Private Lives Part 59

'And would that zone happen to include the South of France, too?'

Sam swallowed.

'What do you mean?'

'Sam, I read the British papers. You were spotted at Moulin de Mougins on Sat.u.r.day looking very friendly with a pretty brunette. If you were trying to stay off the radar, it didn't work.'

Sam swore under his breath. He hadn't intentionally taken Anna to such a famous restaurant; he'd just wanted to treat her, make her feel special. But now it was out, he knew he'd made a big mistake. To the gossip mags, it would look as though he was sneaking around, trying to keep his new relationship a secret and that would only make them more interested. And just when he wasn't sure what he'd got himself into.

'So who is she, Sam?' said Jim.

'Anna Kennedy.'

'The lawyer lawyer?' gasped his agent. 'The one who dropped you in this s.h.i.t? What, was it a thank-you for f.u.c.king up the injunction? Or just for f.u.c.king up your life?'

'Jim, you know it wasn't like that, and besides ...' he hesitated, 'I like her.'

Jim didn't say anything for a moment.

'And have you heard about Jess?' he asked finally.

Sam frowned.

'What about her?'

'Jessica's been in a car accident, Sam. That's why I've been calling you.'

'You're kidding me!' His heart seemed to skip a beat. 'When was this? How is she? Was it bad?'

'Last week, and she's okay, but that's only because someone up there is watching over her. Some crackhead ploughed into her in a stolen car; she could have been crippled.'

'Jesus,' whispered Sam, feeling a flood of guilt. What if she had been badly hurt, or even killed? And this was last week? Why hadn't he heard about it? He'd been trying so hard to refocus, he hadn't bothered taking anyone's calls except Anna's.

'Where is she now? Hospital?'

'Back home. Barbara's looking after her.'

'I should call her,' he panicked. 'I mean, if you think she'll even take my call?'

'Buddy, it's always worth a shot.'

He called her the second he got off the phone with Jim. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say, but he felt he needed to speak to her. After all, they'd been engaged a long time; you couldn't just turn those feelings off like a tap. Or a faucet, perhaps.

'h.e.l.lo?'

Sam's heart sank. Jessica's mother.

'Hey, Barbara, it's Sam,' he said as brightly as he could. 'Do you think I could speak to Jess?'

There was a cold silence for a moment.

'I really don't think she wants to speak ...' said Barbara, then the line became m.u.f.fled. In the background, Sam could just make out the exchange: 'Lemme speak to him.' 'No, you're not up to it, he's only gonna upset you.' 'Gimme the G.o.dd.a.m.n phone.'

There was some b.u.mping and hissing, then Jessica came on the line.

'Sam? Is that you?' Her voice sounded shaky and weak. Sam felt dreadful.

'Yeah, it's me. Listen, Jess, I just heard about the accident; how are you?'

'I'm okay, I guess,' she said slowly. 'As well as can be expected, anyway.'

'What the h.e.l.l happened?'

'I was just driving back from the studio when some guy comes out of nowhere and crash! He slammed into me, flipped the car in the air a couple of times; I almost got hit by a truck coming the other way.'

'My G.o.d.'

'Yeah, the fire department had to cut me out of the wreckage. My legs were almost crushed, can you imagine that? There was gasoline everywhere. One spark and I could have ...' She trailed off with a sob.

Sam felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help feeling this was all his fault. He and Jessica might not have been right for each other, but ever since his one-night stand with Katie, things seemed to have gone wrong for both of them.

'Oh honey, I'm so sorry.'

Jessica made some snuffling noises, like she was wiping her nose.

'That's sweet, Sam,' she said. 'It means a lot.'

'But you're okay? Physically, I mean?'

'Sam, they're saying I might need surgery,' said Jessica, her voice cracking again.

'On your legs legs?'

'Maybe some work around my eyes. Jim's put me in touch with his guy out here.'

'I should fly out ...'

'No, no,' said Jessica. 'I'm fine. I'm up and about now, and you have your own life to be getting on with.'

Sam stopped. Had she heard about the picture of him and Anna in Mougins?

'Are you sure? Because I can easily grab the jet.'

She paused.

'What for, Sam?' she said sadly. 'But honestly, I'm okay. And thanks for calling. I do appreciate it.'

She hung up, and Sam sat there looking at his phone for a long minute. Then he stood up and walked over to the far side of the tennis court, using the scoop to pick up the fluffy yellow b.a.l.l.s and drop them into the basket.

Jess had sounded so small and fragile on the phone. There had been times early on in their romance when she had been like that, when she'd shown him her softer, more vulnerable side. He did did love her back then. And there had been other good times, both of them on their way up, both in it together. Sam realised that he missed those days badly. love her back then. And there had been other good times, both of them on their way up, both in it together. Sam realised that he missed those days badly.

'But you can't go back, can you?' he said aloud, bending to pick up his racquet and the first ball from the top of the basket. He threw the ball into the air, swishing the racquet around in a perfect serve, watching the ball slam into the netting on the other side of the court. 'No, you can't.'

62

'b.a.l.l.s.'

Matt put his coffee cup down on his desk and picked up his diary, remembering that there was a list of posh recommended restaurants at the front. He was due to meet up with Carla on Wednesday night and he still hadn't booked anywhere.

He looked at his watch: 10 p.m. Most of them would be closing soon; why had he left it so late? It was exactly the sort of thing she used to b.o.l.l.o.c.k him for when they were married. Matt could never understand why she got so worked up about it. As far as he was concerned, the perfect date was a long walk by the river, followed by drinks in some cosy old-fashioned boozer, then falling laughing into bed. Dates were about the conversation and the person you were with, weren't they? Not the poached quails' eggs you had for your starter or the bottle of wine you drank with your meal. But Carla didn't think like that; never had. For her, a date was something expensive and showy, being seen at the right restaurant, at the right table, something she could boast to her friends about the next day.

Had she boasted about their night of pa.s.sion? he wondered. He doubted it somehow. More likely she had woken up cringing at the thought of what had happened that evening he'd been over to babysit. Yes, the s.e.x had been incredible: pa.s.sionate, sensual, spontaneous, all the things, he had to admit, their lovemaking had ceased to be long before their divorce. But did that mean that the fire of their relationship had been rekindled? He honestly didn't know. Maybe the answer would present itself at their dinner.

He picked up the phone and tried the numbers in his diary, the sw.a.n.kiest first. He'd known it was a long shot, and he wasn't at all surprised when one by one, they snootily told him they were booked up for weeks if not months in advance.

Tutting, he put down the phone and took a sip of his coffee.

'Cold,' he muttered. Maybe it was time to go home. The Donovan Pierce offices were in darkness except for the sharp spotlight of his desk lamp and the blue-grey glow of his computer screen. For the first time ever, he was the last one in the office. Shame no one's around to see it, he grinned.

Work had started to roll in for Matt since word had got around the wealthier pockets of London that he was handling the Rob BeaumontKim Collier divorce; just this week he had been instructed by a merchant banker and the wife of an England rugby star.

It can wait until tomorrow, he decided, shutting his case file with a thud. He stood up, stretching. He'd been working with the office door closed and just his desk lamp on, which made the room so cosy, he felt as if he could curl up on the sofa and fall asleep.

As he entered the corridor, he noticed the glow coming from beneath Helen's door a light he was sure had not been on half an hour earlier when he had gone to make his coffee. For one gleeful moment he imagined the look of surprise on Helen's face as she saw him leaving the office last, a responsible and diligent partner who was bringing in prestigious clients and fees.

But if it was Helen, she was being awfully quiet: usually she would be on the phone to the States or barking orders into her mobile or dictaphone. The thought occurred to him that it could be an intruder. He gripped the handle, tensing himself, then whipped the door open.

'Jesus, Matt,' gasped Anna, holding a hand to her chest. 'What the h.e.l.l are you doing?'

'Oh G.o.d, sorry,' he said. 'I thought you were an intruder.'

Now that he thought about it, she did did look like an intruder, standing behind Helen's desk, bent over her computer keyboard. Although it was dark, Matt was certain her face had that guilty blush that suggested she was doing something she shouldn't. look like an intruder, standing behind Helen's desk, bent over her computer keyboard. Although it was dark, Matt was certain her face had that guilty blush that suggested she was doing something she shouldn't.

'What are you doing here, Anna?' he asked, glancing around the room.

'Helen asked me to check something out for one of her cases,' she said, looking vulnerable and unsure. It was a side of Anna Kennedy he had never seen before, and that made him deeply suspicious. He hadn't had any personal brushes with corporate espionage, but he knew it existed in every major business around the globe. Just because he liked the girl didn't mean she should be allowed to cause trouble for Donovan Pierce.

'At 10 p.m. on a bank holiday? And I thought Helen was in Devon ...' He hadn't meant to sound accusatory, but Anna was looking so shifty.

'I needed to check something ...' replied Anna, her top lip trembling. She's going to cry, thought Matt with alarm. He hadn't imagined Anna Kennedy capable of such a thing.

'Is everything all right?' he asked, taking a step towards her.

'Everything's fine,' she said, darting her gaze away.

Everything was obviously not fine.

'You know you can talk to me, don't you?'

She flinched, her head down.

'Anna, what's wrong?'

She sank down on the leather sofa.

'Can I tell you a story?' she said, looking so ill at ease it reminded him of the time Jonas had come to him wanting to confess to having broken a lamp, but scared of being shouted at.

He nodded and touched her shoulder.

'Do you want to grab a coffee and come into my office?'

He sat in semi-darkness behind his desk, just listening. They had been there over forty minutes, their coffee undrunk and cold. With typical thoroughness, Anna had left nothing out, telling Matt the entire story of Amy Hart, from the first phone call with her sister Ruby, right through her meetings with a soap star and a lingerie model, a politician and a man who built oil rigs and tankers. He could see that she had been badly frightened by what she had discovered, and by the attack on that dark road in Buckinghamshire. As she spoke, he couldn't help but admire her. Most people would have been scared off, but it only seemed to have made her more determined to get to the bottom of it.

'And after all this, you think that Helen Helen sabotaged Sam's injunction because she wanted to help her boyfriend cover up the story of Amy's inquest?' he asked when she had finished her tale. sabotaged Sam's injunction because she wanted to help her boyfriend cover up the story of Amy's inquest?' he asked when she had finished her tale.

'I'm sure of it. I just can't prove it.'

'Prove what?' exclaimed Matt. 'That Helen's a murderer?'

'I didn't say that. Doing a favour for a friend doesn't make her a killer. But it shows she's involved.'

'Can you prove any any of it? I a.s.sume you've tried finding out from Scandalhound and the of it? I a.s.sume you've tried finding out from Scandalhound and the News News who leaked the story.' who leaked the story.'

'I couldn't get anything from them. That was the first thing I did. Remember I was trying to prove that Blake and Katie were in contempt of court? I thought maybe I could find out from Helen's end. That's why I was snooping around here looking for something, anything. But I can't get into her email system. Not that she'd have sent an email from a Donovan Pierce address ...'

Matt shook his head with concern.

'Anna, you could get yourself fired for all this.'

'I was rather hoping you'd help me, not fire me.'

As she looked at him in the semi-darkness, he felt something inside him stir.

Stop it, he scolded himself.

His palm rubbed the stubble on his chin as his thoughts turned to Helen Pierce. She was certainly capable of st.i.tching up a client if it served her own ends in the long run. Perhaps her boyfriend if indeed she was having an affair with the Auckland PR supremo had simply asked her to leak the story as a smokescreen and she had done it as a favour. But why would they go to all that effort to bury Amy's inquest ... unless there was something that needed hiding.

He'd only known Helen a couple of months, but it was enough to realise that she was many things: arrogant, ruthless, self-promoting; no doubt she shared Larry's ambiguous regard for professional ethics in general. But to think that she could be involved in a murderous cover-up? That was going too far. And yet he trusted Anna Kennedy's judgement and shrewdness. There was no way she'd be risking her job like this if she didn't think that Helen was somehow culpable.

'What are you going to do now?' he said quietly.

'I don't know. It's like I've got all the parts of the jigsaw but can't fit them together. Sam Charles is paying for an investigator to help out, but that's gone a bit cold.'

'What? The trail on Helen, or Sam Charles?' He couldn't help but ask. He'd heard the rumours around the office that Anna had become involved with their celebrity client. It seemed as good a time as any to ask.