‘He gave me an ultimatum,’ said Ivan. ‘Either I get you out of the Polydor deal and send you home, or he’d leave the business.’
Kendall tried to process this, her eyes welling up with tears. ‘You mean … this is my fault?’
‘No, angel, of course it isn’t your fault. Your fault for what?’ Ivan sat down and put his arm around her. She was drunk and emotional, but she looked so fucking adorable in her knickers and T-shirt, with smudged mascara streaking over her high cheekbones, he felt a familiar stirring of desire. ‘For signing a record-breaking deal? For making a real splash in London, like Jack asked you to? I know you’re fond of him. But I’m afraid Messenger’s being a stubborn arse. This is a power thing between him and me. You just happened to get caught in the middle of it.’
Nuzzled against his chest, inhaling the protective warmth of his body, Kendall suddenly felt strangely close to Ivan. For years she’d wanted Jack to hold her like this, to hold her at all, but he was as cold towards her physically as a statue. She had Lex, of course – Lex was an amazing hugger – and scores of lovers. But none of them felt as safe and strong and solid as Ivan Charles did at this moment. Ivan was handsome and funny and powerful and smart. He’d done more for her career in the last two weeks than Jack had done since he signed her. Equally importantly, he was fun to be around. With Ivan, life was unpredictable and exciting. With Jack it was boring and claustrophobic and … disappointing. The years of unrequited love had worn her down. Before she knew what she was doing, Kendall found herself reaching up and clasping her hands around Ivan’s neck. It was Kendall who made the first move, but Ivan responded instantly, kissing her full on the mouth with a force and passion that took her breath away.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ His hands caressed her thighs as he whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck.
‘You mean the deal?’ she whispered back. ‘Or this?’
‘Both.’ Ivan’s hands were beneath her T-shirt now, fumbling with the strap of her Elle Macpherson bra. ‘If you go back to Matador and Jack,’ he planted a slow, lingering kiss on her collarbone, ‘everything could go back to the way it was.’
Kendall closed her eyes. Ivan’s hands and mouth and body felt wonderful. Wrong but wonderful. She forced herself to think about Jack. If she did this deal she would never go back to his guesthouse. Would she even go back to LA? She wasn’t sure. Either way, Jack Messenger would no longer be her manager. He won’t be my friend either. Or anything more than a friend.
But then she remembered the things she’d heard him say to Ivan. ‘She’s spoiled … emotionally immature … a walking disaster.’ With friends like that, did she really need enemies? Maybe Jack needed to lose her – really lose her – to realize she was something worth having?
Or maybe not. Either way, Kendall wasn’t about to walk away from forty million dollars just to massage Jack’s ego. Not when there were so many more appealing things to massage. Reaching down, she tentatively touched the bulge in Ivan’s jeans. It was enormous and hard as a bullet. For a second she thought about Catriona, and about Ned Williams in the stables at The Rookery, giving her the third degree. But only for a second. Clearly Ivan made a habit of extramarital flings. One more was hardly going to make a difference.
‘I don’t want things to go back to how they were,’ she murmured, unbuckling his belt. ‘I want London. And Fascination. And you.’
It was all Ivan Charles could do not to punch the air in triumph.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, Catriona Charles came down to breakfast to find Miley Bayley, the three-year-old daughter of The Blitz’s lead singer Brett Bayley and his wife Stella, drawing on the walls in indelible marker.
‘Stella!’ she said, horrified, removing the pen from the little girl’s clutches to a cacophony of spoilt wails. ‘Look what Miley’s doing. It’s everywhere.’
‘Hmm?’ Stella Bayley looked up absently. Sitting in the middle of Catriona’s kitchen floor in the lotus position, her lithe, perfectly toned limbs folded over one another effortlessly, like bent pipe cleaners, she was clearly in a world of her own. ‘Oh, sorry, sweetie. I was meditating. Nothing gets through to me when I’m in the zone.’ She turned her attention to her whining daughter. ‘Hey, baybeeeee,’ she crooned. ‘Whassamatter? Did you get scared, Miley-Moo?’ Scooping the child up into her arms, she turned back to Catriona. ‘We try never to raise our voices to her,’ she said chidingly. ‘Brett and I are big believers in peaceful parenting.’
Catriona bit her lip and counted to ten. What had possessed her to say yes when Stella invited herself down for the weekend? She was a well-meaning girl at heart, and Catriona felt sorry for her, trying to create an illusion of the perfect family life while married to the vain, philandering Brett Bayley. Stuck at home with Miley while her husband gallivanted around Europe on tour with his band must be a lonely life. But, even so, having Stella as a house guest was tough work. She wouldn’t eat anything that wasn’t organic and cruelty-free and purified to within an inch of its life. She would only sleep in east-facing bedrooms – something to do with energy flow – and was terribly keen on ‘healing’ people by laying her hands on their heads. Rosie and Hector both found this hilarious, but the poor dogs were really quite frightened by it. Old Mr Carruthers, the gardener, had threatened to give in his notice last time if Catriona’s American friend didn’t leave him and his tomato plants well alone. But worst of all was the little girl. Catriona felt guilty actively disliking a child of three. But Miley was without doubt the most whingeing, overindulged, obnoxious brat she had ever encountered, the spitting image of her famous father, and obviously destined to be just as much trouble.
‘I’ll pay to get it repainted,’ said Stella, sensing that Catriona had perhaps been pushed too far this time. ‘But you mustn’t yell at Miley.’
‘I didn’t yell at Miley, Stella. I merely pointed out that she was defacing my walls and took away the pen.’
‘The problem is she’s so creative,’ sighed Stella, smothering her daughter with kisses. ‘Gifted children often struggle with boundaries. Don’t they, Miley-Moo?’
‘What the bloody hell happened in here?’
Ivan’s voice made both women jump. Standing in the doorway with his overnight case in his hand, he looked tired, unshaven, and distinctly grumpy.
‘Darling!’ Catriona’s face lit up. Ivan almost never came home early. ‘I wasn’t expecting you till tonight. How lovely you’re here.’
But Ivan evidently wasn’t feeling lovely. He’d forgotten Stella Bayley was down for the weekend, and was irritated to find her hanging around in his kitchen with her snotty toddler glued to her hip. ‘Who the hell scrawled shit all over my walls?’
Sensing a drama brewing, Miley secured her own starring role by bursting into noisy tears.
‘It seems Miley had a little accident with one of our permanent markers,’ explained Catriona.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Ivan turned on Stella. ‘Can’t you fucking control her?’
‘How dare you curse in front of my child!’ Stella shot back. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Sweeping past him, a sobbing Miley in her arms, she stormed out of the room. ‘We’ll be upstairs in our room if anyone wants us,’ she called over her shoulder to Catriona. ‘Packing.’
Catriona sat down at the table with her head in her hands. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than an aspirin and to crawl back to bed. ‘That wasn’t very diplomatic, darling,’ she said to Ivan. ‘You’d better go and apologize.’
‘Apologize? Look at this shit.’ He pointed to Miley’s artistic efforts, which extended right around the base of one wall and halfway up the side of another. ‘We only redecorated at Christmas. What the hell are they doing here again anyway?’
‘You knew they were coming,’ Catriona said wearily. ‘Brett’s away again and—’
‘I don’t care. Seriously, this place is turning into a fucking doss house. We never get a weekend to ourselves.’
/> Lovingly, Catriona reached out and stroked his cheek. He would have to apologize to Stella. They couldn’t have the wife of one of Jester’s biggest clients storming out of the house in high dudgeon. But secretly she was pleased that Ivan wanted more family time. It was what she wanted too, more than anything.
‘I came home early to talk to you,’ said Ivan. ‘A lot of stuff’s happened at work. It’s been an exhausting bloody week, you’ve no idea.’
‘I’ll put some coffee on and make breakfast,’ said Catriona, kissing him. Her week had been exhausting too, taxiing the children around from one engagement to another, filling in Ivan’s horrifically late tax returns and cooking for an apparently endless stream of house guests. Saying no had never been her strong suit. ‘You go up and smooth things over with Stella. Then we can talk.’
‘Do I have to?’ Ivan scowled. But he knew she was right. If ever there was a time to stay on the right side of Jester’s big clients, this was it. In the coming weeks, Ivan and Jack would be battling to the death over each other’s acts. Losing his temper with Stella Bayley was hardly the best start to Ivan’s charm offensive. ‘OK.’ He kissed his wife back. ‘Sorry for being such a grump. I’d like a bacon sandwich please, extra crispy. With ketchup.’
Catriona laughed. Grumpy or not, life was always much more fun when Ivan was around.
Half an hour later, having eaten humble pie and cooed grovellingly over the ghastly Miley, Ivan had mollified Stella Bayley sufficiently to be allowed to breakfast alone with his wife.
‘Alone time is so important in a love relationship,’ Stella said earnestly, ‘especially when you have kids. It’s a real hot topic on my blog: keeping the flame alive.’
Having spent the last twenty-four hours in bed with Kendall Bryce, indulging in a sexual marathon the likes of which he hadn’t attempted since his own early twenties, the only flame Ivan was interested in was the one beneath the frying pan cooking his bacon. But he did want to talk to Cat. He needed her advice about this business with Jack and Jester, and her approval of him taking the Talent Quest job. After fifteen years of marriage, he relied on Catriona’s opinion heavily. She was the only person on earth Ivan fully trusted, and it was a relief to be able to confide in her.
After two bites of his delicious sandwich and a gulp of Earl Grey tea, he got straight to the point.
‘Jack and I have had a row.’
Catriona frowned. ‘Another one? What’s it about this time? Honestly, I do wish the two of you would work it out. You’ve been partners for so many years, and friends for even longer.’
‘Yeah, well, not any more. He says he’s leaving Jester.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Cat. But one look at Ivan’s face told her he wasn’t joking. ‘You actually think he means it?’
Ivan shrugged. ‘It looks that way.’
‘But why? And leaving to do what?’
Ivan gave her an edited précis of his heated phone conversation with Jack, including heavily biased accounts of Kendall’s new deal with Polydor and his own offer from ITV.
‘Jack’s jealous,’ he concluded, ‘pure and simple. He’s ticked off because I was the one who brokered Kendall’s deal, even though we’re both getting paid on it. And he’s scared shitless of me taking Jester into the twenty-first century. I swear to God, he’d have all our acts putting out albums on vinyl if he thought he could get away with it.’
‘Hmmm. I’m not sure,’ said Catriona. ‘There must be more to it than that.’ The Jack Messenger she knew was the last person likely to be motivated by petty jealousy. She could imagine Jack to be more old-fashioned in his outlook than Ivan. He was in life, so why not in business? But to break up Jester, such a wildly successful business, over such differences seemed to be a gross overreaction.
‘I think you should talk to him,’ she said at last, thoughtfully sipping her own tea. ‘Or I can if you like. Don’t forget, he’s still grieving over Sonya. People in depression often don’t make the most rational decisions. I dare say he’s already regretting what he said.’
Ivan pushed his chair back from the table sullenly. ‘Why do you always take his side?’
Catriona’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean? I’m not taking his side.’
‘Well, you could have fooled me. I thought at least you’d be pleased about the Talent Quest thing. It’s a huge opportun-ity for me, you know.’
‘I am pleased,’ Catriona insisted. ‘I told you I was pleased. I just think that Jack—’
‘Jack’s a stubborn bloody fool!’ Ivan said petulantly. ‘He’s arrogant and self-righteous and I’m tired of having him looking down his oh-so-moral nose at me. Why shouldn’t I take a job in television? I mean, what the fuck is so wrong with that? Jack talks about it like I’m selling my soul to the devil.’
‘But surely you can talk it through?’ persisted Catriona. ‘After all these years.’
‘I don’t want to talk it through,’ said Ivan. ‘Kendall Bryce is pissed off with Jack for treating her like a child and, you know what, I know how she feels. Nothing I ever do is good enough for him. I’m not the one who’s walking away from the partnership, Cat. Jack is. So it would be nice to think that my own bloody wife supported me, and wasn’t only concerned about Jack’s sodding feelings.’
‘Ivan, I do support you. I always support you.’ Reaching across the table, she grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye, willing him to believe her.
She’s still got the most beautiful eyes, thought Ivan. He knew he was being childish about Jack, that what had happened between them was at least half his fault. But it still made him jealous and angry hearing Catriona defend him. Ivan might betray his wife’s love, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need it, and her approval. They were like two sides of the same coin.
He entwined his fingers with hers and squeezed them tight.
‘Let’s go to bed.’
‘Now?’ Catriona giggled. ‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning!’
‘So?’
‘I thought you were exhausted.’
Ivan grinned. ‘I’ve rallied. Just don’t say another word to me about Jack Bloody Messenger.’
‘I won’t,’ said Catriona. And she didn’t. Upstairs, Ivan bolted the bedroom door, peeled off her dressing gown and pyjamas, and was out of his own clothes in seconds. Somehow having just come from Kendall’s bed made being here with his wife even more exciting. Catriona’s body was the exact opposite of Kendall’s – soft and warm and overflowing, like diving into a mound of soft pillows. If fucking Kendall was a workout, making love to Cat was like the massage afterwards: comforting and familiar and deeply pleasurable.
For her part, Catriona could barely conceal her delight. She and Ivan had a healthy sex life, but she couldn’t remember the last time they’d sneaked off like this for a quickie, especially in the middle of the morning. God knows what the children and Stella were up to. It all felt so illicit and joyful. Life affirming, as Stella would have said.
‘Oh, by the way,’ said Ivan afterwards as she lay in his arms, ‘Kendall Bryce’s going to be staying on at Eaton Gate for a while until she finds a permanent place in London. I hope that’s OK with you. She got caught in the middle of all this nonsense with Jack and I think she’s still feeling a bit fragile.’
‘Of course,’ said Catriona. ‘You should have brought her down here. She’s a sweet girl and Rosie and Hector both adore her. Especially Hector. I think he has a bit of a crush actually. It’s sweet.’
Ivan kissed her on the forehead. ‘No. We have to start ring-fencing our family time a bit more. I can deal with clients during the week, but weekends here are for us.’
A flicker of guilt, trying to make itself felt in Ivan’s chest, was quickly extinguished. What Catriona didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. As long as he kept his two worlds sep-arate and compartmentalized, everything would work out just fine.
Jared Crane looked across the desk at his client and frowned.
He was not happy.
The client sitting opposite him today had a reputation for stubbornness. But he also had a reputation for caution, intelligence and good sense, which was what made today’s events even more distressing. The document he was about to sign was one that Jared Crane had drawn up for him, against Jared’s advice and at the client’s own absolute insistence. Jared Crane had told him in no uncertain terms that signing it was not in his best interests. But yet here Jack Messenger sat, directly across the desk from Jared, with a silver Mont Blanc pen in his hand and a look of grimly determined stupidity on his handsome face.
‘Where do I sign?’
‘Penultimate page. At the bottom. But, Jack, I wish you’d reconsider. Or at least cool off for a few days before I send Ivan his copy. Once he signs, it’s done, and can’t be undone.’
Jack dashed off a signature and handed his lawyer the document. ‘It’s already done, Jared. I can’t work with him any more.’
‘Fine, but you do understand it’s you who’s walking away from the Jester name. You’re effectively giving Ivan Charles the brand – a brand you’ve spent your entire professional life building.’
Jack shrugged. ‘It’s just a name. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but clients are loyal to me, not to Jester. I’ll start a new company and carry on as before.’
It does sound arrogant, thought Jared Crane, or at least foolhardy. Brand names were important in any business, but especially in music, and they couldn’t be replaced overnight. In his enthusiasm for a fresh start, Jack Messenger was giving up his rights in something very valuable. And not to a friend, but to a man in whose interests it was to try and destroy him professionally.
Friends & Rivals Page 8