Private Lives

23



‘I assume you’ve seen page eleven of the Sun this morning?’

Helen watched with satisfaction as Anna Kennedy flinched. It was 7 a.m. and the Donovan Pierce boardroom already had half a dozen people sitting around the table; Helen’s team for the Jonathon Balon libel case. They were in court first thing and she wanted a counsel of war before they started.

Well, at least she has read the papers, thought Helen as she watched Anna sip her coffee, obviously trying to appear unruffled. Interesting. Perhaps there’s more to this than the story suggested.

Helen spread the newspaper out on the long walnut table.

‘“Celebrity Chef in the Drink”,’ she read aloud. The story was accompanied by a grainy photograph of Sophie Kennedy emerging from a swimming pool – bedraggled, but still sexy. ‘So what’s the real story?’ she asked, silently noting two trainees who craned their necks to read the piece. She expected her employees to be completely up to date with all media – TV, papers domestic and foreign, even reading the wires from AP and Reuters. These two would be made to pay for their slackness, even if it was early.

Anna put her coffee cup down and shrugged.

‘I was at the spa with my mum and my sister. My sister fell in the pool and someone must have taken the shot with a mobile phone. There’s nothing more to it than that.’

Isn’t there? thought Helen. She hadn’t got to her lofty position in the legal profession without being able to sniff out a lie. Usually she wasn’t interested in the private lives of her employees, unless they were doing something that might impact on the firm – and this could quite easily fall into that category. Anna Kennedy had been castigated over the Sam Charles debacle and Helen really hadn’t been pleased to see her name in the tabloids again: ‘sister of the bride-to-be and solicitor for shamed actor Sam Charles’. She knew it could have been worse, of course. Only last week she’d seen Donovan Pierce referred to as the lawyers behind ‘the bungled Charles injunction’. That had put her in a bad mood for days.

‘All right,’ she said, looking around the table expectantly, ‘any ideas what damages we could seek for Anna or her sister here?’

Trainee Sid Travers raised her voice nervously.

‘Breach of privacy? Her sister thought she was in a secure area.’

‘And the citation for that?’

Sid fell silent.

‘Sienna Miller versus Xposure Photo Agency,’ suggested Toby Meyer more confidently. ‘She’d been on the movie set and the paparazzi had taken nude photos of her with a long lens.’

‘Correct,’ said Helen, pleased that her trainees weren’t complete idiots, but careful not to show it. ‘Although privacy damages aren’t huge, so sometimes it’s not worth the client’s time.’

She stabbed her finger down on to the table.

‘But the case we are going to win is this one,’ she said, turning her gaze on each of the team one by one. ‘Jonathon Balon is relying on us. He employed us because he believed we could prove in court – and to the public – that these charges are groundless and malicious. We have a reputation to uphold, both ours’ – she looked directly at Anna as she said this – ‘and his. It’s not enough that we win this case; we need to destroy the opposition’s arguments and prove ours beyond a shadow of a doubt. This is war, people.’

She tapped her hand on the desk.

‘Okay, let’s go to work.’

Anna leaned over and handed a twenty-pound note to the cabby. What was this? Her sixth cab journey today? And it was only 3.30 p.m. She felt as if she was on a piece of elastic. In the course of the morning she’d shuttled back and forth between court and the offices twice, grabbing another stack of files or looking up some vital piece of case law. So far they’d only scratched the surface of the Balon case, but at least they were under way; after weeks of intensive preparation, the whole team was hyped up and full of energy, keen to win at all costs. The day had begun with Nicholas Collins QC delivering the claimant’s opening statement, and right now the barrister for the defence was putting his initial case. She’d drunk a gallon of coffee and had at least three blisters from speed-walking along the marble corridors of the High Court, but Anna was in her element. This was exactly the sort of work she’d joined Donovan Pierce to do. Meaningful, exacting work that required meticulous preparation, but which nevertheless was edge-of-the-seat stuff: most libel cases settled long before they got to court and if they didn’t, both sides must believe they had a decent chance of winning. The courts were buzzing, because you never knew exactly what the other guy was going to throw at you.

Anna walked across the road to the office, skirting around a flaming red Ferrari that was parked halfway onto the pavement, and took the stairs to the Donovan Pierce reception.

‘All right, gorgeous? Buried any good actors lately?’

Her heart sank as she saw Wayne Nicholls coming her way. Wayne was an East End wide boy who owned one of the most notorious picture agencies in town. He was rich, cocky and had the sort of unshakeable self-regard that allowed him to wear cowboy boots and sunglasses indoors. They had crossed swords more than once: the photographers contracted to Wayne’s agency seemed to take gleeful pleasure in flouting the privacy laws firms like Donovan Pierce were there to protect.

‘Pleasure to see you, Wayne,’ she said, knowing the sarcasm was wasted on him. He kissed her on the cheek, almost overpowering her with his aftershave.

‘Nice picture of your sister in the Sun this morning,’ he said with a wink. ‘I wish we’d had it, could have made a few quid on that. Hey, how about winging some exclusive little wedding snaps of her bash in Italy over to me? I’ll make it worth your while.’

‘Wayne, what are you doing here?’ Anna said, changing the subject. ‘I’d have thought it was like Dracula walking over consecrated ground.’

‘Doing a job for your boss, aren’t I?’

‘For Helen?’ she said, wondering why she hadn’t heard about it.

‘The other one, Matty D,’ said Wayne, tucking his shirt into his tight jeans.

‘Really? What sort of job?’

Wayne tapped the side of his nose.

‘Privileged information, darling. You wouldn’t want me to abandon my principles, would you?’ He glanced at his chunky Jacob & Co. watch. ‘Must fly, sweetheart. Car’s on a meter.’

‘Let me guess – the badly parked Ferrari?’

‘That’s her. Any time you fancy a quick spin, my door’s always open.’

Anna couldn’t help laughing.

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said, watching him prop up reception to try his luck on Sherry, the telephonist.

Anna walked slowly, thoughtfully, past her own office towards Matt Donovan’s and lingered at the door. She hadn’t really spoken to him since their showdown in the kitchen and had no desire for a rematch, but given that he was, as Wayne had helpfully reminded her, the boss and she needed to hold on to her job, it would be good politics to try and help him out. She looked inside – Matthew was bent over his computer screen, tapping away at the keys, his brow furrowed.

‘Dipping your toe into the shark-infested waters of media law, are we?’ said Anna with a smile. Matthew glanced up.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I’ve just seen Wayne Nicholls, puppet-meister of the paparazzi, hanging around the entrance.’

‘He’s helping me with something,’ said Matt casually, looking back at his computer. Anna knew she was being dismissed, but curiosity had got the better of her.

‘Anything I should know about?’

He looked at her, unsmiling. ‘Checking up on me again, are you?’

Anna flushed. He was obviously still annoyed about her advice regarding Rob Beaumont’s visit to the office, but she was bothered he was about to make the same mistake twice.

‘No, not snooping, just wondering if I could help. I know Wayne and he’s not, shall we say, the most trustworthy of individuals.’

‘I think I can make up my own mind about that, thanks,’ said Matthew, not looking up.

‘Yes, of course, it’s just—’

‘If you must know, I’ve been trying to track down some information about Kim Collier.’

‘How come?’

‘Kim wants to take their son to live in Miami. Rob has no idea why, so we’re trying to find out in the hope that it might give us some leverage in the divorce, which is turning nastier by the second.’

‘And you want Wayne to help you?’ said Anna, trying not to sound judgemental.

‘Actually he’s done a bloody good job,’ said Matt, sliding some photographs across to Anna. They were shots of Kim Collier in a car, coming out of a shop, having lunch in a restaurant, the usual paparazzi fare you found in celeb mags.

‘Well, there doesn’t seem to be much here,’ said Anna.

‘Exactly,’ said Matt. ‘She’s had five meetings over the last forty-eight hours. Her manager, her friend from school, her make-up artist, nothing at all controversial. Certainly nothing Wayne Nicholls can sell on to the tabloids, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, I made it clear that if he screws us over, we’ll come down on every single set of pictures he takes like a ton of bricks.’

Anna frowned. Paparazzi were better at following celebrities than conventional private eyes as they had a network of drivers, waiters and doormen to tip them off, but it was a risky strategy.

She hesitated. ‘I’m just worried that Wayne will have worked out that you’re a divorce lawyer, and as you have him following Rob Beaumont’s wife, he’ll put two and two together and “Kim and Rob Love Split” will mysteriously be all over the the Sun tomorrow morning.’

Matthew gave a small smile. ‘I had, of course, thought of that,’ he said. ‘I’ve drafted a confidentiality agreement so tight not even Houdini could get out of it.’

‘I still don’t like using Wayne Nicholls, though,’ she said.

‘As it happens, having her followed has paid off.’

He leaned over and tapped one of the photographs; a middle-aged man in a leather jacket was sitting with Kim in a café.

‘Fabio Martelli. Hotelier. Businessman. Old friend of Kim’s.’

‘So?’

‘That’s what Wayne said. Why shouldn’t she be having a drink with an old friend? You could see from Wayne’s face that he was secretly pleased his paps hadn’t found anything; that way he was getting ten grand from me while I got nothing. But Wayne doesn’t have the other piece of the jigsaw.’

‘Which is?’

‘Martelli owns four homes, in New York, London, Milan and Miami, where he’s opening a live entertainment venue at Christmas and where he intends to base himself full-time in preparation for the launch.’

‘Miami. Where Kim Collier’s taking her son.’

‘He doesn’t know it, but your pal Wayne has been very helpful.’

Anna couldn’t help smiling to herself as she left Matthew’s office. Wayne Nicholls helpful. That was a first. She had to admit, however, that she had underestimated Matthew. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye after all.

As she walked into her office, she frowned. Her windows overlooked the street and she could hear yelling and swearing coming from that direction. She peered down and was pleased to see the irate figure of Wayne Nicholls standing next to his Ferrari, waving his arms at two burly men in overalls. Behind them in the street was a pick-up truck labelled ‘Secure Towing Co.’.

Giggling to herself, she ran back down the stairs and out into the sunshine.

‘Little problem?’ She smiled innocently.

‘Thank God! A lawyer!’ Wayne said. ‘These meatheads are refusing to release the Ferrari from this bleedin’ truck. Tell him I’ll sue them.’

The first clamper merely raised his eyebrows. He’d clearly heard it all before.

Anna was tempted to let them carry out their threat, but she had an idea forming in her mind, and for that she needed Wayne on side.

‘Listen, Wayne, let me have a word,’ she said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

She went over to talk to the clampers. What Wayne didn’t know was that the towing company was employed by Donovan Pierce to prevent people parking outside their office building – Larry had wanted it kept clear so he could park his Bentley.

‘Yeah, and don’t come back, either!’ shouted Wayne as they drove off. He turned to Anna and winked. ‘Cheers, darling.’

‘Actually, I need a favour.’

If Matthew Donovan could use the pap boss to his advantage, why shouldn’t she? Anna knew a lot about Wayne’s organisation. When she’d sued him as often as she had, it paid to know the background. Thanks to the explosion in demand for celebrity pictures over the past few years, he had expanded and diversified: a photographic studio and a model agency that specialised in glamour girls.

‘It’ll cost you,’ he said playfully.

‘How about you do it just to get on my nice side?’

‘How nice is your nice side exactly? Because I actually quite like the uptight bitch thing.’

‘Your model agency, FrontGirls? Do you know many of the models yourself?’

‘Shagged half of them,’ he said proudly. ‘I mean, what’s the point being the boss otherwise?’

‘I need to speak to someone. A blonde called Mandy.’

‘Mandy Stigwood? Incredible knockers?’

Anna smiled thinly.

‘What do you want to speak to Mandy for? What’s she done?’

Anna leaned in, whispering. ‘It’s just one of my clients fancies her. I thought I could have a word. Play Cupid.’

‘You? The ball-breaker. Playing Cupid? Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday.’

‘Is she one of your girls?’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘How often do you see her?’

‘Not often. But she’s got a shoot at my studios sometime this week, I think. Always make a note of which girls are popping down to the studios. I like to welcome them. Give it the personal touch.’

‘I’m sure. Can you sort it out, then? A quick chat between me and Mandy.’

He sighed deeply. ‘Go on. Seeing as you just sorted out the motor. We’ve got each other’s number. I’ll call you.’

‘Thanks, Wayne, you’re a star,’ she said, pecking him on the cheek.

He looked genuinely flustered.

‘And go easy on me next time you’re trying to stiff me in court, all right?’

‘Only if you don’t go trying to stiff Donovan Pierce,’ she said, resuming her cool.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your job for Matthew. He might think a non-disclosure agreement will hold you, but we both know you’ve got the morals of a jackal.’

Wayne gave a wicked laugh.

‘That’s what you love about me.’

‘I mean it. Don’t mess with me or I’ll come after you, and I won’t stop until the damages you have to pay to my clients run your business into the ground.’

Anna turned on her heel to go back to the office. She glanced behind her and watched Wayne disappear into a coffee shop. She didn’t trust him. There was no way she was going to let him shaft Matthew. It was time to fire him a warning shot.

Seeing a council parking attendant in his green uniform, she crossed the square to speak to him.

‘Excuse me?’ she said, pointing over at Wayne’s Ferrari. ‘That red car’s been parked up on the pavement for hours. It’s blocking a fire exit too. I think you should call a tow truck.’

She took out her mobile and texted Wayne.

‘I’m watching you. PS. Stop drinking coffee and get to your car.’