Private Lives

‘It’s just what, honey?’ said Jessica.

‘Nothing.’ Nothing worth repeating anyway.

‘Good,’ she said, stroking his cheek with the back of her finger. ‘So I should go upstairs, freshen up and then we can talk about things, okay? Like when you’re going to do the sensible thing and get your ass back to LA.’

When Sam had gone back downstairs, Jessica unpacked her bag in the master bedroom, hanging her clothes – all carefully chosen to show off her body perfectly, of course – in the walk-in closet she had designed for herself only two years previously. There were still some of her own dresses and jeans on the shelves – Sam had either been too sentimental or too lazy to clear them out. When that was done, she sat down on the bed and took the scan out of her handbag. She looked at it for a moment.

There’s no way I want a baby, she thought, acknowledging that she had no maternal instincts whatsoever. This particular foetus belonged – had belonged – to some dumb starlet Jim represented. She’d been knocked up by one of the big studio heads, and Jim had used the information to get one of his projects green-lit. With that accomplished, he had talked Little Miss Careless into having an abortion, ‘for the sake of her career’, and had also had the brilliant notion of putting the scan to a second use with Sam. Jessica chuckled; she really admired the way her new agent’s mind worked. She just knew that she and Jim Parker were going to have a very long and lucrative friendship.

She put the photo between the pages of a copy of The Secret she’d picked up at the airport. It would stay there for a few weeks and then she would get rid of it, probably round about the time she would fake her miscarriage. If she hadn’t reeled Sam in by then with her body, she would definitely land him with her ‘distraught mother’ act. She knew how his mind worked better than anyone – certainly better than that little tramp lawyer he was supposed to be screwing. If she thought she was going to get her claws into Jessica’s gold mine, well, she could think again.

Jessica got up and walked over to the full-length mirror, dropping her dress to the floor. Pretty damn hot for a cripple, she smiled to herself, walking into the closet and choosing a figure-hugging jersey dress in a vivid forest green. She hesitated for a moment, then took off her underwear before she slipped the dress on. Oh yes, she thought, smoothing the material down over her skin, I think that will do it.

She blew a kiss towards the mirror and headed for the door.

64

With Helen out of the office, taking a short break to recuperate from the Balon trial at her house in Devon, Matt had had to step up to the plate as commander in chief. For the past forty-eight hours he’d been harangued on an hourly basis to sign expenses slips, payment authorisations, letters of engagement; he wondered how Helen ever got any proper work done at all.

Diane, his PA, popped her head around the door.

‘Get your wallet out, Matt,’ she said cheerfully.

‘Who do I owe money to this time?’ he smiled, draining his mug of coffee.

‘It’s for Sid Travers’s present. It’s her last day today. You’re the only one who hasn’t coughed up yet.’

He pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out two twenty-pound notes, which he put into the metal cash box that Diane was waving in front of him.

‘Have we sorted out a leaving do?’ he asked.

Diane frowned.

‘I don’t think so. I think the trainees were going to go out for a drink after work.’

‘Why don’t you book the back room at Chablis?’ he said. Lunch at the local wine bar was the least they could do for Sid, he thought, and he didn’t doubt that the rest of the team would welcome the break too.

By the time he walked over to Chablis an hour later, the place was packed. The Donovan Pierce crowd were in the small back room, which had a back door flung open to let in some fresh air. Matt had never seen so many of them in one place outside the office, and he’d certainly never seen them enjoying themselves so much, enthusiastically emptying bottles of Rioja and Perrier Jouet and wolfing the finger food.

‘Speech! Speech!’ cried David Morrow, waving a glass of red wine in the air. ‘We can’t let Sid drink us under the table without making her sing for her supper.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Sid, wobbling slightly as she stood on a chair. ‘I wasn’t going to do this, but seeing as you’ve all been so kind . . .’

There was some whooping and whistling.

‘Well, when I say kind,’ she added with a sly smile, ‘I mean bastards for firing me.’

There was a roar of laughter and cries of ‘Shame!’ and ‘Recount!’

Matt watched a fifty-something woman come into the room pushing a buggy. She was obviously in the wrong place, but he had no problem with her having a free glass of wine if she wanted to.

‘I just want to say thanks to Matt Donovan for organising this do.’

‘You wait till Helen hears,’ shouted someone to nervous laughter.

‘And to Anna Kennedy for being a brilliant mentor. It’s been fantastic working with you and hopefully we’ll stay in touch. I might not be working full-time, though, because I’ll have my work cut out with this little one.’

She gestured to the woman with the buggy, who picked up the little boy and passed him to her.