Private Lives (12 page)

‘Have you got a tissue?’ sniffed Carla.

He gave her a piece of kitchen roll.

‘Don’t worry, Jonas is with a friend,’ she said, blowing her nose and taking a seat on the sofa.

‘And where’s David?’

‘Fucking his new girlfriend, probably,’ she said with surprising venom.

Matthew resisted the urge to laugh. Carla had always been very against swearing, scolding him whenever he had uttered an expletive.

‘He’s having an affair?’ he asked.

She snorted.

‘Predictable, isn’t it? And don’t say “I told you so”.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you for doing cartwheels right now,’ she said, more tears rolling down her face. ‘I know I screwed up, but I didn’t know where else to go.’

Matthew took the coffee cup and pressed it into Carla’s unsteady hands.

‘I need you, Matt,’ she said, and he felt something deep inside him flutter.

‘You need me?’

‘You’re a family lawyer.’

‘You want me to advise you?’ he asked, sitting down beside her.

‘Why not? You’re the best.’

He shrugged.

‘I’m afraid that doesn’t matter. I can’t do it. It’s a conflict of interests. Besides, are you sure this is what you want?’

It was a question he always asked his clients: ‘Are you sure?’

She frowned.

‘I know you’re hurt at the moment, but you really need to be sure that divorce is the right way to go for you.’

He couldn’t believe he was asking her to think about it, when all he had wanted for the last three years was for her to walk out on David. The truth was, he wanted to hear her say it.

‘Yes, I want to divorce him,’ said Carla, taking a small sip of her coffee. ‘And I want to take him for every penny he’s got.’

‘Tell me what happened, from the start.’

‘You really want to know?’ She smiled weakly. ‘If you can’t represent me, what’s this? Free advice?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, as she moved across the sofa and hugged him. ‘Really, Matt, it’s far more than I deserve.’

He froze for a moment, then hugged her back, smelling her hair, that same familiar scent of happier days.

‘Right then,’ he said, grabbing a notepad and a pen. ‘From the beginning . . .’

He sat back down on the chair ready to hear her story, Erica Sheldon’s phone number in his pocket well and truly forgotten.

10

‘So is this injunction locked down or not? ’Cos from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re just sitting on your keisters over there.’

Sitting in the barrister’s chambers, Anna looked at the computer screen wishing that Skype conference calling hadn’t been invented. Not only could she hear Jim Parker calling from five thousand miles away in LA, but now she could see him. And Jim Parker really didn’t look happy. She glanced over at Sam and Nigel Keyes, their QC. They didn’t look over the moon either.

‘As you know, Mr Parker, we arranged the temporary injunction last week, so we’re here in court today to get everything finalised by close of play. We can’t go any quicker than we are already going.’

‘Sure, yeah,’ snapped Parker. ‘Meanwhile this hooker and her shyster PR guy are talking to the papers.’

Anna clenched her fists. Up until now she had been dealing with Sam’s straight-talking manager Eli Cohen. Eli was old-school, he understood the process and trusted Donovan Pierce to deliver. Jim Parker, Sam’s agent, on the other hand, seemed to think lawyers were slightly below criminals in terms of trustworthiness.

‘The temporary injunction does gag them, Mr Parker,’ said Anna. ‘But obviously we’ll all be happier when it’s formalised.’

‘And you can guarantee me this will kill the story dead?’

Anna exhaled, trying to keep her cool. She suspected that this was just Hollywood power play – Parker was flexing his muscle in front of his client, showing Sam that he was prepared to fight his corner, even if these Limeys weren’t.

‘There are no guarantees,’ said Anna patiently. ‘Last week’s application was an
ex parte
injunction, which means Blake and Katie weren’t in court. Today they’ll be there with their lawyers. But still, today should be just a formality.’

‘Don’t give me a
formality
,’ sneered Parker, his voice crackling through the speaker. ‘There’s always ways to fuck with people. It’s what I do for a living.’

‘With respect, Mr Parker, this is the British judicial system . . .’

‘Cut the crap,’ said Parker. ‘I want a result. I want it by the end of the day. You call me as soon as you get that gagging order in your hands, okay? And Sam?’

‘Yes, Jim?’

‘You let me know if there’s anything you need. I’m always at the end of the line for you, you hear?’

‘Thanks, Jim.’

The screen went blank and Anna let out a silent sigh. Nigel Keyes QC raised a bushy grey eyebrow.

‘Well, I think Mr Parker’s position is clear,’ he said, rising. ‘Let’s go and appease our American friends then, shall we?’

‘Could you just give us a moment?’ Anna said, glancing at Sam.

‘Of course,’ Nigel replied. ‘I’ll be outside.’

When he had closed the door, Anna turned to Sam.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Jim can be a little abrasive at times. I think he’s just worried about getting this nailed down.’

Sam’s skin still had a deep glow, having returned from Capri a few days earlier. But the actor looked far from relaxed.

‘It’s only natural to be anxious at times like this,’ said Anna. ‘But what I said was true, it really is only a formality. I have done lots of injunctions like this; if a judge is prepared to grant a temporary gagging order, there’s no reason for him to change his mind about the permanent one.’

Sam nodded, but he didn’t look reassured.

‘Well, there’s nothing else we can do now,’ he said, standing. ‘I’ll push off so long as you call me the second it’s done.’

‘Of course.’

She felt for him, but she was confident that his worries were unfounded. The important thing was that he understood how close he had come to disaster. Experience told her that some clients never learned their lesson, but she suspected that this episode had put Sam Charles off parties and tequila for life.

‘Did you tell Jessica?’ she asked suddenly. She still didn’t approve of his unfaithfulness, of course, but she felt invested in his future. She wanted him to do the right thing.

‘No, I bloody didn’t,’ he said, looking at her incredulously.

‘But what about the chat we had in Capri? About you being happy?’

‘Anna, I hired you to sort this out and keep it quiet,’ he said, a note of anger in his voice. ‘Yes, I made a mistake, but I don’t plan on making it again, so why rock the boat?’

She held up her hands.

‘I’m on your side, Sam.’

‘I know, and I’m grateful for everything. But I just want to put this behind me.’

‘Of course, I understand.’ She paused, thinking of something else to say. She knew that this was probably the last time she would see him.

‘Well, I’d better get off to court,’ she said briskly, moving towards the door. ‘I’ll call you the moment it’s over.’

Suddenly he stepped in front of her.

‘Look, can I take you for lunch?’ he said. ‘To say thank you when it’s all done, a little celebration? I can book a table for one o’clock and I can get a car to take you back to work.’

Her heart began to hammer. After their night in Capri, when their taxi ride had made her feel happy and heady, she had convinced herself that it was just Sam’s star quality pulling her into its tractor beam. But the truth was, she was attracted to him. It was impossible not to be. You’re such a cliché, she chided herself.

‘Lunch?’ she said vaguely, playing for time.

‘You know, the meal between breakfast and dinner.’

Get a grip, girl. Say yes.

‘Okay.’ She had to stop herself from laughing. ‘Just a quick one. That would be lovely.’

‘You can even bill me for it, if it means you won’t be running off after an hour.’

She smiled.

‘I might hold you to that.’

The Royal Courts of Justice, situated at the far end of the Strand, were housed in a huge Gothic wedding cake of a building a short walk from Nigel’s chambers. Anna trotted after him, her long stride still struggling to keep up with the six-foot-five barrister. As he walked, Nigel chatted cheerily about the case and the judge, who was an old friend of his, every now and then glancing around to make sure Anna was keeping up. It was only a small gesture, but for Anna it separated Nigel from the rest of the pack. The law was certainly better than it used to be, but there was still a macho, old-boy superior culture hidden under the long black gowns. Half the time barristers thought solicitors – and particularly female solicitors – were the hired help, just there to carry the files and get them coffee, even though she was effectively their boss, having instructed them to do the job.

I bet they don’t treat Helen Pierce like that, thought Anna ruefully. She wouldn’t want to be in their shoes if they did.

At court, they filed in through the scanning machines, and into the huge vaulted foyer lined with oil paintings of judicial luminaries. As a student, Anna used to come down here and watch the trials. They had twice the reality and drama of the soap operas that transfixed most students, and she still felt that excitement whenever she stepped inside.

It’s just a formality
; that was what she had said to Jim Parker, and she had meant it. The UK privacy laws protected a celebrity’s indiscretions if they were hidden behind closed doors, and there was no reason for a judge to challenge that. Even so, there was a lot riding on this. Not only Sam’s reputation, but her own standing at the firm. It would be a big win – a few more like this and she could make partner by Christmas.

‘What court are we in?’ asked Nigel, his bespoke brogues tapping up the marble staircase. ‘Eight, isn’t it?’

But Anna wasn’t listening. Waiting outside the courtroom with Blake Stanhope was Martin Bond QC. She groaned inwardly. It had to be him, didn’t it? she thought.

At thirty-six, Martin Bond was one of the youngest silks on the circuit; public school, arrogant, entitled, he had asked Anna out for dinner almost immediately her break-up with Andrew had become public knowledge. Even if she hadn’t felt so emotionally raw, she would have turned him down anyway: she found him unbearably patronising and self-important. Evidently Martin had not forgotten her rejection, and made a point of making her life difficult every time their paths crossed.

‘Moving up in the world, aren’t we, Anna?’ he said with a sly grin as she walked up. ‘Come to play with the big boys?’

‘Big boy, Martin?’ she said. ‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

She saw with satisfaction that the barb had hit its target, but immediately cursed herself. Much as she liked to puncture his pomposity, it was a bad policy to upset opposing counsel just as you were going into court.

She took her seat in a wooden pew behind Nigel just as Judge Baker swished in through a back door, his black cape billowing behind him like Batman, a small red collar around his neck indicating he was from the High Court’s Queen’s Bench division.

A handful of people were sitting on the back row, including a blonde woman Anna recognised as a court reporter for one of the broadsheets.

‘We request that the court be cleared,’ said Nigel, standing and opening his file.

The judge knew the form; injunction matters were private. He nodded towards the court usher, who made sure the room was empty except for those directly involved.

As they shuffled out, Anna turned her attention to the pretty girl sitting next to her solicitor on the other side of the courtroom. Katie Grey, I presume, she thought, surprised. She had imagined a busty blonde, someone who had overpowered Sam with her overt sexuality, but this girl looked like a redhead version of Grace Kelly: glacial and elegant in a grey dress, hair tucked back behind her ears like a choir-girl. And she was certainly beautiful, she noted with a pang of disappointment.

‘Well, here we are again,’ said Judge Baker, peering at them over his half-moon glasses. It was Friday afternoon and he looked as if he’d had enough. By five o’clock he’d be on the golf course in Surrey.

Nigel Keyes rose to his feet and cleared his throat.

‘My lord, we are here today to request that the injunction against Blake Stanhope and Katie Grey be continued on the grounds of privacy on the terms pursuant to the temporary injunction granted last week.’

Anna wondered where Sam would take her for lunch. She hoped it would be somewhere discreet. Then again, maybe somewhere press-friendly – the Ivy, Le Caprice – was a more obvious statement that this was a business meeting. She forced her thoughts to stop drifting as Martin Bond stood up.

‘This injunction has been sought on the grounds of privacy, m’lord. And yet it strikes me that if Mr Charles was so concerned with his private life, he wouldn’t have had sexual intercourse with Miss Grey in the first place.’

Arrogant shit, thought Anna, watching Martin smile smarmily at the judge.

‘This case isn’t about intrusion of privacy,’ he continued. ‘This injunction is about preserving Mr Charles’s popularity and therefore his commercial worth. His sexual encounter with Miss Grey, which, may I add, involved him taking large amounts of alcohol, will not play well with the public, especially Mr Charles’s substantial fan base in conservative parts of the United States. Mr Charles clearly wants to do everything in his considerable power to keep the Hollywood studios happy and to preserve his boy-next-door popularity. He is the face of Guillaume Riche aftershave, Sputnik vodka and Asgill’s anti-ageing men’s skincare range, to name but three. This isn’t about privacy. It’s about
business
, and the temporary injunction should be overturned on those very grounds.’

Bond was putting his case forward strongly, but Anna wasn’t overly concerned. It was definitely a long shot. Judge Baker would have considered all this before he granted the temporary injunction. The judge waved his hand impatiently to indicate that he had heard enough, and Bond reluctantly sat down.