surely you can talk it through?’ persisted Catriona. ‘After all these years.’
‘I don’t want to talk it through,’ said Ivan. ‘Kendall Bryce is pissed off with Jack for treating her like a child and, you know what, I know how she feels. Nothing I ever do is good enough for him. I’m not the one who’s walking away from the partnership, Cat. Jack is. So it would be nice to think that my own bloody wife supported me, and wasn’t only concerned about Jack’s sodding feelings.’
‘Ivan, I do support you. I always support you.’ Reaching across the table, she grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye, willing him to believe her.
She’s still got the most beautiful eyes, thought Ivan. He knew he was being childish about Jack, that what had happened between them was at least half his fault. But it still made him jealous and angry hearing Catriona defend him. Ivan might betray his wife’s love, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need it, and her approval. They were like two sides of the same coin.
He entwined his fingers with hers and squeezed them tight.
‘Let’s go to bed.’
‘Now?’ Catriona giggled. ‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning!’
‘So?’
‘I thought you were exhausted.’
Ivan grinned. ‘I’ve rallied. Just don’t say another word to me about Jack Bloody Messenger.’
‘I won’t,’ said Catriona. And she didn’t. Upstairs, Ivan bolted the bedroom door, peeled off her dressing gown and pyjamas, and was out of his own clothes in seconds. Somehow having just come from Kendall’s bed made being here with his wife even more exciting. Catriona’s body was the exact opposite of Kendall’s – soft and warm and overflowing, like diving into a mound of soft pillows. If fucking Kendall was a workout, making love to Cat was like the massage afterwards: comforting and familiar and deeply pleasurable.
For her part, Catriona could barely conceal her delight. She and Ivan had a healthy sex life, but she couldn’t remember the last time they’d sneaked off like this for a quickie, especially in the middle of the morning. God knows what the children and Stella were up to. It all felt so illicit and joyful. Life affirming, as Stella would have said.
‘Oh, by the way,’ said Ivan afterwards as she lay in his arms, ‘Kendall Bryce’s going to be staying on at Eaton Gate for a while until she finds a permanent place in London. I hope that’s OK with you. She got caught in the middle of all this nonsense with Jack and I think she’s still feeling a bit fragile.’
‘Of course,’ said Catriona. ‘You should have brought her down here. She’s a sweet girl and Rosie and Hector both adore her. Especially Hector. I think he has a bit of a crush actually. It’s sweet.’
Ivan kissed her on the forehead. ‘No. We have to start ring-fencing our family time a bit more. I can deal with clients during the week, but weekends here are for us.’
A flicker of guilt, trying to make itself felt in Ivan’s chest, was quickly extinguished. What Catriona didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. As long as he kept his two worlds separate and compartmentalized, everything would work out just fine.
Jared Crane looked across the desk at his client and frowned.
He was not happy.
Jared Crane was the senior partner at Crane and Farrelly, one of the top corporate law partnerships in Beverly Hills. Wealthy, successful people paid Jared Crane an astronomical amount of money, by the hour, for legal advice. Having paid the money, it seemed to Jared only right and proper that they should then take the advice he had given them.
The client sitting opposite him today had a reputation for stubbornness. But he also had a reputation for caution, intelligence and good sense, which was what made today’s events even more distressing. The document he was about to sign was one that Jared Crane had drawn up for him, against Jared’s advice and at the client’s own absolute insistence. Jared Crane had told him in no uncertain terms that signing it was not in his best interests. But yet here Jack Messenger sat, directly across the desk from Jared, with a silver Mont Blanc pen in his hand and a look of grimly determined stupidity on his handsome face.
‘Where do I sign?’
‘Penultimate page. At the bottom. But, Jack, I wish you’d reconsider. Or at least cool off for a few days before I send Ivan his copy. Once he signs, it’s done, and can’t be undone.’
Jack dashed off a signature and handed his lawyer the document. ‘It’s already done, Jared. I can’t work with him any more.’
‘Fine, but you do understand it’s you who’s walking away from the Jester name. You’re effectively giving Ivan Charles the brand – a brand you’ve spent your entire professional life building.’
Jack shrugged. ‘It’s just a name. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but clients are loyal to me, not to Jester. I’ll start a new company and carry on as before.’
It does sound arrogant, thought Jared Crane, or at least foolhardy. Brand names were important in any business, but especially in music, and they couldn’t be replaced overnight. In his enthusiasm for a fresh start, Jack Messenger was giving up his rights in something very valuable. And not to a friend, but to a man in whose interests it was to try and destroy him professionally.
‘Have you called your clients and discussed it with them?’
‘Not yet,’ said Jack.
‘Don’t you think you should?’
Jack frowned. He knew Jared Crane was looking out for his interests, but his mind was made up. ‘With respect, Jared, I know how to handle my clients. The one thing artists hate is uncertainty. Once I’ve formally split with Ivan, I’ll let people know where things stand. Day to day, nothing will change for most of them.’
Jared Crane watched Jack Messenger leave his office with a spring in his step, satisfied with the morning’s business. Jared hoped his own pessimism was unfounded and that things would work out all right for his client. Until today, he’d never put Jack Messenger down as impulsive, still less a fool.
He buzzed his secretary with a heavy heart. ‘Linda, I have a document here I need you to FedEx. Uh huh. Express delivery to London.’
‘Hey, Brett, it’s for you. Ivan Charles.’
Reluctantly Brett Bayley put down the lap-dancer and picked up the phone. His hotel room at the Georges V in Paris was littered with empty champagne bottles and wraps of coke, the remnants of which dusted the top of the coffee table like snow. So far The Blitz were enjoying the French leg of their tour immensely.
‘Whassup, man?’
‘Good morning, Brett. Has Jack called you?’ Ivan’s voice was low and rich, like slowly pouring honey.
‘Jack Messenger? No. Why would he?’
‘Well,’ Ivan cleared his throat, ‘he’s decided to leave the company and set up on his own.’
‘What?’
‘He didn’t even bother to call you?’ Ivan sounded surprised.
‘No,’ Brett frowned. ‘He didn’t. This is the first we’ve heard of it. I guess I should call him.’
‘That’s up to you,’ said Ivan casually. ‘I’m just calling to let you know how much we at Jester value The Blitz as clients. I hope you’ll consider staying with us.’
Brett hesitated. ‘I don’t know, man. Jack’s been with us from the beginning, you know? We kind of owe him.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Ivan. ‘Well, I must say that’s very generous of you. I’d have said that he owes you, after a decade of skimming twenty per cent off your top line.’
Brett had never