Private Lives

‘I know how you feel,’ said Anna, gently moving Matthew out of the way to get at the Gaggia.

‘So how’s things?’ he asked, although he could predict her answer. Her pretty face looked tired and sombre. The feistiness that had scared him a little at Scott’s restaurant was subdued, and with good reason, he supposed. The whole firm was still whispering about Sam Charles. He could only imagine the roasting Helen must have given her when she had come back from court, and she had barely left her office since.

‘Bearing up. Although I could do without being followed home by any more paparazzi.’

‘They’re following you?’

She nodded. ‘I’m convinced they think Sam’s hiding out in my shed.’ She handed him a mug. ‘Speaking of which, I hope Rob Beaumont left through the back door.’

‘Why?’

‘Well the street is full of paparazzi and he just had an appointment with a family lawyer. They’re not the brightest bunch, but even they can put two and two together.’

Matt felt a jolt of panic as he remembered Helen’s quip: rich people are different. Should he have made arrangements to meet his client elsewhere instead of the office? Suddenly he felt very green and out of his depth.

‘And have you been in touch with Piers Douglas?’ She leaned on the cabinets as she sipped her coffee.

‘Who’s he?’ asked Matt, feeling himself get defensive. This woman seemed to do this to him. He tried not to dwell on their Scott’s lunch on their first day at the firm – after all, his father’s heart attack had overshadowed everything – but he still hadn’t forgotten her combative, cocky stance on privacy. He wondered whether she’d changed her mind about it recently.

‘He’s a media consultant we have on retainer. PR expert.’

‘Why would I need him?’

She looked surprised.

‘Because if Rob and Kim are having problems, that’s front-page news. A media law firm has to offer a fully rounded service. Image management, that sort of thing. Plus you need to control the media when trouble’s brewing, not just when the shit has hit the fan.’

This conversation was increasingly feeling like a telling-off.

‘I thought we were a law firm. Not the offices of Max Clifford.’

‘Well you’d better catch up,’ she whispered playfully. ‘Discretion is everything.’

He struggled not to frown. He was her boss and yet she was succeeding in making him feel stupid and embarrassed.

‘I’m not entirely sure you should be the one dishing out expert advice on discretion, Anna.’ It was a cheap shot, but she was annoying him. How was he supposed to know all this stuff about PR and image management? At his old firm, he’d just had to make sure they had a full box of Kleenex on the desk every morning.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she said, glaring at him.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

‘I’d rather you came out with it.’

‘Look,’ he sighed. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that the Sam Charles thing was handled badly.’

‘Handled badly? We all agreed on the strategy. How can I help it if someone decides to leak the story?’

‘But they did.’

‘Yes, and we should be doing everything in our power to find out who talked.’

&n

bsp; Matthew raised his eyebrows.

‘I’m no media expert – clearly – but I’d say that was next to impossible. All it would take would be an anonymous email, or maybe they texted that picture from a mobile. You can get a disposable SIM card for a quid these days.’

‘Thanks for that insight,’ she mumbled, walking to the door. ‘I’ll email you Piers’ details; maybe you can brief him on how to go about leaking a story.’