Friends & Rivals (35 page)

The sex was incredible, wilder and more explosive than it had been in months. As Ivan thrust ever more deeply inside her, Kendall found her thoughts drifting between him and Jack. The idea that Jack might have come back to fight for her, that two such powerful, sexual men were at war over
her
, Kendall Bryce, the girl whose own father hadn't given a shit about her and had walked away without a backward glance, aroused her more than any of Ivan's skilful ministrations.

Afterwards, replete and happy, she lay back on the pillow and said idly, ‘I think I might skip the Yorkshire trip if it's OK with you, darling. It's really just a business thing, isn't it, between you and Ava? And I have a hundred and one things to do in London before
Flame
's launch party.'

Ivan stiffened, like a dog sensing danger.
She's been buttering me up. The meal, the sex. She's arranged to meet Jack this weekend and she wants me out of the way.

He forced himself to sound calm. ‘Actually, baby, I really need you. I'm using the “romantic getaway” thing as cover to meet with Dave Bentley. But it's not just that. I want you there. I need you, Kendall.' Slipping down beneath the covers, he started to lick between her thighs, his expert tongue bringing her to the brink of orgasm almost instantly. But just as she was about to come, he stopped.

‘Promise you'll come with me.'

Kendall thrashed her legs in frustration. ‘Come on, Ivan. Don't!'

‘Promise.'

His moved his mouth over her inner thighs, then up to her lower belly, then down again, always just avoiding the one area she was screaming for him to touch. The truth was Kendall had no plans with Jack. But she
had
wanted to stay in London, just in case he called. The idea that he might reach out for her and she would miss him was unbearable. But not as unbearable as the exquisite torture Ivan was putting her through now.

‘OK!' she gasped. ‘OK, I'll come.'

Five seconds later, she did.

Hutton-le-Hole is a chocolate-box village of grey stone and brick cottages nestled around a village green in the North York Moors National Park. Sheep wander unchecked through its lanes and pathways, and cross the hilly green to drink from the clear waters of Hutton Beck, the stream that winds its way through the village and down into the valley below. In summer tourists flock to picnic by the crumbling footbridges or stroll through the Ryedale Folk Museum, watching local craftsmen ply their ancient trades of weaving, thatching and basket making. But when Ivan and Kendall arrived, on a rainy October afternoon, the village was all but deserted.

‘People live here?' The bucolic, rural idyll did not impress Kendall. ‘What the hell do they
do
?'

‘Farm. Commute into Pickering or Helmsley. Run tea shops,' said Ivan vaguely. Judging from the bolted doors and darkened windows in many of the cottages, he assumed a lot of property was owned by second-homers. The year-round population of a village like this, with no school, shop or pub must be minute. No wonder Ava was so wide-eyed and awestruck by London. Soon she'd be leaving this cloistered, peaceful world of her childhood for ever. It almost made Ivan feel sad.

Almost.

‘Which one's Ava's house?' said Kendall irritably. ‘Let's get this over with.' The drive up the A1 had been long and boring, and she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that every passing mile was taking her further and further out of Jack's reach. Not that he'd tried to call, or email. She'd checked her BlackBerry every few minutes but the hateful thing had remained resolutely, mockingly silent for the whole five-hour trip. By the time they checked in to the Black Swan Hotel in Helmsley, Kendall was in a foul mood and felt her old resentment towards Ava bubbling up again. She should have been in London this weekend, hanging out at Mahiki or Soho House, revelling in the success of ‘Liar, Liar' and the attentions of her adoring public. Instead, because of sodding Ava Bentley, she was stuck in the rain in Nowheresville, Yorkshire, where none of the locals gave her a second glance.

‘The only celebrities round here are pigeons or ferrets,' Ivan joked lamely, but Kendall wasn't in the mood. The warm afterglow of last night's sex had already worn off. Jack Messenger and California were becoming more appealing prospects by the second.

‘It's number sixteen Back Lane,' said Ivan, peering at the rows of modest homes through the drizzle. ‘Twenty-seven … twenty-nine … it must be on the other side.'

Kendall followed him across one of the narrow bridges, her New Balance trainers squelching with every step. A couple of teenage girls came running round the corner and stopped dead, screaming with excitement when they saw Kendall.

‘Oh my God! Is it actually you? Oh my God, I can't believe it! Janine! Janine, it's her!'

‘Can we have your autograph?' asked Janine. ‘Oh shit. I've not got owt to write on. Have you, Lisa?'

‘No, but I've got me phone. Can we 'ave a picture with you, Kendall? Please.'

As ever when she found herself the object of such adoring attention, Kendall's spirits lifted. ‘Of course,' she smiled, wrapping an arm around each of the girls' waists and tossing her damp hair back in a suitably starry pose. ‘Ivan, honey, would you do the honours?'

‘No,' said Ivan crossly. ‘We don't want any pictures, not here. We're on a private trip.'

The girls' faces fell. Kendall scowled. ‘What the hell's the matter with you? Take the stupid picture.'

Pulling her aside, Ivan hissed in her ear. ‘Not here, OK? We're practically outside Ava's door.'

‘So?'

‘So if these shots made it into the papers … I don't want Don Peters to smell a rat until the contract's done and dusted.'

‘You're being ridiculous,' snapped Kendall. ‘They're kids, not tabloid hacks. And we're signing the stupid contract in five minutes, aren't we?' Grabbing Lisa's phone, she held it out at arm's length and took the shot herself, to both girls' squealing delight. ‘Off you go now,' she said, handing the phone back, ‘before Mr Scrooge here really loses his temper.'

A minute later and a stony-faced Ivan knocked on the door of number sixteen.

Nothing.

‘Maybe they went for a walk?' said Kendall. ‘Enjoying this lovely weather.'

Ivan looked at his watch. ‘Maybe,' he brooded. ‘But Dave and I agreed on four o'clock. I'm surprised he'd be late for something this important.'

‘Hmm,' sniffed Kendall. ‘Well I don't know about you, but I don't intend to stand out here in the piss waiting for some builder's merchant to come home. Give me the keys. I'll wait in the car.'

Twenty minutes later, Ivan joined her, soaked to the bone and looking deeply unhappy. ‘I've tried his mobile, his work number, Ava's mobile, everything. No one's answering. The house is shut up like a clam and Dave hasn't left me any messages.'

Kendall gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘So something came up. Maybe they got stuck in traffic, or got a flat, or had some kind of family crisis to deal with. Who knows? You can come back and sort it out tomorrow.'

‘He would have left me a message,' said Ivan, grimly starting the engine. ‘I've been dealing with this guy for months now and he's straight as an arrow.'

‘He probably couldn't get cell reception,' said Kendall reasonably. ‘We are out in the boondocks, in case you hadn't noticed.'

This was true. Ivan tried to shake his deep sense of unease. Just because he was tense and wired, he mustn't assume that everybody else felt the same sense of urgency. It could be as simple as Kendall suggested: a flat tyre and no mobile reception.

‘Let's go back to the hotel,' she said, pulling her cable-knit cashmere cardigan more tightly around her, ‘before I die of fucking hypothermia. Some romantic getaway this is.'

The evening was not pleasant. Billed as Helmsley's most luxurious hotel, The Black Swan, known locally as The Mucky Duck, did not meet Kendall's exacting standards. The rooms were small, the decor dreary and the en suite bathroom distinctly lacking in the usual urban five-star accoutrements such as Jacuzzi, steam room and fluffy Egyptian cotton towels. Unfortunately, when she made these observations to Ivan, she got short shrift. ‘Stop being such a fucking prima donna. It's not all about you, you know,' and the night deteriorated from there.

Dinner was uninspiring, roast chicken with peas and potatoes followed by a lacklustre fruit salad. Both Kendall and Ivan took their BlackBerries to the table and spent considerably more time looking at their blank screens than they did talking to each other. Conscious of the other diners looking at them, Ivan made some attempt to lighten the mood and engage Kendall in conversation, but after a volley of monosyllabic responses he gave up and returned to brooding.

Still no word from Dave Bentley. What the hell could he be thinking?

Across the table, Kendall toyed with a strawberry.

Still no word from Jack. I wonder what's going through his mind?

Later, lying in bed next to each other, each consumed by their own, private worries, Ivan reached over and stroked Kendall's hair. It was a tender gesture, something he used to do with Catriona all the time, but never with Kendall. He wasn't even aware he'd done it till Kendall turned over and looked at him strangely, her head cocked to one side.

‘What was that for?'

‘I don't know,' said Ivan truthfully.

Kendall couldn't put her finger on it, but she suddenly sensed an immense sadness. She wasn't even sure if it was Ivan's sadness or her own. All she knew was that it was there, lying in the bed between them like a big, dark cloud.

She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Let's go to sleep.'

After a fitful night, they woke up late. Ivan immediately switched on his phone. No messages. He tried Dave Bentley's numbers again to no avail, before heading grumpily into the shower.

Once she heard the sound of the jets pumping, Kendall drew back the curtains and checked her own BlackBerry. Three new messages! For a second her heart soared, but she soon came back down to earth. Two were from Stella, asking how the weekend away was going, and one was from Fiona, the new publicist at Polydor, forwarding a schedule of promotional events for next week's official release of
Flame.
Nothing from Jack.

Breakfast was fried and enormous. There was no menu, no continental option, just vast, towering plates of bacon, scrambled eggs, mushrooms, grilled tomato, baked beans, fried bread and black pudding. Kendall thought about complaining, but changed her mind once she started eating and realized it was all delicious. Fortified by this calorie bomb and two large pots of coffee, both she and Ivan got into the car in slightly better spirits.

The plan was to make one more trip over to Hutton-le-Hole, just in case there were signs of life at the house, then to head back to London. The Bentleys would make contact eventually. Ava usually called Ivan at least twice a week, so sooner or later he'd get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, Jester,
Flame
and
Talent Quest
all required his urgent attention.

Ava's house was as lifeless and gloomy as it had been the day before. Clearly none of the family had been home overnight. Irritated, but not surprised, Ivan took the scenic route back to the motorway, across the moor and down the steep bank into Rosedale Abbey. Kendall gazed out of the window, more appreciative of the beauty of the landscape now that she was leaving it, heading back to London and life, and getting closer to Jack with each rev of the engine. Or was she? For all she knew, Jack might at this very moment be on a plane back to LA. Perhaps he hadn't come for her after all. Or worse, he had come, but she'd missed him.
Maybe he thinks I've been avoiding him on purpose?
Maybe, maybe, maybe. She had to stop thinking about it all the time, trying to second-guess Jack's motives. She'd drive herself mad.

Ivan switched the radio onto Classic FM. It was a track from Joyce Wu's
Greatest Hits
album. He quickly turned over.

‘Oh God, not this,' groaned Kendall, as James Naughtie's familiar Scottish tones filled the car. Radio Four was for intellectuals and old people. It occurred to her that perhaps Ivan fitted into both categories – a depressing thought, but she pushed it quickly aside, flipping over to Radio One where the latest Rihanna track was finishing.

‘And in breaking news,' the DJ's voice started in as the vocals faded out, ‘very exciting for all you Ava Bentley fans out there …'

At the mention of Ava's name, Ivan swerved, almost taking them into a hedge. He righted himself, driving slowly as the DJ went on.

‘We've just heard that Ava Bentley has been signed by the top American management company JSM. So all you
Talent Quest
fans who were upset not to see her in the final, you can rest assured you haven't seen the last of Miss Bentley.'

‘Isn't JSM run by the guy that used to be Ivan Charles's partner?' a female voice chimed in, presumably one of the DJs sidekicks.

‘Jack Messenger, that's right. He's already signed up a lot of the talent from Ivan's own agency, Jester, in the last few weeks. I wonder how Ivan's gonna react to seeing his protégée sign up with his arch rival as well? We'll bring you that reaction as soon as we get it.'

‘But in the meantime, well done, Ava!'

Ivan stopped the car. He looked white as a sheet. ‘I don't believe it.' All this time he'd been worried about leaving Kendall behind in London, scared Jack would use his absence to worm his way in and steal her back. But it had never been Kendall he was after. It was Ava! Ivan had been played.

He picked up his mobile. No reception.

‘Give me your phone,' he barked at Kendall. She looked white too, like a cancer patient who's just been told their tumour isn't operable after all. She gave him her BlackBerry and Ivan punched out a number.