Private Lives (56 page)

‘Just read it, okay?’

She shook her head.

‘I don’t need to.’

He looked offended, but she smiled. ‘I mean I don’t need to read it because I know how good it will be. You’re the best, Jim. You know it.’

His expression softened.

‘Believe me, honey, you and Sam could be great together, and I’m talking Liz Taylor and Richard Burton great. Legendary.’

She picked up the document and started flicking through it. At first she was just humouring him. But as she read, she felt the hairs on her arms stand up. It was fantastic, even better than she had hoped. Lists of impressive brands who would be willing to pay multimillion-dollar endorsements, together with the name and number of each company’s CEO – Jim wasn’t just talking theoretically; he’d actually spoken to them to talk numbers. There was a list of the
Forbes
top twenty highest-earning couples – David and Victoria were there, Jay-Z and Beyoncé, but despite four hit movies between them, Jess and Sam hadn’t made it in. Jim was right: clearly they weren’t maximising their potential.

Then she got to the big one: projections for the earnings of Brand Samica. Year one, $110 million. She’d own a Gulfstream outright before she knew it.

Further on in the document were a raft of what Jim had labelled ‘options’, business ventures or franchises she could pick and choose from, each bringing in serious passive income, money she would have to do little or nothing to earn, each of them solidly ‘on brand’. A chain of chic restaurants, complete with branded cooking sauces for the supermarket, a range of swimwear bearing her signature, a movie production company ready-loaded with the rights to a dozen books Jim already knew the studios would kill for. A range of perfumes – Jim had already thought of a name: ‘Innocence by Jessica Carr’. Jessica had to admit she’d always found the idea of a personalised scent tacky, but looking now at the amount she could earn, it was phenomenal. A large chunk of Elizabeth Taylor’s fortune had come from perfume revenues – and Jessica hadn’t even known Liz had a scent!

Half a billion dollars in ten years, that was Jim’s estimate, and Jessica could feel the flutter in her chest at the prospect. Money still mattered, it was
all
that mattered. She had never forgotten the humiliation of having to queue for free school meals or wearing unfashionable jeans because they were hand-me-downs. ‘Welfare! Welfare!’ her school friends had chanted. All because Daddy had fallen off some scaffolding.

‘You’ve not got to the best bit,’ said Jim quietly, wrapping a towel around his waist.

She turned to the back of the business plan.

‘Internet TV?’ she queried, reading the proposal.

‘Baby, you’re not thinking big enough.
All Woman
, your little movies filmed during hiatus.’

‘They’re not
little
, Jim,’ she objected. She’d worked her butt off to break into movies.

‘Jess, ten years ago, every two-bit actor on TV would have sold their grandmother for a big Hollywood career. But things are changing real fast. In five years, there’s hardly going to be anyone left going to the movie theatre, and you’re going to get left behind.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but Jim was on a roll.

‘Think about the brand, Jess. People love Jessica Carr because you’re in their living rooms, you’re part of their lives. That’s what they want from you, so give it to them.’

She frowned.

‘Internet TV is small fry.’

‘Right now. But by the end of this decade, TV, movies and the Internet will be completely integrated. I want you to own that new medium, Jess, creating, producing and starring in your own show, watched by a global audience. I think you can be the female Seinfeld.’

She didn’t need Jim to tell her how wealthy Jerry was.

‘What about
All Woman
?’

‘They’re screwing with you, honey. I’ve heard about Brooke Geller. Do this season and then ship out.’

‘To what?’

‘I have a client, a writer who has come up with something that is perfect for you. There’s a great role for Sammy in there too. You know how great he is with comedy.’

‘You want me to work with Sam?’

‘We introduce him season finale. Think of the ratings, baby.’

‘He’d never go for it.’

‘He would if you were back together.’

Two weeks ago, if Jim had suggested not only getting back with Sam Charles, but also working with him, she would have screamed, but now? Now it seemed like the only thing that made any sense.

‘So do you want me to set up a meeting with him?’ said Jim, coming up behind her, stroking his hand across her belly. ‘Somewhere romantic? Maybe that island in Scotland he vanished to after the story broke?’

‘But do you think he’ll want to get back together?’

Jim didn’t speak for a moment, and she turned around, looking up at him anxiously.

‘Tell me he hasn’t met someone else?’

Jim shook his head.

‘Absolutely not. It’s just he’s convinced himself he’s happy being back in London. You know, there’s this little trailer-trash streak in Sam. So I think you might have to do more of the running.’

‘I’m not gonna beg, Jim,’ she said angrily.

‘Sure, baby,’ he said soothingly. ‘Just go see him in England. Woo him. Once he feels wanted, he’ll see the sense of this too.’

‘But what if he doesn’t bite?’

Jim raised an eyebrow.

‘Then we might need a few additional incentives.’

‘You mean the document?’

‘I meant something even more persuasive than that,’ he said, cupping her breast. She moaned with pleasure as his fingers stroked her nipple. She felt hornier than she’d done in years. ‘So, we got a deal?’ he breathed into her ear.

‘Come back to bed and I’ll think about it.’

‘I can’t, sweetheart, I’ve got to get back to work,’ he said, nuzzling into her neck. ‘Especially if you want me to start on everything we’ve just talked about.’

He held her face gently between his hands.

‘So what’s it to be?’

‘Let’s do it,’ she whispered. ‘I want you to represent me.’

He placed a slow, lingering kiss on her lips.

‘I won’t let you down.’

She lay back on the mattress. Sunshine streamed into the room, over her naked body, making her feel blissfully lazy and happy.

‘I’ll let myself out,’ winked Jim, already dressed.

‘Call me,’ she smiled, watching his tight ass exit the bedroom. She picked up the business plan and began to read it again, feeling turned on once more as she absorbed and visualised every little detail. She was so engrossed in the document, she didn’t notice that it was a few minutes before her front door closed. Enough time for Jim Parker to remove the bugging devices he had planted around her house three weeks earlier.

58

The hire car wound through the hills behind Nice airport, up, up until the blue Mediterranean shrank to a thin silver strip and the smell of the air changed from sea salt to the pine and lavender that characterised this part of Provence. Mougins was one of the most famous foodie destinations in Europe, a medieval village that clung to the hillside just a twenty-minute drive from its bigger, ritzier neighbour, Cannes.

‘Sam, this place is just gorgeous,’ gasped Anna as they drove towards the sandstone walls of the town. It was like something from a fairy-tale. Honey-coloured townhouses with bloom-filled window boxes and red-tiled roofs crowding into winding streets, a clock tower tolling the hour, cypress trees soaring into the blue sky. Anna listened with excitement as Sam told her stories about the town: how Picasso had lived here, shooting the breeze with Cocteau and Man Ray, how Churchill had holidayed here and Dior came to be inspired. ‘It’s magical,’ she sighed.

Driving past the town itself, they finally pulled up in front of an old watermill set in beautiful grounds.

‘
Voilà
,’ said Sam, taking Anna’s hand to lead her inside to the Michelin-starred Moulin de Mougins. It was chic yet casual, and Anna felt glad she had softened her smart aqua silk dress with bronze gladiator sandals.

‘Monsieur Shaarlz!’ cried the maître d’. ‘So good to see you again.’

He led them to a table on the terrace outside and brought them glasses of crisp white wine, ‘especially recommended for you by the sommelier’. Anna wondered if there was a more delightful place to have lunch – and to think she’d wanted to stay in Sam’s bed watching old movies. Plenty of time for that later, she smiled to herself. And not so much of the movies, either.

‘You like?’ said Sam, reaching across the table to touch her fingers.

‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘It’s wonderful.’

‘You know, we should do something like this every weekend,’ he said. ‘Where do you fancy next week?’

She searched his face, but he didn’t appear to be joking. As each day slipped by, she’d convinced herself that Sam would tire of her and that his phone calls would trail off to nothing. But he seemed to be getting more keen, not less. Since Andy, Anna had gone out of her way to protect herself, building up a hard shell that would make her impervious to pain. But now here she was, playing boyfriend-girlfriend with a man who was now as well known for his infidelity as he was for his acting. It was as if she was just begging to have her fragile heart dropped from a great – and very public – height.

‘Anywhere except Tuscany,’ she said, smiling.

‘Hey, Tuscany’s one of my favourite places,’ Sam protested. ‘What have you got against poor Italy?’

‘Oh, I love Tuscany too,’ she replied. ‘It’s just that my sister is getting married there next weekend. To Andy – my ex, the love-rat journalist you were jealous of, remember? So you can see why I want to give it a wide berth.’

‘But that’s silly – you should be there with bells on,’ he said seriously. ‘There’s no better way than showing them you’ve moved on.’

‘I know I should, but . . .’

‘But what? What’s stopping you? Pride? Well that’s a pretty negative emotion,’ he said, before stopping and smirking. ‘I got that from a shrink. About the only thing of value a psychologist has ever told me, actually.’

Anna took a drink of her wine. She hadn’t heard from any of her family since her father’s email about the hen party, and the guilt had been gnawing away ever since.

Sam leaned forward. ‘And if you need a date for it, I look good in a tux. Or at least, that’s what they said in
People
magazine’s Fifty Most Beautiful People last year.’

Anna gaped at him.

‘Are you serious? You’d really go with me to the wedding?’

‘Let’s think of it more like a free mini-break. Plus I assume since she’s a famous chef the food will be pretty good.’

‘But Sophie might think I’m trying to upstage the bride.’

‘We’ll skulk at the back. I’ll even grow a beard. I’m not exactly looking for attention at the moment.’

Anna couldn’t believe he was prepared to go to such a public event with her, especially as Sophie had probably sold the photos to
OK!
or
Hello!
.

‘Sam—’ she began, reaching out for his hand, but she was cut off before she could say anything more.

‘Anna Kennedy! I don’t believe it!’ squealed a familiar exotic voice.

‘Ilina!’ cried Anna, standing up to air-kiss her glamorous former client. The Russian was looking incredible in a thigh-skimming mini-dress and aviator shades. ‘It’s so great to see you,’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Oh, we’re staying on at the Costa Smeralda for a week or two,’ Ilina purred, turning to wave at some dark-haired male model type in an open-necked white shirt. ‘We popped over for a little light lunch for a change of scenery.’

Popped over from Sardinia. Anna smiled to herself. Ilina certainly hadn’t let the newspaper reports on her wanton spending cramp her style.

‘And what, pray tell, are
you
doing here?’ asked Ilina, peering at Sam over her sunglasses, a smirk on her lips.

‘Ilina, this is my friend Sam Charles.’

‘Charmed, darhling,’ said Ilina, proffering a hand.

‘Would you like to join us?’ asked Anna.

‘No, I won’t stay long. I can see you two want to be alone; besides, Juan doesn’t speak much English. But then I didn’t bring him for his conversation,’ laughed Ilina.

‘So how are you?’ asked Anna, sipping her wine nervously, trying to pretend that she lunched with movie stars and billionaires every day of the week.

‘Good, good. And yourself?’

‘Keeping busy,’ replied Anna. ‘Speaking of which, I have you to thank for my new job.’

‘Really?’

‘Remember that victory party you threw at the start of the summer? Well I met my new boss there, Helen Pierce. She heard the nice things you said about me and offered me a job.’

‘Helen Pierce?’ Ilina frowned, taking a moment to place her. ‘Ah, the blonde lawyer?’

‘Don’t you know her? She was one of your guests.’

Ilina shook her head. ‘Not really. She came with a guy who’s one of these corporate publicists. He wants to do work for my company.’

‘And who would that be?’ asked Anna as casually as she could. It was one of the running jokes in the Donovan Pierce coffee room: no one knew anything about Helen’s private life.

‘Simon Cooper.’

The name sounded familiar to Anna, but she couldn’t immediately place it.

‘Simon heads up Auckland Communications. Big city PR firm.’ Ilina lowered her voice. ‘Actually, someone at that party told me that he and Helen are having an affair, although I hate to repeat it. I don’t want to be the target of a slander suit.’

She touched Anna lightly on the arm and stood up.

‘Anyway, we must talk back in London. I need a lawyer to work on my team. Contracts, liaising with magazines, issuing a few letters, very easy, part-time really. I know the job is beneath you, but think of all the
fun
we’d have.’

For a second it sounded tempting. Anna had certainly got quite a taste for private aviation and luxury hotels. But she realised there was someone who would appreciate the job a lot more.

‘I think I have just the person for you. Sidney Travers, a very smart woman on my team. Just qualified, but very clever and enterprising.’