скачать книгу бесплатно
Jack had described Catriona Charles to Kendall as some sort of goddess, as kind and funny as she was beautiful, and ‘far too good’ for Ivan. He’d waxed so lyrical about her, in fact, that Kendall couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous. So it was a relief to find that, while Catriona certainly did seem kind, she was actually a rather blowsy, red-faced, middle-aged woman.
Ivan kissed her on the cheek. After the hanging up incident earlier, he wasn’t sure what reception he’d get, but Cat seemed to have forgiven him over the Hector thing, or was at least prepared to let bygones be bygones until they were alone. ‘Shall we eat?’
Dinner was delicious. One of the few talents Jack Messenger hadn’t credited Catriona with was cooking, but Kendall didn’t think she’d ever tasted such succulent chicken or such meltingly soft sweet potatoes. But it wasn’t just the food that delighted her. The Charleses’ house was utterly charming, from its crumbling, wisteria-clad Cotswold stone walls to its warm and inviting shabby-chic interior. Even the dining room, often the coldest and most formal room in a house, was full of colour and life, with overflowing jugs of wild flowers plonked on the table and sideboard, mismatched floral china glinting in the candlelight and Catriona’s exquisite photographs hanging on the walls instead of stuffy old oil paintings. Ivan and Catriona’s children were adorable too, funny and chatty without being precocious, and the other dinner guest, Ned, seemed charming. It was exactly the sort of noisy, happy, close-knit family atmosphere that Kendall had longed for when growing up. She hadn’t been sure about accepting Ivan’s invitation, but now she was delighted she’d come.
‘Did Cat tell you,’ Ned asked Ivan, ‘the record company want to talk to me about doing an album of duets?’
‘Not a bad idea,’ said Ivan, helping himself to the last roast potato. ‘Did they have someone else in mind?’
‘I think it would be a variety of people. Other tenors, maybe, or sopranos. Solo instrumentalists too. Sort of a “rising stars” thing. They mentioned Joyce Wu. She’s with Jester, isn’t she? Have you seen her recently?’
‘Joyce? No. Not recently.’
Was it Catriona’s imagination, or did Ivan seem uncomfortable all of a sudden?
‘Isn’t she the violinist you were telling me about?’ Kendall said innocently. ‘The one who left her music at the flat?’
‘That’s right,’ Ivan said evenly. From the stiffness in his jaw, Kendall realized too late that she’d put her foot in it. Remembering the sex smell at Eaton Gate and Ivan’s evident discomfiture when she’d shown up unannounced, she put two and two together.
Ivan smiled at Catriona. ‘Joyce came over weeks ago to talk about renegotiating her contract. The silly girl left some sheets of one of her concert pieces behind. I haven’t had a chance to return them.’
‘Oh. I see.’ Catriona smiled back, stamping down her creeping sense of unease as she cleared away the plates. It had been years since Ivan had last cheated on her – those days were behind them – but old anxieties took a long time to fade. Catriona’s own parents had divorced bitterly when she was eight, and the thought of anything threatening her own marriage filled her with utter dread. Still, Joyce Wu was hardly more than a child. I’m being ridiculous.
Ned caught Kendall’s eye and gave her a sympathetic smile. She seemed like a nice girl, and was certainly drop-dead gorgeous. How was she to know that Ivan Charles was a philandering prick?
‘Kendall … er, do you like riding?’ Hector asked shyly. Ivan and Catriona’s eleven-year-old son had been in an almighty sulk about his father bringing a ‘work person’ home, until he’d laid eyes on Kendall, since when he’d barely been able to stop drooling into his chicken. Cat didn’t think she’d ever seen Hector blush in his life, but he was certainly making up for it now.
‘I do,’ said Kendall, grateful for the change of subject. ‘I used to ride all the time in Malibu when I was a kid. I adore horses.’
‘Great,’ Hector beamed. ‘We can go for a hack tomorrow then. You can ride Sparky if you like. He’s Rosie’s pony but he’d be the right size for you.’
‘Hey. Don’t offer people my pony,’ said Rosie on autopilot. Then, realizing she might have been rude, added to Kendall, ‘You’re welcome to take him, though, if you’d like. And you can borrow my riding gear too.’
‘But, darling, you and Dad were going to go fishing tomorrow, remember?’ said Catriona, handing out bowls of raspberries and cream. ‘Right, Ivan?’
‘That’s right,’ said Ivan dutifully. ‘Looking forward to it.’
‘Oh, that’s OK,’ said Hector, gazing at Kendall adoringly. ‘It’s more important to make our guest feel welcome. Dad can come riding too if he wants,’ he added magnanimously. ‘Although don’t feel you have to, Dad. Kendall and I’ll be fine on our own.’
Catriona and Ivan looked at one another and grinned. Apparently Kendall Bryce’s surprise visit wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
At eleven the next morning, Kendall waited with Hector and Ivan outside the stable blocks while Irene, the groom, saddled up Sparky.
It was a glorious day. A pale summer sun blazed down on the yard and the sweet, heady scent of buddleia bushes and honeysuckle filled the air, mingled with the delicious smell of horsehair and leather. To the left, across the valley, you could see the steeple of Burford’s ancient medieval church. To the right the rose garden erupted in a riot of white and yellow and pink in front of the newly mown lawn, as perfectly striped as a man’s bespoke shirt. Behind it, The Rookery looked even more picture-perfect than it had last night, with its elegant sash windows and flagstoned front path, flanked on either side by rows of lavender bushes, like a purple guard of honour.
Despite the beauty of her surroundings, Kendall struggled to shake off her bad mood. Jack had called at eight o’clock this morning, midnight his time. Despite herself, Kendall’s heart had soared when his name flashed up on her cell phone. It wasn’t like him to call so late. Was he missing her? Had he realized, finally, after dinner with another one of his thirty-something floozies, that she, Kendall, was the one he truly loved? The only one who could make him happy?
Apparently not. After a couple of perfunctory questions about her flight and whether she was settled in London, and the most cursory of congratulations on her performance supporting Adele in Hammersmith, he proceeded to lecture her on not ‘overburdening’ Catriona Charles.
‘She’s run ragged as it is, babysitting half of Ivan’s acts and being everybody’s shoulder to cry on.’
‘I didn’t ask to come down here, you know,’ Kendall said stiffly. ‘Ivan invited me. He thought I needed to unwind after the Apollo gig.’
‘Without asking his poor wife first, I dare say,’ said Jack. ‘Look, it’s fine you’re there. Not even you can get into too much trouble in Oxfordshire.’
‘Thanks a lot!’
‘Just make sure you clean up after yourself and treat the place with respect, OK? It’s really kind of Catriona to have you.’
Kendall liked Catriona, but she was beginning to get tired of hearing what a saint the woman was. So she had the occasional house guest. Big deal! The way Jack banged on about it you’d think she was Mother fucking Teresa. The conversation deteriorated further when Jack started lecturing her about her rehearsal schedule, and making sure she ‘knuckled down’ and didn’t let Ivan Charles distract her. If he didn’t want her spending time with Ivan, why on earth had he insisted that she stay at the Eaton Gate flat? At least Ivan knew how to enjoy himself, and didn’t spend twenty hours a day chained to a desk and the other four bitching at his acts.
At last Sparky was led out into the yard, tacked up and ready to go. A barrel-chested grey with a distinctly mischievous look in his eye, he wasn’t the most elegant of mounts, but Kendall vaulted onto his back in better spirits. A gallop through the English countryside was just what she needed to blow Jack Misery Messenger out of her hair.
‘Ready?’ said Ivan. He looked especially handsome this morning, Kendall thought, in dark-green corduroy trousers and a tweed hunting jacket, his blue eyes sparkling happily as he chatted to his son. Whatever else Ivan might be, he was clearly a devoted father, as happy to be with Hector as the boy clearly was to be with him. Kendall thought of her own, distant father and felt an unworthy pang of envy. But Hector was too cute a kid to dislike, especially as he clearly had a thumpingly huge crush on her and was too young and naïve to know how to hide it.
‘Race you to the river!’ he shouted, taking off through the yard gates like a bat out of hell.
‘Is he always this keen?’ laughed Kendall.
‘Actually no,’ said Ivan, riding up beside her and casually resting a hand on her jodhpured thigh. ‘It’s you, sweetheart. You overexcite him.’
‘You think so?’
‘Definitely.’ Ivan’s thumb traced a languorous circle on her leg.
Kendall felt a jolt of desire run through her. It was nice to be flirted with. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she blurted. ‘The Joyce Wu thing. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘That’s all right,’ drawled Ivan. ‘I dare say I’ll think of a way you can make it up to me.’ Digging his heel into his horse’s side, he cantered off after Hector before Kendall could respond.
It was a wonderful day. After two hours exploring the valley, riding through the woods towards Aston then doubling back along the Roman road towards Shipton-under-Wychwood, they stopped at a gorgeous riverside pub for a late lunch of pâté and bread, washed down with refreshing home-made lemonade. Ivan made a few work calls while Kendall and Hector played about a hundred rounds of rock paper scissors, much to Hector’s delight.
Watching Kendall Bryce kidding around with his son, her dark hair wild and tangled and her face flushed after the morning’s ride, Ivan decided definitively that the girl was a knockout. He knew he had to tread carefully if he was going to prise her away from Jack. Poaching Kendall as a client was the ultimate goal. Bedding her would merely be a fringe benefit, although watching her walk over to her horse, her delectable arse shrink-wrapped to perfection in spray-on white jodhpurs, he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to wait.
Back at the house, Ned Williams had brought Catriona some flowers as a thank-you for last night’s dinner. Hovering in the kitchen while she made tea, he looked distracted.
Catriona said knowingly. ‘If you’re hoping to see Kendall, she’s out riding with the boys. I’m expecting them back any minute.’
‘Kendall? Don’t be silly,’ Ned blushed. ‘I came to see you. I think I was frightfully boring about Diana last night. You must tell me to sod off occasionally, you know. I’m a big boy, I can take it.’
‘In that case,’ said Catriona, ‘you can sod off down to the stables and wait for them. Tell Ivan to sort out the horses and bring Kendall and Hector in for some cake.’
It had struck her last night, belatedly, that Kendall Bryce might be just the distraction Ned needed to get over Diana’s sudden abandonment. She was about his age, very pretty, and she seemed a sweet sort of girl, not at all the spoiled madam that Jack had warned her about at Ivan’s birthday party. That is, if Hector would let poor Ned get a word in edgeways. Her son had been glued to Kendall’s side like a pre-teen, hormonal limpet since the moment the girl had arrived.
‘Go on,’ she said kindly to Ned. ‘Shoo!’
By the time Ned reached the yard, Irene already had all three horses on leading reins and was filling much-needed buckets of water. Hector, temporarily distracted from Kendall’s bodaciousness by a new delivery of hay bales, was leaping happily from the top of the barn into a makeshift crash pad when Ned arrived.
‘Don’t let your mum see you doing that,’ Ned shouted as Hector performed a dramatic commando roll onto the muddy ground. ‘And by the way, it’s tea time. Where’s your dad and Kendall?’
Hector nodded towards the tack room. ‘In there. Tell Mum I’ll be there in a minute.’
Tucking in his shirt and making a token effort to smooth down his hair, Ned walked into the tack room. ‘Knock knock,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve been sent to inform you that tea’s on the … table.’
The smile died on his lips. Ivan had Kendall pinned against the wall. They weren’t kissing, but his knee was pressed into her groin and his distinctly predatory face was less than an inch from hers. As soon as he heard Ned, Ivan stepped back, and did his best to act as if nothing had happened. ‘Jolly good,’ he grinned. ‘I’m famished. I’ll see you in there, shall I?’
Ned didn’t move as Ivan brushed past him. He was still looking at Kendall. Her dark-blue shirt was unbuttoned just low enough to show a hint of cleavage and was coming untucked from her tight white riding breeches. She looked tousled, sexy, and more than a little guilty.
‘Oh, come on,’ she said to Ned. ‘Don’t give me the evil eye. It was just a bit of harmless flirting. Nothing happened.’
‘It would have, though, wouldn’t it? If I hadn’t come in.’
‘Of course not,’ Kendall said brusquely. She always got defensive when she knew she was in the wrong. ‘Ivan’s a colleague.’
‘Ivan’s a shit,’ said Ned bluntly. ‘And Catriona—’
‘Oh, yes, I know, I know, she’s marvellous and he doesn’t deserve her. I’ve heard it all before.’
Ned frowned. Last night he’d got the impression of Kendall as a sweet, funny girl. A little vain, perhaps, but certainly not an out-and-out bitch. He was disappointed.
Registering the emotion on his face, Kendall shot back, ‘If he’s such a shit, and you’re so loyal to his wife, why do you let him represent you? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?’
‘I’m not sleeping with him,’ said Ned.
‘Nor am I!’
‘Not yet.’ Turning on his heel, Ned left Kendall standing there.
Lex Abrahams was fast asleep when the phone rang.
After a gruelling, insanely long day’s shooting out in Palm Desert (Enrique Iglesias had seen the shots Lex had done of Kendall Bryce last month and decided he wanted a similar look for his own new album), Lex got back to LA to a mountain of editing and paperwork and hadn’t collapsed into bed until after three.
Glancing groggily at his bedside clock now, he saw it was ten o’clock. No doubt the call was from Jack Messenger, dumping another ten tons of work into Lex’s in-tray. There was a reason Lex Abrahams had agreed to work for Jester, but right now he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.
He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘What’s wrong with your voice?’ Kendall asked accusingly. ‘You sound like you’ve been gargling with sandpaper.’
Lex cleared his throat, wishing he didn’t feel so stupidly elated to hear from her. ‘Late night.’
‘Partying? Lucky you.’
‘Working actually. How are you? How’s England?’
‘It sucks.’ Without drawing breath, she proceeded to moan about everything from having her Dorchester reservation cancelled, to her show and rehearsal schedule, to Ivan Charles’s ‘holier than thou’ clients presuming to try to tell her how to live her life. ‘As if I don’t get enough of that shit from Jack. How is he, by the way?’
Lex could hear how much effort she put into trying to keep her tone casual.
‘Jack’s fine, Kendall.’
‘D’you think he’s missing me a little bit?’
‘It’s only been a few days, honey,’ Lex said kindly. ‘How’s Ivan Charles? Is he as disgraceful as everyone says?’
‘Actually, he’s a good guy,’ said Kendall. ‘He’s fun. Good-looking too.’ Lex suppressed a pang of jealousy. ‘That’s probably why Jack hates him.’
‘I wouldn’t say he hates him,’ Lex yawned, stretching out his arms like a cat. ‘More like disapproves.’
‘I miss you, Lexy,’ Kendall said suddenly, her voice taking on the needy, little-girlish quality it often did when she was bored or in need of attention. ‘I wish you could have come with me. Can’t you ask Jack to fly you out?’
Lex felt his stomach flip over like a pancake. Deep down he knew she didn’t really want him there. Or, if she did, it certainly wasn’t in the way he wanted her. But every time Kendall threw him a straw of hope, he clutched at it like an idiot. If she had any idea how much he missed her, how constantly she filled his thoughts, she wouldn’t say these things and torture him. At least he hoped she wouldn’t. For all her many faults, Lex didn’t think of Kendall as deliberately cruel.
‘Sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I’ve got three albums and a ton of editing to do before you get back. I’ll be lucky if Jack gives me five minutes off to go to the bathroom. Anyway, you’re only there a few weeks. You should try and make the most of London while you can.’
At The Rookery, upstairs in the blue guest bedroom, Kendall gazed glumly out of the window. It had been a lovely day today, exhilarating and flirtatious and fun, until Ned Williams had come along and given her a guilt trip. Sometimes she felt as if Lex Abrahams was the only person in the world who was unconditionally on her side. If only he were a bit more attractive, and a lot richer, he’d make a perfect husband.
Well, almost perfect.
There would only ever be one Jack Messenger.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jack Messenger leaned back in his two-thousand-dollar ergonomic Therapod office chair and felt a warm rush of satisfaction.
He always enjoyed coming to work. Jester’s offices at the top of Beverly Glen, near Mulholland Drive, had some of the most spectacular views in Los Angeles. Jack’s corner office was almost all window. In one direction lay the shimmering blue Pacific with Catalina Island in the distance. In the other, the jutting skyscrapers of downtown LA were framed by a ring of perfect, snow-capped mountains, encircling the city like benevolent giants. It was hard to get depressed in Jack’s home city; in a space so flooded with light, so energized with sunshine and blue skies and astonishing natural beauty. Between the constant light and the equally constant flow of work, Jester was a place where Jack came to forget the pain of his home life. It worked.
Today he was in even better spirits than usual. In front of him on the desk were Lex Abraham’s album cover shots of Kendall. Even by Lex’s usual high standards, they were exceptional, exactly the sort of haunting, slightly unexpected images that drew the eye and translated into bumper sales. With visual media stimulation everywhere, it was becoming both harder and more important to grab an audience’s attention, to stand out in an ever-growing, ever more visually dazzling market. But Lex had done it, and he’d done it with understatement. Of course, Kendall was an unusually beautiful girl, even by the standards of an industry where exceptional beauty was considered the norm. But Lex’s shots had transcended her looks, conveying an innocence and intelligence and depth not typically associated with Kendall Bryce. Matador, her record company, were gonna love it.
Lex’s pictures weren’t the only reason for Jack’s good mood. It was two weeks since Kendall had left for England, and she wasn’t due back for another week. Her first gig had gone well, and the trip, miraculously, had been scandal-free, so far – a personal best for Miss Bryce. With Kendall out of his hair for the best part of a month, Jack finally felt able to relax at home and his productivity at work had shot up too. Brett Bayley and Kendall Bryce between them took up more of Jack’s time and energy than the rest of his client list combined. Like Kendall, Brett had on-off addiction problems (and on-on stupidity problems), especially when it came to dealing with the media and/or keeping it in his pants. But Brett’s band, The Blitz, were also in London on the first leg of their European tour. To have both his ‘problem children’ away at the same time almost felt like being on vacation. Jack hadn’t realized how stressed he was with the pair of them till Kendall had gone too and he’d finally had a chance to breathe.
Which wasn’t to say he didn’t miss her. To this day Jack didn’t know what it was that drew him to Kendall. On the surface she was everything he disliked in a woman: vain, selfish, attention-seeking, capricious. But there was a need in her that Jack responded to, a need for a father and for a friend, a true friend who didn’t blow smoke up her ass like the rest of her rich, spoiled Beverly Hills crowd. Since Sonya died, there’d been a void in Jack’s life that was more than just romantic. He hadn’t only lost his wife, he’d lost his family, his future, his reason to care. In some strange, undefined way, Kendall had filled that void. Not romantically, of course. As sexy as she was, Jack needed a relationship with Kendall Bryce like he needed a hole in the head. But, emotionally, Kendall mattered to Jack at a time when he’d feared that no one would ever matter to him again. In a bizarre way, taking care of her was a relief.
There were other things too. Kendall was powered by fear the way that a car was powered by gasoline. Jack Messenger understood fear. Beneath Kendall’s bravado and bullshit lurked a sweet, smart, funny girl with a good heart. Jack wanted more for that girl than career success. He wanted her to be happy, which was one of the reasons he’d kept her at Matador for so long, rather than let her swim with the sharks at one of the big global record companies. Eventually she would have to make the move to the big league. But Jack was in no rush to hurry her out of her safe little cocoon.
The intercom on Jack’s desk buzzed into life.
‘It’s Kendall for you. Line one.’
Jack’s smile broadened. Speak of the devil. ‘OK, put her on.’
Back at the Eaton Gate apartment, Kendall stumbled around the kitchen opening and closing drawers with one hand, while the other kept precarious hold on the neck of a bottle of Moët. Ivan’s phone was wedged between her shoulder and ear, playing Jester’s hold music. Beverly, Jack’s Rottweiler of a secretary, was ‘checking’ whether the great man was available to speak to her, and Kendall had decided to multitask while she waited.
‘I can’t find a fucking corkschrew,’ she called out to Ivan drunkenly. ‘Your fucking kitchen’s fucking dishorganished.’
Ivan, who’d drunk the best part of a bottle of Chablis himself at their celebration lunch, but who at twice Kendall’s body weight was doing a better job of holding his drink, walked in to a deafening clatter of cutlery. Kendall had upended the entire top drawer onto the tiled floor. Dressed only in a pair of knickers and a T-shirt – she’d stripped off as soon as they got back from Boisdale’s, declaring herself ‘boiling’ in her Hudson jeans, and Ivan’s flat ‘a fucking oven’ – she seemed to be attempting to search through the drawer’s contents with her bare foot.
‘You don’t need a corkscrew, angel,’ said Ivan, relieving her of the Moët and expertly de-corking it with the softest of pops. ‘It’s champagne.’
‘Ooooohhhh. Oops,’ said Kendall.
