Private Lives Part 60

'So you've heard the gossip,' she muttered.

'Is it true?'

'Sam's not formally a client any more,' she said quickly. 'Besides, I'm not really sure if it's still on on.'

Matt held up a hand.

'Look, I haven't got a problem with it.'

He looked down, knowing it was untrue; that the thought of Anna and Sam did make him feel uncomfortable, but not for any reason to do with the solicitor's code of conduct.

'I should go,' she said finally.

'Anna, I think you should drop this.'

'Because of Helen?'

'Because you can't prove anything,' he said, exasperated. 'Everything is pure supposition.'

Anna balled her fist and slammed it on her knee.

'This is about finding the truth and getting it out there, Matt. I thought you believed that more than anyone at this firm.'

He thought back to their first lunch, to their fiery, awkward debate about whether people deserved to know the truth. It seemed so very long ago.

'I just think you need to be careful. Accusing Helen on some hunch. Not to mention getting almost run off the road last night. Maybe it was coincidence, but if it wasn't, you have to ask yourself if this is worth it.'

'If it wasn't coincidence, then it means I'm right,' she replied vehemently.

He felt a protective shot of worry for her safety.

'Let me give you a lift home.'

Anna laughed.

'I'm not sure sitting on the back of your mid-life-crisis machine really const.i.tutes being careful.'

He took a spare helmet from the hat rack by the door and handed it to her.

'Put that on, too,' he said, handing her a too-big leather jacket.

They locked up the office and walked around to Matt's bike, which was parked on a side street behind the office. He got astride and fired it up, revving the engine, but Anna just stood there, rather forlorn in her huge jacket and helmet.

'You getting on, then?' shouted Matt over the noise.

'I've never actually done this before.'

'Just hop on the back and put your feet on those pegs.' When she was on, Matt began to move off. 'And grab on to me,' he yelled above the engine noise. She wrapped both arms around his waist, and he felt the back of his neck tingle.

'Don't go too fast,' she shouted above the breeze.

He nodded and eased off the throttle, letting Anna get used to the sensation of weaving in and out of the West End traffic and leaning into bends. He picked up speed as they pa.s.sed the House of Commons, gloriously lit up against the inky London sky, and the wind whipped at them as they crossed the river. Her arms tightened around his waist and her head rested softly against his back, and Matt felt his heart beat faster.

Finally they drew up outside Anna's cottage and she clambered off.

'Do you want me to come in?' said Matt. 'Just to check everything's okay?' he added quickly.

'I think I'll be all right. If there was a hit man after me, my guess is he'd have gone home the minute he saw me get on a motorbike with you, thinking his job was done.'

'I'm completely in control of this machine,' said Matt, tapping the handlebars.

'Yeah, yeah,' laughed Anna.'You take care of yourself Evel Knievel.' Her eyes softened in the low moonlight, and he knew her concern was genuine.

'Call me if you need anything. Even if it's company.'

She smiled and went inside. Matt waited for a moment, then revved the engine and turned back on to the main road, which took him through the brightly lit centre of Richmond. Seeing all the couples strolling through the town he was suddenly reminded of something: he still hadn't booked the restaurant for his meeting with Carla. But for some reason, that didn't seem like such a big deal any more.

63

Sam lay on the sunlounger by the pool, staring down at the almost blank page in front of him.

'Writer's b.l.o.o.d.y block,' he grumbled to himself, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his cigarettes and lighting one. Why couldn't he think of anything to write? He'd got the best Montblanc pen, bought an expensive notebook the actual sort Hemingway used to use and turned off his phone to avoid any distractions. He'd been sitting here in the cool shadow for an hour, and yet inspiration had failed to strike beyond the basic plot: a famous film star decides to give up the fame game and life in a goldfish bowl to return to his sleepy home town. He turned back to the first page in his notebook. He was quite pleased with the t.i.tles he had come up with: Unfamous Unfamous had a nice ring to it, he thought, imagining his interview for had a nice ring to it, he thought, imagining his interview for Time Time magazine when magazine when Unfamous Unfamous became a world-wide phenomenon. 'How did you come up with such a zeitgeisty t.i.tle for your brilliant comedy, Sam?' the reporter would ask, to which Sam would tell him that it had spun off an argument with his agent after his Edinburgh comedy smash show with Mike McKenzie. became a world-wide phenomenon. 'How did you come up with such a zeitgeisty t.i.tle for your brilliant comedy, Sam?' the reporter would ask, to which Sam would tell him that it had spun off an argument with his agent after his Edinburgh comedy smash show with Mike McKenzie.

Sam blew his cheeks out. Of course, it was slightly presumptuous to be planning your Oscar acceptance speech when you hadn't actually written more than three lines. He looked at what he had so far, imagining who he'd cast as his co-stars: Russell Brand, and Vince Vaughn if he could do a British accent, had been his first thoughts.

Interior: Pub in Margate. Two middle-aged men, TOM and DAVE, are sitting silently drinking at the bar. SAM walks in. He is incredibly handsome and a movie star.

SAM All right, lads? All right, lads?

TOM All right? It's okay for you, you've got a helicopter outside. All right? It's okay for you, you've got a helicopter outside.

SAM I sold the 'copter. It's all about camels now. I sold the 'copter. It's all about camels now.

TOM You came on a camel? You came on a camel?

DAVE I think he's being ironic. I think he's being ironic.

A camel walks past the window.

SAM No, I came on a camel. No, I came on a camel.

Under this Sam had written 'BIG LAUGH', followed by the scrawled note: 'Why on earth does Sam have a b.l.o.o.d.y camel in Margate?'

It was hopeless. When he'd been sitting in his flat with Mike, the ideas had just poured out of them; funny, original, clever. Or had it all been Mike, after all? People were always going on about what a genius he was; maybe Sam had only thought thought he'd written those sketches. For a brief moment he thought about calling Mike, who had returned to Eigan earlier that week, to persuade him to return to London. But that would be defeatist, he decided quickly, stubbing out his cigarette. he'd written those sketches. For a brief moment he thought about calling Mike, who had returned to Eigan earlier that week, to persuade him to return to London. But that would be defeatist, he decided quickly, stubbing out his cigarette.

No, the problem was that he was trying to write the scene longhand; perhaps he should be doing it on the computer. He tore out the page, screwed it up, then tried to toss it through the water polo hoop at the end of the pool. It flew about three feet, teetered on the edge, then sank slowly into the water. Sam watched the limp paper disintegrate, the ink blurring and becoming unreadable. He stood up and stalked back to the house. Maybe he needed to brainstorm with someone. Anna Kennedy would be his first choice she always made the right noises about how good he was but she hadn't even called him back, despite his numerous messages. All he'd had was one lousy text from her: 'Manic at work. Sorry for not calling. A lot on my mind at mo. Ax'

He'd read and reread that one, a.n.a.lysing it, looking for all the angles until it sent him crazy. Was it an apology? Did she want to forget about the argument and move on? Or was she saying 'let's cool it, I'm too busy'? Was it a woman's version of the old 'it's not you, it's me' get-out? Still, she had put a kiss at the end. Or did she do that with everyone? No wonder he couldn't write, with Anna playing such cryptic mind games. He'd sent her flowers, of course, but what with it being England and the bank holiday, he couldn't be sure that she'd got them. He knew he could try a bigger, more serious gesture. Jewellery always went down well in LA. Not diamonds, and not a ring, obviously, but maybe a tasteful necklace? It certainly used to work with Jessica, but somehow it seemed too flamboyant a gesture for two people who had only been on a couple of dates.

Thinking about Jessica only made him feel worse. He should probably send something to her as well after the crash. Sunflowers? Lilies? Did Tiffany do safety pins, for her sling?

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. When all else fails, drink, he thought.

'Hey, that's not bad,' he murmured, looking around for his notebook to write it down, before remembering he'd left it by the pool.

Sighing, he opened the fridge and pulled out the poached salmon salad his housekeeper Mrs Hudson had left for him. He sat at the granite worktop and picked at the food with his fork, then pushed it away. He wasn't even hungry. He thought back to his visit to Anna's cottage, and her cosy kitchen. He bet she could just whip up some scrambled eggs and bacon and lightly toasted m.u.f.fins on her little four-burner gas stove ...

He was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of the buzzer. He frowned: who was at the gate at this time? Mrs Hudson must have forgotten the code again. He pressed the b.u.t.ton to activate the electric gates, then opened the front door. He needed to have words. But it wasn't Mrs Hudson's battered VW Golf turning into the drive; it was a large silver Mercedes with tinted windows.

'Who the h.e.l.l ...?' he muttered, wondering for a second if it was a particularly ambitious doorstepping reporter. The car pulled up and a uniformed chauffeur got out, nodded to Sam and walked around to open the pa.s.senger door.

First he saw a foot complete with red high heel, then a long tanned leg, then she stepped out.

'Jessica!' he gasped. 'What on earth are you doing here?'

His ex-fiancee gave him a full-watt Hollywood smile.

'Is that the only greeting you've got for me after all this time?' she laughed.

Her relaxed manner almost floored him.

'Sorry,' he said, striding over and kissing her awkwardly on both cheeks. 'It's just a bit of a shock.'

'I can imagine,' she smirked. 'But you were so sweet on the phone, and you said we needed to talk, so ...' She held up her hands and gave her hips a little wiggle. 'Here I am.'

Suddenly thinking of her accident, he took her arm. 'Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Are you okay?'

'Oh sure,' said Jessica, leaning on him. 'I'm much better, almost back to normal.'

She certainly looked good, fantastic in fact. She was wearing a short red dress with thin straps that showed off her curves to perfection, with a white Birkin bag hanging off her arm. There didn't seem to be any evidence of her trauma, but then maybe that was clever make-up; Jessica was always quite the expert with that. In fact the bathroom here at Copley's was still full of thousands of dollars' worth of cosmetics.

'Will that be all, madam?' asked the chauffeur, stepping forward holding an overnight bag.

Jessica turned her green eyes towards Sam.

'I think that's up to the master of the house,' she said, looking over his shoulder towards the front door. 'I did try to call, but your phone was off. I didn't know if I'd be interrupting anything ...'

'No, no,' said Sam quickly, taking the bag from the driver and fumbling a tip into his hand. 'You're very welcome, come on in,' he said, ushering Jessica inside. He led her to the kitchen. 'So how are you?' he said, sitting across from her.

'I'm fine. A little shaken up, but these things happen.'

'I have to say, you're handling it brilliantly.'

'You can't let it get you down,' she said with a smile that held for a moment, then collapsed, her eyes filling with tears.

'Jess, don't ...' he said, not knowing if he should come around to comfort her. Instead he reached across the table and touched her hand.

'I'm sorry. I told myself I wouldn't, it's just that ...'

'What?' said Sam softly.

'I know you've moved on, emotionally, professionally. I heard about the Edinburgh show and I'm so happy for you, I really am.'

Her approval somehow mattered to him.

'But lying there in that hospital bed, it gave me time to think about everything, and, well, about us ...' Her lip quivered.

'Jess, I'm sorry it had to end the way it did.'

'I thought so too,' said Jessica, the tears still dribbling. 'Considering ...' she added softly.

Sam felt his instincts p.r.i.c.kle.

'Considering what?'

The silence seemed to go on for ever.

'Sam, I'm pregnant.'

He stopped dead, unable to draw breath.

'You're ...?'

'Pregnant.'

He was in complete shock. His brain seemed to have shut down, his mouth could barely open.

'How?' he said finally.

'I think you know how people make babies,' she said with a small laugh.

'But when did you find out?'

'When they take you into ER, they need to check before they X-ray you because it can hurt the baby, so they did a test and, well, there it was.'