Bathrooms. That was something else the Brits hadn’t got quite right. In England, the expression ‘power shower’ meant anything that turned on and produced water, and you were lucky if you got even that. Most homes in the Swell Valley, including Cranbourne House, still had iron baths with separate taps that either scalded or froze you to death, depending on which you turned on first. Standing now on her gleaming, porcelain-tiled floor, while hundreds of hot jets of water pounded down mercilessly onto her aching muscles, Macy closed her eyes in pure delight. The sensation was so wonderful, it took her a full fifteen minutes to drag herself out and get dry. If she didn’t have so much work still to do to prepare for the NBC meeting, not to mention a string of emails from Laura that demanded replies, she could happily have stood in that shower all day.
As it was she dried off, slathered herself in Ole Henriksen grapefruit body lotion and slipped on a purple silk robe that barely covered her groin and hung open loosely across her breasts. There was no one here to see it, but the touch of the soft silk against her bare skin always made her feel sexy. Maybe she’d keep it on for her Skype call with James later? Or take it off. It was odd how the times she most wanted sex with him were the times he was thousands of miles away.
Skipping back down to the living room, she reached the bottom of the stairs and froze.
There was someone in the house. A man.
At first she thought she’d imagined the tall, dark figure moving past the deck. But then she saw him clearly, stepping through the open glass doors, looking around him stealthily, no doubt for something to steal. He wore jeans and a hooded top, but Macy could see from his hands that he was black.
How could she have been so stupid, leaving the doors open? This was Hollywood, not Fittlescombe. He hadn’t seen her yet. Crouching back into the shadows, Macy grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the side table in the hall. He was facing away from her now, bending down over her desk. With a strength and speed born of pure terror, Macy launched herself at him with a wild, war-like shriek, her raised arm brandishing the glass ashtray like a hand grenade.
The man spun around, a look of panic on his face.
‘Stop! Please!’ He just had time to cover his head with his arms before the glass came crashing down, missing his skull but painfully slamming into his wrists.
‘Get OUT!’ Macy roared, lifting the ashtray for a second strike as the man yelped in pain. ‘Get out of my house, you asshole!’
This time he reacted more quickly. Lunging to one side, he reached out and grabbed Macy’s arm forcefully, easily knocking the ashtray out of her hand. The next thing he knew he had his hands full of wriggling silk as she lashed out wildly, kicking, biting and scratching like a deranged cat. A manicured fingernail clawed at his cheek, drawing blood.
‘Please! I’m not here to hurt you. The door was open!’
Macy continued lashing out blindly.
‘I’m a lawyer. I represent your father. Per Johanssen.’
Macy stopped hitting him. Nervously, the man let go of her. She stepped back, pulling her robe more tightly around her and looked at him, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
‘You don’t look like a lawyer.’
‘What do lawyers look like?’ he asked.
‘They wear suits.’
‘Not on the weekend.’ He risked a smile and extended his hand. ‘Austin Jamet.’
Macy shook his hand but did not return the smile. On closer inspection he did not look much like a housebreaker. His skin was smooth and coffee coloured, and freshly shaven that morning. He had a full mouth and playful dark brown eyes and his hands were manicured to perfection. The hoodie, she noticed now, was made from very fine-weave summer cashmere.
‘I have a doorbell, Mr Jamet.’
‘Austin.’ He was still smiling, rather unnervingly. ‘I know you do. I rang it, repeatedly. There was no answer.’
‘I was in the shower.’
‘So I see.’
Macy ran a hand angrily through her wet hair.
‘I’m sorry I scared you,’ he went on. ‘But when I saw the rear doors were open, I figured—’
‘You’d barge in uninvited?’
‘I have something important to deliver to you, Miss Johanssen. I realized this might be my only chance.’
‘If it’s from my father, it’s not important to me,’ said Macy. ‘You shouldn’t have come here.’
The familiar Skype ringtone prevented the lawyer from answering. Macy disappeared into the kitchen. Austin Jamet could hear she was talking to a boyfriend. There were lots of ‘babys’ and ‘sweethearts’ being thrown around. Almost too many.
‘I’m sorry, baby,’ he heard Macy cooing. ‘I miss you too, soooo much. But I have a situation here … I’ll call you right back. Uh-huh. Of course I do.’
She hung up.
Returning to the living room, she looked in an even worse mood than before.
‘You’re aware I have a restraining order against my father?’
‘I am.’
‘Forbidding him to contact me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’
‘I’m not your father, Miss Johanssen. I’m his attorney. The order doesn’t extend to legal representatives.’
Macy sighed. ‘Look, Mr Jamet …’
‘Austin.’
‘Mr Jamet. There is nothing that Per Johanssen has to say to me that I want to hear.’
‘I understand that. But there are things you don’t know. Things that, if you did know them, might make you think differently.’
‘Think differently about what?’ asked Macy.
‘A lot of things.’
Pulling out a business card, the lawyer scribbled something down on the back of it and handed it to her.
Macy’s eyes widened. She started to laugh. ‘Mr Jamet, I am not having dinner with you.’
He smiled back at her. ‘Table’s at eight. My name. I can see myself out.’
Nobu Malibu had to have one of the most stunning locations of any restaurant in the world.
Perched just feet above the Pacific Ocean, surrounded by swaying palms and white sand, diners on the sleek outdoor deck could watch passing pods of dolphins leap and play for their amusement as they sipped at their cocktails, while a bruised purple sun bled into the horizon. Flames from the fire pits danced in the darkness, while inside the finest Japanese food was being lovingly prepared by the best sushi chefs outside of Tokyo.
Macy had arrived early, thanks to an Uber driver who was clearly a frustrated Formula 1 wannabe and had torn down Pacific Coast Highway like a bullet. Now, sitting alone at a table overlooking the ocean, staring at the single white orchid and tea-light candle in front of her and sipping on sake, she began to wonder what on earth had possessed her to show up tonight.
It was true she’d always been a sucker for the confident approach. Austin Jamet’s assurance that she would meet him for dinner was almost a dare. A thrown-down gauntlet that Macy simply had to pick up. But it wasn’t as if this were a date. She was with James now, well and truly spoken for. And Jamet was her father’s attorney, which made him something close to an enemy, at least on paper.
Macy didn’t like the idea that perhaps it was this that had prompted her to slip on a simple, grey Calvin Klein cocktail dress and Jonathan Kelsey heels and impulsively tap the Uber X app on her phone. That there might be a part of her that was curious about this message, whatever it was, that Per Johanssen was so desperate to give her. Something so important that an attorney would show up at her home, uninvited, on a Saturday, to try to deliver.
She was curious about Austin Jamet, too. What sort of a lawyer gave up his weekends to do his client’s bidding, and break every known professional boundary in the process? Didn’t Austin have a wife? A family? What would he have been doing tonight if he weren’t having dinner with her?
The questions were still rolling through Macy’s brain like tumbleweed when she saw him, weaving through the tables towards her with the s
ame smile he’d had at her house this afternoon. He was even better-looking this evening in a pale blue linen shirt and khakis, like a preppy Jamie Foxx. Macy noticed that quite a few women stopped or acknowledged him as he passed. All the young, beautiful ones, basically. The ones with tiny shorts and sheets of waist-length blonde hair and long tanned legs like perfect sticks of caramel.
Not married, thought Macy, but he definitely has a life of his own.
‘You came!’
He seemed genuinely delighted to see her.
‘I have no idea why,’ said Macy.
‘Doesn’t matter why,’ said Austin. ‘You’re here. Let’s order. We have a lot to talk about.’
Macy felt a twinge of disappointment at his business-like tone, followed by annoyance at herself for feeling it. This wasn’t a date, for heaven’s sake.
Macy ordered the black cod and seaweed salad, and Austin got them a huge plate of assorted sushi that looked incredible, like a platter of glistening jewels. The food arrived quickly but Macy found she was too nervous to eat. Austin got straight to business.
‘Your father is dying.’
Macy shrugged. To her, Per Johanssen had died a long time ago.
‘He has terminal lung cancer and is now in the very final stages,’ Austin went on. ‘He wants to see you.’
‘Wants to see my money, more like,’ Macy scoffed. ‘What’s he after? Better medical care? Round-the-clock nursing? Some expensive new drug?’
Austin frowned, apparently taken aback by her callousness.
‘There are no drugs,’ he said quietly. ‘And Per doesn’t need money.’
‘What then?’ Macy heard herself getting angrier. ‘Absolution? I’m sorry, but he can’t have that either. Was that the important message? That he’s dying?’
‘No.’ The lawyer speared a California roll with a chopstick and demolished it in a single bite.
‘What then?’
Austin wished he could tell her. He liked Macy enormously. Had liked her from the second he saw her, and not just because she was ridiculously sexy. She reminded him of her father, a man whom Austin Jamet admired greatly and had come almost to love. It was true that Per Johanssen was a client, but he was also more than that – and so much more than his daughter gave him credit for.
Like most children of divorce, Macy had been raised exclusively on one side of the story. Her mother’s. But heartbreak, alcoholism and depression could all play havoc with the truth. There was another side to Macy’s family history, and it was Per’s place to tell it to her. If she gave him the chance, before their time ran out.
‘He’ll tell you himself, when you see him. This is his address.’
He pushed a piece of paper across the table. Macy unfolded it. St John’s Hospice, Santa Monica. Macy passed it back to Austin.
‘Tell him no.’ The anger had dissipated. Macy sounded sad and a little weary. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to do your best for him. But it’s too late for that.’
Sensing correctly that it would be counterproductive to push her further tonight, Austin ordered more sake and changed the subject. He wanted to do the best he could for Per. That was why he was here, after all. But he was also very attracted to Macy, and more than a little intrigued. At first they made small talk about LA, and their different perspectives on the city.
‘I went to the East Coast for law school,’ he told Macy. ‘Froze my ass off. When I graduated I moved back here first plane I could catch. You can’t beat LA for the weather. Or the women.’
Macy raised a sceptical eyebrow ‘I don’t believe for a moment that you’re that shallow, Mr Jamet.’
‘You don’t?’ Austin grinned.
‘There must be more to LA than that. More that pulled you back here.’
Austin looked suddenly serious. ‘Not really. I’m not that close to my family. We grew up in Venice, but it was totally different back then. No million-dollar beach shacks or artists’ studios or Abbot Kinney restaurants charging eighty bucks for a steak.’
‘What was it like, then?’ Macy sipped her wine.
‘Tenth grade. Two kids in my algebra class got an F on a test. Went home, got beaten up by their dads. Real bad.’
Macy shrugged. ‘That happens.’
‘Uh-huh. Next morning they walked into class and blew the math teacher’s head off.’
Macy gasped.
Austin speared another roll and flashed her a naughty smile. ‘We all got As in algebra after that.’
After forty minutes, Macy felt as if she’d asked him a thousand questions and he’d answered all of them. And yet by the end she still knew almost nothing really important about him.
‘Your turn.’
Austin pushed the molten chocolate cake towards her, but Macy declined.
‘Tell me about Macy Johanssen.’
‘You look like a man who does your research,’ Macy teased. ‘Didn’t you read my file?’
‘Oh, I know your résumé,’ said Austin, proceeding to rattle off Macy’s date of birth, education and career highlights. It was more than a little unnerving. ‘But I don’t know you.’
‘I’m an open book,’ Macy lied. ‘Ask away.’
‘OK. Why’d you move to England? Were you running away from something here in LA?’
‘Not at all,’ Macy stiffened. ‘I thought Valley Farm would be a good career move. And it was.’
‘A good personal move too, by all accounts,’ said Austin. ‘I understand you’re getting married?’
‘That’s right.’ Macy reached her arm across the table, showing him the ring. Austin took her hand, resting her slender fingers on his flat, warm palm, like a delicate flower resting on a lily pad.
‘That’s quite a rock.’
Macy smiled.
‘He’s English?’
‘Very.’
‘And you like living over there?’
‘I love it,’ said Macy. ‘The Swell Valley, where we shoot Valley Farm, is like something out of a fairy tale. Seriously, I don’t think Hans Christian Andersen could have dreamed this place up.’
‘But?’
Macy frowned at him. ‘What do you mean “but”? There are no buts.’
Austin frowned back at her. ‘Come, come now. If we’re going to be friends, you’re going to need to be straight with me. You’re in town to sell the show in the US, correct?’
Macy nodded.
‘So you want to move back here?’
‘For a while maybe,’ Macy said defensively. ‘I want to spend time in both places.’
‘With your very English husband-to-be?’
‘That’s right. What’s wrong with that?’ Macy bristled a little. More fool her for getting into a Q&A with a lawyer. Austin was making her feel as if she were on trial.
‘Nothing,’ he said breezily. ‘I heard you Skyping back at the house. He sounded like a nice guy.’
‘You were eavesdropping?’
‘Actually, you were projecting,’ Austin said gently. ‘It was almost like you wanted me to hear how affectionate you guys were. How happy.’
Macy blushed. Gosh, he was observant. ‘Don’t be silly.’
An awkward silence fell. Austin pulled a smokeless cigarette out of a box in his pocket and offered one to Macy.
‘Do you vape?’
She shook her head and laughed. ‘I used to. I gave up when I moved to England. My God, I haven’t seen one of those in a while.’
She remembered how horrified Eddie Wellesley had been the night she first met him, when she’d offered him a smokeless cigarette after they slept together. Jesus, did I really sleep with Eddie? What a long time ago that seemed now.
Austin inhaled deeply, a cloud of steam snaking softly from between his lips.
‘You’re not sure about him, are you?’
It took Macy a moment to realise he was talking about James.
‘What? Of course I’m sure,’ she said. Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, as if someone had opened a trap door beneat
h her feet and she’d just plunged through it.
‘Is there someone else?’
‘No!’
‘Someone at work?’
Macy pushed her plate away and folded her arms. This game had stopped being fun. Who was this man, to ask her such personal questions, and make such wild assumptions about her life?
Realizing he’d gone too far, Austin apologized. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I guess it’s force of habit, the probing questions. Kind of an occupational hazard.’
They managed to finish the evening without incident, but the earlier ease between them had gone. Macy felt upset, as if she’d been tricked into revealing more of herself than she meant to. At the same time, it bothered her that this man, this complete stranger, should make the same observation that Eddie Wellesley and Santiago and others had made to her. Austin’s words hung in her head now like an accusation:
‘You’re not sure, are you?… Is there somebody else?… Somebody at work?’
She was pleased when the bill came and it was time to leave. Even more pleased when her phone informed her that her Uber driver was only one minute away. Outside, the cool night air blowing off the Pacific ruffled Macy’s hair and soothed her spirits. Really, what did it matter what Per Johanssen’s handsome lawyer thought about her?
‘This is me,’ said Austin, as the valet brought round a gleaming, midnight-blue Aston Martin. ‘May I offer you some advice, Macy? In case I don’t see you again?’
‘It’s a free country,’ said Macy.
‘Go and see your father, before it’s too late.’ He slipped into his car, stretching out his long legs in front of him with the same, easy grace with which he seemed to do everything. ‘And don’t get married unless you’re absolutely sure.’
Macy opened her mouth to say, ‘I am sure.’ But while the words were still forming, Austin drove away.
All the way back to Laurel Canyon, Macy felt her mood worsen and the tension in her body increase. What a horrible evening! What a mistake to have gone, when she could have been at home doing something useful, like preparing for her pitch meetings. On top of it all, Laura was arriving tomorrow. This would be the first time the two women had been alone together without Eddie or Gabe there as a buffer. Just the thought of Laura’s hostile, critical presence at these important meetings was enough to drain what was left of Macy’s confidence like a lanced boil.