He took her bag and led her down some stone steps. At the bottom was a beautiful wooden motor launch, all polished wood and chrome.
Oh yes, very Sophia Loren, thought Anna as Josh helped her inside.
‘So where’s Sam?’ she called over the roar of the engine as the boat zoomed out of the bay leaving a trail of foaming white wake behind it.
‘Just around this headland,’ replied Josh, pointing to a white yacht moored about two hundred metres from the shoreline.
‘He’s not staying in a hotel?’ said Anna, surprised.
‘He’s working. Under the circumstances, it’s best he’s out there rather than on land.’
She wondered if Josh knew about ‘the incident’, and if he did, who else had been informed. She had no reason to doubt Josh’s loyalty, but as she understood it, he was a new addition to Sam’s team, and that posed a security risk. No doubt he was being well paid, but a story this explosive was worth hundreds of thousands.
‘I hear you’ve just joined Sam,’ said Anna casually.
‘Yes, great way to start off, huh?’ smiled Josh. ‘And Sam’s such a sweetheart too.’
Anna nodded non-committally. She hadn’t made up her mind about Sam Charles quite yet. She always made a point of swotting up on her clients before she met them, so she had spent the entire flight to Naples reading a file of interviews, bios and news stories about the actor. Sifting through the gushing profile features, the overall impression she came away with was that Sam Charles was an operator. One minute he was just another member of some university revue show, the next he was making indie Brit movies and in the space of just a few years had graduated to Hollywood. That sort of meteroic rise didn’t happen by accident. Even with the right contacts, management and partner, it took more than luck to get on in the most cut-throat town in the world. All the evidence says ‘ruthless player’, but I’m prepared to be proved wrong, she smiled to herself, thinking of Ilina Miranova, and the preconceived ideas of what she would be like before she met her.
The speedboat moored at the back of the yacht.
‘No heels on board, I’m afraid,’ said Josh, looking down at Anna’s shoes.
She slipped them off and with Josh’s help clambered awkwardly aboard.
‘Sam’s aft – that’s the back of the boat to you and me.’ Josh smiled.
Anna found Sam Charles leaning against the railings. His towelling robe hung open. His hair was damp, his tanned feet bare, and he was staring out to sea with a cigarette dangling between two fingers. She couldn’t help but think he looked like a post-coital gigolo, but there was no mistaking that he was absolutely beautiful. It was a moment before he realised she was there.
‘Hello,’ he said uncertainly.
‘Anna Kennedy,’ she said, stepping forward with her hand out. When he still looked confused, she added, ‘Solicitor from Donovan Pierce?’
‘I thought Helen Pierce was coming?’ he said.
‘Helen’s tied up in London, I’m afraid.’ His look of worry was unmistakable. ‘Don’t worry. This is what I do. Injunctions. Privacy matters.’
She stopped herself from giving him a potted version of her CV. She knew he was assessing her, wondering if she was up to the job. She didn’t take it personally. In all her years working in media law, she had learned that celebrities always wanted the best, and that meant the partner with their name above the door. Of course, the figurehead was not necessarily the person most suited to the task, but it was the perception of getting the very best that was important.
‘Well I guess we’d better make a start,’ said Anna quickly. She didn’t want to give him time to start questioning her suitability. She was under strict instructions to get the job done as speedily as possible. ‘Maybe we should go somewhere private?’ she added.
‘Sure,’ he said, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Come over to my stateroom.’
Anna hadn’t been on many yachts, so she was surprised and a little disappointed to find that Sam Charles’s grandly titled stateroom was just a rather compact bedroom. She sat down at the small desk and opened her notebook as Sam paced about, distracted and anxious.
‘She called me twenty minutes ago, you know,’ he said, running his hand through his damp dirty-blond hair.
For a minute she couldn’t stop looking at him. She’d met models before who looked other-worldly, but that was because of their long, skinny bodies and their exaggerated features. But Sam’s handsomeness, his flawless skin, the intense, extraordinary blueness of his eyes made him look a breed apart.
‘Who?’
‘Katie. The girl. She said she’d been talking to Blake Stanhope.’
Anna nodded. She could well have done without Stanhope’s involvement, but with a story this big, it was only to be expected.
‘What else did she say?’
‘She demanded more money, can you believe that?’