Flipping open her iPad, she studied her notes on Eamonn Holmes: his interviewing style, preferences, the pitfalls other guests had stumbled into on his show. What was Stella always telling her? Focus on today. Focus on the now. Right now all that mattered was acing it on This Morning and wiping the floor with Ava Bentley.
That much, at least, Kendall knew how to do.
The next ten days were a nightmare for Lex, whose Christmas spirit proved to be as short-lived as the London snow. From a purely professional perspective, the trip had been a disaster. Ava’s press was bad enough before her no-show on This Morning. But when Kendall took her place on that couch, looking doe-eyed and vulnerable hand in hand with Ivan, you could practically hear the knives being sharpened. Kendall played the thing perfectly, actually defending Ava when Eamonn Holmes accused her of being spoiled and a diva, but in such a weak way, ‘I really don’t know what happened. I guess she must have had her reasons’, that she ended up making her look worse.
Ivan played the same game. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for Ava,’ he told the host disingenuously.
‘And a hard spot for your wife, I assume?’
Cue awkward audience laughter and a perfectly timed kiss from Kendall.
‘Well, yes, that’s true,’ Ivan smiled. ‘But joking aside and despite everything that happened, I still wish Ava all the best. We both do.’
Jack had started screaming at the TV at that point, hurling abuse at Ivan, Eamonn Holmes, the show’s producers, the helicopter charter company and anyone else he could think of to blame for this PR catastrophe. But there could be no getting away from it. A catastrophe was what it was.
After the tsunami came the rescue efforts, a draining round of publicity appearances aimed at damage control and showing Ava in a more positive light. Somebody at Columbia decided that part of this rebrand should involve playing up Lex and Ava as a couple. As a result Lex found himself being dragged from TV studios to radio stations to various staged ‘photo opportunities’ at restaurants, theatres and even children’s homes, thrust wholly unwillingly into the limelight. The fakeness of it all stuck in his craw. Not that he wasn’t with Ava. But they were hardly love’s young dream, altar-bound. At least that wasn’t how Lex perceived them. Some of the comments Ava made live on air had him worrying that perhaps she was starting to believe the hype.
He tried to talk to her privately about it, but it was difficult with her father always there, following them around like a fat shadow. Lex tried hard, but within a few days he had come to loathe Dave Bentley. Not only was the man a bully, bossy, overbearing and opinionated, but he seemed to have conveniently forgotten the fact that he was no longer his daughter’s manager, driving both Lex and Jack mad with his constant interference. It was Dave who arranged the visit to the children’s hospice in Wolverhampton.
‘Everyone loves dying kiddies,’ he announced bluntly and without irony. ‘Ava should go and sing ’em some Christmas carols. People’ll love that.’
Jack complained, Jen Gomez complained, but Dave insisted, and in the end Ava didn’t have it in her to say no to her dad. Once again, Lex was dragged along for a horrendously schmaltzy sing-along with the sick children and their families. The next day’s papers were uniformly scathing.
‘CRASS PUBLICITY STUNT.’
‘DESPERATE BENTLEY DOES “A DIANA”.’
‘CRINGE-MAKING.’
Poor Ava, who’d been genuinely moved by the children’s plight and had privately written cheques to a number of the families, was deeply hurt by the coverage. But not as deeply hurt as her record sales. Pre-orders for ‘Home’, the song with which she hoped to beat off Kendall’s ‘Sweet Dreamer’ to the number one spot on Christmas morning, now less than two weeks away, were embarrassingly low. Two nights ago she’d finally broken down when in bed with Lex, sobbing for a full five minutes before he could get any sense out of her at all.
‘Everyone hates me!’ she wailed. ‘No one’s going to give me a chance. But I don’t understand what I’m supposed to have done. Since when is moving to America a crime?’
‘It isn’t,’ Lex assured her. ‘Everything’s being twisted.’
‘Yeah, by Kendall,’ said Ava bitterly. ‘She seemed so nice when I met her. Why is she doing this to me?’
‘Because you’re threatening her, honey,’ said Lex reasonably. ‘You must see that. You’re bringing out your single in direct competition to hers, in her primary market. Kendall sees that as an act of war. She’s fighting back.’
‘Oh, so you’re on her side,’ Ava sobbed. ‘My own boyfriend!’
‘I’m not on her side. I—’
‘You are! Admit it. You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?’
And they were back to square one.
Nightmare.
The sooner they got out of London, the better.
On Tuesday morning around ten o’clock, Lex’s cell phone rang.
‘What are you doing for lunch today?’
It was a woman’s voice, American, but Lex didn’t recognize it.
‘Er, I’m sorry, this is Lex Abrahams. Who is this?’
‘It’s me!’
He thought for one awful moment she was going to leave it at that. But then she went on.
‘It’s Stella, Stella Bayley. You represent my dirty rotten pig of an ex-husband, remember?’
‘Stella! Of course. Hi,’ Lex said awkwardly. He had known Stella socially in the old Jester days, before Jack and Ivan split. The Blitz had all lived in LA then, and Stella and Brett had been regulars on the West Hollywood scene. But they were hardly good friends, and it had been – what – ten years? ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good thanks,’ she trilled. ‘No thanks to you and your dirty rotten partner, luring Brett back to California.’
‘Hey, that was Jack’s idea,’ said Lex honestly. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘Oh, that’s OK.’ Stella laughed. ‘I’m only teasing anyway. Jack did me a favour. But look, I knew you were in town and I’m sure you must be having a shitty time of it, so I thought I’d ask you out for lunch.’
Her candour was refreshing. It was a relief not to have to pretend that everything was OK. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘No it isn’t. It’ll be fun,’ said Stella. ‘How about Daphne’s at one-thirty. Can you do it?’
Lex was supposed to be at Capital Radio studios on Leicester Square with Ava at one-thirty, but the lure of a lunchtime escape was too strong. Jen could take Ava this time. After all, she was supposed to be the damn publicist.
‘Sure. Sounds wonderful. I’ll see you there.’
Stella was seated in a corner table at the back of the restaurant, half hidden behind a pillar and completely safe from any prying lenses that might have followed Lex, hoping for some scandal. She was wearing a blue-and-white striped sweater and fitted white jeans tucked into boots. She looked like an unusually chic French fisherwoman.
‘Hi.’ Lex kissed her on both cheeks as he sat down. ‘This is such a treat. And a surprise! You look incredibly well.’
‘Do I?’ Stella beamed. ‘Thanks. It’s been a rough couple of years but I’m actually very happy right now. I think divorce agrees with me.’
‘I think divorcing Brett would agree with anyone,’ said Lex. ‘God knows how you stood it so long.’
Stella ordered the soup and tagliatelle, along with a large glass of rosé. ‘I know you’re not supposed to drink rosé in winter, but I just love it,’ she grinned. Lex thought back to the macrobiotic, clean-living, serious girl he’d known all those years ago and smiled. Europe’s been good for her. Age too. She’s finally found her mojo. He ordered the minute steak and fries and a beer (What the hell, Lex thought), and they got down to the serious business of gossiping.
‘I should probably warn you before we start that I am on the enemy payroll,’ said Stella. ‘I’ve been working as Kendall’s PA for almost a year now.’
Lex’s face fell. ‘Oh.’
‘But I
’m not here in a work capacity, I’m not wearing a wire, and I give you my word that I’m not gonna go running back and spilling your juicy secrets. I’m here as a friend.’
She was so open and kind that Lex instantly believed her. ‘I don’t have any juicy secrets to spill, in any case,’ he said, sipping his beer. ‘Do you?’
Stella leaned forward. ‘Well as it just so happens …’
She didn’t draw breath for the next hour and half. Lex’s salad and steak came and went, as did two more beers and an ill-advised helping of sticky toffee pudding, while Stella continued to regale him hilariously with tales of Jester and JSM clients past and present. She’d always seemed so straight-laced when she was with Brett, but freed from the role of supportive rock star’s wife slash super-mommy, she actually had a wicked sense of humour. For the first time since he got to England, Lex was enjoying himself. Before long he found himself opening up about Ava, her dreadful father and the PR machine’s obsession with painting him as Romeo to Ava’s Juliet.
‘Like that’s gonna sell more records, you know?’
Stella shrugged. ‘It worked for Kendall and Ivan.’
‘Yeah, but they’re not being followed around by a twenty-stone cupid from Hutton-le-Hole with a beer gut, bad breath and a boiled Yorkshire cabbage where his brain should be, are they?’
‘No,’ Stella giggled.
‘I swear to God, Dave Bentley makes Donald Rumsfeld look sensitive.’ Looking away, Lex asked as casually as he could. ‘So, how is Kendall?’
Stella eyed him curiously. ‘How is she in what way?’
‘I don’t know, in every way. Personally.’ Lex cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Jack and I watched her on This Morning last week. She seemed happy.’
‘Did she?’
‘Well,’ Lex backtracked, ‘she came across well, let’s put it that way. Jack was spitting teeth. It was a bravura performance.’
‘You can always rely on Kendall for a good performance,’ said Stella cryptically.
Lex raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
Stella leaned back in her chair, pushing her plate to one side. ‘Look, I don’t just work for Kendall. I consider her a friend. Ivan too, in a way, although that’s a bit more complicated. Anyway, there are things I can say and things I can’t. But don’t be fooled by the “perfect marriage, perfect life” stuff she spouts in the media, that’s all. That’s image. It’s not reality.’
‘So she isn’t happy?’ asked Lex, ashamed by how good that prospect made him feel. Not because he wanted to hurt Kendall, but because he missed her like hell.
‘Neither of them are happy,’ said Stella. ‘That’s my opinion. But they’re scared to leave each other, scared to admit they made a mistake. I think they would have separated in the fall if it weren’t for Ava coming over here.’
Lex put his head in his hands. ‘Please don’t say that.’
‘It’s true,’ Stella shrugged. ‘This race for the Christmas number one is what threw Kendall and Ivan back together. She’s worked so hard to rebuild her career over here, you know. She’s not going to let that go without a fight.’
‘Of course not,’ said Lex. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to Ava. Kendall’s always put her career before anything else. She’ll fight to the death for it.’
Stella looked at him thoughtfully. ‘She’s changed, you know. Softened. I don’t think work is all she cares about any more.’ On a whim, she added, ‘She misses you.’
It was embarrassing the degree to which Lex’s heart leapt when he heard those words. But he stamped down his elation. Stella was probably just trying to be kind, to make peace between her two friends. What did she really know about how Kendall felt?
‘Well, when you see her, tell her I wish her all the best,’ he said neutrally.
‘I will,’ said Stella.
Lex waved for the bill.
Catriona stared at her reflection in the restaurant loo. What am I doing here?
She was on a date, an actual proper dinner date with a man, her first since … she cast her mind back. When was the last time?
That’s why I feel so awkward, she told herself firmly. It’s not him. It’s me. I haven’t done this in so long I’ve got no idea what to do.
The man in question was Bill Whitely, a divorced dad from Rosie’s school. Bill was in his mid-fifties, tall and distinguished-looking with kind eyes and a deep voice. He reminded Cat faintly of her own father, which didn’t help. Nor did the fact that he wore Floris aftershave, a scent that would forever remind her of Ivan. Throughout dinner at Lucio’s, the new Zagat-rated Italian in Stow-on-the-Wold, she tried to focus on the fact that Bill had all the attributes people usually looked for in those dreadful Internet dating websites. He was funny (GSOH). He ran a successful printing business (solvent). He had the requisite amount of interests (opera, travel, polo). He was, as her smattering of girlfriends all told her, a good catch. Apparently it was less likely for a divorced woman of Catriona’s age to marry again than it was for her to become CEO of a FTSE 100 company. She ought to be grateful, ecstatic, biting his hand off. And yet …
She’d woken up this morning after a disturbingly erotic dream about Jack Messenger, to find her cheeks flushed, her pulse still racing and a lingering feeling of arousal between her legs. All of which was quite ridiculous as she hadn’t been thinking about Jack at all. Well, barely at all. She knew he was in England. She’d seen him in the background, standing behind Ava and Lex Abrahams in a photograph in last week’s Daily Mail. But he hadn’t called, and Catriona didn’t expect him to. They hadn’t so much fallen out as grown apart over the past year. Cat had forgiven him for signing Ivan’s Talent Quest protégée, and potentially bankrupting her entire family, but she didn’t like the fact that he was bringing Ava back to England to flaunt her under Ivan’s nose, now that the dust had finally settled. Thanks to Ava’s ‘comeback’, Kendall and Ivan were once again all over the newspapers and on every TV screen, proclaiming their undying love for each other like some poor man’s Burton and Taylor. Catriona had Jack to thank for that. Even so, there was a part of her that still jumped whenever the phone rang at Burford, half hoping and half dreading that it might be him.
One thing she knew for sure was that it wouldn’t be Ivan. After a year of much-improved relations with her ex, Ivan had called her about six weeks ago and announced that he’d be ‘lying low’ for a while. Translated, this apparently meant that he would no longer come to Burford to pick up the children but would pay for their train tickets to London instead. From that day on, the friendly phone calls and emails stopped dead. Whenever he did call, he made a big show of letting her know that Kendall was with him. Apparently he needed a chaperone to talk to her these days. What hurt the most was that Catriona had no idea why. With Christmas just around the corner, and Rosie and Hector both increasingly leading their own lives, she felt more alone than ever.
By the time she got back to the table, Bill had already paid. ‘You looked a bit tired,’ he said, holding out her coat. ‘I thought you’d probably want to call it a night.’
Catriona smiled gratefully. How much easier this would be if he were rude or boorish. Then she could reject him guilt-free.
It took over half an hour to drive the nine miles back to Burford. The snow might have melted in London, but out here it still lay thick and deep, and the unlit roads were slick with ice. Bill talked about his business and asked her questions about the children and her photography, tactfully never mentioning Ivan or the Ava/Kendall soap opera being played out in the press. It was amazing how many people did still try and pump her for information about her famous ex and his pop-star wife, conveniently forgetting that it was Kendall Bryce who had blown apart Catriona’s marriage.
When they finally pulled over outside Catriona’s house, Bill leaned over to kiss her. Catriona thought about letting him. It was a perfect, romantic moment. Outside the snow had started to fall again, dusting the window with fat,
wet flakes. At the top of Burford Hill, the town Christmas tree stood proudly, its multicoloured lights throwing a cheerful, festive glow over the sleepy, white-roofed cottages. And then there was Bill himself. He’d been terribly charming and thoughtful tonight in the face of Catriona’s blind panic. Not to mention that he was solvent with a GSOH and three interests. But as the waft of Floris came closer she baulked, jerking her head to one side just at the wrong moment so he ended up head-butting her cheek, which in turn sent her flying backwards so her skull cracked painfully against the passenger-side window.
‘Oh God! I’m so sorry,’ he said, mortified. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Please, don’t apologize.’ Opening the car door, Catriona literally scrambled out into the cold night air. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening. Goodbye!’
She ran inside so fast she almost went flying in the icy twitten and earned herself a second bump on the head. The first was throbbing painfully. Opening the freezer she pulled out a packet of frozen sweetcorn and pressed it to the back of her skull.
‘Let me do that for you.’
Catriona screamed and dropped the sweetcorn. Rosie and Hector were both away for the night. The house was supposed to be empty.
‘Relax,’ said Ivan, stooping to pick up the packet. ‘It’s only me.’ In a dinner jacket and dress trousers, with his bow tie removed and his white shirt unbuttoned at the top, he’d obviously just come from some sort of party. As he handed Catriona back her home-made ice pack, it irritated her that he looked so bloody handsome. Didn’t he ever have an off day? And what right did he have, showing up here after six weeks of radio silence, frightening the life out of her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said coldly. ‘The children are both out. It’s not a good time.’
‘I can see that,’ said Ivan. ‘What happened?’
Catriona thought about the bungled kiss. ‘I … we were … Oh look, what does it matter what happened? It’s none of your beeswax anyway.’