Читать книгу Friends and Rivals - Тилли Бэгшоу, Tilly Bagshawe - Страница 10

‘Oh Jesus. I can’t go out there. Seriously, I can’t.’

Kendall hovered backstage at the Hammersmith Apollo, holding Ivan’s hand so tightly she’d cut off the circulation to his fingers.

‘The place is half empty. No one knows who the fuck I am over here.’

It was strange, but for some reason the smattering of vacant seats made Kendall feel infinitely more nervous than the packed stadiums she was used to back in the US. Having ten thousand people watching you was like being alone. With that size of audience, and the stage lights blinding you, there were no individuals to worry about, just a screaming, adulatory wall of noise. Here, in this gloriously old-fashioned 1930s theatre, you could look out from backstage and see individual faces. A middle-aged woman here, a pair of teenage boys there. Real people, who’d paid real money to hear you sing. It was terrifying.

‘Everyone knows who you are,’ Ivan reassured her, not entirely truthfully. ‘And remember, you’re here to support Adele. You think people don’t know who she is?’

‘I guess not,’ said Kendall through chattering teeth.

‘Exactly. The venue’s sold out, with a line outside as long as your arm. It’s only ten to eight. Trust me, there’ll be no empty seats by the time they call you.’

He’s right, Kendall told herself. Calm down. Pacing up and down in a skintight PVC leotard and thigh-high silver boots, a tribute to the great Ziggy Stardust, who’d performed his final concert at the Apollo back in 1973, she knew she looked the part. Adele might be a mega-star with the best voice since Aretha, but no one nailed superstar raunch like Kendall Bryce. If Jack were here he’d have expressly forbidden her outfit. ‘Don’t cheapen yourself,’ was one of his favourite catchphrases. ‘You don’t have to dress like a hooker, or a poor man’s Britney, to get people to buy your records.’ But Jack, thankfully, wasn’t here. While it was true her profile was lower in the UK, the purpose of tonight’s concert was to raise it. She wasn’t going to do that by dressing like Karenfrikking Carpenter.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and the low bass boom boom boom of Kendall’s backing track began to thump around the auditorium. Ten minutes had passed already? How was that possible? She turned around to look for Ivan but he was gone. In his place were two distracted-looking sound-check guys and the four male backing dancers Kendall had been rehearsing with all week. All of them looked white as sheets, but ironically their nerves calmed Kendall’s own.

‘Smile, guys,’ she said confidently. ‘We’re gonna have fun out there, right? Right? Because if we don’t, nobody else will.’

The curtains lifted. There were a few whistles and whoops from the audience as, still in pitch darkness, Kendall and her dancers took their places. Kendall just had time to tap her headset and nod curtly to the sound engineers that her mic was working properly when the lights exploded into life and the track to ‘Shake It Loose’, her biggest hit to date, erupted into the theatre to wild shrieks of applause.

After that it was easy. Leaping and gyrating her way through three tracks straight, belting out the lyrics that were as familiar to her now as breathing, Kendall drank in the high of the crowd’s approval like a drug addict plunging the needle into her vein. Watching from backstage, Ivan was entranced. She was a different person onstage, radiating energy and excitement and joy like a one-woman power plant. The music was unremarkable – basic, hip-hoppy, commercial pop of the sort that hundreds of young artists were churning out all over the world. But in live performance, Kendall took it and transformed it into something unique. Her voice, her body, her angel’s face, but most of all her stage presence, screamed one thing and one thing only: star. No wonder Jack was so focused on her as a client. Managing her must be like trying to hold a flame in your hand.

‘Good evening, London!’ Kendall shouted hoarsely after the third track, leaning on her mic stand for support and swigging from a water bottle. ‘I gotta tell you, it is wild to be here.’

The audience cheered and wolf-whistled loudly, although at this point Ivan suspected that they would have applauded the shipping forecast if it had come out of Kendall’s ridiculously sexy, rosebud mouth.

‘I know you’re all here to see Adele.’ More applause. ‘So I won’t keep you in suspense too much longer. But I’m gonna perform one more track. It’s from my last album, and some of you may know it. It’s a little song called “Whipped”.’

The most explicit track she had yet released, ‘Whipped’ was famous largely due to the fact that it had been banned from the airwaves in a number of US states due to its risqué lyrics. In her live routine, Kendall and her dancers hammed up the ‘naughty’ element, with Kendall at one point engaging in a simulated orgy with all four of her leather-clad boys. Yes, it was cheesy, but it was also sexy as all hell. The audience lapped it up like cats in a room full of cream. Even Ivan got a hard-on watching her. When Kendall finally bounced backstage, her faced flushed with adrenaline and triumph and her hair tangled wildly down her sweat-soaked back, it was all he could do not to jump on her then and there.

‘What’d you think?’ she panted, her green eyes gazing up into his, searching for approval. ‘It was good, right? They liked me?’

‘They loved you,’ said Ivan truthfully. Pulling her into a bear hug, he started to laugh. ‘Poor old Adele. Talk about upstaging the star! I’ll bet her people are spitting blood right now.’

Despite herself, Kendall grinned. ‘D’you really think so?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Jack would have hated all the sexual stuff,’ said Kendall. ‘But I think it worked, don’t you?’

‘Everything worked,’ said Ivan. ‘And if Jack can’t see that, he’s an idiot.’

He’s an idiot anyway, for leaving you here with me.

Tonight confirmed what Ivan Charles already suspected. Kendall Bryce was more than just a pretty face. The girl had something very, very special. Something Ivan wanted, very, very badly.

Boy was he looking forward to this weekend.

‘I don’t understand it.’ Ned Williams ran a hand through his floppy brown hair and sighed. ‘How can she prefer that tosser to me? The new bloody Pavarotti indeed! Just because he’s fat. Badger can do a better Don Giovanni, can’t you boy?’

The scruffy springer spaniel thumped his tail loyally on The Rookery kitchen floor.

‘Armando bloody Lucci, I ask you, Cat. He’s a lard-arse, he’s boring and he’s as old as the hills.’

‘He’s forty, Ned.’

‘Exactly. What on earth does Diana see in him?’

‘Erm, well …’ Catriona was too kind to say that perhaps Diana Grainger, Ned’s ex, saw a private jet, an exquisite palazzo in Tuscany and a Tiffany diamond the size of a cobnut on her finger. Whereas Ned’s idea of a romantic gesture was a day spent in the woods gathering actual cobnuts. Catriona had never much liked Diana. She was very beautiful, of course, but she’d always seemed to be on the lookout for what Jack Messenger referred to as a BBD – Bigger Better Deal. Apparently, in Armando Lucci, the biggest-selling tenor in the world, she’d found it. ‘I expect she just wasn’t ready to settle down, darling. She’s only twenty-two, after all.’

Ned nodded glumly, helping himself to another industrial-sized slab of Catriona’s home-made fruit cake. A broken heart did not appear to have put him off his food.

Only twenty-four himself, Ned Williams was another of Ivan’s clients, one of the few who lived locally. An immensely talented tenor, Ned was still in the early stages of a promising career. He was already well known in England as a pretender to Alfie Boe’s crown, and his debut CD had peaked at a respectable number six in the UK classical charts. But he was not yet in Armando Lucci’s league. So far his modest success had afforded him a charming but distinctly tumbledown cottage in Swinbrook, a battered old MG sports car that was older than he was, and Badger, his wildly unkempt and poorly trained springer spaniel, which accompanied him absolutely everywhere. Handsome in a dishevelled sort of way, Ned’s most striking feature was his height. At almost six foot five, he towered above other opera singers, and never seemed to quite know what to do with his ridiculously long limbs on stage – or anywhere else for that matter. Catriona adored him, but even she could have done without playing agony aunt this afternoon.

It had been a long day. Starting at eight o’clock this morning, when Rosie had announced she didn’t feel very well then, seconds later, projectile-vomited Frosties right across the breakfast table, Catriona had been fighting one fire after another. In between frantic trips to the doctor’s surgery in Burford and Waitrose in Witney, she’d been called in to Hector’s school for the second time in a month after he’d super-glued a sleeping classmate’s hair to his desk and the boy had ended up having to have a crew cut.

‘Why do you do these things?’ an exasperated Catriona asked her son on the short drive home. ‘Do you want to get kicked out of St Austin’s?’

‘Wouldn’t mind,’ Hector shrugged. ‘Have you told Dad?’

‘Not yet.’

Catriona couldn’t tell if Hector wanted Ivan to know, or dreaded it. Certainly his attention-seeking antics seemed to be aimed more at his father than at her. Now that Ivan spent so much time away in London, and increasingly took work calls and meetings even when he was home, he had less time than ever for the children. Rosie, at nearly thirteen, had bigger fish to fry than hanging out with her old man. But eleven-year-old Hector clearly missed his dad. Ivan knew it, and felt guilty, but as a result both he and Catriona were loath to punish the boy, and the bad behaviour got worse. This weekend, Ivan had absolutely promised to take Hector fishing, and assured Cat that he wouldn’t pick up his BlackBerry or see a single work-related person for two whole days. But at two o’clock this afternoon, he’d blithely rung home to announce that he was bringing Kendall Bryce, Jack’s problem client, back with him, and could Catriona please make up the blue bedroom?

‘You arse!’ she shouted at him, losing her rarely seen temper. ‘You promised Hector it would be just the two of you.’

‘Oh, Hector won’t mind,’ breezed Ivan. To his astonishment, Catriona hung up on him. Then Ned had arrived, slump-shouldered and morose, and before Cat knew it was six o’clock, she hadn’t even begun making supper, and the blue bedroom remained as sheet-less and towel-less as it had been four hours ago.

‘Can I stay for supper?’ asked Ned, through a shower of cake crumbs. ‘I can’t face going back to the cottage on my own. All Diana’s horrible vegan food’s still in the fridge.’

‘Well throw it out,’ said Catriona, ‘and of course you can stay for supper, as long as you help me make it. Ivan’s bringing someone up from London with him so we’ll be six with the children. Do you know how to stuff a chicken?’

In the end, inevitably, Friday-night traffic on the M40 was grizzly and Ivan and Kendall were more than an hour late. By the time they staggered through the door at nine, Catriona and Ned had already polished off a bottle of Montepulciano and ‘tested’a good half of the roast potatoes. Rosie – who’d made a miraculous recovery once she heard Ned’s voice in the kitchen – and Hector had both decided they were too hungry to wait, and had polished off a family pack of Hula Hoops in front of The Simpsons. Despite the beautifully laid table and enticing smell of rosemary chicken wafting down the hall, the overall atmosphere that met Ivan and his young VIP guest was one of semi-drunken chaos.

‘Oh, there you are,’ Catriona giggled, tripping over a snoring Badger as she came out to greet them. ‘We’d almost given up hope. You must be Kendall. Welcome.’

‘Thanks for having me.’ Kendall smiled sweetly. ‘I’m sorry to gate-crash your weekend like this.’

‘Not at all, we’re thrilled you could come. I hear your concert was a huge success.’

Kendall smiled, gratified. ‘Thanks. I’m relieved it’s over, but I actually really enjoyed it. Ivan’s been so supportive.’

Jack had described Catriona Charles to Kendall as some sort of goddess, as kind and funny as she was beautiful, and ‘far too good’ for Ivan. He’d waxed so lyrical about her, in fact, that Kendall couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous. So it was a relief to find that, while Catriona certainly did seem kind, she was actually a rather blowsy, red-faced, middle-aged woman.

Ivan kissed her on the cheek. After the hanging up incident earlier, he wasn’t sure what reception he’d get, but Cat seemed to have forgiven him over the Hector thing, or was at least prepared to let bygones be bygones until they were alone. ‘Shall we eat?’

Dinner was delicious. One of the few talents Jack Messenger hadn’t credited Catriona with was cooking, but Kendall didn’t think she’d ever tasted such succulent chicken or such meltingly soft sweet potatoes. But it wasn’t just the food that delighted her. The Charleses’ house was utterly charming, from its crumbling, wisteria-clad Cotswold stone walls to its warm and inviting shabby-chic interior. Even the dining room, often the coldest and most formal room in a house, was full of colour and life, with overflowing jugs of wild flowers plonked on the table and sideboard, mismatched floral china glinting in the candlelight and Catriona’s exquisite photographs hanging on the walls instead of stuffy old oil paintings. Ivan and Catriona’s children were adorable too, funny and chatty without being precocious, and the other dinner guest, Ned, seemed charming. It was exactly the sort of noisy, happy, close-knit family atmosphere that Kendall had longed for when growing up. She hadn’t been sure about accepting Ivan’s invitation, but now she was delighted she’d come.

‘Did Cat tell you,’ Ned asked Ivan, ‘the record company want to talk to me about doing an album of duets?’

‘Not a bad idea,’ said Ivan, helping himself to the last roast potato. ‘Did they have someone else in mind?’

‘I think it would be a variety of people. Other tenors, maybe, or sopranos. Solo instrumentalists too. Sort of a “rising stars” thing. They mentioned Joyce Wu. She’s with Jester, isn’t she? Have you seen her recently?’

‘Joyce? No. Not recently.’

Was it Catriona’s imagination, or did Ivan seem uncomfortable all of a sudden?

‘Isn’t she the violinist you were telling me about?’ Kendall said innocently. ‘The one who left her music at the flat?’

‘That’s right,’ Ivan said evenly. From the stiffness in his jaw, Kendall realized too late that she’d put her foot in it. Remembering the sex smell at Eaton Gate and Ivan’s evident discomfiture when she’d shown up unannounced, she put two and two together.

Ivan smiled at Catriona. ‘Joyce came over weeks ago to talk about renegotiating her contract. The silly girl left some sheets of one of her concert pieces behind. I haven’t had a chance to return them.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Catriona smiled back, stamping down her creeping sense of unease as she cleared away the plates. It had been years since Ivan had last cheated on her – those days were behind them – but old anxieties took a long time to fade. Catriona’s own parents had divorced bitterly when she was eight, and the thought of anything threatening her own marriage filled her with utter dread. Still, Joyce Wu was hardly more than a child. I’m being ridiculous.

Ned caught Kendall’s eye and gave her a sympathetic smile. She seemed like a nice girl, and was certainly drop-dead gorgeous. How was she to know that Ivan Charles was a philandering prick?

‘Kendall … er, do you like riding?’ Hector asked shyly. Ivan and Catriona’s eleven-year-old son had been in an almighty sulk about his father bringing a ‘work person’ home, until he’d laid eyes on Kendall, since when he’d barely been able to stop drooling into his chicken. Cat didn’t think she’d ever seen Hector blush in his life, but he was certainly making up for it now.

‘I do,’ said Kendall, grateful for the change of subject. ‘I used to ride all the time in Malibu when I was a kid. I adore horses.’

‘Great,’ Hector beamed. ‘We can go for a hack tomorrow then. You can ride Sparky if you like. He’s Rosie’s pony but he’d be the right size for you.’

‘Hey. Don’t offer people my pony,’ said Rosie on autopilot. Then, realizing she might have been rude, added to Kendall, ‘You’re welcome to take him, though, if you’d like. And you can borrow my riding gear too.’

‘But, darling, you and Dad were going to go fishing tomorrow, remember?’ said Catriona, handing out bowls of raspberries and cream. ‘Right, Ivan?’

‘That’s right,’ said Ivan dutifully. ‘Looking forward to it.’

‘Oh, that’s OK,’ said Hector, gazing at Kendall adoringly. ‘It’s more important to make our guest feel welcome. Dad can come riding too if he wants,’ he added magnanimously. ‘Although don’t feel you have to, Dad. Kendall and I’ll be fine on our own.’

Catriona and Ivan looked at one another and grinned. Apparently Kendall Bryce’s surprise visit wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

At eleven the next morning, Kendall waited with Hector and Ivan outside the stable blocks while Irene, the groom, saddled up Sparky.

It was a glorious day. A pale summer sun blazed down on the yard and the sweet, heady scent of buddleia bushes and honeysuckle filled the air, mingled with the delicious smell of horsehair and leather. To the left, across the valley, you could see the steeple of Burford’s ancient medieval church. To the right the rose garden erupted in a riot of white and yellow and pink in front of the newly mown lawn, as perfectly striped as a man’s bespoke shirt. Behind it, The Rookery looked even more picture-perfect than it had last night, with its elegant sash windows and flagstoned front path, flanked on either side by rows of lavender bushes, like a purple guard of honour.

Despite the beauty of her surroundings, Kendall struggled to shake off her bad mood. Jack had called at eight o’clock this morning, midnight his time. Despite herself, Kendall’s heart had soared when his name flashed up on her cell phone. It wasn’t like him to call so late. Was he missing her? Had he realized, finally, after dinner with another one of his thirty-something floozies, that she, Kendall, was the one he truly loved? The only one who could make him happy?

Apparently not. After a couple of perfunctory questions about her flight and whether she was settled in London, and the most cursory of congratulations on her performance supporting Adele in Hammersmith, he proceeded to lecture her on not ‘overburdening’ Catriona Charles.

‘She’s run ragged as it is, babysitting half of Ivan’s acts and being everybody’s shoulder to cry on.’

‘I didn’t ask to come down here, you know,’ Kendall said stiffly. ‘Ivan invited me. He thought I needed to unwind after the Apollo gig.’

‘Without asking his poor wife first, I dare say,’ said Jack. ‘Look, it’s fine you’re there. Not even you can get into too much trouble in Oxfordshire.’

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘Just make sure you clean up after yourself and treat the place with respect, OK? It’s really kind of Catriona to have you.’

Kendall liked Catriona, but she was beginning to get tired of hearing what a saint the woman was. So she had the occasional house guest. Big deal! The way Jack banged on about it you’d think she was Mother fucking Teresa. The conversation deteriorated further when Jack started lecturing her about her rehearsal schedule, and making sure she ‘knuckled down’ and didn’t let Ivan Charles distract her. If he didn’t want her spending time with Ivan, why on earth had he insisted that she stay at the Eaton Gate flat? At least Ivan knew how to enjoy himself, and didn’t spend twenty hours a day chained to a desk and the other four bitching at his acts.

At last Sparky was led out into the yard, tacked up and ready to go. A barrel-chested grey with a distinctly mischievous look in his eye, he wasn’t the most elegant of mounts, but Kendall vaulted onto his back in better spirits. A gallop through the English countryside was just what she needed to blow Jack Misery Messenger out of her hair.

‘Ready?’ said Ivan. He looked especially handsome this morning, Kendall thought, in dark-green corduroy trousers and a tweed hunting jacket, his blue eyes sparkling happily as he chatted to his son. Whatever else Ivan might be, he was clearly a devoted father, as happy to be with Hector as the boy clearly was to be with him. Kendall thought of her own, distant father and felt an unworthy pang of envy. But Hector was too cute a kid to dislike, especially as he clearly had a thumpingly huge crush on her and was too young and naïve to know how to hide it.

‘Race you to the river!’ he shouted, taking off through the yard gates like a bat out of hell.

‘Is he always this keen?’ laughed Kendall.

‘Actually no,’ said Ivan, riding up beside her and casually resting a hand on her jodhpured thigh. ‘It’s you, sweetheart. You overexcite him.’

‘You think so?’

‘Definitely.’ Ivan’s thumb traced a languorous circle on her leg.

Kendall felt a jolt of desire run through her. It was nice to be flirted with. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she blurted. ‘The Joyce Wu thing. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘That’s all right,’ drawled Ivan. ‘I dare say I’ll think of a way you can make it up to me.’ Digging his heel into his horse’s side, he cantered off after Hector before Kendall could respond.

It was a wonderful day. After two hours exploring the valley, riding through the woods towards Aston then doubling back along the Roman road towards Shipton-under-Wychwood, they stopped at a gorgeous riverside pub for a late lunch of pâté and bread, washed down with refreshing home-made lemonade. Ivan made a few work calls while Kendall and Hector played about a hundred rounds of rock paper scissors, much to Hector’s delight.

Watching Kendall Bryce kidding around with his son, her dark hair wild and tangled and her face flushed after the morning’s ride, Ivan decided definitively that the girl was a knockout. He knew he had to tread carefully if he was going to prise her away from Jack. Poaching Kendall as a client was the ultimate goal. Bedding her would merely be a fringe benefit, although watching her walk over to her horse, her delectable arse shrink-wrapped to perfection in spray-on white jodhpurs, he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to wait.

Back at the house, Ned Williams had brought Catriona some flowers as a thank-you for last night’s dinner. Hovering in the kitchen while she made tea, he looked distracted.

Catriona said knowingly. ‘If you’re hoping to see Kendall, she’s out riding with the boys. I’m expecting them back any minute.’

‘Kendall? Don’t be silly,’ Ned blushed. ‘I came to see you. I think I was frightfully boring about Diana last night. You must tell me to sod off occasionally, you know. I’m a big boy, I can take it.’

‘In that case,’ said Catriona, ‘you can sod off down to the stables and wait for them. Tell Ivan to sort out the horses and bring Kendall and Hector in for some cake.’

It had struck her last night, belatedly, that Kendall Bryce might be just the distraction Ned needed to get over Diana’s sudden abandonment. She was about his age, very pretty, and she seemed a sweet sort of girl, not at all the spoiled madam that Jack had warned her about at Ivan’s birthday party. That is, if Hector would let poor Ned get a word in edgeways. Her son had been glued to Kendall’s side like a pre-teen, hormonal limpet since the moment the girl had arrived.

‘Go on,’ she said kindly to Ned. ‘Shoo!’

By the time Ned reached the yard, Irene already had all three horses on leading reins and was filling much-needed buckets of water. Hector, temporarily distracted from Kendall’s bodaciousness by a new delivery of hay bales, was leaping happily from the top of the barn into a makeshift crash pad when Ned arrived.

‘Don’t let your mum see you doing that,’ Ned shouted as Hector performed a dramatic commando roll onto the muddy ground. ‘And by the way, it’s tea time. Where’s your dad and Kendall?’

Hector nodded towards the tack room. ‘In there. Tell Mum I’ll be there in a minute.’

Tucking in his shirt and making a token effort to smooth down his hair, Ned walked into the tack room. ‘Knock knock,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve been sent to inform you that tea’s on the … table.’

The smile died on his lips. Ivan had Kendall pinned against the wall. They weren’t kissing, but his knee was pressed into her groin and his distinctly predatory face was less than an inch from hers. As soon as he heard Ned, Ivan stepped back, and did his best to act as if nothing had happened. ‘Jolly good,’ he grinned. ‘I’m famished. I’ll see you in there, shall I?’

Ned didn’t move as Ivan brushed past him. He was still looking at Kendall. Her dark-blue shirt was unbuttoned just low enough to show a hint of cleavage and was coming untucked from her tight white riding breeches. She looked tousled, sexy, and more than a little guilty.

‘Oh, come on,’ she said to Ned. ‘Don’t give me the evil eye. It was just a bit of harmless flirting. Nothing happened.’

‘It would have, though, wouldn’t it? If I hadn’t come in.’

‘Of course not,’ Kendall said brusquely. She always got defensive when she knew she was in the wrong. ‘Ivan’s a colleague.’

‘Ivan’s a shit,’ said Ned bluntly. ‘And Catriona—’

‘Oh, yes, I know, I know, she’s marvellous and he doesn’t deserve her. I’ve heard it all before.’

Ned frowned. Last night he’d got the impression of Kendall as a sweet, funny girl. A little vain, perhaps, but certainly not an out-and-out bitch. He was disappointed.

Registering the emotion on his face, Kendall shot back, ‘If he’s such a shit, and you’re so loyal to his wife, why do you let him represent you? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?’

‘I’m not sleeping with him,’ said Ned.

‘Nor am I!’

‘Not yet.’ Turning on his heel, Ned left Kendall standing there.

Lex Abrahams was fast asleep when the phone rang.

After a gruelling, insanely long day’s shooting out in Palm Desert (Enrique Iglesias had seen the shots Lex had done of Kendall Bryce last month and decided he wanted a similar look for his own new album), Lex got back to LA to a mountain of editing and paperwork and hadn’t collapsed into bed until after three.

Glancing groggily at his bedside clock now, he saw it was ten o’clock. No doubt the call was from Jack Messenger, dumping another ten tons of work into Lex’s in-tray. There was a reason Lex Abrahams had agreed to work for Jester, but right now he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘What’s wrong with your voice?’ Kendall asked accusingly. ‘You sound like you’ve been gargling with sandpaper.’

Lex cleared his throat, wishing he didn’t feel so stupidly elated to hear from her. ‘Late night.’

‘Partying? Lucky you.’

‘Working actually. How are you? How’s England?’

‘It sucks.’ Without drawing breath, she proceeded to moan about everything from having her Dorchester reservation cancelled, to her show and rehearsal schedule, to Ivan Charles’s ‘holier than thou’ clients presuming to try to tell her how to live her life. ‘As if I don’t get enough of that shit from Jack. How is he, by the way?’

Lex could hear how much effort she put into trying to keep her tone casual.

‘Jack’s fine, Kendall.’

‘D’you think he’s missing me a little bit?’

‘It’s only been a few days, honey,’ Lex said kindly. ‘How’s Ivan Charles? Is he as disgraceful as everyone says?’

‘Actually, he’s a good guy,’ said Kendall. ‘He’s fun. Good-looking too.’ Lex suppressed a pang of jealousy. ‘That’s probably why Jack hates him.’

‘I wouldn’t say he hates him,’ Lex yawned, stretching out his arms like a cat. ‘More like disapproves.’

‘I miss you, Lexy,’ Kendall said suddenly, her voice taking on the needy, little-girlish quality it often did when she was bored or in need of attention. ‘I wish you could have come with me. Can’t you ask Jack to fly you out?’

Lex felt his stomach flip over like a pancake. Deep down he knew she didn’t really want him there. Or, if she did, it certainly wasn’t in the way he wanted her. But every time Kendall threw him a straw of hope, he clutched at it like an idiot. If she had any idea how much he missed her, how constantly she filled his thoughts, she wouldn’t say these things and torture him. At least he hoped she wouldn’t. For all her many faults, Lex didn’t think of Kendall as deliberately cruel.

‘Sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I’ve got three albums and a ton of editing to do before you get back. I’ll be lucky if Jack gives me five minutes off to go to the bathroom. Anyway, you’re only there a few weeks. You should try and make the most of London while you can.’

At The Rookery, upstairs in the blue guest bedroom, Kendall gazed glumly out of the window. It had been a lovely day today, exhilarating and flirtatious and fun, until Ned Williams had come along and given her a guilt trip. Sometimes she felt as if Lex Abrahams was the only person in the world who was unconditionally on her side. If only he were a bit more attractive, and a lot richer, he’d make a perfect husband.

Well, almost perfect.

There would only ever be one Jack Messenger.