Friends & Rivals (31 page)

Kendall's interview finished and she gave her first live performance of ‘Liar, Liar', an upbeat, pop-dance number with a distinctly Britney feel, to an ecstatically enthusiastic audience. Afterwards Ivan took her for dinner at Lapérouse on Quai des Grands Augustins.

With its rich-red velvet chairs, gilt walls and ornate crystal chandeliers, Lapérouse was not so much romantic as decadently sensual, and every forkful of food was an orgasm in itself.

‘Did you really think it went well?' Kendall asked, spearing a butter-drenched snail with a miniature silver fork and sucking on it greedily. Her creamy white breasts had all but escaped from the black silk prison of her blouse. Ivan gazed at them lustfully.

‘You were spectacular, darling. If “Liar, Liar” doesn't go straight in at number one in France, I'll eat my chapeau.'

‘Aren't you hungry?' Kendall asked, massacring what was left of the escargots.

‘Only for you,' growled Ivan.

It was true. When he was with Catriona he felt safe and comfortable, and he missed the easy friendship and understanding of their marriage. At those times, Kendall felt like an irrelevance. But when he was actually with Kendall, his desire was so crushing, so total, it was as if nothing else existed. He worried constantly that she didn't want him as much as he wanted her, and felt he had to prove himself in bed against other men. Though she never spoke about him any more, Ivan remained consumed with jealousy about Jack. The idea that, in Kendall's mind, he, Ivan, was somehow second best filled him impotent fury.

‘
L'addition, s'il vous plaît
.' He signalled to the waiter.

‘What? Why?' said Kendall, wiping a smear of melted butter from her lips. ‘We only just got here. I wanted dessert.'

‘You'll get dessert,' said Ivan, grabbing her hand across the table and running his tongue hungrily along her wrist. ‘And so will I.'

‘Keep up, slow coach. Poor Badger should have had his feed an hour ago.'

Ned Williams called back over his shoulder to Catriona, who was struggling up the hill behind him, pink-cheeked and panting.

‘Bugger Badger,' she shouted back robustly. Surely it wasn't normal to feel
this
bad after a mere two-mile jog? She'd called Ned this morning in hopes that a running partner might spur her on to greater things and make her too embarrassed to give up and collapse in a heap on the grass at the first sign of a stitch, like she usually did. The strategy had worked, but at a price. Sweat streamed down her face and back and ran in a hot, salty river between her bouncing breasts. The ‘extra-firm' sports bra she'd bought at Debenhams in Oxford last week turned out to be no match for Catriona's 36F assets, which she was sure must be getting saggier with each stride. Meanwhile, her ribcage wheezed like a broken concertina, pain pounded through her legs and feet, and her mouth and throat were as dry as sandpaper.

On the plus side, she'd already lost ten pounds since she returned from LA last month, and was determined to drop at least another twenty. Inspired by Jack's pep talk, she'd given up the booze. Not a drop had passed her lips in forty days.
Like Jesus in the desert
, she thought, before realizing it wasn't actually the best analogy. Our Lord had probably never broken his grandmother's prized Doulton vase while staggering around the living room drunkenly trying to copy the moves on
Got to Dance.
Still, forty days without a drink was an achievement, and Catriona was proud of herself, especially once she began to notice the effect on her body. Apart from the weight loss, her skin was better, her eyes clearer and her energy levels back up to their pre-divorce best. For the first time in years, she began to see in the mirror the vestiges of the ‘beautiful woman' Jack described her as. A couple of times she even thought she'd caught Ned looking at her in a less-than-totally-platonic manner, although she quickly laughed off her own vanity.
Fat or thin, I'm still almost old enough to be his mother.

When she reached the brow of Westwell Hill, Ned was waiting.

‘Great view, isn't it?'

Below them the rooftops of Burford lay nestled together like a huddled flock of sheep. Their moss-covered slates were overshadowed by trees whose leaves were beginning to turn the soft, pale yellow of early autumn. Catriona had lived here for nearly a decade now, but the tranquil beauty of the Cotswolds still took her breath away.

‘Let's walk down from here,' she gasped, clutching at her chest like an asthmatic pensioner. ‘I read the other day that it's terribly bad for one's knees to run downhill.'

‘Bollocks,' said Ned. ‘This is the easy bit. You can't wimp out now.' And he was off, bounding down towards the river, leaping over stinging nettles and dock leaves like an overexcited red setter.

Back in the village they parted ways, with Ned turning down Witney Street to run the extra two miles back to Swinbrook, and Catriona staggering down the twitten towards her house and a much-needed pint of lemon squash.

It was already early evening and the light was beginning to fade. Unlatching the door, Catriona walked straight into the kitchen and stuck her head under the cold tap, revelling in the sensation of cool water against her hot skin. Only when she turned around to grab a glass from one of the top cupboards did she notice the figure lurking in the shadows.

‘Jesus Christ!' She jumped a mile, instinctively reaching for the knife drawer. But then a familiar face stepped forward into the light, and she relaxed. ‘Stella! You frightened the life out of me. What on earth are you doing here?'

‘It's Brett,' sobbed Stella. On closer inspection, Catriona saw that her face was swollen and bloated from crying. Her usually neat-as-a-pin hair was a tangled mess and she had strange red welts across her cheeks.

‘What happened?' Catriona asked kindly. She hadn't seen Stella Bayley for more than six months, but she still considered her a friend, despite the fact that Stella remained close to Ivan and Kendall. ‘He didn't hit you, did he?'

‘No,' sniffed Stella. ‘I wish he had. Those kind of bruises heal.' She stumbled into Catriona's arms and cried like a baby. Eventually, after a full minute of wracking sobs, the truth tumbled out. ‘He's been having an affair. Brett. My Brett. Can you imagine?'

Catriona, who could easily imagine – Brett Bayley's reputation as a womanizer was legendary, even by music-business standards – mumbled some meaningless words of comfort. She knew what it was like to be the last one to know: the pathetic, trusting wife.

‘I know it's awful,' she said, leading Stella into the drawing room and sitting her down on the sofa like a child. ‘But try not to panic. It will probably pass. Most of the time these things mean nothing to the men, despite how ghastly they are for us. Brett probably regrets it already.'

Stella laughed bitterly. ‘Well, if he does, he's got a funny way of showing it. He's moving back to Los Angeles to be with
her
, this girl. She's only twenty-one, for heaven's sake!'

‘Oh dear.' Catriona winced. Brett Bayley was such a cliché.

‘And he wasn't even going to have the balls to tell me. Can you believe that? He was planning to sneak off in the night and leave me and poor Miley for dust. The only reason I found out was because I came home early from Pilates this morning and found Jack Messenger in our kitchen.'

At the mention of Jack's name, Catriona's heart rate suddenly shot back up. ‘Jack's in England?'

Stella nodded miserably. ‘He and Brett were finalizing the paperwork for The Blitz to dump Jester and sign up with JSM. The band are moving back to LA. Poor Jack was mortified when he realized Brett hadn't told me. He assumed I knew.' She broke down again, blowing her nose loudly on Catriona's proffered handkerchief. ‘I'm sorry to show up here unannounced. Miley's staying at a friend's house, but I … I didn't know where else to go.'

‘Don't be silly,' said Catriona, trying not to feel hurt by the fact that Jack was in England and hadn't called her. She should be thinking about poor Stella, not herself. And besides, why
should
he call her? He didn't owe her anything. ‘You know you're welcome here any time.'

‘Brett said our relationship had “come to a natural end”,' Stella went on. ‘He said I should accept it and be mature about it and “move on”. Like it was nothing! Like he was changing fucking Internet providers or giving away an old shirt.'

Catriona made Stella a mug of hot, sweet tea and forced her to eat some toast and honey. She'd always been slender, but ensconced in Catriona's big, squashy sofa she looked painfully thin, as tiny and fragile and pale as a porcelain doll. After letting her talk and cry and rage for an hour, Catriona sent her upstairs for a bath while she made up the guest bedroom, thanking her lucky stars that both the children were away for the night. Rosie was flexi-boarding at school, and Hector, newly returned from Los Angeles with a tan, a dreadful Loyd Grossman mid-Atlantic accent and an absolute determination to pass Year Nine so he could go back to America next summer, was kipping over at a friend's. Finally, Catriona took a lightning shower herself, then went downstairs to make supper.

‘You're very kind.' Stella appeared in the kitchen doorway looking even tinier than usual in a giant fluffy bathrobe of Rosie's and with her wet hair scraped back. ‘But I'm not sure I can eat.' Delicious smells of frying onion, olives and anchovy filled the air. Catriona dropped a handful of fresh pasta into a pan of boiling water and returned to chopping sage on the breadboard.

‘Try,' she said. ‘Just a little. And have a glass of this.'

It felt strange, opening a bottle of Newton Unfiltered Merlot, one of her favourite reds, and pulling only one glass out of the cupboard. But it also felt good, a little inner buzz of confidence:
I can do it.

‘You're not drinking?' said Stella.

‘No. But my husband hasn't just swanned off with a twenty-one year old. When he did, I drank, and so should you. Anyway, it's medicinal. You need the iron.'

In the end, the two women had an enjoyable kitchen supper. Too spent to cry any more, Stella found she was hungry after all, wolfing down two bowls of Catriona's delicious
pasta alla puttanesca
. She talked endlessly about Brett, and how she should have seen the writing on the wall.

‘I knew he wasn't totally happy in England. I always felt much more settled here, and I think he resented that. Plus, you know, the blog kind of drove him nuts. He started complaining that all I talked about was babies and organic mung beans. That's not true, is it?'

‘No,' lied Catriona kindly. ‘Of course not.'

‘And professionally he's been unhappy for a long time. Since Jack left Jester, the business has gone down the tubes, to be frank with you. Ivan's been totally absent as a manager. Kendall's the only client he cares about, and his TV stuff. Everybody's up in arms about it, not just The Blitz.'

‘I see,' said Catriona. This was bad news. Even when she was married to Ivan she'd known next to nothing about the day-to-day workings of the business. Since the divorce, Jester had become little more than a word. Unfortunately, it was a word that paid Rosie's school fees, the whole family's medical insurance and half Catriona's bills. If Ivan went bankrupt, they were all sunk.

‘Now Brett's gone to JSM, the floodgates will open. If Jack's been calling Brett, trying to cut a deal, you can bet he's been calling the rest of the Jester list too. I mean, it's no coincidence he's in London now. He knows Ivan's in Paris this week, distracted with Kendall's album. While the cat's away …'

‘But JSM are doing so well already,' said Catriona, spearing a stray fusilli with her fork. ‘Jack doesn't need Jester's clients. After all, they turned their back on him two years ago, and he moved onto bigger and better things. I'm surprised he'd
want
them back.'

Stella looked at her curiously. ‘You don't get it, do you? It's not about wanting them back. I'm pretty sure Jack despises Brett, and he'll certainly never trust him again.'

‘Then why …?'

‘Because of Ivan. Jack wants to destroy Ivan, to wipe him out completely. He's obsessed.'

Catriona felt her stomach churn unpleasantly. Was that why Jack had kissed her, and been so kind to her, and so keen to take Hector in? Was it all some twisted way of trying to get back at Ivan? It hadn't felt that way at the time. And yet something about Stella's words rang true.

‘I don't think Jack ever fully got over what happened with Kendall,' Stella went on, her every word like a knife in Catriona's heart. ‘He cared about that girl. I don't know if deep down he was in love with her, or what it was, but there was some weird dynamic going on there. When Ivan stole Kendall away from him, Jack snapped.'

Catriona thought about the way Jack had defended Kendall to her over dinner that night in LA, the night he'd kissed her and said she was beautiful. How he'd laid all the blame for the affair at Ivan's door. She felt sick.

‘It's a sad situation,' said Stella. ‘It's obvious Kendall's still in love with Jack.'

‘Is it?'

‘Sure. But she's too proud to go back and he's too proud to take her. So she digs in with Ivan, and Jack focuses all his energy on getting revenge on Ivan, and nobody wins. Nobody's happy. Not Jack, not Kendall, not Ivan, not the clients. And certainly not me.'

Nor me
, thought Catriona miserably.

‘My marriage, my life is just collateral damage in all this,' said Stella sadly.The tears welled up again and Catriona changed the subject to Miley, a topic on which Stella could happily talk for hours, even in her current state of distress. When she finally went to bed, at midnight, she seemed a lot happier, or at least less panicked than she had been when she'd arrived.