A runner put her head round the door. She was a pretty girl, blonde and slim with pert apple breasts that jiggled deliciously underneath her white T-shirt. She couldn’t have been much more than eighteen. A few years ago, Ivan thought, I’d have had a crack at that. Now just the thought of more sex made him want to crawl under a duvet in a dark room and go to sleep for a year.
‘Ava’s about to go on. Do you want to come and watch?’
Ivan brightened. ‘Absolutely.’
Ava Bentley, a sweet, slightly chubby seventeen-year-old from Rosedale Abbey in Yorkshire, had become Ivan’s lifeline, his golden ticket. The most talked-about contestant of the show so far, Ava had won the nation’s heart with her natural, infectious laugh, her unaffected good humour and, of course, her sensational voice. If Ivan played his cards right – and he intended to – Ava would be Jester’s Messiah, the voice of an angel that would lead his ailing business out of the wilderness and back into the light.
Slipping into the back of sound stage one, where the remaining contestants were in the midst of a last-minute run-through of their songs for tonight’s show, Ivan smiled paternally at his favorite Talent Quest mentee. This week’s theme was ‘jazz greats’ and Ava was performing Etta James’s famous ‘At Last’. Seeing Ivan, she waved at him sweetly mid-song, like a primary-school child spotting its mother in the audience of the nativity play.
‘Ava, love, keep your focus,’ John the voice coach shouted encouragingly. ‘Eyes front, remember. Camera one.’
‘Sorry.’ Ivan smiled sheepishly. ‘Just forget I’m here.’
Ava finished the track, her high, pure voice lending the song a breathless, innocent quality quite different to the soulful Etta James and Beyoncé versions. Skipping over to Ivan in a knee-length floral dress, she looked even younger than her seventeen years, her face flushed with happiness and excitement.
‘Was I all right?’ she asked nervously, in the broad Yorkshire accent that the whole of Britain had come to know and love. ‘I felt like the last verse was a bit wobbly.’
‘You were perfect,’ said Ivan. ‘Seriously. Don’t change a thing, my darling. Are your mum and dad here yet?’
Ava looked around. ‘Somewhere. They’re dead excited about our dinner tonight. My dad said the restaurant you’ve booked is well posh.’
Ivan laughed. ‘Tell your dad he can get used to posh restaurants from now on. Only the best for Britain’s newest singing superstar.’
Both Ava and her parents were simple people who trusted Ivan implicitly. It had been no mean feat to secure Ava’s loyalty to him, personally, rather than to Talent Quest, and to tie her rising fortunes inexorably to his own. Tonight’s after-show dinner was the latest step in his relentless wooing of the Bentleys. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet.
‘Stop it,’ Ava giggled. ‘I haven’t won it yet, you know. Some of the others are dead good, especially Michael.’
‘Michael? Who’s Michael?’ Ivan teased.
The reality was that he didn’t, in fact, want Ava to win the ITV competition. If she actually won the show, and right now she was Ladbrokes’ odds-on favourite, she would be contractually bound to release her first album with Sony, under the terms of the deal Don Peters had made back when Talent Quest launched. Peters’ own management company, Phoenix, would take charge of the winner’s career.
If Ava came in second or third, however, legally she would be free to sign with whomever she chose, and on whatever terms. If Ivan was going to poach her for Jester, (and get her clueless parents to sign away fifty per cent of her earnings up front), he had to navigate his way through a minefield. First, he had to make sure Ava did well enough on the show to keep her profile high in the press, but not so well that she won. Secondly, he had to convince her and her parents to agree to Jester’s terms, which meant shielding them from any other influences within the business who could have told them how extortionate and exploitative Ivan’s proposal actually was. And thirdly, if he pulled it off, he had to figure out a way to smooth things over with Don Peters sufficiently to be allowed to keep his job on the show. Legally, runners-up were free to cut their own deals. But amongst show insiders, the absolute assumption was that Don Peters, as Talent Quest’s creator, had first dibs on all contestants, especially the budding media stars like Ava. After the first series, all seven finalists had signed up with Phoenix. Stealing Ava Bentley from under Don Peters’ nose was going to ruffle more than a few feathers.
If Ivan got that far.
Meanwhile, unfortunately, it wasn’t as if Ava Bentley was his only priority. During the week he squeezed as many hours as he could into Jester, doing his best to lift the flagging morale of the Mayfair office. Brett Bayley had been bugging him for weeks to sit down with The Blitz’s record company and thrash out a new deal. Ivan had hoped to schedule that for tonight – one less monkey on his back – but dinner with the Bentleys had to take precedence. He also badly wanted to check in on Kendall. She was bored and restless between albums, something which worried Ivan immensely. It was when he’d been bored and restless that he’d cheated on Catriona. The thought of Kendall so much as looking at another man was enough to make his palms sweat and his heart tighten painfully in his chest. But, as usual, there wasn’t enough time for everything.
‘Oh look, they’re bringing the audience in. Hadn’t you better go and get ready?’ said Ava.
Ivan glanced at the stream of great unwashed pouring down the aisles and into their seats. The warm-up man would be here in a minute, delivering the same lame gags he used before every show. Sometimes Ivan hated the monotony of television.
‘I guess we both should,’ he said, kissing Ava on the cheek. ‘Break a leg.’
As she walked away, Ivan’s BlackBerry buzzed in his shirt pocket. His heart leaped for a moment – if Kendall was calling him, it meant she wasn’t in bed with someone else – then sank when Catriona’s name flashed up on the screen. Guiltily, he pressed ‘ignore’. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. He simply didn’t have time for an argument about bounced maintenance cheques right now.
Earlier that day, at lunch in Notting Hill, Kendall had sat opposite Stella Bayley at Tom’s Deli on Westbourne Grove, doing her best to look interested.
‘It is soooo important not to rush the developmental stages. That’s one of the things I really do struggle with in this country. Like, Miley’s five now, and she has a phenomenal EQ, but have you tried finding a school that promotes freedom of expression and spiritual growth in London?’
Kendall hadn’t.
‘I mean, seriously, good luck. They’d rather stuff the kids full of alphabet and math and, like, facts – at five years old. Don’t they realize the personality is still so malleable with these kids? They need to play, to explore this crazy world of ours through their own senses. It’s like, no one outside of America has even heard of kinesthetic learning.’ Stella let out an exasperated sigh and sipped her carrot juice. ‘It’s all I’m talking about on my blog.’
Under normal circumstances, Kendall would never have sought out a friendship with Stella. Before she came to London, she’d even had a vague idea of sleeping with her husband, Brett. (Admittedly that was before Kendall had met Brett Bayley. The man was so thick he was positively primeval and had all the erotic allure of Shrek. That was one notch on the bedpost she could live without.) But a combination of loneliness, and the fact that Stella provided an oblique window into the ‘other’ sides of Ivan’s life – she was still friends with his ex-wife, Catriona – drew Kendall into an unlikely bond with the blogger queen. Beneath all the earth-mother bullshit, Stella was also kind. Unlike everybody else, she hadn’t rushed to judgement over Kendall and Ivan’s affair, and had always been willing to lend a neutral ear about the relationship. With Jack cutting her off completely, and Lex, her former rock, making no secret of his disapproval, Kendall was grateful for Stella’s support.
‘What are your plans for the summer?’ Kendall changed the subject, taking a bite of her own
delicious goat’s cheese and red onion tart. ‘Will Brett be home?’
‘Yes!’ Stella’s make-up-free face lit up in a perfect white smile. ‘I’m so excited.’ As ever, Kendall felt guilty that everybody knew about Brett’s womanizing but his wife. Stella’s devotion was so blind it was almost superhuman. ‘We’ve taken a house in Malibu, actually. I’m really looking forward to spending some time back home. I think Miley needs to reconnect with her roots.’
Miley’s not the only one, thought Kendall sadly. With a new, crucial album to finish and promote, there was no way she could take a real vacation before Christmas. She missed LA like a physical pain sometimes. The beaches, the sunshine, the food; shopping on Robertson; partying at Hyde. She missed Jack too. With Ivan she’d discovered an intensity and a passion different to anything she’d known before. But there was an innocence to her long, unrequited love for Jack, a purity to those feelings that she was scared she would never experience again. Clearly Jack didn’t love her. He didn’t even like her. But there was a part of Kendall that would always love him. The thought that she might never see him again made her terribly sad.
The one person she really wanted to talk to about all this was Lex. He’d always been her shoulder to cry on, and he and Jack were partners now. Perhaps, over the past year and a half, Jack had softened towards her? Really, the least Lex could do was to let her know, but apparently he was too busy with his boring make-up artist girlfriend to make time for his old friends.
Kendall had followed JSM’s rise with mixed feelings. She told herself she was happy for her old friends and, on one level, she was. But she couldn’t shake the irrational feeling that she’d somehow been cheated of something. That she, Kendall, should have been a part of JSM’s brave new world. Intellectually she realized that it was she who’d burned the bridges, she who had left them. But, emotionally, she felt abandoned.
‘I miss LA,’ she told Stella wistfully. ‘I wish you could pack me in your suitcase.’
‘Aw, honey,’ Stella squeezed her hand. ‘I couldn’t do that. Ivan would be lost without you.’
Kendall frowned. ‘I doubt it. He’s so caught up with this chick Ava from the show.’
‘The little fat girl?’ said Stella, not unkindly. In Stella Bayley’s world of the mung bean, anyone with a BMI over sixteen was ‘fat’. ‘Oh my God, she is so cute. Have you seen her?’
‘How can you not see her?’ grumbled Kendall ‘She’s everywhere. Like poison ivy.’
Stella laughed. ‘Come on, she’s only a kid. And you gotta admit her voice is awesome.’
Kendall didn’t think she had to admit any such thing. To her ears, Ava Bentley sounded like a five-year-old on helium. Kate Bush meets Alvin and the Chipmunks. She stabbed angrily at a piece of tart, glaring at her food in glum silence.
‘Did you see the pictures of JSM’s party for Land of the Greeks’ new album? ’ Stella asked brightly, thinking a change of subject back to LA gossip might cheer Kendall up. ‘Jack Messenger looked gorgeous. He doesn’t age, that man.’
Kendall felt a sharp stabbing pain in her stomach.
‘I’d love to get him to spill his diet secrets on my blog, but ever since Brett decided to stay with Jester, we’re personae non gratae on that front.’ She sighed. ‘Understandably, I guess. Anyway, half the world was at that party.’
‘Really?’ Kendall feigned disinterest.
‘Sure, Katy Perry, Will-I-Am … … who else was there? Steven Tyler. That Martina kid everyone’s raving about. There were some great shots of your friend Lex too, looking quite the big shot. His girlfriend seems really pretty.’
Kendall laughed dismissively. ‘Please. Leila? She’s so fucking hearty. She looks like my Phys Ed teacher from seventh grade. I’ll bet she has enough armpit hair to weave a Kazak rug.’
Stella Bayley eyed her friend contemplatively. ‘Is something wrong, Kendall? I might be off beam here. But I seem to be picking up a lot of anger.’
Kendall pushed her plate away, not hungry all of a sudden. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I guess I am in kind of a funk.’
‘Maybe you and Ivan should get away for a couple of days? Have some fun. Brett stayed at Babington House with the band a couple of weeks ago; he said they had an amazing time.’
I’ll bet they did, thought Kendall.
‘He came home full of the joys of spring.’
Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea. Not a vacation as such, neither of them had time for that, but a couple of days to enjoy each other’s company. Whether it was Ivan’s fault or her own, there had been too much bickering between them lately. When they first got together, all they ever did was laugh. It felt like a long time ago.
‘You know what?’ said Kendall brightening, ‘I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna book us in for next week and surprise him.’
After leaving Stella, and calling Babington House to book the Coach House for the following Thursday and Friday nights, Kendall spent the rest of the afternoon merrily flexing Ivan’s platinum AmEx. She bought a thousand pounds’ worth of lingerie at Agent Provocateur, a divine pair of sky-high Jonathan Kelsey stilettos in shocking pink – not exactly country-house-hotel attire, but they looked great with her new purple crotchless knickers and peekaboo bra – and treated herself to a facial, mani-pedi and a full Hollywood bikini wax at Bliss, emerging billiard-ball smooth onto Sloane Avenue just as the sun began to set.
It was a glorious summer’s evening in West London, with happy groups of people spilling out of the pubs onto pavements, drinking and laughing and enjoying the unaccustomed warmth. Kendall decided to walk home.
Since Jester sold the Eaton Gate flat, she and Ivan had been renting a riverside apartment on Cheyne Walk. The views were spectacular, almost as eye-watering as the monthly rental bills, but Kendall had fallen in love with the place and no amount of cajoling by Ivan could persuade her to consider somewhere less extortionate. Besides, what was the point of being a pop star with a multi-million-dollar record deal if you couldn’t at least live where you wanted to?
By the time she got home and took the creaky old 1930s elevator up to the top floor, the sun had finished its descent and a magical, iridescent blue twilight covered the sleepy river like a blanket. For the first time in weeks, Kendall felt genuinely happy. This trip away would mark a new start for her and Ivan. She would return refreshed, energized and ready to pour her heart and soul into finishing her new album. Everything would be all right.
The art-deco clock above the fireplace said nine o’clock. Ivan would have left the Talent Quest studio by now and be on his way to dinner with Ava Bentley and her family. The thought of Ava prompted a brief flicker of displeasure, but Kendall pushed it aside. Ivan had assured her he wouldn’t be late, and she could use the time to have a long, luxurious bubble bath and change into her new, thigh-skimming Agent Provocateur kimono. When Ivan caught a glimpse of her powdered, silky-smooth pussy beneath the cerise silk, all thoughts of Ava would fly out of his head in an instant.
As it turned out, his timing was perfect. Kendall had just tied her kimono belt, lowered the lights and put a sexy Hotel Costes track on the sound system when the front door opened.
‘Hey.’ Ivan smiled triumphantly. ‘Dinner with the Bentleys was amazing. They’re totally on board with signing Ava to Jester. They were eating out of my hand.’
‘That’s wonderful, darling.’
For the first time, Ivan noticed Kendall’s sexy get-up, the lights and music. His smile broadened into a grin. ‘You look incredible,’ he said, kissing her and trying not to think about how much the slip of silk nothing she was wearing might have cost, or how much other loot she might have bought. When Kendall shopped, she rarely did things by halves. Still, it was a long time since she’d made this sort of an effort.
‘You haven’t seen the half of it,’ she whispered, guiding his hand down between her legs. At the touch of her bare skin, Ivan instantly hardened, pulling her to him with a possessive groan of arousal. Christ she was sexy.
> ‘I’ve booked us a little trip away,’ said Kendall, burrowing herself into his chest. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch these last few weeks. I really want us to try and—’
Ivan’s mobile rang loudly, cutting her off.
‘It’s Catriona,’ he grimaced.
‘Leave it,’ whispered Kendall, reaching for the zip on his fly. ‘Please.’
Ivan hesitated, then reluctantly pulled away. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’ve been ignoring her calls all day. It might be the kids.’ Turning his back on Kendall, he walked into the kitchen. ‘Hello? Cat? What’s up?’
Kendall clenched her fists and closed her eyes, trying to contain the anger welling up inside her. Why, why, did his ex-wife always come first? He’d closed the kitchen door, but she could still hear him apologizing, appeasing, trying to calm Catriona down. It’s me he should be apologizing to, thought Kendall bitterly, pouring herself a large vodka and tonic from the drinks tray.
By the time Ivan emerged from the kitchen, a full forty minutes later, Kendall was three sheets to the wind, her face settled into its more familiar sullen scowl. Ivan looked as if someone had just lowered the weight of the world onto his shoulders.
‘It’s Hector,’ he said bleakly. ‘The stupid boy’s gone and got himself arrested.’
Kendall yawned dramatically and poured herself another drink. ‘Uh huh.’
‘Apparently he went into Oxford, bought a spray can of paint and wrote, “Ivan Charles is a sad wanker” on the walls of the Bodleian.’