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Her publicist was shaking her head. ‘I wish I could tell you it was okay to have friends like that, but there are different rules for people like you. Just be careful, okay?’
‘So, what do we do about this?’
‘Well, you were smart to take Matt to a public place,’ said Tess. ‘I think you should do it again, somewhere really high profile, somewhere where he can be photographed with you and David so it looks as if you are all friends. In fact, make sure he gets to know David.’
Tess looked at Brooke.
‘And Brooke, if Matt really is just a good friend,’ she said, ‘then that’s what you should be doing anyway.’
*
Tess stared out of the cab window, watching Manhattan slip by in a blur. For a smart, decent girl, Brooke Asgill could be incredibly stupid, she thought. Okay, so maybe it was all above board and innocent, but that doctor was gorgeous! Some girls have all the luck, she smiled, making a mental note to get Jemma to keep an eye on Matt Palmer. The cab pulled up on Perry Street. Inside her apartment, Tess went straight to the fridge to see what she could cobble together. It was true what they said about New Yorkers living off takeouts, but tonight she couldn’t wait. She found half a jar of pesto and stirred it into a bowl of piping hot penne and took it outside onto the deck with a glass of wine and a big stack of magazines. It was a balmy night, the faint sound of hip–hop in the distance, plus occasional honking cabs and police sirens: it was pure New York.
‘Hey, I didn’t know you were getting back so early.’
Tess was not annoyed to see Jemma coming through from the flat. She had been enjoying the rare solitude, but, despite sharing the flat, she rarely saw her friend. Jemma worked even longer hours than she did, stalking the hippest bars and restaurants in town for pap shots that she could sell back in England.
‘It is eight o’clock,’ said Tess. ‘You’re the one who works until three a.m.’
‘Well, no one’s out today,’ said Jemma, perching on the little wooden chair opposite Tess. ‘It’s a quiet night, no parties, no openings – quite a relief, to be honest. So how was your day?’ she asked, reaching over to pick a chunk of pasta from Tess’s bowl.
‘Oh, the usual,’ sighed Tess. ‘Exhausting. Do you know Dom had the cheek to phone me again today?’
‘What did he say?’
‘I never pick it up. But he’s left four messages this week saying we need to talk.’
Tess stabbed at her penne, then put the fork down. Suddenly she wasn’t feeing hungry any more. In the week after their split, she’d received a long email from him that started off apologetically but finished off by coldly suggesting that they should put their Battersea flat on the market. Well, he could go and screw himself. She didn’t need the money and she had no need for the flat either, not now. Neither did he, she thought with a pang of jealousy, imagining him shacked up in some luxurious Holland Park mansion with ‘Tamara’. She assumed he wanted the proceeds from the flat’s sale so he could keep up with his new rich, fabulous friends: trips to Mustique and dinners at the Cipriani were not easily afforded by mid–ranking members of the press. Well, I’m not going to help you with your little upper–class adventure. I’d rather burn that flat to the ground, she thought, a little surprised at her own anger.
‘So do you think he wants to get back with you?’ asked Jemma, playing with a string of fairy lights that were wrapped around the terrace’s railings.
‘Huh,’ snorted Tess, ‘in his dreams.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ grinned Jemma. ‘Chuck me a magazine.’
Both girls began flicking through the big pile of publications that Tess had brought out. Most of them were British editions she read for work purposes, but somehow, she also found their familiarity comforting, like a little glimpse of home.
‘Have you seen this picture of Sean with some dolly blonde?’ asked Jemma, showing her the party section of Tatler.
‘Hmm, yes. His new girlfriend, Annabel Russell.’
‘You know I think he’s cute,’ said Jemma casually. ‘Cuter than David Billington, anyway. I know David is classically good looking, but Sean looks as if he’d be very naughty in bed.’
‘Urgh. You wouldn’t say that if you’d met him.’
‘So which one would you do?’
Tess flicked over another page, ignoring the question. She really didn’t want to be asked questions about whether she found Sean Asgill attractive. She hadn’t even spoken to him since the episode in London where he had humiliated her for what seemed like his own entertainment. She glanced up and saw that Jemma was still waiting for an answer.
‘What?’ she sighed. ‘What was the question?’
‘Which one would you shag? If you had to, I mean.’
‘Jem, I work for them.’
‘So what?’ giggled Jemma. ‘That would only make it more exciting. I think I’d shag Sean.’
Tess fell silent.
