‘I’m speaking to Ben tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Ben’s never going to allow the company to be taken from under him,’ said Philip dismissively. ‘You still need me.’
It was harsh, especially after what had just happened, but she had to say it.
‘No, Philip, I don’t. I will have more than fifty per cent anyway. ’
She reached into the folder and pulled out a Coutts banker’s draft, putting it down on the table. It was made out to Miles Ashford for £800,000.
‘That’s everything I owe Miles, with interest,’ she said simply. ‘Tomorrow I’m going to exercise my option to buy back his shareholding. ’
He looked at the cheque, then back at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Where did you get the money from?’
She looked away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Really?’ he said bitterly. ‘I suspect it matters a great deal.’
Of course Philip would find out eventually. She knew that and she knew that he would hate her.
‘I’m sorry, Phil,’ she said, picking up the papers and putting them back into the folder. ‘I didn’t want it to end like this.’
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her and shook his head. Then he walked back to the table and snapped the black velvet box shut.
‘There’s more to life than just money, Sasha,’ he said closing his hand over the box. ‘One day you’ll learn that.’
‘Maybe if we can just talk about this . . .’ began Sasha.
But Philip wasn’t listening. ‘I think you’d better go.’
She picked up her coat and slowly walked past him. ‘Phil, I wish you’d—’
‘Just go,’ he said, walking into the bedroom and closing the door.
41
September 2001
Alex’s life had undergone a transformation. For a start, he wasn’t Alex Doyle any more. He was Al Doyle now, multi-Grammy-award-winning British songwriting superstar. In the last two years alone he had sold twenty million records, filled stadiums across the globe and his videos were on MTV and VH-1 almost on a loop.
He sat on the steps of his trailer looking out on to the shady Manhattan side street just off Times Square. They had been shooting the video for his latest single ‘Moving On’ through the night and they still weren’t done. A runner brought him a tea and a bacon sandwich with ketchup running all over the paper plate. Alex was happy enough sitting around on a warm New York fall morning. He loved the Big Apple, especially now, with his star in the ascendant. He was invited to every party, he could get a table at any restaurant and everyone was so ambitious, so caught up in their own world, they were too busy to pay any attention to him. LA was the direct opposite. It was an industry town, a hotbed of ‘look at me’ self-indulgence; everyone wanted to be noticed, from the stars down to the waiters. Even though Alex had a house in Laurel Canyon, he hated it there.
A black Town Car stopped in front of the blue barricade blocking off the section of street they were shooting in. Alex recognised the small figure of David Falk stepping out of the car, accompanied by a blonde woman. He was always pleased to see Falk. It still felt like yesterday he’d had that first meeting with him at his LA headquarters. From the second he had walked into Falk’s corner office, Alex had known that this man was going to change his life – and he had. He had used Alex’s debut solo single ‘Angel Falls’ as the title track to one of the movie hits of the nineties, and instantly Al Doyle was a household name. Hit followed hit, and his transition from nobody to megastar had been so seamless, Alex wondered if the years of struggle with Year Zero had just been a bad dream.
‘Hey, Al. How’s it going?’ said Falk, walking over, his hand out.
‘Still standing.’ He grinned, holding up his tea. ‘Caffeine helps.’
His eyes were drawn to the blonde woman standing just behind David. He recognised her immediately: Melissa Jackson, one of the hottest new actresses in Hollywood; in fact he had heard that Falk’s company was producing her next vehicle.
‘Have you met Melissa?’
‘No, no, hello . . .’ said Alex, wiping his hand on his jeans, then shaking hers. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Ketchup all over it.’
She smiled. ‘Happens to me all the time.’
‘Say, you going to Julia’s party tonight?’ said Falk.
Alex nodded. ‘If this shoot ever finishes.’