by Karen Swan
Luckily for her, she had convinced Nicholas Parker that if there was any inappropriate relationship with Harry, it was that he had been a friend and confidant while her marriage was breaking down. Accordingly, the full might of Moreton Parker had swung behind her. Even if Parker hadn’t bought it, there was no way he was going to let this story compromise the professional integrity of his company – and not a publication had dared point the finger directly at Kate, no matter how incriminating the photo had been.
Instead, all eyes were on Cress, who – fortunately for the lovers and to Harry’s great glee – had moved out of the family home immediately following the exposé, adding further weight to the claims that she was Harry’s paramour.
Kate didn’t feel too bad about it. As Harry had said, it took the heat off them, and there must have been cracks in the marriage for a while, as he’d personally seen Mark cosying up to Greta at Lucy’s birthday party. Besides, she kept reminding herself, look what Cress was doing to him.
The car cruised through Hyde Park, emerging on to Park Lane and being swallowed up in the indigenous fleets of limos and blacked-out 4 x 4s that patrolled the routes outside the premier hotels. Christophe changed lanes smoothly, overtaking the other cars without causing offence or eliciting the usual hand gestures reserved for luxury cars.
Confident they weren’t being followed – a few cryptic soundbites from a forlorn Harry had been enough to ensure that most of the paparazzi were still trailing his pack of women – they snaked through the back streets of Mayfair before turning north towards Baker Street. They slipped up Green Street and made a sharp right and then a left, cruising out on to Harley Street.
Kate closed her eyes and tried to stop the tears welling again. She’d been emotional for days now, amusing and frustrating Harry in equal turn. He couldn’t understand what a long journey it had been for her to get here. Six years and eighteen minutes.
Just a few Mercedes were parked on the wide street, the engines ticking over, the drivers wearing shades and shifty looks as their passengers darted in and out of cosmetic, fertility, psychiatric and sexual dysfunction clinics.
Christophe purred past, coming to a stop outside number thirty-five, a York stone building with Palladian columns and wide steps.
Harry turned to Kate.
‘Are you ready?’ he said, placing a hot hand on her knee.
She nodded.
‘Put your glasses on,’ he said, as Christophe came round to open the door.
They put their heads down and rushed inside the building, the game having lost its allure in the past few weeks.
The reception area was austere, stark white marble lining the floor and walls, making Kate feel chilly. She pulled her coat around her, glad she’d plumped for the sheepskin.
‘May I help you?’ the receptionist asked.
‘Mrs . . . Miss Miller to see Mr Fallon. Three p.m.’ She stumbled on the words, her brain unused to her own maiden name. But it was important to protect Harry’s identity. And anyway it wasn’t right to use Monty’s name any more.
‘Thank you, Miss Miller. I’m afraid Mr Fallon has been called away on an emergency. Are you happy to see one of the other consultants?’
Kate nodded. Fallon was a friend of Harry’s so she’d booked him, but truth be told, she didn’t care who she saw. Anyone in a white coat would do.
‘If I could ask you to fill in this questionnaire please, and hand it back here before you see the doctor. You’ll be called in five minutes.’
She took a seat and started filling it in on her own. Harry was still standing just inside the main doors, trying not to be seen by the other patients. With all the heat on him at the moment, this was the worst possible place to be spotted.
She handed it back to the receptionist, who consulted her screen. The initials VIP had been added next to Kate’s name. She couldn’t be kept waiting.
‘Thank you, Miss Miller. If you’d like to go into room five – just follow the corridor down to the left – the doctor will join you in a moment.’
Kate nodded again and walked slowly down the corridor, trying not to skip. She inclined her head slightly as she passed the doors and Harry dashed into room five just as the receptionist got up from her desk and walked to the photocopier behind her.
‘It never could be straightforward with you, could it?’ she giggled, sitting on the bed, as he closed the door. They’d made it.
‘You’d be bored if it was,’ he said, though he looked uneasy.
‘Come here,’ she said, holding out her hands. ‘There’s no need to look so worried.’
‘I’m not worried,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I’m just convinced a pap’s going to jump out from behind the monitor.’ And he checked behind it, just to make sure. ‘Anyway, I haven’t done this before. I don’t know what to expect.’
‘Well, they’re not going to do anything to you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ve done your bit.’
Kate regarded him, an amused smile on her lips.
‘Actually, it is strange, though, that there haven’t been any paternity claims against you. God knows there’s been enough opportunity. You’ve hardly been discriminating.’
He looked at her. ‘You know, you don’t come out too well from that statement.’
She smiled cockily, her green eyes locking with his. ‘The others don’t bother me. I know I rock your world.’
He kissed her, feeling instantly randy. Their sex life had dwindled to practically zero since she’d found out – she was terrified of doing anything that might threaten the pregnancy – and he had found himself increasingly drawn back to Emily’s arms . . . and legs.
The door opened and they pulled apart.
‘Hello, Miss Miller, I’m . . .’ The doctor’s voice faded away.
There was a charged silence.
‘Well,’ Harry said finally. ‘There’s no need for introductions. Where’s Fallon?’
James was dumbfounded, looking between Harry and Kate and back again, her notes in his hands.
Harry crossed the room and snatched them from him. ‘You won’t be needing those,’ he spat. ‘And I don’t think I need to remind you that everything you’ve read in there is strictly confidential.’
James looked at Kate. Was it true?
For a split second, her eyes told him so, but she couldn’t hold his gaze and she looked away.
‘Mr Fallon has been called away. I’m taking his clinic this afternoon,’ he said eventually.
‘Where’s Fallon gone?’ Harry demanded. ‘He assured me he’d be here. Don’t tell me he’s playing fucking golf.’
‘No. He’s not playing golf,’ James said, more calmly than he felt. ‘One of his patients has been diagnosed with an ectopic pregnancy. He’s in theatre.’
‘Couldn’t someone else deal with it?’
James looked sharply at him. ‘No! They couldn’t! His patient could die. He has a responsibility to be there for her.’
Harry snorted in contempt, his lip curled in a sneer. Didn’t they know who he was?
‘Come on, Kate,’ he said, taking her sharply by the elbow. ‘We’ll have to do this another time.’
‘But Harry . . .’ she protested. ‘What about the scan? I need to know everything’s all right. I can’t wait for another day . . . I can’t.’
‘Of course you can. The baby will still be there tomorrow. We’ll get Fallon to come over to the house.’
James shook his head, enraged by Harry’s arrogance. He really did think he could have whatever he wanted.
‘If you want the scan, it’ll have to be here,’ James said flatly.
He looked at Kate. ‘This is an awkward situation, Kate, for all of us, but I’m happy to do it for you, if you want me to. I know how important this . . .’
‘Oh, quit with the Dr Kildare routine, White! Nobody wants to hear it,’ Harry snapped, stalking the room. He looked over at Kate, who hadn’t moved and was still on the bed. He knew she wouldn’t go until this
was done.
‘Well, there must be someone else in this bloody clinic who can do it?’
James stared at him. ‘No. I’m the only consultant on duty. And given Kate’s history, she should be seen by me.’
Kate reached up to Harry, clutching his arm. ‘Please, baby. I need to know. Let’s just do it.’ A look came into her eyes. ‘As soon as we know everything’s OK, we can – you know – get back to normal.’
Harry knew just what she was talking about. That was certainly worth half an hour in White’s company. ‘OK,’ he relented. ‘If it’ll make you happy.’
James switched on the machine and sat down, lights flashing, fan humming, as he squeezed a tube of jelly and warmed it in his hands before rubbing it on Kate’s still-flat tummy.
He checked the notes, his eyebrows shooting up.
‘So, it’s eleven weeks since the first day of your last menstrual period?’
Kate nodded.
There was a pause.
‘It happened quickly then,’ he said blankly, looking at the screen.
‘Not all men are created equal, White. You know that,’ Harry quipped.
Kate saw James clench his jaw as he ran the ultrasound in figures of eight over her tummy.
‘Does Monty know?’ he asked, still keeping his voice flat.
Kate stiffened.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said. ‘It’s none of his business any more.’
James nodded, just as he found the perfect tiny heart, its rapid beats like the fluttering wings of a butterfly.
He turned to look at them both. ‘Well, congratulations. It looks like you’re going to be one happy family.’
Chapter Thirty-six
Cress braced herself, and hoped the pilot had more control of this plane than she had of her life. She looked at all the other first class passengers and wondered whether their success had come at such a high price.
It had been eight days since she’d last seen the children. She’d spoken to them all on the phone, but only when Greta didn’t get there first and let it go over to answerphone. As for Mark, he was communicating with her only by text, now convinced that she was sleeping with Harry, as the papers published new and more incriminating photos of the two of them in the woods every day.
Harry had only stoked the fire further when he gave the press a comment that was supposedly beseeching them to call off the search. ‘I will say only this,’ he had said forlornly on the steps of his club. ‘She is my sexual match, my intellectual match, my dream woman. But she is someone else’s. Your speculation is pointless. I’ll never marry now. Please. Leave us both alone.’
Obviously, that riddle had had the desired effect and driven the press into frenzies. Everyone had a view. Kate, Cress, Tor and Marina (the redhead) – the Harry Hunter Four – had become minor celebrities as the press ran profiles on each woman, whipping up a national debate trying to discover which of the women had stolen Harry’s heart.
Tor hadn’t come out well, being condemned for throwing off her widow’s weeds so soon and cavorting at glamorous parties with the playboy set.
Kate’s hard-won reputation as a top libel lawyer had taken a bit of a beating too. The picture of them at the poolhouse was damning evidence of a tryst, but she was married in name only. The divorce was going through, which wasn’t what Harry Hunter had said in the interview, claiming he’d never marry because the only woman he wanted was lost to another man.
Marina had been discarded almost from the off. She collected husbands like they were Jimmy Choos, and the Mirror had run a kiss-and-tell by a masseur who claimed to have enjoyed a holiday romance with her, while she honeymooned with her third and latest husband, the jockey Luke Matthews. If Harry Hunter really wanted her, it wasn’t her marriage that was keeping them apart.
Which left Cress, with her rock-solid marriage and four children flashing like beacons in the storm. Not that she’d been there to watch. After putting the phone down to Tor, she’d packed a suitcase and caught the first flight to LA, burying herself in meetings by day and hitting the hotel minibar by night.
Her bill had come in at over $7000 – the accountants would go spare – but she’d blag it. You couldn’t put a price on oblivion when your world was going tits up. Anyway, that was nothing compared to the money that she was throwing at the problem now.
Her BlackBerry buzzed and she picked it up. It was from Rosie.
Eureka! Email contact! Wrong Prince author wants to know if u liked bk? Duh! Won’t meet. Only email. Have emailed contract 2 him. Gd to go.
Cress’s heart galloped. He’d made contact? He actually wanted to publish? She couldn’t believe it. She’d been so sure she was being sabotaged, that the connection to Brendan Hillier was a tacit threat for her involvement with Harry’s deceit.
She took a deep breath and tried to focus. Stop being paranoid. There was no time to lose. It was mid-November already. The book was already copy-edited, proof-read and the jacket designed. If he signed by the end of the day, they could start the presses tomorrow and get the first shipment of the books in the shops within three weeks. It meant he wouldn’t have time to approve the edit, but if he wanted any kind of shot at getting on the best-seller list for Christmas, they couldn’t afford to wait. It was time to start fanning the hype.
She stared out of the window at the other planes parking, the lights flashing on luggage carts, the cubed Arrivals buildings which looked as if they’d been built from Lego.
The BlackBerry sat silent – but so full of promise – in her hand.
Come on!
She’d been waiting days now. She’d expected something sooner than this.
Even the imminent prospect of signing the Prince author and gold-plating Sapphire’s fortunes and reputation would be pointless if she didn’t get a breakthrough soon. Harry had outdone himself this time. She’d been so anxious to protect her professional investments – so sure that was where he’d strike – it hadn’t occurred to her he’d target her family. He’d nearly obliterated them – forced her out of her home, out of the country even. But she saw now that he’d done her a favour. For the first time she’d realized that without Mark, without the children, Sapphire’s success meant nothing. She didn’t want any of it. She only wanted them back. And she’d come back to get them.
The BlackBerry buzzed again. Finally.
‘The eagle has landed!’ Cress felt a shot of adrenalin ricochet through her body, as she clicked on the accompanying jpeg.
Her jaw dropped in disbelief.
Bingo!
She sniffed as the cabin crew turned the doors to manual, and she reached for her oversized shades. She felt the eyes of the other passengers settle on her as she moved towards the steps – taking in her Michael Kors khaki cashmere poloneck, the narrow taupe skirt and boots. So she was the one . . .
Cress let them scrutinize her, judge her, knowing that at least one of them would be on their mobile to the tabloids as soon as they hit the baggage halls. She wanted them to. She wanted Harry to know she was back in town, she wanted everyone to know. Because tonight, they would all know the truth.
Tor carried the children’s bedding down to the utility room and put on another load. It was the third time this week that Marney had woken up wet. She’d never had problems staying dry at night before, but now Tor was having to restrict her evening milk and had bought a potty to leave beside her bed. Tor shook her head as she turned the dial. She’d known this was a move too far.
Much as the children loved staying with ‘Granny Hen’, the covert relocation – achieved by trekking unseen across the adjoining meadow at the back – had unsettled them all. The boisterous packs of photographers outside The Twittens had scared the children and, as well as Marney’s wet nights, Millie had started having nightmares too.
Tor walked back into the kitchen and picked up her coffee cup. All because of one stupid, unguarded moment. An innocent flirtation she hadn’t even instigated.
She picked
up the phone and tried Cress’s mobile again. It connected.
‘Babe!’ Cress said down the line. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m OK. I was getting worried. I haven’t been able to get hold of you for over a week.’
‘Yuh, I know, sorry. I was in LA. I’ve just landed. I had some meetings out there to start negotiations on an original screenplay deal for Harry.’
‘You’re still working for him, after all he’s done? He’s stitched us up like kippers!’
Cress chortled. ‘He’s my cash cow, Tor. But don’t you worry – this won’t be forgotten. I’m striking back, for both of us.’
Tor had no doubt she would. Cressida Pelling hadn’t founded an international company by following coffee-morning etiquette.
‘Where are you, anyway? It doesn’t sound as if you’re in the office.’
‘No, I’m in the car, going up to Oxford. Harry’s speaking there tonight.’
‘Right,’ Tor said, sipping her coffee.
‘How about you?’
‘Well, we’ve been hiding out at Hen’s for the past week. I haven’t left the house; Hen’s doing all the school runs. Everyone in the village is being really sweet and telling the press to bugger off back to London. There’s still a few of them left, but I’m hoping we’ll be able to go back in the next few days.’
Cress tutted. ‘God, I am so sorry, hon. It is ridiculous it’s come to this.’
‘I just cannot believe Harry lives with this on a daily basis.’
‘Oh, don’t feel sorry for him! He knows how to play the game – that’s precisely what this is to him. And most of the time, it serves his purposes.’
‘Most?’
‘It isn’t always going to go his way.’
‘How do you think Kate’s doing? I tried ringing her but she’s changed her number.’
‘Oh, I should imagine Kate’s just peachy.’ Cress couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, has it not struck you as odd that she’s come out of this without a scratch – even though the photo of her in his shirt was the most incriminating of all?’