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‘What the bloody hell happened in here?’
Ivan’s voice made both women jump. Standing in the doorway with his overnight case in his hand, he looked tired, unshaven, and distinctly grumpy.
‘Darling!’ Catriona’s face lit up. Ivan almost never came home early. ‘I wasn’t expecting you till tonight. How lovely you’re here.’
But Ivan evidently wasn’t feeling lovely. He’d forgotten Stella Bayley was down for the weekend, and was irritated to find her hanging around in his kitchen with her snotty toddler glued to her hip. ‘Who the hell scrawled shit all over my walls?’
Sensing a drama brewing, Miley secured her own starring role by bursting into noisy tears.
‘It seems Miley had a little accident with one of our permanent markers,’ explained Catriona.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Ivan turned on Stella. ‘Can’t you fucking control her?’
‘How dare you curse in front of my child!’ Stella shot back. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Sweeping past him, a sobbing Miley in her arms, she stormed out of the room. ‘We’ll be upstairs in our room if anyone wants us,’ she called over her shoulder to Catriona. ‘Packing.’
Catriona sat down at the table with her head in her hands. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than an aspirin and to crawl back to bed. ‘That wasn’t very diplomatic, darling,’ she said to Ivan. ‘You’d better go and apologize.’
‘Apologize? Look at this shit.’ He pointed to Miley’s artistic efforts, which extended right around the base of one wall and halfway up the side of another. ‘We only redecorated at Christmas. What the hell are they doing here again anyway?’
‘You knew they were coming,’ Catriona said wearily. ‘Brett’s away again and—’
‘I don’t care. Seriously, this place is turning into a fucking doss house. We never get a weekend to ourselves.’
Lovingly, Catriona reached out and stroked his cheek. He would have to apologize to Stella. They couldn’t have the wife of one of Jester’s biggest clients storming out of the house in high dudgeon. But secretly she was pleased that Ivan wanted more family time. It was what she wanted too, more than anything.
‘I came home early to talk to you,’ said Ivan. ‘A lot of stuff’s happened at work. It’s been an exhausting bloody week, you’ve no idea.’
‘I’ll put some coffee on and make breakfast,’ said Catriona, kissing him. Her week had been exhausting too, taxiing the children around from one engagement to another, filling in Ivan’s horrifically late tax returns and cooking for an apparently endless stream of house guests. Saying no had never been her strong suit. ‘You go up and smooth things over with Stella. Then we can talk.’
‘Do I have to?’ Ivan scowled. But he knew she was right. If ever there was a time to stay on the right side of Jester’s big clients, this was it. In the coming weeks, Ivan and Jack would be battling to the death over each other’s acts. Losing his temper with Stella Bayley was hardly the best start to Ivan’s charm offensive. ‘OK.’ He kissed his wife back. ‘Sorry for being such a grump. I’d like a bacon sandwich please, extra crispy. With ketchup.’
Catriona laughed. Grumpy or not, life was always much more fun when Ivan was around.
Half an hour later, having eaten humble pie and cooed grovellingly over the ghastly Miley, Ivan had mollified Stella Bayley sufficiently to be allowed to breakfast alone with his wife.
‘Alone time is so important in a love relationship,’ Stella said earnestly, ‘especially when you have kids. It’s a real hot topic on my blog: keeping the flame alive.’
Having spent the last twenty-four hours in bed with Kendall Bryce, indulging in a sexual marathon the likes of which he hadn’t attempted since his own early twenties, the only flame Ivan was interested in was the one beneath the frying pan cooking his bacon. But he did want to talk to Cat. He needed her advice about this business with Jack and Jester, and her approval of him taking the Talent Quest job. After fifteen years of marriage, he relied on Catriona’s opinion heavily. She was the only person on earth Ivan fully trusted, and it was a relief to be able to confide in her.
After two bites of his delicious sandwich and a gulp of Earl Grey tea, he got straight to the point.
‘Jack and I have had a row.’
Catriona frowned. ‘Another one? What’s it about this time? Honestly, I do wish the two of you would work it out. You’ve been partners for so many years, and friends for even longer.’
‘Yeah, well, not any more. He says he’s leaving Jester.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Cat. But one look at Ivan’s face told her he wasn’t joking. ‘You actually think he means it?’
Ivan shrugged. ‘It looks that way.’
‘But why? And leaving to do what?’
Ivan gave her an edited précis of his heated phone conversation with Jack, including heavily biased accounts of Kendall’s new deal with Polydor and his own offer from ITV.
‘Jack’s jealous,’ he concluded, ‘pure and simple. He’s ticked off because I was the one who brokered Kendall’s deal, even though we’re both getting paid on it. And he’s scared shitless of me taking Jester into the twenty-first century. I swear to God, he’d have all our acts putting out albums on vinyl if he thought he could get away with it.’
‘Hmmm. I’m not sure,’ said Catriona. ‘There must be more to it than that.’ The Jack Messenger she knew was the last person likely to be motivated by petty jealousy. She could imagine Jack to be more old-fashioned in his outlook than Ivan. He was in life, so why not in business? But to break up Jester, such a wildly successful business, over such differences seemed to be a gross overreaction.
‘I think you should talk to him,’ she said at last, thoughtfully sipping her own tea. ‘Or I can if you like. Don’t forget, he’s still grieving over Sonya. People in depression often don’t make the most rational decisions. I dare say he’s already regretting what he said.’
Ivan pushed his chair back from the table sullenly. ‘Why do you always take his side?’
Catriona’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean? I’m not taking his side.’
‘Well, you could have fooled me. I thought at least you’d be pleased about the Talent Quest thing. It’s a huge opportun-ity for me, you know.’
‘I am pleased,’ Catriona insisted. ‘I told you I was pleased. I just think that Jack—’
‘Jack’s a stubborn bloody fool!’ Ivan said petulantly. ‘He’s arrogant and self-righteous and I’m tired of having him looking down his oh-so-moral nose at me. Why shouldn’t I take a job in television? I mean, what the fuck is so wrong with that? Jack talks about it like I’m selling my soul to the devil.’
‘But surely you can talk it through?’ persisted Catriona. ‘After all these years.’
‘I don’t want to talk it through,’ said Ivan. ‘Kendall Bryce is pissed off with Jack for treating her like a child and, you know what, I know how she feels. Nothing I ever do is good enough for him. I’m not the one who’s walking away from the partnership, Cat. Jack is. So it would be nice to think that my own bloody wife supported me, and wasn’t only concerned about Jack’s sodding feelings.’
‘Ivan, I do support you. I always support you.’ Reaching across the table, she grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye, willing him to believe her.
She’s still got the most beautiful eyes, thought Ivan. He knew he was being childish about Jack, that what had happened between them was at least half his fault. But it still made him jealous and angry hearing Catriona defend him. Ivan might betray his wife’s love, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need it, and her approval. They were like two sides of the same coin.
He entwined his fingers with hers and squeezed them tight.
‘Let’s go to bed.’
‘Now?’ Catriona giggled. ‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning!’
‘So?’
‘I thought you were exhausted.’
Ivan grinned. ‘I’ve rallied. Just don’t say another word to me about Jack Bloody Messenger.’
‘I won’t,’ said Catriona. And she didn’t. Upstairs, Ivan bolted the bedroom door, peeled off her dressing gown and pyjamas, and was out of his own clothes in seconds. Somehow having just come from Kendall’s bed made being here with his wife even more exciting. Catriona’s body was the exact opposite of Kendall’s – soft and warm and overflowing, like diving into a mound of soft pillows. If fucking Kendall was a workout, making love to Cat was like the massage afterwards: comforting and familiar and deeply pleasurable.
For her part, Catriona could barely conceal her delight. She and Ivan had a healthy sex life, but she couldn’t remember the last time they’d sneaked off like this for a quickie, especially in the middle of the morning. God knows what the children and Stella were up to. It all felt so illicit and joyful. Life affirming, as Stella would have said.
‘Oh, by the way,’ said Ivan afterwards as she lay in his arms, ‘Kendall Bryce’s going to be staying on at Eaton Gate for a while until she finds a permanent place in London. I hope that’s OK with you. She got caught in the middle of all this nonsense with Jack and I think she’s still feeling a bit fragile.’
‘Of course,’ said Catriona. ‘You should have brought her down here. She’s a sweet girl and Rosie and Hector both adore her. Especially Hector. I think he has a bit of a crush actually. It’s sweet.’
Ivan kissed her on the forehead. ‘No. We have to start ring-fencing our family time a bit more. I can deal with clients during the week, but weekends here are for us.’
A flicker of guilt, trying to make itself felt in Ivan’s chest, was quickly extinguished. What Catriona didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. As long as he kept his two worlds separate and compartmentalized, everything would work out just fine.
Jared Crane looked across the desk at his client and frowned.
He was not happy.
Jared Crane was the senior partner at Crane and Farrelly, one of the top corporate law partnerships in Beverly Hills. Wealthy, successful people paid Jared Crane an astronomical amount of money, by the hour, for legal advice. Having paid the money, it seemed to Jared only right and proper that they should then take the advice he had given them.
The client sitting opposite him today had a reputation for stubbornness. But he also had a reputation for caution, intelligence and good sense, which was what made today’s events even more distressing. The document he was about to sign was one that Jared Crane had drawn up for him, against Jared’s advice and at the client’s own absolute insistence. Jared Crane had told him in no uncertain terms that signing it was not in his best interests. But yet here Jack Messenger sat, directly across the desk from Jared, with a silver Mont Blanc pen in his hand and a look of grimly determined stupidity on his handsome face.
‘Where do I sign?’
‘Penultimate page. At the bottom. But, Jack, I wish you’d reconsider. Or at least cool off for a few days before I send Ivan his copy. Once he signs, it’s done, and can’t be undone.’
Jack dashed off a signature and handed his lawyer the document. ‘It’s already done, Jared. I can’t work with him any more.’
‘Fine, but you do understand it’s you who’s walking away from the Jester name. You’re effectively giving Ivan Charles the brand – a brand you’ve spent your entire professional life building.’
Jack shrugged. ‘It’s just a name. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but clients are loyal to me, not to Jester. I’ll start a new company and carry on as before.’
It does sound arrogant, thought Jared Crane, or at least foolhardy. Brand names were important in any business, but especially in music, and they couldn’t be replaced overnight. In his enthusiasm for a fresh start, Jack Messenger was giving up his rights in something very valuable. And not to a friend, but to a man in whose interests it was to try and destroy him professionally.
‘Have you called your clients and discussed it with them?’
‘Not yet,’ said Jack.
‘Don’t you think you should?’
Jack frowned. He knew Jared Crane was looking out for his interests, but his mind was made up. ‘With respect, Jared, I know how to handle my clients. The one thing artists hate is uncertainty. Once I’ve formally split with Ivan, I’ll let people know where things stand. Day to day, nothing will change for most of them.’
Jared Crane watched Jack Messenger leave his office with a spring in his step, satisfied with the morning’s business. Jared hoped his own pessimism was unfounded and that things would work out all right for his client. Until today, he’d never put Jack Messenger down as impulsive, still less a fool.
He buzzed his secretary with a heavy heart. ‘Linda, I have a document here I need you to FedEx. Uh huh. Express delivery to London.’
‘Hey, Brett, it’s for you. Ivan Charles.’
Reluctantly Brett Bayley put down the lap-dancer and picked up the phone. His hotel room at the Georges V in Paris was littered with empty champagne bottles and wraps of coke, the remnants of which dusted the top of the coffee table like snow. So far The Blitz were enjoying the French leg of their tour immensely.
‘Whassup, man?’
‘Good morning, Brett. Has Jack called you?’ Ivan’s voice was low and rich, like slowly pouring honey.
‘Jack Messenger? No. Why would he?’
‘Well,’ Ivan cleared his throat, ‘he’s decided to leave the company and set up on his own.’
‘What?’
‘He didn’t even bother to call you?’ Ivan sounded surprised.
‘No,’ Brett frowned. ‘He didn’t. This is the first we’ve heard of it. I guess I should call him.’
‘That’s up to you,’ said Ivan casually. ‘I’m just calling to let you know how much we at Jester value The Blitz as clients. I hope you’ll consider staying with us.’
Brett hesitated. ‘I don’t know, man. Jack’s been with us from the beginning, you know? We kind of owe him.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Ivan. ‘Well, I must say that’s very generous of you. I’d have said that he owes you, after a decade of skimming twenty per cent off your top line.’
Brett had never really thought of it like this. ‘I guess he could have called us at least.’
‘Indeed,’ purred Ivan. ‘I should probably also mention that now that I’m running Jester, we’re going to be halving our commission for our top-tier acts.’
The lap-dancer was massaging Brett’s shoulders, her huge silicone breasts pressed against his back like beach balls. He struggled to concentrate. ‘Halving it, you say?’
‘Uh huh. Ten per cent.’
Brett Bayley was no Einstein. But a ten per cent commission rate was unheard-of in the music business. It would mean millions of extra dollars in his pocket every year. And, after all, he did have a wife and kid to think about now.
‘No pressure,’ said Ivan. ‘Have a think about it.’
Lex Abrahams sat at the bar at Cecconi’s on Melrose indulging in some surreptitious star-spotting. Out on the patio, Simon Cowell was holding court amongst a bunch of artists and record-company execs, including Gwen Stefani and David Alaia, the new head of Sony. Inside, Jennifer Aniston and a mystery man were huddled at a corner table, and Kobe Bryant, the Lakers hero, was enjoying a quiet dinner with his latest girlfriend, a Croatian model with legs like a giraffe and the brain power to match. As a music biz photographer, and longtime West Hollywood resident, Lex spent half his life amongst celebrities, but he was ashamed to admit he still experienced a small thrill when a beautiful actress or a brilliant sportsman sat down next to him. It was part of the buzz of living in LA and, although few people admitted to feeling it, it was one of the main reasons that celebrity hang-outs like Cecconi’s were fully booked all year round. It always made Lex laugh when pretty girls claimed they came here for the food. It was like saying you went to Hyde for the music, or the Chateau Marmont for the views.
‘Can I get you another margarita?’
The girl behind the bar reminded him of Kendall. She had the same glossy dark hair and angular cheekbones. Lex had successfully not thought about Kendall for an entire ten minutes, but now his mind wandered back to her. He’d only had one phone call from her since she arrived in London, which he assumed meant she was enjoying herself. As a general rule, Kendall only ever called him when she needed something – usually a shoulder to cry on about Jack. She’d be back in a few days and Lex was frightened by how violently he was longing to see her again.
He smiled at the barmaid. ‘Sure. Why not?’
Jack was late, and Lex had nothing much else to do. Having worked on back-to-back shoots for the last six weeks, he now found himself with the rare luxury of a few days off. He’d been thinking about driving down to La Jolla for a well-earned mini-break when Jack Messenger called asking to meet for a drink. He’d sounded excited on the phone, as if he had good news he wanted to share.
When Jack finally arrived, weaving his way through the tables towards the bar, Lex noticed how many female heads turned to look at him. Even in a restaurant full of famous, attractive men, Jack Messenger stood out from the crowd. Lex put it down to the fact that, unlike almost everybody else here, Jack genuinely didn’t care what sort of an impression he made. LA was crawling with good-looking men, but very few of them were so self-contained, so entirely without vanity. Jack Messenger didn’t play it cool. He was cool. Big difference.
‘Sorry. Crazy day.’ Sitting down next to Lex he ordered a gin and tonic and a charcuterie plate from the bar. ‘Have you eaten already?’
‘Yes,’ lied Lex, who couldn’t afford Cecconi’s prices. He’d mop up the alcohol with a big bowl of pasta when he got home. So what’s this all about? I’m intrigued.’
Jack took a deep breath. ‘I’m leaving Jester.’
His eyes sparkled with excitement. Lex wasn’t sure how to respond.
‘Wow,’ he said eventually. ‘That’s big news. Where are you going?’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.’
Lex looked puzzled. Had he had one margarita too many? ‘You mean you’re retiring?’
‘Noooo.’ Jack laughed. ‘Jesus, thanks a lot. I’m not that old. I’m splitting with Ivan, that’s all. It’s been a long time coming and I think it’s gonna be better for both of us. I’ll set up shop here in LA, and we’ll gradually regrow a European business. Ivan can reinvent himself as a reality star, or whatever the hell it is he thinks he does these days.’
