Private Lives (57 page)

‘Super, fix me up a meeting with her.’ Ilina kissed Anna on both cheeks and disappeared back to her dark-eyed friend.

‘Sometimes I think you’ve got a more showbiz life than me,’ laughed Sam, brushing his bare foot up her leg towards her thigh.

‘As if.’

‘I think we should stay here till Monday,’ he announced suddenly. ‘They’ve got rooms at the restaurant. And I’m sure Ilina will invite us to her place in Sardinia if you ask nicely. I bet she’s got a big fuck-off yacht.’

Anna shook her head.

‘I couldn’t anyway. I’m going to James Swann’s party tomorrow; I can’t miss that.’

‘Whose party?’

‘James Swann. Remember, the big secretive society thing where Gilbert Bryce met Amy?’

He still looked blank.

She lowered her voice. ‘Gilbert Bryce, the MP who had an affair with Amy Hart.’

‘Oh them,’ said Sam, the penny dropping. ‘Why are you going there?’

For a second she wondered if Sam had actually listened to anything she had told him over the past week. She found that a lot with celebrities. If something didn’t directly relate to them, some part of their brain just edited it out as useless information.

‘I need to find out who this Peter is. The only way I can think how is to go to the party and talk to people. I’ve swung an invite through Johnny Maxwell.’

Sam frowned at her. His disapproval was obvious.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Look, Anna,’ he said, sipping his wine. ‘It’s none of my business, but when are you going to give this up?’

‘Give what up?’

‘Playing Miss bloody Marple.’

She looked at him with astonishment.

‘But it
is
your business! This could be the reason your injunction failed. And anyway, you said you wanted to find out what had happened to Amy. After all, you’ve been paying for it for the last month.’

He sighed.

‘I wanted to spend time with you. I suppose it was just a good excuse.’

She forgot to breathe.

‘Hang on, you said you’d help me, just to get into my
knickers
?’

‘Stop being dramatic,’ he said, lowering his voice. He put his palm on the table. ‘Look, I am sorry that this girl is dead, and I feel for her family. But I don’t care about that injunction any more. In fact, I’m glad it failed, because if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done the Edinburgh show, I wouldn’t have split with Jessica. I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now,’ he said pointedly.

She couldn’t help feeling angry and disappointed. She had genuinely thought they were in this together, a team, but clearly Sam had tired of the mystery.

‘Sam, there’s more to life than your bloody injunction, you know. A girl died.’

‘
My
bloody injunction?’ he huffed. ‘Nice to know you thought so much of it. Maybe
that’s
why it all went tits-up.’

Anna jerked back. It felt as if he had slapped her across the face, and she could see that a French couple on the next table were looking over at them and whispering.

‘I’m sorry. Come on, Anna, this is stupid,’ said Sam, his voice softer. ‘We shouldn’t be fighting over this.’ He hesitated. ‘I just think you’ve got involved in the case because you want to distract yourself from your sister’s wedding. And to be honest, I can’t blame you. But you’ve got me to distract you now. Stop obsessing over Amy Hart. Let your mate at the newspaper sort it out. Let’s just get a room, go to bed and have some fun.’

Ruby and Liz Hart popped into Anna’s head, and she couldn’t shake them away. She was not going to give up on them.

‘No, I don’t want to go to bed,’ she said coldly.

Sam shook his head.

‘Shit, Anna. What is the
matter
with you? Get off your high bloody horse and let it go. It’s not as if you’ve been the most principled lawyer in the world before now, is it? Why is this crusade suddenly so important to you?’

‘Not principled? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I mean the sort of work you do. You’re a media lawyer, Anna. You cover up for rich people. You’re a shark.’ He gave a small smile. ‘Although I admit, I kind of like that about you.’

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears.

That was exactly why Amy Hart mattered so much to her. It wasn’t as simple as wanting to help Ruby find out the truth about her sister’s death, although she did want to do that, very much. It was also about trying to make up for all the other stories, all the other uncomfortable truths she had helped bury. Anna couldn’t deny that she loved her job and the sense of fulfilment she felt from being very good at it. It was fast-paced and exciting, even though she sometimes had to justify her professional actions. Whenever she won an injunction protecting an adulterous footballer or celebrity from the glare of the media, she convinced herself that by gagging the press they were protecting his wife and family. And yet deep down, she wondered if that argument rang hollow.

She looked at Sam Charles, and suddenly wanted to leave their little pocket of Paradise.

‘Amy matters to me,’ she said softly.

‘Whatever,’ he replied, looking unconvinced as he summoned the waiter to fetch the bill.

59

Anna had never been one of those little girls who wanted to go to ballet lessons or tap dance class. That was much more Sophie’s thing: amateur productions of
Annie
or solo spots in the school choir. All of which explained why Anna was particularly anxious tonight as she stood outside the Royal Opera House waiting for Johnny Maxwell: acting was not her forte. When she had introduced herself at the Chelsea Heights party, she had haltingly told Johnny that her name was Natasha and that she was a researcher at the Royal Academy, currently writing a paper on Canova. She had felt a wave of relief when Johnny had declared himself a complete dunce who knew nothing whatsoever about sculpture. Anna didn’t like to say that clearly he knew more than she did, as she had thought Canova was a painter. Either way, he seemed to buy the cover story, and they had discussed appreciation of the human form, which Johnny had clearly taken to mean that Anna-stroke-Natasha was up for a spot of Spin the Bottle or whatever happened at the Swann parties.

Anna looked anxiously up and down the road. Where
was
he? They had arranged to meet at seven, and it was a quarter past already.

‘Natasha, darling!’

Anna turned to see a man with white hair hanging out of a black cab window.

‘Over here, darling,’ he called, opening the door. ‘I’ve been screaming at you for an aeon.’

‘Sorry, Johnny,’ she said, stepping inside as elegantly as she could in her sexy academic costume of tight pencil skirt and sheer stockings. ‘I was miles away.’

‘Thinking about Canova, no doubt. What on earth are you doing working on a Sunday anyway?’

‘An academic’s life is busy, busy.’ She smiled nervously.

‘Well you’re here now,’ he said, taking her in with an appreciative smile. Anna had clearly hit the right note with her five-inch heels and a push-up bra under her crisp white shirt, like a naughty secretary. She’d guessed that subtlety was not required at this stage. Johnny himself was dressed like a country squire in a green and blue checked suit and shiny riding boots and holding a large lit cigar, despite the ‘No Smoking’ signs.

‘Natasha, meet Tanika,’ he said breezily, waving a hand towards a lithe blonde perched on the swing-down seat in the corner. Anna hadn’t expected any other passengers and was momentarily thrown, until Johnny whispered behind his hand, ‘Estonian, doesn’t speak any English, so we can say what we like.’ Anna nodded politely to the girl, who merely raised her nose and looked out the window. ‘Not the friendliest of girls,’ sniffed Johnny. ‘But I rather think the chaps like the mute model types who don’t speak. My idea of hell, though, sugar plum.’

The cab moved off into the network of back streets that only London cabbies seemed to know about, making quick progress westwards.

‘So tell me more about yourself, darling,’ said Johnny.

‘Nothing much to tell, I’m afraid,’ said Anna. ‘I go around cataloguing paintings and writing papers about them.’

‘Darling, you’re a female Simon Schama. Gorgeous but brainy, the perfect combination.’

Anna smiled. ‘I wish,’ she said. ‘As you can imagine, it’s a rather conservative atmosphere. They would be scandalised if they knew I was in a taxi with a man I hardly knew.’

He looked at her shrewdly.

‘And tell me, Natasha, what are you expecting from tonight?’

‘Whatever the night brings,’ said Anna, doing her best to sound sophisticated.

‘Splendid,’ smiled Johnny. ‘I do so hate it when I bring girls out to the house only to find they’re treating it like a posh version of some online dating agency. Most of our gentlemen partygoers are available, if you follow my drift, but back in Civvy Street you may find they have – shall we say – prior arrangements.’

‘Married, you mean?’ said Anna, shrugging. ‘I’m not looking to settle down, Johnny, I’m just here to . . .’ she paused and gave a little smile, ‘to have a good time.’

He grinned and squeezed her knee. ‘I think you and I are going to get along famously.’

Anna had spent the afternoon reading up on the art of the Renaissance in case she was asked about her background, but she need not have bothered. Clearly Johnny’s job was simply to provide the Swann set with suitable willing girls – ‘companions, not sluts’, as he had put it – not to do a thorough security check on them, and anyway, he was far more interested in talking about Johnny Maxwell and his pivotal role at the centre of society.

‘So who owns the house?’

‘James Swann,’ he said distractedly.

‘And how do you know him?’

‘We went to Eton together. He’s a very smart man. The party I’m taking you to, people would kill for an invite.’

‘How so?’

‘It’s where alliances are formed. People come down to mix with like-minded other people. Achievers. And of course they come to have fun.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

She didn’t have to wait long. The house was on the fringes of Buckinghamshire, which was just over an hour out of the city. The taxi swung through a pair of gateposts, each topped with a rampant stag, then into parkland dotted with ancient oak and beech and finally up a long drive leading to a white mansion with long gabled windows.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, as the cab pulled up and they clambered out. ‘How often do you come here?’

Johnny threw his arm around her and laughed.

‘I knew it!’ he said triumphantly. ‘You’ve only just got here and already you want to come back. Well, if you fit in here as well as I anticipate, I should think we’ll be back before too long. I do hope so; it’s not often I meet someone as intelligent as you, darling.’

He offered the girls an arm each and they walked towards the imposing iron-studded door.

‘So what’s the occasion tonight?’

‘Because it’s summer, my dear,’ said Johnny, gesturing flamboyantly. ‘Because the flowers are in bloom and the bees are making honey.’ He pulled her closer and chuckled. ‘Well, that and the bank holiday, of course.’

There were some serious-looking security guards flanking the house’s wide stone doorway, but they barely looked at Anna or her mute European counterpart clinging to Johnny’s other arm. The three of them stepped into the entrance, a warm, open hall with stairs to one side and a large fireplace in the centre, tonight filled with an extravagant flower display rather than crackling logs. With the well-heeled, well-dressed people laughing and chatting among uniformed wine waiters carrying trays of champagne, it immediately appeared to be just like any other country house party.

‘Come this way, ladies,’ said Johnny. ‘Time to meet the host.’ James Swann was not at all what Anna had been expecting. In his early sixties, but still handsome, he was tall and regal, with swept-back black hair the colour of liquorice. Anna immediately thought of the old Hammer vampire movies her dad loved, and suppressed a smile.

‘James Swann, may I introduce my two newest and loveliest aquaintances, Tanika and Natasha.’

Swann gave a slight bow and bent to kiss their hands, almost sending Anna into a fit of nervous giggles. He’ll be turning into a bat next, she thought.

‘Please, ladies, make yourselves at home, treat my house as you would your own. Nothing is out of bounds to my friends. Johnny, show them around.’

They walked into the drawing room. Piano, tasteful furniture. A bar at one end. Girls draped over red-faced men.

‘Those are my regular girls,’ said Johnny. ‘They know what makes a party go with a bang, if you follow, so they get invited back.’

‘You say some of these men are married,’ said Anna casually.

Johnny nodded. ‘A few of the wives even attend.’ He grinned. ‘I could introduce you to some couples . . .’

She picked up his coded meaning.

‘Let’s get a drink first, shall we?’

‘Very wise. But first, Tanika, why don’t you go and say hello to that nice old gentleman over there?’ he said, pointing to a rotund man in a double-breasted suit. ‘I believe his grandfather had significant business interests in your mother country, so you should have plenty to talk about.’ The girl dutifully walked off.

‘I just need to freshen up in the bathroom.’ Anna smiled.

Johnny nodded his approval. She found a downstairs loo and phoned the local taxi firm. ‘Have a car waiting for “Natasha” at the Swann house,’ she instructed. ‘I’ve no idea how long I’ll be. But be there as soon as you can, and wait. Tell security at the gates that you’re picking up a guest of Johnny Maxwell.’

She returned to Johnny.

‘Beautiful, darling,’ he purred. ‘Right then,’ he continued, leading Anna to the bar and perching on a high stool that gave him a view of the whole room. ‘Let me see if I can give you a run-down.’

He pointed to a sandy-haired man in a blazer.

‘Charles Butler-Cash, very well connected in the City, beautiful place out in Barbados, very good skier.’

‘And is he single?’

‘Course not. It’s the old golden handcuffs, you see? If any of these men got un-married, it would cost them tens of millions. That’s why they come here. They’re not after anything permanent, but like you and me, they want some fun.’