Private Lives Part 16

'I knew you were tempted, you sneaky sod. Why else have you been writing about priests in Hollywood when you could be chatting up the local milkmaid. I tell you, Mike, you could be the next Will Ferrell if you wanted to be. You're certainly tall enough.'

'Give me the Edinburgh Fringe over Tinseltown any day.'

Mike's eyes glazed over as if he was lost in the nostalgia of their twenties. 'Remember that first show we did straight out of uni? You were b.l.o.o.d.y funny, by the way.'

Sam shrugged to accept the compliment. He knew the sharp comic timing that had won him some of Hollywood's best romantic comedy roles had been honed in rehearsals for that very show.

'We should do it again.' Mike's voice was quiet and nervy.

'Do what again?'

'Edinburgh Fringe. Me and you.'

'Come on, Mike. You know I can't.'

'Why not? Too famous?' he chided. 'Your fragile movie-star ego not able to handle a few gentle hecklers?'

'Don't be daft,' bl.u.s.tered Sam. 'It's just not what I do any more. It never really was.'

'Don't look at it as stand-up. See it as entertainment. And no one does that better than you, Sammy boy. Look, it will be too late to get in the official Edinburgh programme, but you know there's not a promoter in town who wouldn't bite our hands off if we said we wanted to do a two-man show.'

Mike's mercurial temperament had undergone one of its mood swings, his reluctance to step back into the limelight, so obvious just a couple of minutes earlier, replaced by a euphoric desperation to make it happen. Sam hated to disappoint his old friend, but the thought of cranking out jokes to a roomful of p.i.s.sed students seemed as alien to him as joining the astronauts on the next s.p.a.ce mission.

'I can't. But you do it,' he said with encouragement. 'The comedy world needs a new hero.'

'What's stopping you?'

'I have a career. In Hollywood.'

'Then why do you look so s.h.i.+t-scared when I ask how long you're staying on Eigan?'

Sam felt embarra.s.sed to be caught out. Eigan was was idyllic, but that wasn't the reason why he wanted to stay on the island indefinitely. Its remoteness and solitude protected him, and made him feel so disconnected from reality it was as if the events of the previous few days Katie, the court case, the showdown with Jessica had never happened. idyllic, but that wasn't the reason why he wanted to stay on the island indefinitely. Its remoteness and solitude protected him, and made him feel so disconnected from reality it was as if the events of the previous few days Katie, the court case, the showdown with Jessica had never happened.

Mike looked at him sympathetically, as if he was reading his thoughts.

'I know how much your career means to you. Go back to LA. Sort things out. Make some decisions. You can't hide away here for ever.'

'You did,' Sam said softly.

'I'm not you,' replied Mike, and deep down Sam knew that his old friend was right.

15

'So I got the anti-hara.s.sment order against named paparazzi agencies this morning,' said Anna, explaining her morning in court to Grammy Award-winning singing sensation Chantal Elliot. 'They can't come within a hundred metres of you and we'll put a notice to that effect outside your house, your mum and dad's place and at these offices. They're not allowed to approach or follow you either. It's not perfect, but it should make things better.'

The tiny star leapt off the sofa in her manager Ron Green's office and threw herself around Anna.

'Thank you, thank you, thank you. You've saved my life,' she said, grabbing her tightly.

Anna froze, not knowing how to respond. She couldn't believe how bony the girl felt in her arms. The twenty-year-old peroxide blonde was like a tiny doll that might break if she hugged her back.

'Does this mean it's going to stop? Like, for ever?' sobbed the singer, black make-up running down her face. ''Cos I just can't cope with it any more. If the paps keep chasing me, I'm going to kill myself. I mean it.'

Anna nodded. Chantal was well known for her struggles with drink and drugs and seemed to be in the papers on a weekly basis for various hysterical outbursts on the pavement outside nightclubs.

'The paparazzi will have to back off for now at least,' she explained gently. She could understand how the constant presence of photographers would be hard to handle if you were so highly strung. 'But you have to know we can never stop it all. Not if you keep ... well, putting yourself in the news.'

Chantal pouted, wiping her eyes vigorously and smearing her mascara even more.

'But I've been in rehab, I've been clean for two months now.' She shrugged. 'I mean, why are they still so interested in me?'

Because you're a one-woman headline machine, thought Anna. She looked at the fragile girl dabbing her eyes, all scrunched up on her manager's sofa, and wondered if it was all an act. Could she really be so naive? In the weeks preceding their application for the anti-hara.s.sment order, Chantal had complained about journalists and photographers peering in through her windows and going through her rubbish, following her to the off-licence and waiting for her when she stumbled out of a club. It was as if she genuinely couldn't connect the two parts of her life: Chantal the performer who thrived on and desperately needed the attention, and Chantal the damaged little girl with the multiple addictions who couldn't stand the pressure of living in a goldfish bowl. The final straw had been two days ago when she had popped out for a packet of Rizlas and been besieged by half a dozen paparazzi. As she had run across the road to escape them, one photographer had run over her foot on his moped. Chantal had had a complete meltdown and sat on the pavement screaming until someone had called an ambulance. This, of course, had been splashed across every front page in the country: 'Chantal Finally Loses It', 'Pop Star Taken To Nut House'. Anna had actually been shocked at the complete lack of sympathy the papers had shown her. But then she supposed this was just another in a long line of breakdowns for Chantal. If you couldn't get this close to her and see just how vulnerable she really was, it could easily look as if she was cynically courting the publicity, then crying wolf when she didn't like it.

Chantal forced a smile, then started skipping around the office like a child.

Ron touched Anna on the shoulder to beckon her out of the room.

'Are you sure they are going to leave her alone? You can see how unsettled she is.'

Anna folded her arms in front of her and looked doubtful.

'Right now, she's a meal ticket for the media. She's an addict, so it's a story. She kicks the habit. Another story. She falls off the wagon another story right there. The press are just waiting, watching, and if they want pictures, they'll get them. We've got the order against those named agencies, but there's nothing to stop them employing freelance photographers and cutting a deal.'

Ron smiled.

'Well, the main thing is that Chantal feels as though the pressure has been lifted for a while. So thanks for that at least.'

Anna shook her head. 'No, Ron, thank you you.'

She knew that Ron had particularly asked for her when he needed legal help, and it had been just the boost Anna had needed. After all the publicity with the Sam Charles case, clients were giving her a wide berth; no one wanted her bad professional luck to rub off on them. But Ron was a good friend. She'd done a lot of work for his management company when she'd been at Davidson's, and he'd stayed loyal when he'd needed help with Chantal.

'You don't know how much it means to get back in the saddle and nail a successful injunction for you,' she said.

'Come on, don't get all teary on me, Anna,' said Ron with a wink. 'I've got enough of that on my hands with madam through there. I came to you because you're the best, no other reason.'

She blushed slightly.

'Thank you.'

'And don't let the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds grind you down, all right?'

No chance of that, she thought to herself. I'm back in the game.

She left Ron's Hammersmith office and got a taxi to Piccadilly. It was a baking-hot day and she pulled the window down, feeling the warm air on her face. Donovan Pierce was a relaxed firm but not so relaxed that she could wear shorts, vest and flip-flops. Her fitted light wool Armani dress had looked good in court, but it wasn't exactly ideal for walking through the park.

It was almost one o'clock. She'd give herself half an hour here tops. The up side of her reduced workload was that she had more time to figure out how to get Blake Stanhope for contempt of court. So far she'd hit a brick wall. Neil Graham, the editor of the Scandalhound website, had finally taken her call but had been typically obtuse and difficult. Perhaps he was still miffed about the photo-doctored picture of the actress Serena Balcon she'd sued him for last year. Regardless, there was no way he was going to confirm that Blake had leaked the story. Not yet anyway.

What the h.e.l.l am I doing here? Anna thought as she paid the cabby and walked through the gates of Green Park. Meeting this strange girl had seemed to make sense yesterday. It had certainly been a left-field conversation with Ruby, but she'd been intrigued by the girl's story. Perhaps the truth was that she'd been feeling isolated and vulnerable and Ruby's desperate need had struck a chord with her. Oh well, let's get this over with, she thought. Ruby Hart, where are you?

Scores of office workers and tourists were teeming on to the parched yellow gra.s.s, to sunbathe or have lunch under a shady tree. She glanced at the photo of Ruby that the girl had emailed her, so she could recognise her, but no one seemed to fit the bill.

Anna looked at her watch. She had to be back in the office by two o'clock or Helen Pierce would start asking questions. Although the frosty atmosphere had lessened a little Ron Green's business had no doubt helped in that regard she still felt like a pariah in the eyes of the senior partner, but she knew there was no point in dwelling on the injustice of it all. She just had to pick herself up and prove to Helen that she had been right to hire her in the first place.

'Anna?'

She turned; she had been so caught up in her thoughts, she hadn't seen the girl approach.

She was small, and her dark-blond hair was sc.r.a.ped back in a ponytail. Despite the heat, she had thick black leggings on under canvas shorts, and she was chewing nervously on a painted nail.

'You must be Ruby,' said Anna, shaking her other hand. 'Shall we walk? It's too hot to stand around.'

Ruby nodded shyly.

'Sorry I didn't want to meet in your office. I didn't think I'd get past the receptionist.'

Anna smiled. 'No, you don't look like our average client. How old are you?'

'Seventeen.'

G.o.d, you look much older, thought Anna, observing the girl's hard, care-worn look. Don't jump to conclusions, Anna, she scolded herself.

'So where have you travelled from?' she asked as they began to walk around the lake.

'Near Doncaster.'

'Are you at college?'

Ruby nodded. 'I'm doing my A levels. I'm applying to uni when I get back,' she said with a hint of pride.

'Great. Which one?'

'Cambridge.'

'Well done you.' Anna smiled, hoping it hadn't come out as patronising. Which it was, she thought. You had her down as a teen mother on crack, didn't you?

'So what do you want to do? When you finish your degree, I mean?'

Ruby shrugged.

'I used to think about journalism, but maybe it's too corrupt and deceitful.'

Anna couldn't help but give a cynical laugh, thinking immediately of Andrew and how he'd got Sophie a food column on his newspaper, then begun an affair with her soon after. Deceitful wasn't the half of it.

'What's so funny?' said Ruby.

'Sorry, it wasn't you,' said Anna. 'I deal with the papers for a living, remember? And yes, you're right, perhaps there are some deceitful journalists. But then again, there are lots more very good, very honourable ones too. People who make a difference and who risk a lot to make politicians and companies accountable.'

'Does that sort of journalism even exist any more?' said Ruby doubtfully.

Anna thought about the endless debates she and Andrew used to have about the state of the media. Andrew's complaints about the overstretched budgets. The pressure on the news team to get the most up-to-date stories, not necessarily the most probing ones. 'It's the death of investigative journalism,' he'd once told her. 'With our budget cuts and media lawyers strangleholding us every two minutes, how can we ever get the world-cla.s.s scoops we used to?'

'It exists. Perhaps not as often as it should,' she said guiltily, knowing that Andrew blamed lawyers such as herself for the demise in reporting. 'But it does.'

They reached a patch lined with trees and sat on a bench in the shade of a poplar.

'I still haven't quite worked out how I can help you,' said Anna, turning to Ruby.

'My sister was murdered and no one believes me.'

'Then why should I?'

'Maybe you won't, but I thought you might at least pay attention to me.'

Is that what this is about? thought Anna with a sinking feeling. This poor girl just wants someone to talk to? She glanced at her watch and took a deep breath.

'Okay, so perhaps you should start at the beginning.'

Ruby glanced away and began chewing her nail again. A flake of black polish came off and stuck to her lip.

'I told you,' she said. 'My sister died six months ago. The inquest took ages. Finally they ruled an open verdict.'

'And you're unhappy with that?'

'She was found dead at her flat by her landlord. Apparently she'd fallen down the stairs. She was wearing heels and the steps were steep.'

'It sounds plausible. What was the cause of death?'

'A broken neck.'

'Because she'd fallen down the stairs?' said Anna, trying to work out the sequence of events.

Ruby nodded. 'That's what the coroner said. But I think she was pushed.'

Anna leaned closer.

'Is that a possibility?'

'The pathologist spoke at the inquest. He said it was impossible to know for sure, but the injuries that caused her death were "largely consistent" she put up her fingers to denote quotation marks 'with a tumble down the stairs.'

'Then why did the coroner not p.r.o.nounce accidental death?'

'No one knows for sure what happened. And the coroner admitted there were some things out of character. For instance the amount of alcohol she'd taken. Amy rarely drank. Plus a neighbour in her apartment building saw a man in the stairwell near her apartment the evening she died. The police followed it up, but nothing came of it. They didn't think it was suspicious.'

Poor Ruby, thought Anna. She was clearly just a traumatised kid looking for something to cling to. Anna couldn't blame her for that, but she wasn't sure how she could help her either.