Private Lives

48



‘You looked harassed, so I made you a coffee.’

Matt stood at the door of Anna Kennedy’s office, holding two mugs.

She glanced up from her computer, still typing furiously.

‘Strong and black, I hope,’ she said as he put the cup down next to her keyboard. Now that she mentioned it, he could see that she was tired too: dark rings under her eyes.

‘Good weekend, then?’

‘Actually, yes.’ She smiled playfully, her clever grey eyes not meeting his.

His curiosity was piqued. Anna Kennedy did not seem the type to go crazy at the weekend. She was hands-down the most attractive girl in the office. It was a fact, as her employer, he had tried not to notice, although he hadn’t been shocked to hear that her sister was that fit chef off the telly. Anna didn’t have that minxy over-sexiness that got Sophie Kennedy on the front covers of the Sunday supplements, but then Matt found those sorts of women quite intimidating. Actually, Anna was if anything prettier than her sister; it was just that she looked more clever and officious and . . . what was it? Sad, he thought suddenly. He’d never noticed it before, but she always seemed a little sad.

‘So what did you do?’ he asked, suddenly eager to find out more.

‘Just went away for the weekend,’ she said vaguely.

‘Boyfriend?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ she said, beginning to blush. He felt bad for embarrassing her and changed the subject, keen to carry on talking.

‘What are you working on so feverishly?’

She rattled at the keyboard for a few more seconds, then hit the return button and sat back, letting out a long breath.

‘Just a ton of stuff for Helen. The bloody Balon case is still going on, and now I’ve got to go and babysit Chantal Elliot.’

Matt chuckled. ‘What’s she done this time?’

‘Nothing, actually,’ said Anna, getting up to feed paper into the printer. ‘She’s been quite well behaved and I think that’s what’s troubling her management; they’re expecting an explosion any minute, which could scupper some big deal in America.’

‘But she’s won a Grammy, hasn’t she?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ explained Anna. ‘The record industry is screwed at the moment and they want dull safe bets, not aspiring artists who are going to be trouble.’

She took a long swig of coffee, tapping a press release on her desk.

‘Chantal’s singing at some all-day charity thing near Richmond today, loads of celebs, and that means . . .’

‘Loads of paparazzi.’

‘So I’ve got to go and make sure they keep their distance.’

‘Surely that’s a job for security, not a solicitor?’ said Matthew.

Anna shrugged. ‘I’m taking no chances.’

Matthew picked up the press release as she prepared to leave.

‘Is this it? The Fallout Festival?’ he read. As his eyes scanned the musical line-up, one name jumped out at him. ‘Kim Collier’s going to be there?’

‘One of many.’

Matthew looked at her.

‘Can I come with you?’

Anna eyed him cynically.

‘Why do I have the feeling it’s not to see Chantal sing?’ she said.

‘Who’s the boss around here, Kennedy?’ he chided.

‘Well don’t dare try and bill it to my client.’ She smiled, grabbing her sunglasses and slinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘And it’s going to be full of young people,’ she whispered playfully. ‘So if you insist on coming, you’d probably better lose the tie.’

The festival was being held at Parkstead House, a Palladian mansion on the fringes of Richmond Park, a thirty-minute cab journey from the office. The front of the house reminded Matthew of the White House, with curly Ionic columns and marble steps facing the estate’s park, which had been transformed into a music festival enclosure with a stage at one end and a fairground off to the right.

‘Bloody hell, it’s like a posh Glastonbury,’ said Matthew as they left the cab and walked through the gate, eyeing the overgroomed blondes in skinny jeans and flip-flops sitting on the grass smoking and drinking.

‘Glastonbury,’ said Anna wistfully. ‘Those were the days. From what I can remember of them, anyway.’

‘You went to Glastonbury?’ said Matthew with surprise.

She nodded.

‘Every year from sixteen to twenty-five. Before I got sensible and tied myself to a respectable career.’

They flashed their wristbands at a security guard and were directed through into a VIP area. The house itself was being used as a production-headquarters-cum-dressing-room for the artists and the backstage area was full of famous faces from television and music, either dashing about or just lolling on the grass enjoying the sun.

‘Christ, if someone dropped a bomb in here,’ said Matthew, ‘the whole of the music industry would grind to a halt.’

They walked past a spiky-haired singer Matthew recognised from one of the TV talent shows Jonas liked watching. Anna pulled a face.

‘On the other hand, it might do us all a favour and get some real music on the telly,’ she whispered.

‘Ooh, Little Miss Rock Chick.’

They stopped at a stall and got a fresh lemonade each, then sat down on the grass. From where they were, they could hear the music blasting out from the stage.

‘So is that what attracted you to media law? Drugs, sex and rock and roll?’ said Matthew, enjoying the sun, the atmosphere and the company of his associate.

Anna shook her head.

‘Actually, it was a substitute career for journalism,’ she said, sucking on her straw. ‘I studied law to please my parents, but I got the writer’s bug in my first year, when I signed up for the uni newspaper. I really wanted to do it, but everyone kept telling me I’d have to start in regional press, covering jumble sales and doorstepping the families of dead people – which didn’t sound like the sort of news career I was after. Then I got offered a shiny well-paid job at Davidson’s, which I knew had a media law division. It was as if I could combine two careers – law and journalism in one.’

She squinted at him.

‘What about you? Just following in daddy’s footsteps?’

Matthew snorted.

‘Hardly. We barely spoke for twenty-five years.’

‘So why follow him into the law? Why not make a statement and do something completely different, like a fireman or an archaeologist or something?’

It was a question Matt had asked himself many times over the years and one he had never properly been able to answer. Graduating from Cambridge with a 2:1 degree and a rowing blue, he could have gone into banking or insurance or any number of other sideways career paths, but he’d stuck with the law.

‘Maybe that was my statement.’ He shrugged. ‘Choosing family law actually pissed my dad off in a big way. He sees it as the poor relation no one talks about. Media, M and A, property, tax, they all have prestige, but Larry sees family law as one step up from those dusty little high-street practices you only visit to make a will or sell your house. Which is funny really, considering the huge amount of time he’s spent in the divorce courts himself. Disappointing him seemed the ultimate way to rebel.’

They slurped their plastic cups empty.

‘How is your dad anyway?’ asked Anna.

‘He’ll be okay.’

He felt guilty that he hadn’t spoken to Larry since their argument in the pub.

‘I wish I’d had the chance to work with him.’

‘Well at least you get to learn at the feet of Helen Pierce. Helen and Larry are cut from the same cloth.’

‘Ruthless bastards, you mean.’

They both laughed.

‘Helen obviously sees some steeliness in you. She wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.’

‘I’m not sure she sees anything in me these days except a cock-up.’

‘After the Sam Charles thing?’

Anna nodded. ‘I thought she was going to fire me.’

He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

‘We’ve all screwed up, Anna. Don’t you think Helen’s had her failures?’

‘I thought she was indestructible, like Superwoman,’ she laughed.

‘That’s the secret of high-achieving people: good spin. You never hear about the knock-backs, the disappointments, just the good stuff. History is written by the victors, isn’t it?’

Anna nodded. ‘Wise words, boss man. But I still don’t want Superwoman blasting me with her laser eyes, so I’d better go and have a little word with our friends the paparazzi.’ She stood up, brushing the grass off her skirt. ‘Are you going to stay here?’

‘I’ve got a little mission of my own,’ he said, trying to sound mysterious.

Anna smiled.

‘My guess is that she’ll be in the production office up at the house. I don’t think she’s on for a couple of hours.’

Matthew watched her trot over the grass, her ponytail bouncing from side to side. The photographers were stationed at the entrance to the VIP area, waiting to catch any celebrities going in or out. He couldn’t hear what she was saying to them, but he could see her face, serious and no-nonsense, as she jabbed her finger at one of the paps, warning him to keep his distance from Chantal or face her wrath. Matthew chuckled to himself as he watched those burly, scary-looking men with their big cameras and their stepladders all looking at the ground and shuffling their feet. You go, girl, he smiled admiringly, then turned and strode towards Parkstead House.

Kim Collier was standing on a balcony at the front of the mansion. The event was being filmed for TV and there were cameras pointing towards the stage. She was watching Chantal Elliot perform on one of the monitors.

‘Hello,’ she said as she spotted Matt, folding her arms defensively across her chest. ‘I’m not sure I should be speaking to you.’

Matt knew he had to play it cool, make it seem like a coincidence.

‘Don’t worry, I’m actually here for her,’ he said, gesturing towards the screen. ‘Chantal’s a client.’

‘Well shouldn’t you be down there, then?’ said Kim.

‘Better vantage point from here.’

‘Like a sniper?’ she said frostily.

They listened to Chantal’s soaring vocals.

‘Bloody hell. I wish I had a voice like that,’ Kim said more softly. ‘You know, if she only got her act together, she could be the new Ella Fitzgerald.’

‘We all make mistakes,’ said Matt evenly.

‘Is that a swipe?’ she asked.

He took a breath, knowing it was his moment to speak. He had been mentally rehearsing what he might say to her in the taxi over, but now he was here, the words seemed to have deserted him. He knew he had to speak from the heart rather than the script he had written in his head.

‘Do you know how long I’ve been at Donovan Pierce?’ he said finally.

‘No idea,’ she snapped.

‘Six weeks. Three months ago I had my own little practice in Hammersmith. Then one day, a man I barely knew called Larry Donovan came along and gave me his share of this big media firm.’

She frowned. ‘I thought Larry Donovan was your dad.’

‘He is.’ Matt met her gaze directly. ‘In twenty-five years I met him maybe a dozen times. He missed my entire childhood and I’ll be totally honest with you, I’ve never really got over that.’

He could see he had Kim’s attention.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mum and she was a brilliant woman. But when my dad hurt her, she took the decision never to see him again. Which meant she took that decision for me too. The other week, he nearly died. You know what I was thinking about as I sat in that hospital waiting room? All the things we never did together.’

Kim turned away from him.

‘I’m divorced too,’ continued Matt, determined to finish his piece. ‘I have a son, Jonas. Me and his mother hated each other for a long time, but without fail, I see him every weekend, every holiday, every Christmas. I’ve never missed the big stuff, but it’s the little stuff, the everyday things, that binds people together.’

She blinked hard and drew herself up in her red high heels.

‘I knew you’d come to work on me.’

‘And I make no apologies for it.’ He paused. ‘Kim, I have no idea what went on inside your marriage, but I know that even if two people can’t live together, a child still deserves to have his dad.’

A tear trickled down her cheek, leaving a white rivulet of foundation.

‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, harassing me like this. Using emotional blackmail to get what you want.’

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you about the case. And if you choose to, you can indeed use this against me. But I’m not talking about the divorce right now. I’m talking about your son.’ He touched her arm and was surprised when she didn’t pull away. ‘Do the right thing, Kim, please. Not because there’s a lawyer breathing down your neck or you’re scared what the press might say about you. Moving to Miami, you might as well be moving to the moon for the amount of time Oliver is going to see Rob. Every child wants his dad. I know, because I’ve been that child.’

Off on the main stage, Chantal was winding up her final song, a big band number complete with horns and gospel choir.

‘She’s finished,’ said Matt. ‘I’d better go.’

As he turned and walked away from Kim, he heard a sound that at first he thought was just the music, until he realised it was a soft and spluttering sob.