Private Lives

9



‘Excuse me? Could we just pull the sheet up a couple more inches?’ said Matthew, feeling his cheeks redden. ‘The, um, buttocks are in breach again, I’m afraid.’

The director made a sour face, but flapped his hand to an assistant, who scurried over to the bed and gently pulled the white sheet up Erica Sheldon’s back. Matthew puffed his cheeks out and tried not to stare at the long expanse of tanned skin, the slim neck, the spray of deep red hair falling across the pillow. Christ, she was gorgeous.

In normal circumstances, of course, Matthew would have relished the opportunity to inspect the body of one of the world’s most beautiful actresses at close quarters, but this was not normal. Surreal, bizarre, horribly embarrassing, yes. But normal? No. He was here on a sound stage at Shepperton Studios as Erica’s lawyer to make sure the nudity clause of her contract was followed to the letter – and he couldn’t get it wrong. It was his first real task as a partner at Donovan Pierce and he was determined not to screw it up, however far he was out of his comfort zone. He suspected, of course, that this was Helen Pierce’s idea of a joke: the media law equivalent of sending the new apprentice to the store for a glass hammer or a bucket of steam. She was testing him, showing him she was in charge, so he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of getting anything wrong. He had memorised the clause: which underwear Erica was allowed to appear in – ‘tanga, brief or standard bikini, not G-string’ – where the sex scenes were allowed to take place – bedroom, hallway, not bathroom unless obscured by shower curtain – and, in this case, exactly how many millimetres of ‘gluteus maximus indentation’ could be revealed.

Matthew had always been annoyed by legalese, the insistence on using impenetrable long-winded language when plain English would have been just as accurate. ‘You may show the lower back but not the upper crease of the bottom’, for example, would have been much clearer if they had simply put ‘no arse crack’. He began to smile at the idea.

‘Everything all right?’

Matthew looked up suddenly. Erica Sheldon was speaking to him. From a bed. Naked.

‘Fine, yes,’ he said quickly.

‘Are we good to go here?’ she asked, her expression serious.

‘Yes,’ said Matthew, clearing his throat. ‘Good to go.’

‘Just a hint of ass, right?’ she added playfully.

Matthew gave her a thumbs-up, then realised what a dork he must look and turned away, cursing himself.

The scene was short, nailed on the second take, and as Erica and her leading man had writhed beneath the sheets, Matt was convinced that her modesty had been preserved throughout.

He watched as the actress climbed off the bed and allowed herself to be helped into a white robe. She caught him looking at her and Matthew made a show of putting the contract back into his briefcase and preparing to leave.

‘Thanks for doing that.’ She smiled, tying her hair back in a ponytail. ‘I know it’s a pain for you, but you wouldn’t believe what some directors try to get away with.’

‘Just watching your back,’ he said.

She looked at him for a second and then laughed.

‘Funny,’ she said. ‘I thought you lawyers were always serious.’

‘Laugh a minute, that’s us.’

‘Really?’

‘No, not really. You’re right, most of us are actually deathly dull.’

‘Gee, you’re really selling yourself to me,’ quipped the actress.

‘Sorry,’ said Matthew. ‘It’s just I’m not used to doing nude scenes.’

She giggled. ‘Not quite a nude scene, thanks to your eagle eye.’

‘Well, I think we got it just right. Enough coverage to protect your modesty. Just enough to get the audience going.’

‘Get the audience going?’ she chided.

‘I didn’t mean it like that. Not in any porno way.’

‘Porno?’

‘Not porno. Obviously not porno. Look, I’m sorry . . .’

She started to chuckle, her broad smile lighting up her face.

‘Really, you English guys are funny.’

‘Funny with bad teeth. All the clichés are true.’

‘Your teeth look pretty good to me.’

Were they flirting? he wondered, snapping his briefcase hurriedly shut.

An officious-looking girl approached them. ‘Ms Sheldon, the car’s here to take you home.’

‘Sure, just give me a minute,’ she said, never taking her amused eyes from Matthew.

‘Do you live around here?’ he asked, hoping to deflect her probing gaze.

‘Santa Barbara, actually, so no.’

‘Actually I meant . . .’

‘I know, I’m just teasing,’ she said. ‘I’m renting a house in Richmond. It’s pretty handy for the studios, lovely garden.’

‘Oh, whereabouts? I don’t live far from Richmond myself,’ he said, feeling himself slip into dinner-party mode.

‘At the top of the hill, by the park. Say, are you going home now?’

Matt looked at his watch. There wasn’t much point going back to the office. ‘I suppose I will. I can do some work from there.’

‘Workaholic, huh?’

‘Actually I’m new at the firm, so I’m desperately trying to do extra homework, trying to keep up.’

‘You need a ride, then? I’m going that way.’

Matthew opened his eyes wide.

‘Me? In your car?’

She laughed and nodded slowly, like she was trying to explain something difficult to a child.

‘Yes, in my car. I promise not to bite. Just wait while I change, okay?’

He willed himself to keep calm. After all, this was what he did now. Meeting celebrities was all in a day’s work. If he melted at the first sign of someone he’d seen on the telly, there was no way he was going to be able to do the job.

Erica emerged from her trailer wearing skinny jeans, an open-necked navy polo shirt and ballet flats. She was carrying a crocodile-skin handbag in the crook of her arm and had sunglasses on top of her head. If possible, she looked even more sexy in casual clothes than when she was only wearing a sheet.

‘Come on, funny guy,’ she said with a wink, and led him across to a black Mercedes.

Matthew quickly jumped forward to open the door for her.

‘We’ll drop my friend off first, okay?’ she told the driver. ‘Where are we going?’

Matthew gave his address in Chiswick.

Sitting back in the leather seats, he watched as Erica rummaged around in her bag for her BlackBerry, then, finding it, switched it off.

‘I hate that thing,’ she said, dropping it back in the bag. ‘It’s like one of those horrible yappy dogs, always wanting your attention.’

She looked at him with those amused eyes again.

‘So, Mr Lawyer . . .’

‘Matthew, please. Matthew Donovan,’ he said, offering an awkward hand to shake.

‘I guess we should be introduced now you’ve seen my ass, huh?’

‘I believe that is the proper etiquette, yes.’ Matthew smiled.

They made small talk as the car zigzagged through the back streets from Shepperton to Chiswick.

‘Okay, Matthew, so you’re new to the firm, how come it’s got your name above the door?’

‘Long story. It was my father’s firm.’

‘So where were you before?’

Matthew shook his head.

‘You won’t have heard of the company.’

‘Try me. I’ve sued a few of your tabloids before.’

‘Actually it wasn’t a media law firm, it was a family practice, so now I specialise in Donovan Pierce’s contractual stuff plus divorce matters for high-profile clients.’

‘Then you should actually speak to a friend of mine,’ said Erica thoughtfully.

‘Marital problems?’

She smiled sadly.

‘Something like that. Have you got a card?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He pulled out one of his brand-new Donovan Pierce business cards and handed it to her. ‘That’s actually the first one I’ve given out.’

‘Well then I shall treasure it,’ she said, putting it into her bag. ‘Must make you cynical, huh, dealing with love’s great fallout every day.’

‘Love sucks.’

‘I don’t know about that. My ex-husband was a jerk, but I live in hope.’

All too soon, the car pulled up outside his flat. Erica was looking up and down the deserted street.

‘So what’s Chiswick like for a night out?’

‘Well, there’re a few great places but nowhere that could compete with your social life.’

‘You mean the red-carpet premieres, the gala dinners, the fashion shows, all those glittering events you see me attending?’

‘Yes, those.’

‘I go where I’m forced, contractually. Where you have to starve for weeks to be squashed into some sparkly gown, then make small talk all night with the most ruthless people on earth. You can keep it. Give me a burger and a beer any time.’

‘Well, beer we can do in Old Blighty,’ said Matthew.

‘Here . . .’ she said, reaching into her bag. ‘My number. If you ever want to show an out-of-towner the giddy sights of Chiswick.’

He looked down at the card. It was like he was having an out-of-body experience. Erica Sheldon had just handed him her number.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Beats watching another movie on Blu-ray.’

Matthew stood outside his apartment block and watched the black Mercedes disappear down the street. For a moment he looked down at the card still clutched in his hand and a schoolboy grin spread across his face. Erica Sheldon. The biggest film star in the world wanted to go out with him. Him.

He glanced at himself in the reflection of a car. Matt was not vain in the slightest, but he had been teased so often about his good looks, by ex-girlfriends, by his old secretary, that he almost believed in them. But while his even features, thick dark hair and sporty physique had ensured a steady stream of gorgeous women at Cambridge, he was still no way a match for a movie star.

He shoved the business card into his pocket and let himself into the flat, a small two-bedroom apartment that overlooked the river. He chucked his keys on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge for a beer.

Sitting back on the sofa, he slugged back his lager and put his feet up on the coffee table.

Maybe it was time to start dating, he told himself, staring absently out on to the water. He was sure Erica’s offer was just a friendly gesture, but what a place to start. At thirty-three, Matthew’s social life had shrunk to almost nothing. After his divorce, the friends he’d made as a couple had been unwilling to pick sides, and had slowly vanished off the radar, while his good mates from university had started disappearing into family life just as he had done following his own marriage seven years earlier. Every few months he’d be invited to a barbeque or a dinner party, where almost inevitably there would be a couple of single girls dangled in front of him, complete with raised eyebrows and gentle shoves. And yes, he’d slept with a few of them, but the truth was, he’d been so battered by his ex-wife’s betrayal that his heart wasn’t in anything more serious than no-strings sex.

He touched Erica’s card with one fingertip. Maybe he should call her. After all, she was nice. For a Hollywood star. He smiled to himself at how ridiculous that sounded. She was one of People magazine’s Most Beautiful People. She earned upwards of fifteen million dollars per annum. Which meant that what she had earned for that minute-long arse-crack scene today was more than he took home in a year.

The growl of the intercom made him jump. He frowned. The only people who usually rang his doorbell were pizza delivery boys.

‘Yes?’ he said, pressing the button.

‘It’s Carla,’ said the tinny voice.

He was completely thrown by the sound of his ex-wife’s voice.

‘Can I come up?’ she pressed.

Carla never visited him. When their son Jonas came to stay, Matthew picked him up and dropped him off at the beautiful Notting Hill home that Carla shared with her second husband. They had a cordial but remote relationship, which was the way he liked it, because he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her for what she had done.

There was a rap on the door and Matt slipped Erica’s card back into his pocket before he opened it.

‘Hi, Matt,’ Carla said softly. ‘How are you?’

She looked beautiful and more casual than usual, in a white summer dress, her honey-blond hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. From the moment he had first seen her in a crowded bar in Fulham, she’d always had the power to floor him with her beauty.

‘You heard about Larry?’

He’d tried to contact her about Larry’s heart attack the day it had happened. After all, Larry was Jonas’s grandfather, and although the two of them had only met a handful of times, Matt had decided to let his ex-wife know. He had got through to Carla’s voicemail and she had yet to call him back about it. Matt could only suppose it was the purpose of her visit.

‘How is he?’ she said briskly.

‘He leaves hospital today, although he’s got to watch out for another attack.’

‘I was sorry to hear about it.’

Matthew looked at her carefully. Larry’s illness was clearly not the reason she was here. As he scanned her face, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed pink. He had a stab of panic about his son.

‘Carla, what’s wrong? Where’s Jonas?’

‘Don’t worry. Jonas is fine. Although I’ve been better.’

She wrapped her thin, sinewy arms around her body. She had slimmed down since they had lived together and she was groomed and styled immaculately. The perfect little millionaire’s wife, he thought, immediately regretting the childishness. Then again, he knew he was still bitter. The night he had found out about Carla’s affair still felt like yesterday. He remembered waving her off on a girls’ night out. He remembered how she had forgotten her mobile and how he had seen it chirping on the breakfast bar, an insistent text message waiting to be answered. So he’d opened the message just to stop the noise. My bed is still warm from you, when can you get away again? Dxx

And just like that, his marriage, the stable family life he had always craved, was over.

‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked, walking over to the kitchen. ‘Drink?’

‘Coffee. One of your specials.’

He’d had so little contact with Carla’s life in the last few years, but still there was this code between them. He guessed four years of marriage did that to you.

He brewed up a mug using the shiny chrome single-guy coffee machine and took it through to the living room. Carla was standing by his bookcase, looking at a framed photograph of her and Jonas lying in the sand cracking up with laughter. He knew it wasn’t the done thing to keep photos of your ex-wife this long after the divorce, but well, it was a great picture, especially of Jonas. He’d been so excited to be on holiday.

She looked around at him and he could see that her eyes were full of tears. ‘We look so happy there,’ she managed, before her face crumpled and she was sobbing. He walked over and put an awkward arm around her shoulders.

‘What’s up?’ he said gently. ‘What is it?’

‘David’s left me.’ Her words were almost inaudible among the sobs. ‘He’s left me.’

My bed is still warm from you, when can you get away again? Dxx

David. A Notting Hill banker and a former client who’d invited Matt and Carla to his Christmas party after his divorce had been finalised. Six months later, Matt had found out that David and Carla had been having an affair from that very night. When he’d finally confronted her, Carla was defiant, telling Matthew that for all his desire to escape his father’s influence, he had turned into him, devoting more time to his work than his family.

‘Jonas barely knows you,’ she had said with a brutality that was designed to wound.

She’d left him that night and moved straight into David’s house, taking Jonas with her. The next day she’d delivered the coup de grâce by serving divorce papers on him, citing his ‘unreasonable behaviour’.

For three years Matthew had hated David, funnelling all his anger and hurt on to the man who had taken his family away. He’d tried to step away from it, but it was always there in the back of his mind, colouring everything he did. Carla and Jonas were the real reason he had taken the job at Donovan Pierce. It was an opportunity to make some real money; money that would bring him back his pride, money that would pay for the best schools and holidays for Jonas. His son would want for nothing and he would pay for it. He’d hated David giving his family the security and comfort his ex-wife had always wanted. Donovan Pierce was the chance to level the playing field, make him David’s equal.

Except David had gone. Matthew took a deep breath. How long he had wanted to hear those words. The banker with the smart house, the fast car, the fortune, the man who had turned Carla’s head and taken his son. But somehow, now it had come, the victory felt hollow.

‘Have you got a tissue?’ sniffed Carla.

He gave her a piece of kitchen roll.

‘Don’t worry, Jonas is with a friend,’ she said, blowing her nose and taking a seat on the sofa.

‘And where’s David?’

‘F*cking his new girlfriend, probably,’ she said with surprising venom.

Matthew resisted the urge to laugh. Carla had always been very against swearing, scolding him whenever he had uttered an expletive.

‘He’s having an affair?’ he asked.

She snorted.

‘Predictable, isn’t it? And don’t say “I told you so”.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you for doing cartwheels right now,’ she said, more tears rolling down her face. ‘I know I screwed up, but I didn’t know where else to go.’

Matthew took the coffee cup and pressed it into Carla’s unsteady hands.

‘I need you, Matt,’ she said, and he felt something deep inside him flutter.

‘You need me?’

‘You’re a family lawyer.’

‘You want me to advise you?’ he asked, sitting down beside her.

‘Why not? You’re the best.’

He shrugged.

‘I’m afraid that doesn’t matter. I can’t do it. It’s a conflict of interests. Besides, are you sure this is what you want?’

It was a question he always asked his clients: ‘Are you sure?’

She frowned.

‘I know you’re hurt at the moment, but you really need to be sure that divorce is the right way to go for you.’

He couldn’t believe he was asking her to think about it, when all he had wanted for the last three years was for her to walk out on David. The truth was, he wanted to hear her say it.

‘Yes, I want to divorce him,’ said Carla, taking a small sip of her coffee. ‘And I want to take him for every penny he’s got.’

‘Tell me what happened, from the start.’

‘You really want to know?’ She smiled weakly. ‘If you can’t represent me, what’s this? Free advice?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, as she moved across the sofa and hugged him. ‘Really, Matt, it’s far more than I deserve.’

He froze for a moment, then hugged her back, smelling her hair, that same familiar scent of happier days.

‘Right then,’ he said, grabbing a notepad and a pen. ‘From the beginning . . .’

He sat back down on the chair ready to hear her story, Erica Sheldon’s phone number in his pocket well and truly forgotten.