Private Lives Part 9

'I'll do my best,' she said and closed the door, waving as the car pulled away. She knew Sam Charles was probably a terrible rogue with a string of girls in every port. She knew he had probably lied about what had happened with that girl Katie. She knew at the very least that he was a first-cla.s.s actor.

Even so, as she turned to walk down the cobbled street, Anna couldn't help feeling that helping him was the most important thing in her life.

8

'Home sweet home,' called Larry, opening the door of his Cheyne Walk townhouse. He put his bag on the marble floor and breathed in the familiar smell flowers, polish, coffee. Home. He'd never noticed how particular and comforting his house smelled until he'd spent five days in hospital. Five days? Had it only been five days? It had felt much longer. But then he couldn't remember a time when he'd actually stopped and thought about things for more than a few minutes. Sometimes, he'd discovered to his surprise, it was good to slow down and smell the roses every now and then.

Loralee bustled in behind him, taking his arm and leading him up the stairs to the master bedroom, handling him as if he was an infirm geriatric.

'Now you sit there on the bed and I'll get Irina to cook some lunch,' she said.

'Great idea, I couldn't stand all that tasteless muck in hospital. What about a nice steak?'

Loralee shook her head, her honey-blond hair swaying.

'No steak. The doctor said you've got to cut down on your cholesterol; we're switching to steamed vegetables and pulses until you're stronger.'

Larry groaned. 'How do they expect me to get stronger on that hippy swill? Well, what about a quick stiffener before lunch?'

'Oh no,' said Loralee, frowning. 'There will be no more booze either. One gla.s.s of red wine a day, that's good for the heart apparently. But strictly no spirits.'

'What is this, the b.l.o.o.d.y Gulag?' he spluttered.

She walked over and stroked his hair back.

'Come on now,' she said softly. 'We've got to look after you. We came so close to losing you, isn't it worth making a few little sacrifices?'

Sacrifices, he thought, it's all right for you to say, you're not the one making them. But instead he gave her a weak smile.

'Whatever you say, old girl.'

'Good.' She smiled, turning towards the dressing room. 'I've got to get out of these clothes, I smell of hospital.'

The dressing room was an indulgence Loralee had insisted on when she'd moved into the house eighteen months earlier. Larry had spent 100,000 knocking the master bedroom through into the second bedroom on this floor to create a giant climate-controlled s.p.a.ce that his new wife soon spent an equivalent amount filling with shoes, dresses and bags.

'Oh, I forgot to mention,' she called from inside, 'Matt rang you this morning. He wanted to pop round once you were home.'

Larry felt a wave of happiness.

'Oh good,' he said, trying not to sound too pleased. He was well aware that Loralee wasn't overly fond of his son. 'When's he coming?'

'Well I told him today probably wasn't a good day.'

'Why not?'

'I said you'd be busy.'

'Busy?' he spat. 'I've retired, remember? The day is yawning ahead of me like a b.l.o.o.d.y unfilled tooth.'

Cheeky cow, he had a good mind to call Matthew up right now. He was sure he could feel his blood pressure rising again.

Okay, breathe, he told himself, ma.s.saging his chest as he stared out of the window towards the Thames and the tethered spikes of the Albert Bridge. He'd been bullish about the booze, but the truth was he really didn't want to go through anything like the last week again. After forty years in the fast lane, he'd managed to convince himself that he was pretty indestructible. Well, you got that wrong, didn't you, old son? Despite the balminess of the late afternoon he s.h.i.+vered. He knew that after such a close brush with death, people were often reinvigorated and liberated, grateful for a second chance. But instead he just felt hollow and lonely.

Loralee was humming to herself in the next room, just a little girl playing dressing up. Larry was under no illusions about his new wife, but he knew she cared about him. Was that enough to sustain him in his retirement? And the bigger question: what the h.e.l.l was he going to do now?

The last few months had gone past in a blur of snap decisions: marriage, giving up the firm, reaching out to Matthew. They had all seemed like good ideas at the time, but they had left him with an aching hole to fill. The thought of there being no work to do, no meetings to go to, no phone calls to take, it all made his stomach churn.

What did people do do when they were retired? Play golf? You might as well go down to the funeral parlour and pick out a headstone now. when they were retired? Play golf? You might as well go down to the funeral parlour and pick out a headstone now.

In truth, it had been the death of his first wife Katherine that had made Larry reconsider his position. It had been more of a jolt than he'd liked to admit. In his mind, Katherine was still the young, vivacious girl he'd fallen in love with over forty years before. People as energetic and vital as Katherine Donovan didn't just keel over, did they? He looked down at the bruise on his arm where the nurses had attached his drip, and had to reflect that perhaps they did.

That was why he had given up work, that was why he had handed the firm over to Matty. He simply wanted to make amends for the way he had treated his first wife and his son. The two things had dovetailed together to make the perfect solution. Well, almost perfect. Loralee had been furious, despite the fact that they had more money than they could spend. But then how much would ever be enough for an ambitious young woman like Loralee? He looked up in surprise as he heard his wife's voice.

'This was why I said you'd be busy,' she purred. She was standing at the entrance to the dressing room, one arm draped on the door frame. She was naked except for stilettos, stockings and suspenders, plus a tiny white ap.r.o.n that skimmed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and thighs and a nurse's hat perched at a jaunty angle, like a drunken sailor. 'I thought you might need some TLC.' was why I said you'd be busy,' she purred. She was standing at the entrance to the dressing room, one arm draped on the door frame. She was naked except for stilettos, stockings and suspenders, plus a tiny white ap.r.o.n that skimmed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and thighs and a nurse's hat perched at a jaunty angle, like a drunken sailor. 'I thought you might need some TLC.'

She walked slowly, seductively over to the bottom of the bed and crawled up towards him, as lithe as a panther.

'The consultant said you had to start taking regular exercise,' she growled, pus.h.i.+ng him back on to the pillows and beginning to undo his s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons. 'I think I've got just what the doctor ordered.'

He reached up, feeling the soft, smooth curve of her b.u.t.tocks.

'Ooh, Mr Donovan, you mustn't,' she giggled.

Larry was grateful to feel his c.o.c.k stiffen. Not bad for a sixty-five-year-old just out of hospital and on beta blockers, he smiled to himself. And all thoughts of calling his son drifted away.

9

'Excuse me? Could we just pull the sheet up a couple more inches?' said Matthew, feeling his cheeks redden. 'The, um, b.u.t.tocks are in breach again, I'm afraid.'

The director made a sour face, but flapped his hand to an a.s.sistant, who scurried over to the bed and gently pulled the white sheet up Erica Sheldon's back. Matthew puffed his cheeks out and tried not to stare at the long expanse of tanned skin, the slim neck, the spray of deep red hair falling across the pillow. Christ, she was gorgeous.

In normal circ.u.mstances, of course, Matthew would have relished the opportunity to inspect the body of one of the world's most beautiful actresses at close quarters, but this was not normal. Surreal, bizarre, horribly embarra.s.sing, yes. But normal? No. He was here on a sound stage at Shepperton Studios as Erica's lawyer to make sure the nudity clause of her contract was followed to the letter and he couldn't get it wrong. It was his first real task as a partner at Donovan Pierce and he was determined not to screw it up, however far he was out of his comfort zone. He suspected, of course, that this was Helen Pierce's idea of a joke: the media law equivalent of sending the new apprentice to the store for a gla.s.s hammer or a bucket of steam. She was testing him, showing him she was in charge, so he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of getting anything wrong. He had memorised the clause: which underwear Erica was allowed to appear in 'tanga, brief or standard bikini, not G-string' where the s.e.x scenes were allowed to take place bedroom, hallway, not bathroom unless obscured by shower curtain and, in this case, exactly how many millimetres of 'gluteus maximus indentation' could be revealed.

Matthew had always been annoyed by legalese, the insistence on using impenetrable long-winded language when plain English would have been just as accurate. 'You may show the lower back but not the upper crease of the bottom', for example, would have been much clearer if they had simply put 'no a.r.s.e crack'. He began to smile at the idea.

'Everything all right?'

Matthew looked up suddenly. Erica Sheldon was speaking to him. From a bed. Naked.

'Fine, yes,' he said quickly.

'Are we good to go here?' she asked, her expression serious.

'Yes,' said Matthew, clearing his throat. 'Good to go.'

'Just a hint of a.s.s, right?' she added playfully.

Matthew gave her a thumbs-up, then realised what a dork he must look and turned away, cursing himself.

The scene was short, nailed on the second take, and as Erica and her leading man had writhed beneath the sheets, Matt was convinced that her modesty had been preserved throughout.

He watched as the actress climbed off the bed and allowed herself to be helped into a white robe. She caught him looking at her and Matthew made a show of putting the contract back into his briefcase and preparing to leave.

'Thanks for doing that.' She smiled, tying her hair back in a ponytail. 'I know it's a pain for you, but you wouldn't believe what some directors try to get away with.'

'Just watching your back,' he said.

She looked at him for a second and then laughed.

'Funny,' she said. 'I thought you lawyers were always serious.'

'Laugh a minute, that's us.'

'Really?'

'No, not really. You're right, most of us are actually deathly dull.'

'Gee, you're really selling yourself to me,' quipped the actress.

'Sorry,' said Matthew. 'It's just I'm not used to doing nude scenes.'

She giggled. 'Not quite quite a nude scene, thanks to your eagle eye.' a nude scene, thanks to your eagle eye.'

'Well, I think we got it just right. Enough coverage to protect your modesty. Just enough to get the audience going.'

'Get the audience going?' she chided.

'I didn't mean it like that. Not in any p.o.r.no way.'

'p.o.r.no?'

'Not p.o.r.no. Obviously not p.o.r.no. Look, I'm sorry ...'

She started to chuckle, her broad smile lighting up her face.

'Really, you English guys are funny.'

'Funny with bad teeth. All the cliches are true.'

'Your teeth look pretty good to me.'

Were they flirting? he wondered, snapping his briefcase hurriedly shut.

An officious-looking girl approached them. 'Ms Sheldon, the car's here to take you home.'

'Sure, just give me a minute,' she said, never taking her amused eyes from Matthew.

'Do you live around here?' he asked, hoping to deflect her probing gaze.

'Santa Barbara, actually, so no.'

'Actually I meant ...'

'I know, I'm just teasing,' she said. 'I'm renting a house in Richmond. It's pretty handy for the studios, lovely garden.'

'Oh, whereabouts? I don't live far from Richmond myself,' he said, feeling himself slip into dinner-party mode.

'At the top of the hill, by the park. Say, are you going home now?'

Matt looked at his watch. There wasn't much point going back to the office. 'I suppose I will. I can do some work from there.'

'Workaholic, huh?'

'Actually I'm new at the firm, so I'm desperately trying to do extra homework, trying to keep up.'

'You need a ride, then? I'm going that way.'

Matthew opened his eyes wide.

'Me? In your car?'

She laughed and nodded slowly, like she was trying to explain something difficult to a child.

'Yes, in my car. I promise not to bite. Just wait while I change, okay?'

He willed himself to keep calm. After all, this was what he did now. Meeting celebrities was all in a day's work. If he melted at the first sign of someone he'd seen on the telly, there was no way he was going to be able to do the job.

Erica emerged from her trailer wearing skinny jeans, an open-necked navy polo s.h.i.+rt and ballet flats. She was carrying a crocodile-skin handbag in the crook of her arm and had sungla.s.ses on top of her head. If possible, she looked even more s.e.xy in casual clothes than when she was only wearing a sheet.

'Come on, funny guy,' she said with a wink, and led him across to a black Mercedes.

Matthew quickly jumped forward to open the door for her.

'We'll drop my friend off first, okay?' she told the driver. 'Where are we going?'

Matthew gave his address in Chiswick.

Sitting back in the leather seats, he watched as Erica rummaged around in her bag for her BlackBerry, then, finding it, switched it off.

'I hate that thing,' she said, dropping it back in the bag. 'It's like one of those horrible yappy dogs, always wanting your attention.'