more middle-aged ball.
‘First thing we do is get you a decent bloody lawyer. Fiona Shackleton, that’s who you need, love. Or someone senior at Mishcon de Reya.’
Theresa laughed. ‘Do you know what their fees are, Ash? I can’t possibly afford that.’
‘Bollocks. Theo can pay. Or they can subtract their fees from the whopping settlement they’re going to get you. No, stop arguing. You’re going, even if I have to frogmarch you into their offices myself.’
Theresa went. Charles Newton-Haughbury, the partner who took her case, had so many plums in his mouth that at first Theresa struggled to understand him. But as certain words floated through to her: ‘outrageous … laughable … vigorous counter-attack …’ she began to get the gist. Charles wanted her to file her own petition with the UK courts, citing adultery, and to reject Theo’s paltry financial offer out of hand. He also wanted her to hire a public relations firm to address the slanderous things her husband had been saying about her.
‘Whoever’s been looking after your interests up till now should be shot. It’s a shower, Theresa, an absolute shower.’ He pronounced it shah, which made Theresa want to giggle. ‘You’ve had a long marriage to an extremely wealthy man. His money may be able to buy him public sympathy across the pond, but it won’t wash in a British courtroom, I can assure you of that. It’s time to get the old boxing gloves on and land a few punches.’
But for once Theresa was firm. ‘I don’t care about the money, Charles. I don’t want to fight with Theo. All I want is for this nightmare to be over.’
‘But, Theresa …’
‘No. Please. Just accept Theo’s offer and let’s be done with it.’
It had taken all Charles Newton-Haughbury’s powers of persuasion to convince her to make accepting Theo’s terms contingent on a gagging order, preventing either Theo or Dita from speaking about Theresa in the media. ‘You’re walking away with a fraction of what he owes you. At the very least, protect your reputation. You may not care about money, but a part of you must care about being slandered in this manner. For your family’s sake, if not your own.’
Reluctantly, Theresa agreed. Generally speaking, she’d been sanguine about Theo’s rewriting of their marital history, not because it didn’t hurt, but because it hurt less than everything else, less than him being gone. A week ago, however, she’d been dreadfully upset by an interview Theo gave to Barbara Walters, that showed footage of him touring a Singaporean orphanage. The orphanage they’d been talking about adopting from, just days before her accident.
‘Dita’s really changed my mind about the whole idea of adoption and parenthood.’ Theo smiled wistfully to camera. ‘You know, Barbara, when you’re in a relationship with an addict, an alcoholic or whatever, someone who isn’t functioning, you can’t allow yourself to think about children. But Dita’s so maternal, so caring. She’s truly opened my eyes.’
That interview opened Theresa’s eyes. She still loved him and missed him terribly. She couldn’t help it. But the time had come to protect herself, or at least let Charles do it for her.
The divorce came through a few weeks later. Theo paid her legal and medical bills, signed a gagging order, and gave her a one-off, lump-sum payment of seven hundred thousand pounds. Aisling took Theresa out to celebrate.
‘We’re not toasting the money,’ she said sternly. ‘That settlement was daylight robbery and we both know it. We’re celebrating your freedom. Here’s to the first day of the rest of your life!’
Theresa raised a glass sadly.
‘When does the job start at Cambridge?’
‘November,’ said Theresa. ‘But I’m going up there on Friday. I need to start house hunting. And working. I haven’t written a line since the accident. I’m sure my brain must have turned to mashed potato.’
‘Ah, bollocks,’ said Aisling. ‘You’ll be back in the saddle in no time, dating some good-looking Shakespeare scholar or playwright or whoever it is you genius types like shagging. You’ll see.’
Theresa laughed. She had no intention of dating anyone, still less shagging. Besides, there was no such thing as a good-looking Shakespeare scholar. Everyone knew that.
Dita flipped over onto her back and did a few, languid strokes across the swimming pool. Theo watched her flawless naked body, her breasts bobbing on top of the water like two buoys, her legs slightly parted to reveal a tantalizing hint of coral-pink labia as she wiggled her toes, and felt his dick start to harden.
‘Come here,’ he called across the splashing.
‘Why?’ Dita smiled coquettishly, opening her thighs wider. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
Theo grinned. How the hell did I get this lucky?
He’d moved out of the Bel Air house last month and rented this place in Beverly Hills, nominally for the privacy (Theo and Dita were ‘so tired’ of the relentless press attention) but actually because George Clooney used to own it and Theo thought that was cool. Though smaller than the Bel Air mansion, the house managed to be even more impressive, largely thanks to the gadgetry in every room. This was a bona fide LA party house. Vast outdoor TV screens surrounded the pool, rising up out of the stone at the touch of a button. In the master bedroom, the heart-shaped bath filled from a hidden pump in the ceiling, and the Jacuzzi turned on when you said ‘bubbles’. But the greatest luxury of all was Dita herself. It wasn’t just her perfect, made-forsex body or her relentless, unstoppable libido that excited Theo. It was her fame. Being with Dita Andreas was like being sprinkled with Hollywood fairy dust. Overnight, Theo had gone from being a celebrity to being a star. And to think, he’d almost passed on all of this because he was too scared of hurting his image with a divorce. What a fool he’d been!
‘You have ten seconds to get out of that pool,’ he growled lustfully at Dita, ‘or I swear to God, I’m coming in to get you.’
‘Really?’ Dita hauled herself up out of the water and walked towards him dripping, like Ursula Andress without the bikini. Perching on the edge of Theo’s sun lounger, she wrung out her hair, deliberately dropping cold water onto his erection.
‘Bitch.’ He kissed her, reaching between her legs.
‘Uh uh.’ Dita stood up and grabbed a towel. ‘Sorry, baby. We don’t have time. We’re meeting Ray, remember?’
Theo groaned. Ray Angelastro was a movie agent, one of the biggest names at CAA. Dita was convinced that Theo had a future on the big screen and had been pushing for this meeting for weeks. Theo wasn’t so sure.
‘I’m not an actor, Dita. I’m a scientist.’
‘You were a scientist,’ Dita corrected him. ‘Now you’re a brand. Especially since the new Asia deal, a very marketable brand.’
It was true, Theo’s trip to Asia had been successful beyond even his wildest fantasies. Not only had Dexter’s Universe been syndicated in every major market, but he’d been offered an endorsement deal by Canon cameras that would catapult his earnings into the stratosphere. And it didn’t end there. Theo’s combination of all-American good looks, British James Bond suaveness, and scientific credibility was the Holy Grail for Asian consumers. He returned to LA overwhelmed with offers to promote everything from aftershave to coffee to computer games.
‘Studios love brands,’ Dita assured him. ‘Any idiot can act.’
Watching her dry herself with a towel and pull a bright yellow, micro-mini sundress over her head, Theo resented the meeting with Angelastro more than ever. All he wanted to do was take Dita upstairs and bang her till she begged him to stop. Not that that would ever happen. But at the same time, he loved her for pushing him. Theresa had never understood his ambition. She was always wanting to hold him back, hankering after the simpler life they’d left behind in England. Well, now she could have it. On the paltry divorce