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He looked up at Tess with genuine sadness. ‘I love Brooke, Tess, and I want to marry her. I don’t care about what her father might or might not have done because, whatever it is, it’s nothing to do with us. But my father does care, and if any more stories start coming out of the woodwork–’
‘Well, we can’t let that happen,’ said Tess quickly. ‘Besides, I’m sure there’s nothing more to say on the subject. No one knows what happened to Olivia Martin.’
His dark blue eyes grew softer. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
Tess rubbed her cheeks to shake off her tiredness. ‘Look, I doubt we can injunct the magazine, seeing as they are simply rehashing an old story, but see what your lawyers say. Either way, I’d say it’s better to try to get the magazine on our side rather than against us. Do we know who owns it?’
‘Ben Foley, I know him vaguely. Rich parents. The magazine is a very successful little hobby for him.’
‘Well, see if you can speak to him,’ said Tess. ‘We don’t want this Olivia Martin story to run and run. In the meantime, the best way of killing it off once and for all is to find out what really happened.’
Just then Jemma burst through the door with a cigarette in her mouth and a brown bag under her arm.
‘I got wine,’ she said, looking hopefully from Tess back to David.
‘Great,’ said Tess. ‘Get three glasses, because we have to talk.’
CHAPTER FIFTY–FOUR
Liz had arrived first. She let herself into the hotel suite at The Carlyle with her own key. It was a welcome change to meet here instead of Wendell’s place at the Pierre, as Liz never felt truly in control unless she was on her own or neutral territory. She took off her clothes and had just slid naked under the crisp white sheets when Wendell appeared at the bedroom door.
‘You’re late,’ she smiled, stretching her arms out languorously on the pillows.
Instead of his usual smile, Wendell frowned and threw a copy of the Washington Spy on the bed.
‘Have you seen this?’ he asked.
Liz bent forward, clutching the sheet around her body.
‘What is it?’
‘Take a look and then you might understand why you’re not the person I most want to see this afternoon.’
Confused, she flicked through the magazine.
‘Not this bullshit story again,’ she said with irritation. Wendell slipped off his Brioni jacket and unfastened his tie. His mouth was set in a firm, fixed line. She knew the expression well – she called it ‘the death–mask’. It only hinted at the ruthlessness he was prepared to bring to a problem.
‘You would say it was bullshit,’ he said sitting on the edge of the bed. His implication annoyed her. She was not her mother, or Brooke, or Tess Garrett, all of whom would be scared stiff of this story derailing their precious wedding. Liz couldn’t care less whether they got married or not, none of that fairy–tale shit bothered her. What did bother her, however, was the idea that Wendell – and every other gossip down the years – was accusing her father of being somehow involved in Olivia Martin’s disappearance. It was a foul slur Liz would not tolerate.
‘Screw you, Wendell,’ she spat, pulling the sheet further up her body. ‘Olivia Martin was a crazy bitch who killed herself, end of story. It’s nothing to do with my father or my family, and the idea that you believe in this groundless crap pisses me off.’
There was a long silence as they glared at each other, then Wendell slowly shook his head. He looked up sceptically. ‘I hope you’re right about it having nothing to do with the Asgill family, because I’m not in the mood to take any chances.’
Liz took a deep breath to calm herself. She was still mad as hell, but tearing into Wendell wasn’t going to solve anything. She especially didn’t want to rock the boat with the Skin Plus buyout so imminent. It had been like extracting teeth to get Wendell to agree to finance the deal; he was a bitch about negotiating even the finest details of the contract. If Liz had been expecting any special favours because she was sleeping with him, she was very much mistaken. Instead Wendell had demanded eighty per cent of the equity in return for the purchase price from Asgill, although Liz had worked out some share clawback provisions if certain optimistic sales targets were reached. She was confident they would be and she was also confident she and Wendell would be a sensational partnership out of bed, as well as in it. The man was a pit bull: a huge asset if he was on your side, but you really didn’t want him snapping at your heels.
‘Come here,’ he said gruffly.
She paused and then crawled across the mattress, sitting behind him with her long, smooth legs either side of him. Pressing her naked breasts into his back, she planted feather–light kisses on the back of his neck and unbuttoned his shirt, caressing his chest.
‘Between us,’ she whispered, ‘we can sort out anything.’
Sliding her hands down the front of his body, her nimble fingers undid his trousers and eased out his hardening cock.
‘D
avid and Brooke should do a pre–wedding interview,’ she said, coiling her fingers around his thick pink shaft, moving her hand expertly up and down as she felt him grow bigger and harder in her grip.
‘We’ll manage the story,’ she whispered, feeling herself moisten. ‘Control it, tell our side. Look at Obama, he came clean about taking drugs before he came to office and everyone forgave him. But Clinton with that whole “I didn’t inhale” bullshit? They crucified him.’
