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Lex processed this information. He’d worked for Jester on and off for the last five years, and in all that time he had only met Ivan Charles twice. Nevertheless, he’d made a big impression. By far the more flamboyant of the two founding partners, it was Ivan who people most associated with the name Jester. Jack was the quiet, powerful engine that kept them going, but Ivan Charles was the face of the company.
‘What does Kendall think about all this?’
For the first time, Jack’s expression darkened. ‘It was Kendall who started this whole ball rolling,’ he said bitterly. ‘Not that I’m complaining. The way I see it, she did me a favour.’
He told Lex the whole story, how Kendall had reneged on her US record deal and signed with a British label behind his back. ‘She called me, drunk out of her mind. When I challenged her about it, she refused to call the thing off – or rather, Ivan refused on her behalf. No question he’s leading her by the nose on this thing. So Kendall’s with Polydor and I’m washing my hands of the both of them.’
Lex didn’t try to hide his shock. Not just that Kendall had taken such a huge step without even telling him; but that Jack would actually go so far as to cut her loose.
‘You can’t be serious. You’re going to stop managing Kendall?’
‘I’m perfectly serious. I’m prepared to manage Kendall, but only on my terms, which she refused.’
‘But Jack—’
‘Look, if Kendall wants to piss her career away in Europe in exchange for the first big cheque she’s offered, that’s up to her,’ Jack snapped. ‘She’ll see through Ivan soon enough. When she does, I dare say she’ll come crawling back.’
Lex flattered himself that he knew Kendall Bryce better than anyone. She and Jack were as stubborn and bull-headed as each other. It would be a cold day in hell before Kendall ‘crawled’ back to anyone. The pair of them were proud to a fault.
‘If you want to call it quits as well, I understand,’ Jack said sulkily. ‘Entirely your call. I know you and Kendall are close.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Lex. ‘Of course I’ll keep working with you.’ He considered Jack Messenger a friend but, far more pertinently, he relied on him for a solid sixty-five per cent of his income. It was typical of Jack’s unconscious arrogance that this simple economic fact had never occurred to him. ‘It’s very sudden, that’s all. Quitting Jester and dropping Kendall, all on the strength of one argument. You don’t think you’re overreacting?’
Jack’s frown deepened. He did not think he was overreacting, and he was tired of everyone telling him he was. So far the only person who’d been unconditionally supportive was Elizabeth, his on-again off-again girlfriend. Liz thought that breaking out on his own was an ‘awesome idea’. Jack put this down to the fact that she had seen first-hand how much stress Ivan Charles’s antics had caused him over the past year, and what a daily nightmare it had been babysitting Kendall Bryce. It didn’t occur to him that Elizabeth Grey was hopelessly in love with him and would probably have said anything she knew he wanted to hear.
Lex Abrahams was braver. ‘What if it doesn’t stop with Kendall?’ he asked Jack, who had downed his G&T and already ordered a second. ‘What if Ivan’s already out there now, trying to secure Jester’s other big acts?’
‘I can’t see him doing that.’ Jack sounded supremely unconcerned. ‘He has his list, which I have no intention of going after, and I have mine. It’s in the clients’ interests to make a clean break.’
‘Maybe, but since when did Ivan Charles put the clients’ interests above his own? He could be on the phone right now, making promises to half your acts. Either way, you ought to call people, man. Let them know what’s going on, reassure them. Have you spoken to Brett Bayley?’
‘No,’ said Jack, irritated. ‘Why would I?’
‘Because he’s in London right now, on Ivan’s home turf, and because The Blitz are your most lucrative act?’ offered Lex. ‘Kendall told me Brett’s wife spends a lot of time with Ivan’s wife. That could be dangerous.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Jack dismissively. ‘I’ve managed The Blitz since they were a bunch of high-school kids. I’m like a father to those boys. Brett Bayley’s not going anywhere. Besides,’ he added, worryingly from Lex’s perspective, ‘anyone who wants to go should go. I’m not interested in representing people who don’t want me as their manager. If Kendall thinks Ivan can do a better job than I have, then good luck to her. I won’t be begging anyone to stay.’
An hour later, Lex drove the few blocks back to his apartment in a state of high anxiety. He knew Jack Messenger to be a smart businessman. He had founded Jester, after all, and must comfortably be worth tens of millions of dollars. But this latest decision seemed totally out of character: risky, impetuous, the sort of thing that Kendall might do.
Kendall. It still hadn’t fully sunk in. Had she really traded in Matador for a niche European record label, and Jack for his charismatic partner? It all seemed so unlikely. And what did it mean? Was she going to stay in England now? To move there permanently? Surely she wouldn’t actually relocate to another continent without telling him. Lex needed to believe he meant more to Kendall than that. Jack might be ready to wash his hands of the troublesome Miss Bryce, but then he had the luxury of not being in love with her.
I’ll call her, get to the bottom of it. There must be two sides to this story. Once I know what she’s thinking, I’m sure I can get her to see sense.
Kendall woke alone in Ivan Charles’s bed. It was only six a.m., but there was no chance of getting back to sleep. Light was already chinking through the blinds in the Eaton Gate flat, and a particularly noisy removal van had inconsiderately decided to start unloading right beneath the master bedroom window.
Kendall officially still had her own room down the hall, but in the ten days since she and Ivan had become lovers, she hadn’t spent a night there. She felt surprisingly lonely when Ivan disappeared to Oxfordshire. It was a comfort to sleep on sheets that still bore the scent of him, and Kendall felt in need of comfort.
In the immediate, euphoric aftermath of her Fascination deal, and the unexpected thrill of beginning a new affair, she’d spared little thought for the long-term implications of her epic row with Jack. Now, as the days passed with no sign of bridge-building on either side, the true enormity of what she’d done was starting to sink in. The entire focus of her career and life had now shifted to London, a city she still barely knew and where she was living out of two suitcases. Ivan had made it all seem so fun. It was fun when he was with her, as if the rest of her life, the boring part full of ties and responsibilities and angry record-company execs, faded into a distant dream and only the thrilling present was real. But as soon as Ivan was physically gone, be it to work or home to his wife and family, Kendall felt like what she was: a stranger, alone and friendless in a foreign city. Forty-million-dollar deals were all very well, but she needed a life. The one she had right now revolved wholly and frighteningly around Ivan Charles, a man she had only met for the first time less than a month ago.
Reaching for her cell phone on the bedside table, she turned it on and checked for new messages. There were six, all from LA, but none of them from Jack. Five were business-related and one was from her mother, who had clearly forgotten Kendall was travelling and sounded irritated that she hadn’t stopped by the house since the spring. Depressed, Kendall was just about to switch the handset off when to her astonishment it rang. Number Withheld. It could be Ivan, from a payphone, although perhaps that was unlikely at this time in the morning. Or Jack, pleading with her to come back …
‘Hello?’
‘I just had dinner with Jack. What the hell’s going on? Why didn’t you call me?’
The sound of Lex’s voice burst Kendall’s hope-bubble like a pin in a birthday balloon.
‘Oh, hi, Lex,’ she sighed. ‘I meant to call you but it’s been totally crazy. Ivan’s got me on an insane publicity schedule. I’ve hardly had a minute to myself.’
‘So it’s true, then? You have dropped Jack for Ivan.’
Kendall bit her lip hard. Was that what Jack was telling people? That she had dumped him?
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Lex asked accusingly. ‘After all Jack’s done for you?’
‘OK, just hold on a minute,’ said Kendall. ‘First of all, Jack dropped me, not the other way around.’
‘After you signed a deal without discussing it with him!’
‘Discussing? With Jack? Come on, Lex, you know the man. Jack doesn’t discuss things with me. He orders me around like a child, and I’m sick of it.’
‘Kendall, you should have told him.’
‘Well maybe I would have if he ever called me,’ Kendall shot back, stung because she knew deep down that Lex was right. ‘Did he tell you what a great deal it is? I bet he didn’t.’ She filled Lex in on the numbers. He had to admit they were eye-popping and that Jack had failed to mention them.
‘Would you walk away from that kind of money just to keep Jack sweet?’
‘No,’ said Lex, ‘I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t stab him in the back either. And I wouldn’t ignore his advice. Yes, it’s a lot of money, but it means turning your back on the US market, or at least shifting your focus at a crucial point in your career. Jack thinks that’s a mistake.’
‘Oh, bullcrap,’ said Kendall. ‘Jack’s just pissed because for once in his life he’s not in control. Ivan brokered the deal and Jack can’t stand it. He doesn’t care about my interests.’
‘How can you say that?’ Lex sounded genuinely shocked. ‘You know he cares. My God, Kendall, I don’t think you realize how serious this is. Jack’s leaving Jester over this. He’s breaking up the company.’
Kendall shrugged. ‘That’s his decision. Look, it’s not my fault if Jack’s decided to throw all his toys out of the crib. Ivan says he’s always had a spoiled, immature streak.’
Lex laughed bitterly. ‘Yeah, well, Ivan would know.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Kendall went on the defensive.
‘It means he’s a Machiavellian, self-centred jerk,’ said Lex. ‘If you don’t know that now, you soon will.’
‘You barely even know him,’ said Kendall.
‘Nor do you.’
A frosty silence settled between them. Lex broke it first.
‘And what about me? When were you planning on telling me that you weren’t coming back? Or was I supposed to read the press release like everybody else?’
Kendall had never heard him so bitter before. For some reason it made her want to cry.
‘I was going to tell you.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know. Soon. It was a sudden thing for me too, you know. It’s not like I planned it.’
There was so much Lex wanted to say. When he’d dialled Kendall’s number he had a hundred and one reasons on the tip of his tongue why she should come home, why she should make things up with Jack and convince him to stay at Jester and put this whole, crazy episode behind them. But now Lex realized there was only one real reason he wanted her home. It was the same reason he had for calling, and for feeling betrayed that he’d heard Kendall’s big news from someone else, and not from her. And it was the one reason he could never, ever tell her.
I love you.
Please don’t leave me.
Out loud he said coldly, ‘All right then. Well … good luck,’ and hung up.
Thousands of miles away, alone in Ivan Charles’s bed, Kendall Bryce, Fascination Records’ newest mega-star, burst into tears.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Over the next three months, shockwaves from Jester’s sudden, unexpected implosion reverberated through the music industry. Although Ivan and Jack’s inner circle had known for some time that all was not well between them, to the business at large it was a shock to learn just how bitter and toxic their relationship had become.
More shocking still was how quickly, and catastrophically, Jack Messenger’s career nosedived. Jack had started this war but, for reasons nobody fully understood – perhaps out of some misplaced sense of gentlemanly conduct – he seemed intent on walking onto the battlefield unarmed and undefended. Ivan Charles was not so naïve. From day one he saw the break-up of the Jester partnership for what it was – a fight to the death – and set about annihilating his former partner. Without hesitation he called every one of Jack’s acts, offering them vast financial inducements to remain with Jester, as well as slathering on the charm. Jack was a brilliant manager, but he had never understood as Ivan did the cavernous depths of insecurity that fuelled most artists. Ivan validated and praised and gushed and ego-massaged until his jaw ached. Jack couldn’t bring himself to do it, and it was a reticence that cost him dearly. While Jack adopted a ‘business-as-usual’ approach up in Beverly Glen, Ivan spent entire days on the phone, like Jerry Maguire, relentlessly lobbying and cajoling for business. He flew to Paris to schmooze The Blitz and to New York to sign a new deal with Jason Kray, a young man Jack had been grooming to become the next Michael Bublé. He relentlessly leaned on all his contacts in the press, making sure that Kendall’s face was everywhere and that her picture never appeared without Jester’s name being mentioned. Meanwhile, as final preparations began for the launch of Talent Quest, Ivan’s own face and name began to become well known, at least in England. ITV and the production company, House of Cards, set up an endless stream of interviews for Ivan. He made sure to talk about Jester and his famous acts in all of them. If the show was a success, and especially if it was syndicated globally, the new Jester would be clinging firmly to its coat-tails.
For Catriona Charles it was a period of mixed emotions. On the one hand she was delighted for Ivan, of course. She hadn’t seen him this energized since Jester’s early days. In the first week or two after Jack left, Ivan had been terribly anxious, but the business now seemed to be going from strength to strength. Kendall Bryce, who had always struck Catriona as a sweet girl, not to mention incredibly beautiful and talented, was an almost overnight sensation. Bursting onto the British pop scene like a supernova, with her debut British single going straight in at number three and advertisers clamouring to work with her, Kendall had put Ivan firmly and instantly on the map as a pop manager. Much as Catriona loved Ned Williams and Ivan’s other, classical acts, she could see that managing Kendall had catapulted her husband into a bigger, infinitely more glamorous world. It wasn’t a world that particularly appealed to Catriona. But Ivan loved it, and she was thrilled to see him so happy.
But there was a price to pay for Ivan’s success. Despite his expressed desire to spend more time at home, and especially to focus on Hector, Ivan was travelling almost constantly. Catriona didn’t think she had ever known him work so hard. If he wasn’t at the TV studios, rehearsing – the pilot of Talent Quest was going out live, to an estimated audience of twelve million – he was promoting the show, or locked in a recording studio with Kendall, or flitting around the globe signing more and more acts to the ‘new’ Jester. In the last month alone, he’d had to double the size of Jester’s London workforce and move offices to an ugly but much larger space in Hammersmith, just to keep pace with demand. Meanwhile the demands of his family took second place, and Catriona found herself effectively a single parent. She tried not to mind for herself. Things would calm down with Ivan’s work eventually. But she did feel sorry for the children, especially Hector, whose behaviour was on a downward slide again and who clearly resented his father’s long absences.
And finally there was Jack. Though she did her best to hide it from Ivan, Catriona couldn’t help but feel guilty about her old friend, especially as all of Ivan’s current success seemed to have been bought at poor Jack’s expense.
‘It’s not my fault if his clients don’t have confidence in him,’ Ivan protested. ‘I’m not putting a gun to anyone’s head.’
‘But you are undercutting him,’ Catriona pointed out meekly.
‘I’m offering a competitive rate, darling. There’s nothing to stop Jack doing the same.’
All of which might be true. But it still made Catriona feel uncomfortable, watching Kendall Bryce on television telling interviewers how much she owed to Ivan and how happy she was in England. It was only back in the summer that Jack had cornered Catriona at Ivan’s party and asked her to keep an eye on Kendall. How could he see Kendall’s defection as anything other than a betrayal?
A week before Christmas, Catriona sat at the kitchen table at The Rookery, mindlessly peeling potatoes. Tonight at seven o’clock the first Talent Quest was finally going to air. Ivan was up in London, the show was going out live; though Catriona had offered to go with him, he preferred to do it alone.
‘I’m so bloody nervous as it is, I’ll fall to pieces completely if I know you’re there,’ he told her this morning. Standing in the bathroom, his face seaweed green, the poor thing looked as if he were off to face a firing squad. ‘Is this hair dye too obvious? I feel like the roots are almost orange.’
‘It’s fine darling, very natural,’ lied Catriona. Ever since he’d turned forty, Ivan had started obsessing about the signs of ageing, from the grey streaks at his temples to the faint fan of lines etched at the corners of his eyes. Since he’d been offered the television job, his anxiety about his looks had got exponentially worse. Catriona couldn’t understand it. In her eyes, Ivan was much more handsome now than he had been in his twenties. She was the one who was going to seed. But like all her husband’s foibles, she treated this one with kindness and equanimity, and did her best to bolster his confidence.
In the end, Ivan’s hands were shaking so much that Catriona had had to shave him, otherwise he’d have appeared on screen looking as though he’d just staggered out of Sweeney Todd’s. ‘You and the kids watch it here, and make sure you Sky+ it.’
‘Of course,’ Catriona said loyally. She’d have to ask Rosie to show her how the Sky+ worked again. Last time Ivan had asked her to record Entourage, she’d somehow ended up with six episodes of Ben & Holly instead. ‘Call us as soon as it’s over, won’t you?’
Ivan kissed her on the cheek. ‘I promise.’
That was nine hours ago. It was six o’clock now, an hour till kick-off, and Catriona was starting to feel unpleasantly nervous herself. Outside, the afternoon’s thin dusting of snow had turned into a full dump. Through the kitchen window, Catriona watched the fat, soft flakes fall in silent succession, illuminated by a brightly full winter moon. She loved all the seasons in Swinbrook, but winter was probably her favourite. The crisp blue skies and snowy river bank never failed to lift her spirits, but it was also wonderfully comforting to come in from the cold to The Rookery’s roaring log fires, or to brew up a saucepan of home-made mulled wine on the always hot Aga. Of course, the downside of the cold weather was the irresistible urge to eat biscuits and mince pies and buttery mashed potatoes and all other varieties of warming comfort food. When Ivan was around, Cat made more of an effort to restrain her appetite. But left to her own devices, and particularly when Hector or Rosie were playing her up, she found it nigh on impossible not to go for the extra spoonful of brandy butter. She spent her life wrapped up in baggy sweaters anyway, like Nanook of the North. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to actually see her expanding stomach, or the embarrassing red lines left by the waistband of her favourite elasticated tweed skirt.
Tonight, however, Catriona was too nervous to eat. She was only peeling the stupid potatoes for something to do, and because the alternative was going upstairs to try and reason with a sulky Hector, who was refusing to come and watch his father’s television debut. (‘Why should I care about Dad’s things? He never gives a shit about mine.’) The boy was getting more like a teenager by the day. Or comforting Rosie, who’d taken to her bed this morning in a paroxysm of grief because Ned Williams had announced he was abandoning his Widford cottage for Christmas and jetting off to Mustique instead.
‘Mustique!’ Rosie spat out the word in disgust. ‘It sounds like a bloody deodorant.’
‘Please don’t swear, darling.’
‘Why would he want to go to Mustique when he could be here with us in Burford? It doesn’t make any sense. And what about poor old Badger? I bet he pines to death. Dogs do that, you know. Then Ned’ll be sorry. How can he be so selfish?’
After an entire afternoon of the children’s histrionics, Catriona had given up and retreated downstairs. But as soon as she was alone, she found her own nerves began in earnest. Just thinking about poor Ivan going green in the Green Room – was that why they called them Green Rooms, because everyone felt so ill before they went on air? – was enough to turn her stomach in sympathy. Please, please let him be good. Let the show be a success.
Having taken the edge off with two large gin and tonics, Catriona poured herself a third for luck and went through into the drawing room to find the TV already on. Rosie had apparently tired of sobbing Ned’s name into her pillow and decided to watch her father’s television debut after all. Coiled up on the sofa with a big bowl of Quality Street, she looked happy as a clam. Oh, the resilience of youth, thought Catriona.
‘It’s still the adverts.’ Rosie scooched over to make room for her mother. ‘Should I go and get Hector?’
‘No, leave him,’ said Cat. ‘There’s no point forcing it. He can watch the recording later. Oh my God, it is recording, isn’t it? Daddy’ll kill me if I muck it up.’
‘Yeeees, Mum.’ Rosie rolled her eyes wearily. Catriona’s technological incompetence was legendary. ‘Ooo, oo, oo, it’s starting!’
‘Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome tooooo … TALENT QUEST!’
As the voiceover boomed out, the camera zoomed around a cheering studio audience. There were strobe lights everywhere and clouds of dry ice from which the show’s presenter, a generic blonde called Isabella James, emerged in a gold-sequined minidress. A cantilevered stage lifted her upwards, the cameras trained firmly on her lithe, gazelle-like legs, while a six-piece live band played the show’s theme tune to rapturous applause.
It’s very old-fashioned, thought Catriona. Almost like a seventies game show.
‘Cool!’ Rosie breathed rapturously. ‘I love the smoke.’
Isabella James rattled off her script from the autocue, briefly outlining the show’s premise – to find the best vocal talent from all sides of the spectrum, pitting classical against pop and jazz against opera – before introducing the judges.
First up was Stacey Harlow, lead singer of Heavenly, a hugely successful girl band. A natural performer, Stacey smiled and waved at the camera, as relaxed as if she were posing for a family photograph. Next was Richard Bay, a handsome American in his early thirties, better known for his string of celebrity girlfriends – Cameron Diaz, Scarlett Johansson and Amanda Seyfried to name a few – than for the fact that he had written and produced two of the most successful Broadway musicals of recent years. And finally Ivan, whom Isabella James introduced as ‘Britain’s top music manager and the man who brought you the sensational Kendall Bryce.’
The audience applause was clearly Ivan’s cue to acknowledge the camera with a nod and a smile. Instead he stared straight ahead, jaw rigid, beads of sweat clearly visible on his forehead. Catriona winced.
‘What’s wrong with Daddy?’ asked Rosie. ‘He looks awfully strange.’
Some heavy-handed make-up girl had gone overboard with the foundation, possibly in an attempt to hide Ivan’s nerves-induced pallor. The result was a ghastly, orange, waxen look that made him look ten years older – a plastic George Hamilton melting beneath the studio lights.
Isabella James sashayed down to the judging panel. ‘So, Ivan,’ she said chirpily, ‘how do you feel about meeting Talent Quest’s very first live contestants? Are you confident we’re going to unearth the recording stars of the future?’
The camera closed in on Ivan’s face. For a few awful seconds he said nothing, frozen like a rabbit in the headlights. Then, at a nudge from Stacey Harlow, he belatedly looked up at the autocue.
‘Very confident Isabel … er, sorry, Isabella. The standard in the audition rounds was extreme. Er … Extremely. Extremely high. I’m sure our quest will be a success.’
You could have cut the awkwardness in the studio with a knife. Poor Ivan! Catriona couldn’t bear it. Not only had he fluffed his lines, but his voice sounded terrible, a flat, lifeless monotone. Ivan was a brilliant speaker, a natural raconteur. It was as if the camera had reached inside him and sucked out all his charisma, replacing her bright, brilliant husband with a wooden puppet.
She prayed he’d warm up as the show got under way, but if anything things got worse. The acts were mediocre, with the exception of one eleven-year-old choirboy who sang ‘Pie Jesu’ quite beautifully and without any accompaniment. But while the other judges joked with the contestants and bantered easily with the presenter, Ivan continued to parrot his lines lifelessly, his body and manner both as stiff as a corpse.
When it was over, Rosie stretched out her legs, scattering Quality Street wrappers all over the carpet. ‘I thought that boy was brilliant, didn’t you?’
