Page 111 of Private Lives


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His shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

‘Then you should meet Johnny Maxwell. I’m not introducing you directly, but I can find out where he is this week. Which parties he’ll be going to. The rest is up to you, but he’ll like a pretty girl like you. In fact Swann’s summer party at his Oxfordshire place is sometime around now. Play your cards right, don’t tell him what you do for a living, and I bet Johnny will invite you.’

‘To be a Swann set plaything? I’m not sure I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You’d better go.’

‘I will. And thank you.’

‘She was a lovely, lovely girl. I swear I had nothing to do with anything you’re suggesting, so please keep me out of this.’

His voice was trembling, desperate. Anna believed him. She walked down the path out of the garden, and when she turned round, his gaze was blank and regretful, lost in the memory of what was, what might have been, and what now never could be.

33

Jessica slipped on her oversized Tom Ford sunglasses and glanced about nervously. The Primrose Gym on Mulholland was LA’s workout space du jour, and as such it was exactly the sort of place you’d expect the paparazzi to be lurking. Not that Jessica usually minded; in fact she’d often had her publicist tip them off that she would be there at a certain time, looking lithe and lovely. Today, however, had been a particularly strenuous and sweaty Bikram yoga session, and her beet-red face was not the sort of look she wanted to project to the outside world.

Satisfied the coast was clear, she walked as fast as she could to her car and leapt inside, only allowing herself to relax when the doors were firmly locked.

Rigorous exercise always made her feel fantastic, as if her whole body was being purged, and today was no exception. In fact today was the first day in ages she had felt a surge of optimism that life was returning to normal.

She smiled as her mobile rang and she saw the caller was Joe Kennington. She hadn’t heard from him about her invitation to Tori’s art party and was beginning to worry she’d pushed it too far.

‘Joe, honey,’ she purred into the phone. ‘How are you?’

‘Not so good, Jess,’ he said. She noticed the panic in his voice immediately. ‘Have you seen US Weekly?’

‘No,

I came straight to the gym this morning. What’s the matter? Is it about the reshoot on Slayer?’ She had been worried that the industry would read ‘reshoot’ as ‘disaster’.

‘No, it’s about you and me,’ said Joe. ‘About how we went out for a romantic meal and then . . .’

‘Then what, Joe?’ she snapped, a familiar flutter of panic rising in her belly.

His rich baritone sounded meek, apologetic.

‘And then they’re saying you came on to me and I turned you down. Honestly, Jess, I didn’t tell anyone about it.’

It was like a fierce sideways blow. A dozen different thoughts leapt into Jess’s head. None of them good.

‘Didn’t tell anyone? Then how the hell did they get hold of the story?’

‘Who knows? We didn’t exactly go to the most discreet place for dinner.’

‘Not that,’ she snapped. It was a fairly standard procedure for gossip magazines to link two stars on a movie, especially if they were both single and seen out in public. ‘I want to know how the hell they found out about . . . the thing at my house.’

‘I swear to you, Jess, I didn’t tell anyone.’

‘Well neither did I!’ she growled. That wasn’t strictly true. Her mother had seen Joe arrive at the house, and when she’d returned she’d found Jessica moping on the balcony with a joint, all alone. As for Mai, she was always sneaking around the house like some silent ninja. For all Jess knew, she was making a packet on the side selling her secrets. ‘You must have told someone, Joe.’

‘Why would I?’ said Joe. ‘I mean, if they find out the truth, I have more to lose, don’t I?’

‘Not in this case,’ said Jessica, her voice rising. ‘According to this story, you look like a goddamn stud and I look like a pathetic, needy reject.’

‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ he said. ‘I promise you I didn’t—’

‘Bullshit, Joe!’ she yelled, throwing the phone across the car. She twisted the ignition of the Aston and stamped her foot to the floor, fishtailing out of the parking lot.

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