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Brooke felt herself blush. Obviously she hadn’t thought about that when she’d told him.
‘Sorry, I didn’t think.’
Tess smiled. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m probably just being cynical and paranoid, but then that’s my job, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, we should probably talk about my trip to LA next week,’ said Brooke, a little disappointed to be talking about PR matters so soon. ‘I know the paps are pretty vicious out there, although really it’s just an in–and–out trip to see the Studio and then home.’
Tess was already reaching into her leather document case.
‘First I think you should look at this.’
Brooke glanced up at Tess; she recognized the ‘calm before the storm’ coolness in her voice.
‘A contact at one of the tabloids sent me this. It’s a pap picture sent to her from Splash Pictures, one of the big photo agencies. My contact just wanted to check the designer of the jacket you’re wearing because they plan to run the picture on the fashion pages.’
Brooke frowned. She couldn’t see any reason for her publicist’s concern, unless she had made some unforeseen fashion faux pas. Then Tess handed her the print and Brooke’s heart leapt into her mouth. The picture was of herself and Matt Palmer. Since their day out to Amish Country, Matt had called several times suggesting they meet for drinks or the movies. Most of the time she’d refused – there didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day for anything non crucial like friends these days – but last week Matt had called just as someone had cancelled on her for lunch. Matt had stepped into the breach and they’d met for pasta in Luigi’s restaurant, back in the booth where they’d reconnected months ago. He’d told her a funny story about a young man who’d been brought into ER with a foreign body inside him which turned out to be a Barbie doll, while she’d told him about her difficult time in Newport and her forthcoming trip to LA. All very relaxed, just two friends catching up, yet Brooke looked down at the photograph with a sense of shame. It was certainly a poor picture, grainy and blurred, but it was obvious where they were, just emerging from the restaurant. Matt had been wearing sunglasses and on this shot his head was down. From that angle it looked like David, which surprised her because the similarity had never struck her before. Brooke kept quiet, waiting for Tess to speak first.
‘Luckily, this isn’t a big thing, Brooke,’ she said, ‘because the press clearly think it’s David.’
Brooke had been so busy staring at the picture and worrying about the implications that she hadn’t read the caption below the shot – a standard paparazzi agency practice – which read, ‘Brooke Asgill and David Billington go shopping’.
‘But it isn’t David, is it?’ said Tess. Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but there was a definite note of concern. ‘Similar build, but the angle of the cheekbones is different, as is the shape of his chin. And this guy looks about six foot two, but David is only six foot.’
Brooke could feel her cheeks redden. ‘It’s Matt Palmer,’ she said as casually as she could.
‘Really?’ said Tess, tapping the photo. ‘You must have forgotten to mention how good looking he was.’
Momentarily Brooke stopped to marvel at how good her publicist was. Astute and accurate and detail–obsessed, like a good detective. In fact, she was exactly the sort of woman you wanted on your team – except when they were about to catch you out. But Brooke bristled at the implication; she had nothing to hide.
‘He’s just a friend Tess.’
‘Are you sure, Brooke?’ asked Tess. ‘Because I need you to be honest with me here. Are you both pretending you’re just good friends when really you want to jump each other’s bones?’
‘Of course we don’t want to jump each other’s bones.’
An uncomfortable memory shifted to the front of her mind. It was so vague she half wondered if she’d dreamt it. She was in a club with Matt, some time after her final examinations, and she’d been drunk. Really drunk. The music had been loud; they’d been dancing together face to face, laughing, beer bottles clinking, when he’d leant forward and said to her, ‘I think we should go home together.’ Or at least that’s what she thought he’d said over the pumping bass line. She’d ignored him, pretending not to hear, and he’d got the message.
She felt hot with embarrassment.
‘We’ve known each other a long time and he’s a really good listener.’
Tess rolled her eyes. ‘Shit, Brooke. A shrink would be less bother.’
‘When this picture was taken we’d met for lunch. It was in a public place, we weren’t hiding, and I haven’t mentioned him to you before because, well, it doesn’t matter. There’s no point
whipping up trouble where there is no scandal, is there?’
Tess looked at her searchingly. ‘Are you sure, Brooke?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she replied, her skin prickling.
‘Okay, fine,’ she said, ‘I know this is hard for you, having to monitor friendships, having to be careful who you’re seen with – and I’m sorry to give you the third degree. But at least you know I’m watching out for you, and at least you know it’s not forever.’
‘But it is, isn’t it?’ said Brooke softly. ‘This is what I’ve signed up to. A lifetime of being watched.’
Tess couldn’t really disagree. Brooke drained her wine glass.
‘I like the fact no one knows about Matt,’ she said. ‘I like the fact it’s a little part of my life that’s closed off, just mine.’
