Private Lives (65 page)

‘You’re not named in this, Helen. I’ve spoken to the editor, asked him to keep you out of it. For now.’

‘I’d say thank you, except I’m not convinced you’re doing this for my benefit.’

‘You’re right. This isn’t about you, Helen. It’s about the firm. I’m not going to let Donovan Pierce suffer because of your idiotic behaviour. Fortunately Media Incorporated want to keep us on side, so far as that’s possible. I’ve also offered them certain other incentives.’

He was a canny bastard, she thought, looking at him with a mixture of loathing and admiration. What had he done to keep the dogs off? It went without saying that he’d have done a deal with Charles Porter. Keep Helen Pierce’s name out of the story and he’d feed them a story about one of his other clients. Just the same as she had done with Sam Charles, but somehow this was worse, more grubby. At least with the Sam Charles case, the media had been an unwitting accomplice. This time Charles Porter was entirely complicit – a deal with the devil indeed.

But Helen wasn’t naive; she knew the bargaining didn’t end there. Larry would want his pound of flesh from her.

‘So what’s the deal, Larry? What do I have to do for this?’

‘I want you to resign from Donovan Pierce,’ said Larry.

‘Resign?’ cried Helen, aghast. ‘I
am
Donovan Pierce!’

Larry just looked at her.

‘And I want you to sell your equity to me. We may have to do a bit of jiggery-pokery with the partnership agreement to make that happen, but then you’re not against that sort of thing, are you, Helen?’ he added with a knowing smile.

Helen felt faint, but she was still prepared to fight.

‘I know where the bodies are buried too, Larry,’ she said in a more threatening tone. ‘I could ruin your reputation in the blink of an eye, just as you’re trying to destroy me now. Remember that.’

Larry looked unmoved.

‘This offer is more than generous.’ He shrugged. ‘Considering you have broken the law and considering you’re trying to screw my son out of his partnership.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘This is your Get Out of Jail Free card, Helen – literally. You leaked the details of Sam’s case to the media. You did it acting for individuals implicated in the death of a twenty-one-year-old girl. The best-case scenario is that you should be struck off the roll of solicitors permanently. I don’t need to tell you the worst-case scenario, do I? A multi-million-dollar damages claim waiting for you the moment you get out of jail.’

‘You wouldn’t dare do this,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Larry laughed.

‘Don’t worry, Helen. I already have.’

68

Ruby Hart ran up to the ice-cream van parked outside Richmond’s White Cross riverside pub on the edge of the Thames and bought three enormous Mr Whippy cones.

‘A thank-you to the world’s greatest lawyer.’ She grinned, handing one to Anna and another to her mother, Liz Hart. Anna felt so pleased that the two Hart women had come down to London to catch the first editions of
The Chronicle
hitting the street. And when Liz Hart had wept tears of relief as she had read the story about her daughter, Anna had felt a sense of justice more potent than anything she had experienced in all her time in the law.

‘World’s greatest lawyer? I don’t know about that,’ she giggled, secretly feeling very proud of the copy of
The
Chronicle
that was poking out of her bag. ‘Party Girl in Suspicious Death’ read the headline on page three. She’d felt a pang of disappointment that Amir’s exposé hadn’t made the front-page splash, but a big royal story had pushed it off. Anna knew more than anybody that newspapers were in the business of selling copies and the better story wasn’t always the biggest story when the editor came to decide what would drive more sales.

But it was enough. Enough to cause a stir. Enough for the other newspapers to pick the story up. It wasn’t enough to bring Amy back to life but it was enough to stop her death being invisible, and in time, with a police investigation to back up the work of the
Chronicle
news team, maybe it was enough for someone to be finally held responsible for her killing.

‘Is it true that the paper’s going to run a bigger piece at the weekend?’ asked Liz, looking visibly less tired and grave than the first time they had met.

Anna nodded. ‘
The Sunday Chronicle
are going to do a more in-depth piece, yes.
The Chronicle
wanted to break the story, but there’s so much to follow up about the Atlanticana rig, and Dallincourt’s involvement in the explosion, that the bigger weekend editions can really go to town on it. It’s going to be a major international story.’

‘I hope Amy’s not going to be dragged into all that,’ said Liz quietly. ‘This is enough. We only wanted justice for Amy. Not celebrity.’

The three women walked along the bank of the Thames in a contented silence as they licked their ice creams.

‘Do you think it will be possible to say thank you to Sam Charles too?’ asked Ruby hopefully. ‘I know he paid for your investigator.’

Anna knew that Ruby was right. On their date in Mougins, Sam had made his motives for helping them sound so flippant, but without him there was a good chance the story would never have seen the light of day.

‘I’m sure he’d love to meet you,’ she said honestly. ‘I can arrange a meeting with him if you’d like.’

‘Yes, please,’ beamed Ruby. ‘When are you seeing him next?’

It was a good question. All week she’d been avoiding Sam’s calls demanding that she contact him. Of course, with so much else going on, there hadn’t really been time to meet, especially as he was in script-writing lockdown at his Wiltshire country manor. But the real reason, she acknowledged to herself, was that she could not work out how she felt about him; his initial interest in her had been thrilling and the sex had been incredible. But she also knew that dating someone of his celebrity would change her life completely, and she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for such a precarious, if exhilarating, ride.

She had thought a few days’ distance might give her some clarity on the situation. But the longer she left it, the more Sam Charles seemed to fade back into what he always was to her, a magnificent and yet unobtainable face from the movies.

‘I need to see him soon,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘Today. Go today,’ pressed Ruby. ‘Me and Mum are in London until Monday. Maybe Sam can come and meet us tomorrow.’

‘Don’t let us hold you up,’ said Liz Hart with a smile. ‘We’re happy. We’ve got tickets to go round Buckingham Palace this afternoon.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Anna.

‘Go,’ said Liz knowingly.

Anna slowed the car as she wound through the sleepy streets of Haversham. What a beautiful place, she thought to herself, passing bloom-filled gardens and honey-stone cottages covered in ivy and wisteria; it was like a perfect English village, imagined by Hollywood, created by set directors and then deposited in the most stunning countryside possible. No wonder a British movie star had chosen to live here, she thought, feeling a flutter of nerves as she pulled up at the gates of Copley Manor.

She stopped the car, opened her diary and found the entry code Sam had given her in the south of France. ‘Just come by whenever,’ he had said on his voice message. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

The gates swung open and Anna drove in, her heart fluttering. Would Sam be glad to see her? Would he even be in? It would be embarrassing trying to explain herself to a housekeeper. Still, her surprise arrival seemed like just the sort of spontaneous gesture that Sam would approve of – he was always telling her she was too controlled. Picking up her handbag, she got out of the car and walked towards the house, beginning to feel like a deranged groupie rather than a respectable lawyer going to see her client to . . .
to what
?

Make up? Break up? She wasn’t exactly sure why she was here, but it had been such a good day so far, she knew things might just work out the way they were supposed to.

She pushed a smooth marble bell and a small oriental man answered the door. She announced herself and he disappeared, and when he returned, Sam was right behind him.

She took a deep breath, ready to say her piece.

‘So you were right.’ She smiled at him, stepping into the cool interior of the house. ‘I work too hard, and to show you I’ve changed, I’m playing truant from work.’

She stopped, realising he did not look happy to see her. His smile was frozen, his face was pale, while his eyes betrayed his alarm.

‘But I should have called ahead,’ she added quickly.

‘Let’s not go inside,’ he said. ‘The weather’s lovely and we should talk.’

Frowning, Anna looked past him towards the staircase; she could hear footsteps coming down.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t quick enough. The figure who had come from upstairs to join them was unmistakable. It was Jessica Carr.

Breathe
, Anna told herself. It was perfectly natural for a former girlfriend to be at his house, to collect belongings or discuss a split of assets, but when Jessica slipped her hand around Sam’s waist, she knew she had made a dreadful mistake in coming.

‘Hey,’ cooed the Hollywood blonde. She turned immediately to Sam with a coquettish look Anna had seen a dozen times on
All Woman
. ‘Are you going to introduce us?’

‘Jessica, this is Anna,’ said Sam with forced enthusiasm.

‘I’m his lawyer,’ added Anna a little too quickly.

‘Great, she should join us for lunch, shouldn’t she, Sam?’ said Jessica, her smile as rigid as Sam’s.

‘I can’t stay,’ said Anna, stepping backwards. ‘Sorry, I’ve just got a . . .’

Slipping on the gravel, she turned her ankle over, sending pain shooting up her leg. She squeezed her eyes shut and began limping back towards the car.

‘Anna, wait,’ called Sam, running after her. ‘Jess came yesterday. I was going to call you, but I wasn’t sure if you were talking to me anyway.’

She fumbled for her car keys in her bag and put her hand on the copy of
The Chronicle
.

‘Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you,’ she said, thrusting the newspaper into his hands. ‘I was busy. The Amy Hart story – pages three and nine if you’re interested. It would never have happened without you, so thank you,’ she said, mustering all the dignity she could.

‘Anna, stop. Let me explain.’

She avoided his gaze.

‘No, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘Nothing should ever have happened between us. It was wrong. Although I hope you got back together with Jessica
after
you whisked me off to Provence and told me you wanted to spend every weekend together having an adventure.’ She held up her trembling hand. ‘No. On second thoughts, I don’t want to know.’

He held her shoulders and looked at her with those blue eyes.

‘Anna, I loved every moment I spent with you.’

‘Stop it, Sam. Don’t patronise me.’

‘I’m not,’ he said passionately. ‘It was just . . .’ His voice tailed off. ‘I guess it was just bad timing.’

Hot humiliation burned her cheeks.

‘Fine,’ she croaked. She knew she was too weary to battle with him. And besides, what was the point?

‘She’s pregnant, Anna. Jess is pregnant.’ His voice was barely a whisper. ‘She came to see me yesterday and told me. That’s why I came out here with you; that’s what I had to explain.’

‘Congratulations,’ Anna said softly. His hand reached out to touch her fingers, but she pulled them back.

‘You do understand, don’t you?’ said Sam. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

His eyes met hers, and she knew he was asking her to tell him he was right.

‘You’ll be a great dad, Sam. I mean that.’

She looked at him with a mixture of sadness and, in some strange way, relief. Her decision had been made for her.

‘Really, I must go.’

Through the long arched windows of the house she could see Jessica watching them.

‘Sam, go back inside. Do what’s best for you and for your baby.’

He nodded sadly, then turned and walked back to the house, closing the door behind him, not even a backwards glance.

Anna squeezed the car keys into her hand. Do not cry, she told herself, knowing Jessica would be watching. She turned and hobbled to the car, got inside and closed the door. One single tear escaped down her cheek. The case was over. It was all over. She turned the ignition to start the engine and motored down the drive.

69

He saw her through the crowd, at a quiet table by the window of Claridge’s restaurant, where Matt had managed to wing a last-minute reservation using Larry’s name. Carla had always looked beautiful, but tonight Matt knew she had pulled all the stops out. In a cream fitted dress scooped low at the front and her blonde air piled up on her head, she looked sensational. She was holding on to a glass of champagne, her long fingers playing up and down the stem. Was she as nervous as him? No, Carla was always in control, he thought. She always knew what she wanted. But what was that?

‘You look great,’ he said honestly, bending to kiss her cheek.

‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ she smiled as he took his seat opposite her.

He played with his napkin absently. This was like being on a blind date, that mild apprehension of not knowing how the evening would pan out, or what he would think of the person he was meeting. It seemed ridiculous to feel that way. After all, Carla was someone so familiar to him, whose body he knew intimately, someone he knew inside and out, good points and bad. And yet he had no idea what to expect from the evening and where it might head. Despite the words of wisdom from his father, despite the internal conflict in his own head, he knew that tonight was the time to make up his mind about what to do: try and reunite with his ex-wife, or relegate their media-room passion to one night of madness. But taking a seat opposite her, he was none the wiser about what he wanted. She certainly looked incredible. So much so that he was aware that half the men in the restaurant were looking at her. But instead of feeling pride, he had a vague sense of discomfort. He knew that she had dressed to please him, so why did he feel more guilty than aroused?