, but right now, it felt as raw and visceral as the moment she had first found her sister and her boyfriend together.

Sue's tone softened. 'Sophie is your sister, Anna. She's a good girl, a good daughter. Don't forget she saved our business.'

'Yes, it was all her.' Anna tried not to sound bitter.

Brian rubbed her arm. 'Let's talk about this later, hmm?'

Sue snorted.

'She's got to know at some point, Brian.'

Anna's instincts sharpened.

'Know what?'

'This is what your mum mentioned on the phone, love,' said Brian, his face full of sympathy. 'Sophie and Andrew are getting married.'

For a moment Anna couldn't breathe, her heart thudding, her mind racing. She knew they were both staring at her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the floor. Deep down she had known what her mother had wanted to tell her. The newspapers had been on to the story, but she had wanted to ignore the whispers.

'He proposed last month and they want to do it quickly, first week in September, so not long,' said her dad. 'You know what Sophie is like once she gets an idea in her head. And she wants you to come, of course.'

Anna willed herself to inhale.

'Oh darling, it's going to be lovely,' said Sue. 'We offered to host it here, of course, but Sophie wanted to have it at Andrew's parents' place, that villa in Tuscany.'

The most beautiful house in the world. That was what Anna had thought when Andrew had taken her to Villa Sole on a romantic break. She'd even had a few thoughts about having her own wedding there, not that she and Andrew had ever talked about marriage in their three years together. They were too busy with their lives and their careers. I thought we were happy I thought we were happy. Maybe they had been. Just not happy enough.

'Can't you come? Or at least think about it.'

Brian's sad, regretful expression was enough to make her resolve wobble.

She pictured her sister and her ex stepping out of some idyllic Tuscan church, ducking and laughing as they were showered with confetti. Andrew's witty, romantic after-dinner speech, telling everyone how much he was in love with his new bride. No, she couldn't put herself through it.

'I can't, Dad, it's work ...' she said, searching for a reason.

'Oh, just leave her then, Brian,' said Sue impatiently. 'You know work always comes first with her. That's always been the problem, hasn't it?'

'And what's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing,' said Sue. 'Just that Sophie has always been able to juggle her personal and professional life.'

'And that's why Andrew's marrying her, not me?'

'Come on, you two,' said Brian soothingly. 'Let's not make this bigger than it has to be. We're going out to Italy for the week, there's lots planned apparently. But I'm sure Davidson's won't mind you having a couple of days off, will they?'

The hangover buzzing lightly between her temples presented a solution.

'Actually, Dad, it's not Davidson's that's the problem. I've just got a new job, starting soon. I can't really take a holiday as soon as I've got there, can I?'

'A new job?' said Brian, looking at his wife uncertainly. 'That's fantastic.'

Anna felt buoyed, heady, steeled.

'Yes, I was only offered it yesterday. Donovan Pierce, they're the most prestigious media law firm in the country. It's a big step up for me, a trial for a partnership there.'

'Well done, love.'

Her mother pulled a sour face.

'I still don't see why you can't come to the wedding. There's more to life than work, you know.'

Anna drained her gla.s.s, her mind made up.

'Not for me, Mum,' she said. 'Not any more.'

2

At any other time, Sam Charles would have thought he had woken up in heaven. Lying on his back in a soft, warm bed, crisp cotton sheets against his skin, he could feel a gorgeous swelling, lapping sensation around his c.o.c.k.

'Mmm ...' he moaned, receiving a similar murmur from under the sheets. His mouth curled into a grin. G.o.d, a good-morning b.l.o.w.j.o.b; how long had it been since he'd had one of those? Jessica must have ...

's.h.i.t ...' he gasped, sitting up too suddenly, sending lights flashing across his vision. He pushed himself up against the headboard a headboard, he suddenly realised, he had never seen before and looked down into the green eyes of a very pretty redhead, her expression poised somewhere between amused and seductive.

'Did I do something wrong?' she asked.

'No. Yes,' he stuttered, looking around the room for clues, something, anything familiar to tell him where he was.

'Sorry,' she purred, disappearing back under the covers. 'I'll try harder.'

'Please, that's very nice, but ...' He eased himself away from her and shuffled crab-like out of the bed. 'Just going to the bathroom. I'll only be a minute.'

He backed towards the en suite and shut the door behind him.

'f.u.c.k,' he whispered to himself, sinking down on to the edge of the bath, his head in his hands. 'f.u.c.kity f.u.c.kity f.u.c.k.' This couldn't be happening. He was engaged to Jessica Carr, the billion-dollar girl-next-door actress, America's sweetheart, the girl every woman wanted to be and every man wanted to sleep with. And that girl out there, the one with the luscious, lovely lips, she most certainly wasn't Jessica.

How the h.e.l.l did I get here? His brain was like sludge and he had a world-cla.s.s headache. He could remember how the night had begun: presenting the Rising Talent gong at the Rive Rive magazine awards ceremony at the Royal Opera House. So far, so respectable. Then there had been the after-show party at Sh.o.r.editch House. He was pretty sure he'd behaved himself there too. But beyond that, he could remember very little. magazine awards ceremony at the Royal Opera House. So far, so respectable. Then there had been the after-show party at Sh.o.r.editch House. He was pretty sure he'd behaved himself there too. But beyond that, he could remember very little.

He grabbed a cardboard notice from the sink, one of those unconvincing announcements about how the hotel was single-handedly saving the planet one towel at a time. The Thomas Hotel, he read. Not one he'd ever heard of before. Probably the nearest one they could find. Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d. Why?

Actually, he knew the answer to that one only too well. His fiancee might be the most l.u.s.ted-after woman in Hollywood, but like most things in Tinseltown, she was all smoke and mirrors. Jessica didn't get that amazing slim figure without endless lipo, Botox, spray-tan and boxercise. Sometimes she worked out for four hours a day, more if they were coming up to awards season. Sam could see her now, lying out on her side of the bed in her frumpy towelling robe, frozen in position as she did some ridiculous Pilates exercise, shooing him away as he tried to kiss her. 'My nails, Sam', 'My hair's just been done', 'I've got a six o'clock call': there was always some reason to push him away. Not that any of that gave him an excuse for cowering in the bathroom of some fleapit hotel in ... he looked at the towel notice again. The Thomas, Fitzrovia. At least he wasn't too far from home.

'Sam?' called a lazy, s.e.xy voice from the bedroom. 'You coming?'

He shook his head. If only If only.

'Just a minute.'

He splashed cold water on to his face and looked into the mirror. His expensively cut dark blond hair stuck up in tufts. His famous bright blue eyes were bloodshot. Well, you're looking fantastic, he thought sarcastically. No one would have known he was Britain's hottest actor, not to mention one half of one of Hollywood's premier power couples.

He stuck out his tongue. It looked grey and mottled, like a steak left in the fridge three days too long. How much had he drunk last night? He squinted, trying to remember, but all he could see was two still images, frozen in his mind: a tray of shot gla.s.ses filled with something sparkly, and some idiot sliding across the floor on his knees. He looked down at the grazes on his skin. That'll have been me, then.

Taking a deep breath, he wrapped a towel around his waist, mentally preparing a speech. Terrible mistake, not your fault, must go, important meeting Terrible mistake, not your fault, must go, important meeting, that sort of thing. But then he opened the door and there she was, lying stretched out on the bed. Long legs, firm, curvy. Not that horrible stringy LA version of femininity, all sinew and balloon t.i.ts. This was a real woman's body, ripe and fleshy. He could feel himself stirring back to life. Down, boy Down, boy. He looked away and puffed out his cheeks.

'Listen, uh ...'

'Katie,' she said with a half-smile.