be discreet.’
Ivan watched her leave, noticing for the first time how short her legs were for her body and how unsexy her walk was from behind, knock-kneed and gawky. The time had come to end things with Miss Wu. He would disengage gently, as he always did, with expensive jewellery and flowery apologies, citing family commitments for his reluctant change of heart. Ivan prided himself on the fact that not one of the clients he’d shagged then grown tired of had ever left Jester, or fired him as a manager. Women were marvellous creatures. They’d accept just about anything from a man, as long as it was done with charm, and a few choice trinkets from Asprey’s.
With Joyce gone, Ivan could begin his day in earnest. Farting loudly to kick things off, a triumphant trumpet sound heralding the dawn of male freedom, he turned on Test Match special and, blasting the sound through the flat’s state-of-the-art audio system, retired to the master bathroom for a shower. Afterwards, he laid out a variety of shirt and tie combos on the bed and began to give serious consideration to which made him look the most handsome. Ivan was, and had always been, terribly vain. But tomorrow’s meeting at ITV genuinely merited a careful attention to his appearance. He was effectively auditioning to become one of the judges on a new talent show, an updated version of X Factor that combined both classical and popular acts. Mike Grayson, ITV’s new head of programming, was flamingly gay and well known to have a soft spot for good-looking male presenters. Ivan Charles fully intended to flirt the socks off Grayson. Once he got the gig, he could begin a new charm offensive with Jack.
Holding a peach shirt and royal blue tie up to the mirror, Ivan started. Was that a noise downstairs? He turned off the cricket and listened. At first there was nothing. Then there it was again, a scraping, scratching sound, a bit like a … key! Oh my God, Catriona!
Frantically Ivan tore around the apartment, hiding evidence of Joyce’s recent presence. Catriona never came to London – never, and certainly not unannounced. But she was the only other person with a key to the Eaton Gate flat, for ‘emergencies’. This was rapidly becoming an emergency. It was too late to get rid of the fishy sex-odour that still hung in the air, but Ivan managed to pick up and throw away his used condom wrapper and lock Joyce’s Rampant Rabbit vibrator in the bedroom safe before the front door finally swung open.
‘Darling?’ he called out hoarsely. ‘Is that you? What a nice surprise.’
He heard the slam of the door and thud of a suitcase hitting the floor. Surely she wasn’t thinking of staying?
But it wasn’t Catriona.
Kendall Bryce looked amused to find Ivan Charles, red in the face and flustered, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. Well, well, she thought, what have we been up to? Judging by the pervasive smell assailing her nostrils, Kendall could make an educated guess. As soon as he saw her, Ivan’s colour deepened.
‘How did you get in?’ he stammered. ‘I thought you were my wife.’
‘No,’ Kendall smiled knowingly. ‘Luckily for you, I’d say. Kendall Bryce.’ She extended a slender, diamond-encrusted hand. ‘Ivan Charles, I presume.’
‘I … I thought you were staying at the Dorchester,’ said Ivan, hurriedly pulling on a pair of jeans.
‘I was,’ said Kendall, ‘until Jack decided it was “unnecessarily extravagant”. He said that Jester had an apartment here and gave me the key. I had thought he wanted you to keep an eye on me. But perhaps it was the other way around?’
Ivan studied her properly for the first time. She was shorter than she looked in publicity shots, not much over five foot tall, and altogether tinier. In a skintight black minidress that left little to the imagination, Kendall’s waist was so doll-like that Ivan could have closed his hands around it. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her stunning face looked uncharacteristically tired, with smudged purple shadows lying under each of her virulently green eyes like bruises.
‘If I’m in your way, I’ll happily check into the Dorchester,’ she announced blithely, lighting up a cigarette without asking Ivan if he minded. ‘But you’ll have to tell Jailer Jack it was your idea.’
‘No, no,’ said Ivan. He was over his embarrassment now, and could think of few things more delightfully distracting than having this wanton girl of Jack’s under his roof. ‘I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. Jack never said anything. Let me show you the guest room and you can settle in.’
‘Actually,’ said Kendall, blowing smoke in perfectly formed rings, ‘what I really want right now is some food. The shit they served on the plane wasn’t fit for a dog. How about you take me out to lunch?’
Ivan took Kendall to The Wolseley. As he led her to their prestigious corner table, she was suitably impressed to see Kate Winslet enjoying a salad a few feet away and Prince Harry sipping a Bloody Mary with his latest squeeze at the bar.
‘Nice place,’ she said casually. Despite her own fame in the US, Kendall still got star-struck, especially around people who were well known globally.
‘You must have been here before,’ said Ivan, ordering champagne and oysters on the half-shell for both of them.
‘Uh uh.’ Kendall shook her head. ‘This is my first trip to London. First trip to Europe, actually. I toured Japan and the Far East last year, but other than that I’ve never really been abroad.’
‘My goodness. A Euro-virgin,’ Ivan said flirtatiously. He’s attractive, thought Kendall. Not as handsome as Jack, but there’s a definite devilish spark there. ‘Well, we’ll have to do something about that. I’ve got three weeks to introduce you to the delights of the Old World. Not long, but I’ll do my best.’
‘I bet you will,’ Kendall flirted back.
‘Seriously, your parents never travelled with you when you were younger? Wasn’t your old man fabulously wealthy? I’m sure I remember Jack saying—’
Kendall’s pretty face instantly darkened. ‘My dad was never around. He probably took his new family to Europe, for all I know. But not me.’
Aware he’d touched a nerve, Ivan changed the subject. ‘So you’re here for the gigs, obviously. Jack sent me the scheduling for rehearsals and sound check. And you want me to organize some media appearances? I thought we could shoot for Graham Norton, and maybe Radio One Breakfast.’
Kendall inhaled an oyster and took a big slug of champagne.
‘To be honest, I don’t give a fuck,’ she told Ivan. ‘Jack’s the one who keeps harping on about building my UK profile. He seems to think that breaking into the market in London will open up all the other European territories.’
‘You don’t agree?’
Kendall shrugged. ‘What do I know? I’m just the talent, right? I wanted to sign with Sony, but Jack insisted I stay with Matador. He said a small label would give me more focus. So now I’m with this tiny, local LA record company with, like, zero global presence, and suddenly Jack wants me to fly all over the world and “build my profile” from scratch. Go figure.’
Ivan digested all this with interest. While Kendall perused the menu for a main course, intermittently exchanging shamelessly suggestive smiles with Prince Harry, Ivan considered the pros and cons of Jack’s strategy. On the one hand, it made sense, keeping a relatively new artist like Kendall with a small label that would be guaranteed to prioritise her. Matador had a good reputation and had certainly done well by Kendall so far. On the other hand, Ivan could smell this kid’s ambition through her pores. She wanted Sony because they were the biggest, and for Kendall Bryce, biggest meant best. She was impatient to make it to the next level, demanding superstardom like a screeching baby cuckoo demanding to be fed. Clearly, Jack’s organic, slow-build approach to her career was frustrating her and driving a wedge between them.
Equally clearly, for all her bitching and moaning, Kendall plainly idolized Jack Messenger. In the cab on the way over to The Wolseley, she must have dropped his name into the conversation a good