She was naked except for her thong and heels. He stole a glance, wondering if she had ever looked so forbidden and exotic, then held her waist as she arched her back, teasing each ripened nipple between his lips as she gasped in pleasure.
His own arousal was unbearable. With his free hand he unbuckled his belt and slid down the zip of his trousers. Carla drew herself up, her lean, Pilates-honed torso as strong and elegant as a ballet dancer’s.
‘Jonas,’ he muttered as her fingers unfastened his shirt buttons. ‘He’ll hear us.’
‘Media room. Soundproofed,’ she said, raking her fingernails across his chest.
Their kisses were more urgent now. They stumbled back on to a two-seater sofa at the back of the room, the soles of her shoes crunching stray balls of popcorn underfoot. Matt kicked off his trousers and boxer shorts.
Carla lay back, propped up by some expensive-looking cushions, and parted her thighs, and he slotted his body between them, a perfect fit, as if they were made for each other. Her fingers pushed the wisp of thong to one side, and he guided himself inside her, slowly at first, but as she hooked one leg around him, he pushed deeper, groaning as they moved as one, in, out, together.
Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he couldn’t remember married sex ever being this good. Nor could he reconcile the brittle, frosty ex-wife with this hot, responsive woman. When she came, he felt her whole body tremble. Then he felt it too, white-hot electric desire pushing him closer and closer to the edge, and then a sweet release deep inside her.
They lay motionless for a few moments, listening to the sound of their breathing slowing, regulating, and then he pulled himself out of her.
‘Not bad for a pair of thirty-something parents,’ he smiled, collapsing back on to the opposite end of the sofa.
‘I need another drink,’ she said, laughing.
He said nothing.
The silence vibrated between them, and then she touched her fingers against his, as if willing him to say something.
‘I should go,’ he said quietly, putting his palm over the top of her hand.
She slid it out, her body pulling away from him.
‘I didn’t think that was your style,’ she sniffed.
He felt a stab of guilt for all the other one-night stands he’d had over the last three years. The post-coital excuses he had made to other women he knew he could not commit to. But this was different.
‘What do you suggest, Carla?’ he said quietly. ‘That I stay the night? That Jonas wakes up in the morning and sees us there, together in bed, as if the last three years hasn’t even happened?’
‘I’d prefer that to you getting up and walking out of the door the second after you’ve come inside me.’
He inhaled sharply, then looked at her.
‘I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect this.’
Her face softened.
‘Me neither.’ She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on top of them.
His son’s words reverberated around Matt’s head: Are you and Mum friends again? He owed her more than this.
‘Maybe we should go out for dinner,’ he said without thinking.
‘We go to Ibiza tomorrow. But we could do something when we get back. The time, the space might do us good. Give us time to think.’
She tipped her head to one side, her blond hair cascading over her bare shoulder, and smiled so adorably that he felt himself start to get hard again.
He nodded his approval.
‘You don’t regret what we just did?’ she said softly.
‘That was the best sex since . . . since you,’ he said truthfully. In fact it had been incredible, and that was what scared him.
42
‘Darling, I could have told you he was a coke fiend. You didn’t have to send me to St Tropez with a camcorder down my knickers to find that out.’
Sheryl Battenburg rested her chin in the curve of her palm and smiled at Larry. He was fairly sure that if they hadn’t been in the rarefied environs of the Beaumont Bar at the Savoy, she would have come over and sat on his knee.
‘Well, pictures were what I needed, Sherry, not rumours.’ He smiled as the waitress brought his old friend a flute of Krug. It was one of the few places in London that did it by the glass; he didn’t want to waste a bottle when he wasn’t even drinking it.
It had only taken Larry a few phone calls to find someone who was going to Fabio Martelli’s birthday party, held on a yacht and at the Nikki Beach Club in St Tropez. Sherry was an old-school Chelsea good-time girl with bleached blond hair and a deep tan. She and Larry had indulged in a short-lived affair between wives two and three. Now pushing forty, she had never married and Larry had no idea what she did for a living, other than attend parties and launches. He didn’t think to ask where the money was coming from.
He looked down at his iPhone and scrolled through the photographs that Sheryl had sent him from the yacht party, stopping at a shot of a redhead lounging on the deck dressed in just a micro-bikini.
‘Looks like it was fun,’ he grinned.
‘I hope they are okay. I know you said you wanted something really fruity, and there were obviously people having sex all over the shop, but I could hardly go into the cabins and get piccies of them at it, could I?’
Larry nodded. He’d known that even someone as connected as Sheryl might have trouble getting snaps of Fabio actually taking drugs or in the act with someone other than Kim Collier, so he’d asked her to take pictures of people who were obviously part of Fabio’s party. And as he scrolled through the photos, he had to say she’d done the job magnificently. She had managed to snap shots of Fabio draped over a variety of beautiful women in next to nothing; she’d even caught him evidently in conference with some burly men dressed in expensive loungewear and chunky jewellery. It was better than he could have hoped.
‘Have you ever thought about going into spying?’ he said with a chuckle. The single-mindedness and world-class schmoozing that had allowed Sheryl access to the highest strata of society were perfect transferable skills, should she choose to enter the field of espionage.
‘Sorry the quality isn’t that brilliant,’ she said, leaning forward to peek at the photos – and give Larry a flash of cleavage.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ said Larry. ‘I’m not looking for David Bailey, just something to give me a bit of leverage.’
‘This is nothing illegal, is it?’ she said, looking at him earnestly.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket.
‘How can you suggest such a thing, Sheryl?’ he said with mock-outrage. ‘I’m a well-respected lawyer.’
‘You’re a shark, Larry. If you weren’t one of my oldest friends, I wouldn’t trust you further than I can throw you.’
‘Well you can rest assured that you’ve done a good thing here,’ he said, leaning back in his banquette and scratching his stomach in a satisfied way. ‘A father is going to keep his son because of this.’
‘Oh, Larry, I always knew you were a big softie underneath it all,’ she cooed.
Larry laughed. He wasn’t entirely sure why it hadn’t worked out with Sheryl while Loralee had managed to drag him to the altar. The more he experienced life and love, the more he was convinced that relationships were a matter of timing. True, Loralee was younger, and more beautiful, but if he was honest, Sheryl was more his type of woman: slightly worn around the edges perhaps, but fun and clever and wise in her own way. It was just that Loralee had been there at the moment that Larry had decided to settle down again.
‘So. Are you going to take me shopping?’ asked Sheryl as Larry waved for the bill. ‘After all, it was a very, very big favour you asked of me.’
He looked at the two-carat diamond studs she was wearing; if he wasn’t very much mistaken, those were the earrings he had bought her during their affair.
‘I think we can safely say that you can expect a very nice Christmas present,’ laughed Larry. ‘But a married man taking a
nother woman shopping might be interpreted the wrong way.’
‘You’ve changed, Larry Donovan,’ she grinned.
‘I’m trying,’ he said honestly. ‘I really am.’
‘Well don’t try too hard,’ said Sheryl. ‘I quite liked that old rogue you used to be. How is the latest Mrs Donovan, by the way?’
‘Fine. Beautifying herself at the Chelsea Day Sanctuary today.’
‘Really? I thought that was closed for refurbishment.’
‘Oh well, some spa in Chelsea,’ he said, waving his hand dismissively as they got up to leave. ‘Anyway, how’s your love life?’
‘I only have eyes for you, lover,’ she giggled.
Larry gave Sheryl a sidelong glance, wondering at her true age. Was she too old for Matthew? He could certainly do a lot worse, Larry thought, feeling a sudden pang of affection for her.
He hurried through the foyer and out towards the cab rank. No matter how fond he was of Sheryl, he really didn’t want to be seen loitering in a hotel lobby with a notorious party girl, especially after the task he’d set her.
‘Find a nice fellow.’ He smiled, kissing her on the cheek to say goodbye. ‘I do want you to be happy, you know.’
‘That’s always been the trouble with men like you, Larry,’ she said, jumping into a taxi. She wound down the window and winked at him. ‘You all think we need a man to make us happy. It never crosses your mind that we’re perfectly fine on our own.’
43
Dear Anna,
I just wanted to say how much I am going to miss you at Sophie’s wedding. Of course, I understand your reasons for not wanting to be there. I can’t begin to think how hurt you must have been by what she did and I’ll always regret not being there for you more after it happened. For a soldier, I didn’t handle it very well, did I? Burying my head in the sand wishing it hadn’t happened and hoping that things would just get back to normal.
For the record, your mother and I were so angry and disappointed with Sophie for doing what she did to you. Maybe you needed to hear that sooner, but the conflict between you and Sophie has been hard for us. We are Sophie’s parents too, and however much we disapprove of what she did, we still have to keep on loving her. I hope that one day you will forgive her too.
I know it will happen because you are the most bighearted woman I’ve ever met. I know it because you are the smartest, shrewdest, most compassionate daughter a man could wish for. I’ve always been so proud of you, Anna. The clever, enquiring little girl you were. The strong, capable woman you’ve become. The incredible wife and mother I know you will one day be.
You’re a wonderful sister, and I’m sure Sophie wants to tell you that herself too. If you are open to that opportunity, you should know that Mum has arranged a hen-party dinner at the Savoy next Thursday from seven o’clock, with dancing at some nightclub later on. No pressure at all, I just wanted you to know, because everybody would love to see you there. We’re a family, Anna. We miss you and it doesn’t feel right without you.
Anyway, I’ve said my piece. I completely understand how difficult this is for you, and I will respect your decision whatever you choose to do.
Love always, Dad
It was the fifth time she had read her father’s email. For the last ten minutes she had been staring at it, hoping that the more she looked at it, the easier it would be to find the words to reply.
But here she was, the media lawyer, the voracious reader, the first-class communicator – or so the Legal 500 had once described her – struggling to work out what she felt, let alone what to write.
She wished she had a glass of wine or a cigarette. Wished she did not have to deal with this right now. Wished that this whole situation had not made her so bitter and angry, because she knew that before Sophie and Andrew had betrayed her, she was a different person, a better, nicer, happier one. She hated feeling like this, and hated making her father feel like this.
Her hand hovered over the Delete key, then she changed tack and pressed Reply. ‘Thanks for the note, Dad, sorry I can’t make it, have to go to Edinburgh Festival, speak soon. Ax,’ she typed quickly, stabbing the Send key before she had time to think about it any more.
Anna knew her dad wouldn’t try and contact her again about it. He was a quiet, wise man, respectful of other people’s feelings, and he knew when to bow out. Living all those years with her mother had taught him that.
But as she turned away from her computer, she pictured him sitting in his kitchen office reading it, shaking his head with disappointment, and felt a flood of guilt and shame. Her breath quickened as hot tears collected and pricked the back of her eyes. Through the glass window of her office she could see Matt Donovan glancing over as if he wanted to speak to her. There was no way she was going to let him see her cry. She stumbled up from behind her desk and raced to the ladies’, ducking into a toilet cubicle and closing the door. She pulled the seat down and sat on it, pushing her thumbs on to her eyelids to stave off emotion.
Outside the stall, she could hear the click-clack of court shoes entering the bathroom. Someone was talking; a one-way conversation as if they were on the phone. The voice was low, but she recognised it immediately: Sid Travers, her trainee.
‘Look,’ said Sid, ‘I know they’ve fired me, but it still doesn’t make it right doing it. I feel dreadful.’
There was a long pause, whilst Sid evidently listened to her caller.
‘But I need the money.’
Anna’s ears pricked up. Money?
A pause, then Sid continued: ‘No, she doesn’t know, of course she doesn’t. She would go absolutely mad.’
The pitch of her voice rose with aggravation.
‘Because I should have come clean but I didn’t, did I?’ she hissed. ‘And now, after everything that’s happened, now they’ll never understand it and hate me for being a liar.’
Anna grimaced. The one-sided conversation made it impossible for her to know what Sid was talking about, but she had a slow, sinking feeling about what it could be. She recalled her conversation with Blake Stanhope, when he had said, ‘Have you ever considered that the leak came from your end?’
Sid had definitely known about the injunction and about Sam’s infidelity. They had openly discussed it in meetings with Helen in the boardroom. And something else too: Katie Grey’s mobile phone photograph of her and Sam in bed had been sent to Anna’s computer terminal. How hard would it have been for Sid to make a copy?
She strained her ears again. Sid seemed to be winding up her telephone call.
‘All right, I’ll come,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know what I’m going to say to get out of work.’
The heels clicked back out. Anna shook her head in disbelief. Could it really have been Sid who had leaked the Sam Charles story to the press? And if so, then who the hell was she just talking to? The person who had paid her to do it?
She left the bathroom in time to see Sid disappear into the kitchen to make a coffee. Returning quickly to her office, she busied herself behind her desk as if she had never left.
A few minutes later, Sid appeared at the door with two drinks.
‘Coffee?’ she said, holding up a mug.
‘Thanks,’ said Anna, as breezily as she could.
Sid stepped into the office and placed the coffee on the desk.
‘Listen, Anna, I need a big favour.’
Anna raised her eyebrows.
‘Go on.’
‘I have to go in twenty minutes. Is that a problem?’
‘Well it’s not great, Sid,’ she said looking at her watch. ‘It’s not even three thirty. You know how busy we are with the trial. What is it?’
The trainee dropped her head. ‘It’s important.’
In normal circumstances Anna would have given her a hard time about it, perhaps even refused to let her go unless she had a very good excuse, but today wasn’t normal. If there was any chance of finding out who was behind the leak, she’d have to let her leave. Still, she had to m
ake it convincing.
‘Fine, go if you must,’ she said. ‘You can make the hours up tomorrow night. That’s if nothing “important” is going to happen then.’ She felt a bitch, but she was angry.
‘No,’ said Sid gratefully. ‘Thanks, Anna.’
Anna watched Sid pick up her bag and quickly leave the office. Whoever had called her was obviously in a hurry. As soon as she was out of the door, Anna grabbed her own bag and followed. As she came out of the revolving doors on to the street, she could already see Sid leaving Broadwick Street, heading into Soho.
Where was she going? Anna gave chase, keeping a decent gap between them in case Sid should turn around and see her. The Friday-afternoon commuter rush was building as they crossed Shaftesbury Avenue into Chinatown, but Sid’s russet hair made her easy to spot in a crowd. Finally she disappeared into Leicester Square tube station. Anna walked cautiously down the stairs – she didn’t want to run into her in the ticket hall – but Sid was already through the barriers, heading for the Northern Line. Anna prided herself on her intuition, and she had always known there was something wrong with Sid. Her work was good, excellent at times, but she didn’t seem to have the dedication of the other trainees, lacked their willingness to work through the night on a case if necessary and never socialised or schmoozed. Which probably explained why she had been told they wouldn’t be renewing her contract. Donovan Pierce was a firm made in the image of Helen and Larry and if you weren’t prepared to match their twenty-four-hour commitment to the job, you were never going to climb the ladder there.
A train was just pulling in to the platform with a rush of air, and Anna saw Sid jump into a carriage towards the front. Anna took a seat at the end of the next carriage, just far enough to be out of sight, but close enough that she would see when Sid got off. She had to wait several stops. At Clapham South, she followed Sid up the escalator and out on to the busy crossroads. She had to trot to keep up – she couldn’t lose her now. Crossing into a maze of residential streets, Sid turned on to a quiet road made up of Victorian terraces with tiny front gardens. To Anna’s surprise, she turned and walked up to an ordinary front door and disappeared inside. Who the hell was she meeting in there?
Private Lives Page 33