Players

by Karen Swan

  Fifteen hundred miles away in Chicago, Monty swallowed hard. He had rescheduled all his meetings so that he could watch the ceremony in the hope of catching glimpses of Kate. He gazed at her glittering eyes, her trembling mouth and thought he’d never seen her look so beautiful. Or so unhappy.

  The next twenty-five minutes were the longest of Kate’s life as she tried to dam down the pain and stem her rising panic. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. It couldn’t be. She was only six months.

  Another wave hit her, and she took a deep breath as she felt the heat soar and the squeeze grip and twist. Her tummy felt like rock. Had she been standing, she was sure her knees would have buckled under her.

  As the lights finally went up for the commercial break, Kate staggered to her feet and pushed past Harry, rushing towards the lobby, holding on to the chairs, oblivious to the concerned stares of the illustrious crowd.

  ‘Kate! Come back! Where’re you going?’ Harry called after her, just as Will Smith stopped by to say hello. ‘Oh, hi mate, how’s it going?’

  She got into the lobby and looked around frantically, fat, noisy sobs finally escaping her. She had to get some air. See some daylight. She . . .

  ‘It’s OK, Kate, come with me,’ a calm voice said. ‘You need to stay sitting down.’

  Kate spun round and looked at James.

  ‘I was watching you in the theatre . . . Here,’ he said, checking her pulse. ‘Let me check you over. Just try to calm down for me.’

  Tor rushed up, skirts rustling, her cheeks flushed with panic.

  ‘James!’ She took in Kate’s slumped form. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Tor, I need you to get Kate some water.’

  Tor flagged down a passing waiter, demanding a ‘still water for the pregnant lady!’ as though it were a life-or-death situation. She turned back and saw the pain cross Kate’s face as another contraction took hold. Her mascara had streaked and she’d got hiccups from all the crying. She looked a mess. What the hell had happened in there? She’d been fine before they went in.

  ‘Oh my God, is she going into labour?’ Tor asked, rummaging in her clutch for a travel pack of tissues. She took one out and carefully bent over Kate, gently cleaning away the black tracks.

  James shook his head, his hand laid across the top of her tight tummy. The last thing he needed was two women in labour – he’d be pulling a baby out with one hand and holding a baby in with the other. ‘No, but she’s having some pretty severe Braxton Hicks. Kate, I really need you to calm down for me, OK? Can you tell me what’s happened? What’s upset you?’

  Kate shook her head, crying harder again. ‘I can’t . . .’

  ‘She needs to lie down,’ James said, looking around for one of the multitude of officials. He found an Armani-suited clipboard carrier. ‘Excuse me, I’m a doctor. I need to find somewhere for this lady to lie down. Do you have a private room we can use?’

  The official took in Kate’s pregnancy, hysterics and tepid pallor, but still hesitated. ‘There is, but . . . I’ll need to get security approval on this first, sir.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ James muttered, mortified that of all the names he was going to have to drop . . . ‘She’s Harry Hunter’s girlfriend. Would you like to explain to him yourself that you left his girlfriend labouring in the lobby?’

  That decided it.

  ‘Please come this way, sir,’ and he led the trio up the back stairs to a small manager’s office.

  Tor took in the room, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the highly flammable-looking sofa and grey nylon carpet tiles. Her hair felt static just at the thought of it all. The whole space was windowless, airless, tasteless. She watched James as he authoritatively moved across the room, switching on the electric fan on the desk and positioning it towards Kate.

  Kate felt the breeze cool her skin and she instantly felt her body relax a little, the contractions begin to ebb. She closed her eyes and tried not to see Harry emerge from the broom cupboard with Greta again.

  James came back to her and sat on the edge of the sofa. He opened his doctor’s bag and took her temperature and pulse again.

  ‘Good. That’s good, Kate,’ he soothed. ‘Just stay still.’

  Kate opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Why is it that every time I cast you in my mind as the villain, you go and do something heroic?’ she said furiously.

  James gave a wry smile. ‘You know I’m neither.’

  ‘I don’t, actually,’ she said contrarily – she hadn’t forgotten his lies to her and Monty – and then paused. ‘Although I do know you didn’t shop us to the papers.’

  James, who was reaching into his bag, hesitated, then sat back up and looked at her sombrely.

  ‘How do you know?’

  She shrugged lightly. ‘I remembered telling a little girl in Barbados on Christmas Day. How sad is that? Shopped by a six-year-old!’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I told Harry, but he doesn’t care, James. He wants you to take the fall for it anyway. He’s determined to destroy your career.’

  James dropped his eyes, his mouth set in a grim line.

  ‘I see.’ He looked back at her. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  Kate took a deep breath. ‘Because it’s over. He’s been lying to me, cheating on me.’ Her eyes filled with tears again, and Tor automatically reached for a clean tissue. ‘I lost my job and he absolutely loved telling me that.’ She began to sob. ‘He’s just been using me all along.’

  ‘Using you for what?’ James asked quietly.

  Kate looked up at him. ‘To undermine Cress; to break up what he saw as her power base, to make her weak.’

  James frowned. ‘Why would he do that? She’s his publisher.’ He began rummaging in his bag for the sphygmomanometer.

  Tor stepped forward, taking his distraction as proof of guilt. ‘I think you know why, James.’

  James stopped and looked at her. Tor? Why was she getting involved with Harry’s dramas?

  ‘You sent the manuscript to Cress, James. I know you did. It must have been sent originally to George, yes?’ Learning that Hen was James’s mother had made all the other connections fall into place. ‘He was the top literary agent at the time, right?’

  ‘What manuscript is this?’ Kate cut in, flummoxed that Tor was involved. So Harry had been right about that – it wasn’t just James and Cress. It had been the lot of them, against him. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe there was still hope.

  ‘Brendan Hillier’s.’

  ‘Hillier?’ That name again.

  Tor nodded. ‘He wrote Scion. You didn’t know?’

  All hope was dashed. Kate shook her head, numbly. ‘I knew that Harry was being blackmailed by James and Cress about something. And I knew a Hillier person was involved. But I didn’t know how.’

  Tor shrugged. ‘Because Harry didn’t want you to find out he’s a thief and a fraud. That his entire fortune and reputation has been built on lies.’

  Kate sank back into the sofa, feeling another contraction build. This was all too much to handle. Harry’s infidelity, his lies, right from the very beginning . . .

  Tor looked back at James. ‘But why are you involved in this, James? Why do you hate him so much? And what on earth were you thinking getting Cress involved?’ she asked, her voice quiet. ‘Surely you would have known she’d never do the right thing? She’s not like the other yummy mummies in your waiting-room.’

  James stared at her, his jaw clenched, furious she was involved; furious she was judging him.

  He got up and walked across the room, staring at the plastic wall panels, battling the urge to talk with the lifelong habit of bearing the secret.

  Slowly, he turned around and met her eyes.

  ‘I gave it to Cress, because I couldn’t do it myself,’ he said finally. ‘I couldn’t risk putting myself in the middle of a scandal like that. It would have been too high-profile. It would have jeopardized my position.’

  Tor shrugged, not following hi
m.

  ‘With the royal family? My family’s connection with them is long and valued. I had to be utterly discreet. As for Cress, she was far from my first choice with all this, believe me. When Scion was published, I went straight to Hillier’s estate, telling them everything I knew. But I heard nothing back. The years were passing and Hunter was signing film deals, amassing a fortune, a reputation, on another man’s talent.’

  ‘Then I remembered Cress was a publisher. I thought she’d know what to do – that she’d do the right thing.’ He snorted. ‘I should have known the temptation would have been too much.’

  There was a sudden bundle of red as Cress burst in through the door.

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ James said, raking a hand through his hair and turning away again.

  ‘There you are! I’ve been looking all over. One of the officials said the baby’s coming – is it?’ she asked Kate.

  Kate shook her head.

  Cress took in the stony silence.

  ‘What’s – what’s going on?’ she asked nervously, looking at James’s back.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Tor exclaimed, agitated. ‘I’ve been trying to negotiate on your behalf.’

  ‘Negotiate? You make me sound like a bloody terrorist,’ James said, whirling around and losing his temper.

  But he was drowned out by even louder shouting down the hall.

  ‘Where is she? Tell me where she is or I’ll have your bloody job!’

  Kate instantly recoiled into a ball, her blood pressure rocketing again as she heard Harry bullying the staff.

  ‘Don’t let him in,’ she whispered, urgently.

  James sprang across the room to shut the door, but Harry was already there.

  He paused for a long moment when he saw the assembled group.

  ‘White! I should have known. And what’s your bloody excuse this time?’ he thundered as he saw Kate cowering on the sofa. ‘Come to get your latest press release?’

  James – forced to walk back – came to an abrupt halt. The two men stood square on, their faces inches away from each other. ‘You know damn well those stories never came from me . . .’

  ‘Don’t, Harry!’ Kate said, trying to get up, but another rising contraction stopped her. Tor ran over to her friend.

  Harry ignored her.

  ‘ . . . Do I, White? I don’t think I know anything of the sort,’ he lied badly, deliberately. ‘I think you’ve been the snitch all along and I intend to make sure you pay for it.’

  A snarl curled his upper lip and he dropped his voice. ‘Your reputation, your career – they’re mine now, and I’m going to savage them – just like you’ve been trying to do with mine.’

  James regarded him with contempt. ‘You don’t have a career of your own, Hunter. You’ve had to steal someone else’s. Ride piggyback on another man’s talent. Tell me, just how small do you really feel inside when you go to bed at night – knowing that none of it’s rightfully yours?’

  Harry gave a short laugh. ‘The only thing I’m feeling inside when I go to bed at night is your women. The French bird . . . Anna . . .’ He whistled. ‘Christ, she’s a real wildcat, isn’t she?’

  Tor gasped and looked at James. He saw her hand fly to her mouth and looked over at her. Their eyes met, and she could see instantly the betrayal written all over his face.

  ‘. . . The delectable Amelia,’ he sneered. ‘Well, not yet, but she’s on my list . . .’ Kate closed her eyes, feeling revulsed as she realized that Greta couldn’t possibly have been the first, or only, betrayal.

  ‘. . . And of course, sweet Lily . . .’

  James looked back at Harry and threw a right hook that caught him by surprise and sent him sprawling across the room, just missing Kate by inches. She screamed, and Tor and Cress bundled her up from the sofa, dragging her to relative safety behind the desk.

  Harry smiled. ‘I guess I deserved that.’ He got a handkerchief out of his pocket and shook it open, pressing it against the open cut on his lip.

  He looked back at James, sarcasm dripping all over him.

  ‘But you’re on the mat and I’m counting you out, your lordship. Your days of looking at pussy for a living are over.’

  The tannoys crackled into life.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats. The ceremony will continue in four minutes.’

  Harry turned towards Kate and pulled her away from the girls by her elbow.

  ‘Come on, babe. Let’s get back to the real action. I’ve got an Oscar to collect. Can’t be standing in a broom cupboard, chatting.’

  ‘Get off me, Harry . . .’ Kate protested, the image of him in the storecupboard, shagging, filling her head again. After everything he’d just said, how could he possibly think she’d . . . ? But he ignored her, pulling her away, triumphant and invincible.

  He was at the door when James spoke.

  ‘He’s not the father.’

  There was a stunned silence, as all eyes fell to Kate’s bump, and then swivelled back to James.

  ‘What did you say?’ Kate whispered.

  ‘I said he’s not the father of your baby,’ James replied coolly, his eyes steady. ‘He can’t have children.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Oh! And where did you get that little medical nugget from, White? Tell me, are you intending to sell that to the papers too?’

  ‘Shut up, Hunter,’ Kate hissed viciously. She wanted to hear what James had to say.

  ‘He’s sterile.’ James was stock still, his hands thrust into his pockets.

  Harry stopped laughing. Kate was lost in her thoughts, her own words flooding her memory from that day in Harley Street: ‘. . . 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 . . .’ His lack of interest in the baby, how little he’d cared about the Sun revealing its sex, his revulsion at her pregnant body . . . it all made sense.

  ‘You knew all along the baby wasn’t yours,’ she said, turning towards him, her voice low. Her emeralds glittered underneath the strip lights and she looked strong and powerful, like Cleopatra.

  Harry looked at her, momentarily taken aback by the change in her demeanour. She was the old Kate again – challenging, prickly, superior – the Kate who had excited him so much, back before he’d broken and domesticated her.

  He shrugged. The game was up. ‘Vasectomy.’

  Kate swallowed. ‘And you were going to bring her up as yours?’

  ‘No. I was never going to do that. I knew I wouldn’t need you by then.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You wouldn’t need me by then?’

  ‘Conflict of interest, Kate. I knew if I secured you, she couldn’t.’ He nodded towards Cress. ‘It was that simple. Besides, I wondered whether you knew what she was up to, and who was pulling her strings. You girls were a tight unit. I thought some pillow talk and jewels might loosen your tongue, but I’d overestimated your friendship. It folded pretty quickly, let’s face it.’

  Kate’s cheeks burned with shame. He was right. She knew she’d abandoned her friends almost overnight, bundling them together with Monty’s faithlessness.

  ‘And – and us?’

  He winked and flashed her a dazzling smile. ‘Consider it a bonus.’

  ‘You sonofabitch!’ she cried, slapping him so hard around the face she left a handprint like a port wine stain on his cheek.

  He grabbed her wrist, holding it in a vice grip, his jaw tight, his eyes flashing dangerously. She saw his instinct to smack her back cross his face and she recoiled, terrified. But her fear seemed to satisfy him and he threw her wrist down.

  ‘Don’t do that, sweetheart,’ he said, rubbing the sting. ‘I need to look pretty up on that stage tonight.’ He stared at her for a moment, unmoved by the tears in her eyes. ‘We’ll dispense with the emotional goodbyes, shall we?’

  He walked back towards the door.

  ‘It wasn’t a vasectomy,’ he heard James say to K
ate. ‘The medical term for it is epididymo-orchitis, a form of secondary infertility. In Harry’s case, caused as a result of a devastating blow to the groin.’

  Harry turned back and the two men looked at each other, both recognizing the killer blow that was about to be thrown.

  ‘In his instance, delivered by my sister,’ James said. ‘Right after he raped her.’

  Chapter Fifty-five

  No one in the room spoke. They hardly dared blink.

  ‘. . . Would all nominees please return to their seats. The ceremony will continue in two minutes . . .’

  James looked at Harry. ‘Feel free to go, Harry. I can carry on for you here.’

  Harry looked at him, the cocky grin no longer decorating his face, his eyes hooded and simmering.

  There was a pause. ‘No. I’m more entertained by what you’ve got to say, White,’ he said flatly. ‘I haven’t had so much fun in years.’

  There was a tap at the door, and a minion with clipboard and headpiece coughed uncomfortably.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Hunter, but you are requested to take your seat, sir. The ceremony is about to begin again.’ He peered around nervously at the assembled group.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Harry sneered. ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t stay up here. Your category will be announced soon and we need all nominees to be back in their seats.’

  Harry glared at the meek messenger. ‘Fine!’ he said finally. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

  Harry waited for the sound of the messenger’s footsteps to disappear down the hall, before he looked back at James.

  ‘She was up for it. You can’t prove otherwise,’ Harry said menacingly.

  ‘Not sixteen years later, no,’ James said flatly. ‘But she was fifteen, you were nineteen. At the very least it’s another statutory rape charge against you. The British public is already finding your predilection for underage girls unsavoury, to say the least.’

  ‘She was a little tease.’

  ‘No,’ James countered, his voice rising slightly. ‘She was a little girl, interested in ponies and gymnastics. She thought of you as a brother.’