Friends & Rivals (8 page)

Despite the beauty of her surroundings, Kendall struggled to shake off her bad mood. Jack had called at eight o'clock this morning, midnight his time. Despite herself, Kendall's heart had soared when his name flashed up on her cell phone. It wasn't like him to call so late. Was he missing her? Had he realized, finally, after dinner with another one of his thirty-something floozies, that she, Kendall, was the one he truly loved? The only one who could make him happy?

Apparently not. After a couple of perfunctory questions about her flight and whether she was settled in London, and the most cursory of congratulations on her performance supporting Adele in Hammersmith, he proceeded to lecture her on not ‘overburdening' Catriona Charles.

‘She's run ragged as it is, babysitting half of Ivan's acts and being everybody's shoulder to cry on.'

‘I didn't ask to come down here, you know,' Kendall said stiffly. ‘Ivan invited me. He thought I needed to unwind after the Apollo gig.'

‘Without asking his poor wife first, I dare say,' said Jack. ‘Look, it's fine you're there. Not even you can get into too much trouble in Oxfordshire.'

‘Thanks a lot!'

‘Just make sure you clean up after yourself and treat the place with respect, OK? It's really kind of Catriona to have you.'

Kendall liked Catriona, but she was beginning to get tired of hearing what a saint the woman was. So she had the occasional house guest. Big deal! The way Jack banged on about it you'd think she was Mother fucking Teresa. The conversation deteriorated further when Jack started lecturing her about her rehearsal schedule, and making sure she ‘knuckled down' and didn't let Ivan Charles distract her. If he didn't want her spending time with Ivan, why on earth had he insisted that she stay at the Eaton Gate flat? At least Ivan knew how to enjoy himself, and didn't spend twenty hours a day chained to a desk and the other four bitching at his acts.

At last Sparky was led out into the yard, tacked up and ready to go. A barrel-chested grey with a distinctly mischiev-ous look in his eye, he wasn't the most elegant of mounts, but Kendall vaulted onto his back in better spirits. A gallop through the English countryside was just what she needed to blow Jack Misery Messenger out of her hair.

‘Ready?' said Ivan. He looked especially handsome this morning, Kendall thought, in dark-green corduroy trousers and a tweed hunting jacket, his blue eyes sparkling happily as he chatted to his son. Whatever else Ivan might be, he was clearly a devoted father, as happy to be with Hector as the boy clearly was to be with him. Kendall thought of her own, distant father and felt an unworthy pang of envy. But Hector was too cute a kid to dislike, especially as he clearly had a thumpingly huge crush on her and was too young and naïve to know how to hide it.

‘Race you to the river!' he shouted, taking off through the yard gates like a bat out of hell.

‘Is he always this keen?' laughed Kendall.

‘Actually no,' said Ivan, riding up beside her and casually resting a hand on her jodhpured thigh. ‘It's you, sweetheart. You overexcite him.'

‘You think so?'

‘Definitely.' Ivan's thumb traced a languorous circle on her leg.

Kendall felt a jolt of desire run through her. It was nice to be flirted with. ‘I'm sorry about last night,' she blurted. ‘The Joyce Wu thing. I wasn't thinking.'

‘That's all right,' drawled Ivan. ‘I dare say I'll think of a way you can make it up to me.' Digging his heel into his horse's side, he cantered off after Hector before Kendall could respond.

It was a wonderful day. After two hours exploring the valley, riding through the woods towards Aston then doubling back along the Roman road towards Shipton-under-Wychwood, they stopped at a gorgeous riverside pub for a late lunch of pâté and bread, washed down with refreshing home-made lemonade. Ivan made a few work calls while Kendall and Hector played about a hundred rounds of rock paper scissors, much to Hector's delight.

Watching Kendall Bryce kidding around with his son, her dark hair wild and tangled and her face flushed after the morning's ride, Ivan decided definitively that the girl was a knockout. He knew he had to tread carefully if he was going to prise her away from Jack. Poaching Kendall as a client was the ultimate goal. Bedding her would merely be a fringe benefit, although watching her walk over to her horse, her delectable arse shrink-wrapped to perfection in spray-on white jodhpurs, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to wait.

Back at the house, Ned Williams had brought Catriona some flowers as a thank-you for last night's dinner. Hovering in the kitchen while she made tea, he looked distracted.

Catriona said knowingly. ‘If you're hoping to see Kendall, she's out riding with the boys. I'm expecting them back any minute.'

‘Kendall? Don't be silly,' Ned blushed. ‘I came to see you. I think I was frightfully boring about Diana last night. You must tell me to sod off occasionally, you know. I'm a big boy, I can take it.'

‘In that case,' said Catriona, ‘you can sod off down to the stables and wait for them. Tell Ivan to sort out the horses and bring Kendall and Hector in for some cake.'

It had struck her last night, belatedly, that Kendall Bryce might be just the distraction Ned needed to get over Diana's sudden abandonment. She was about his age, very pretty, and she seemed a sweet sort of girl, not at all the spoiled madam that Jack had warned her about at Ivan's birthday party. That is, if Hector would let poor Ned get a word in edgeways. Her son had been glued to Kendall's side like a pre-teen, hormonal limpet since the moment the girl had arrived.

‘Go on,' she said kindly to Ned. ‘Shoo!'

By the time Ned reached the yard, Irene already had all three horses on leading reins and was filling much-needed buckets of water. Hector, temporarily distracted from Kendall's bodaciousness by a new delivery of hay bales, was leaping happily from the top of the barn into a makeshift crash pad when Ned arrived.

‘Don't let your mum see you doing that,' Ned shouted as Hector performed a dramatic commando roll onto the muddy ground. ‘And by the way, it's tea time. Where's your dad and Kendall?'

Hector nodded towards the tack room. ‘In there. Tell Mum I'll be there in a minute.'

Tucking in his shirt and making a token effort to smooth down his hair, Ned walked into the tack room. ‘Knock knock,' he said cheerfully. ‘I've been sent to inform you that tea's on the … table.'

The smile died on his lips. Ivan had Kendall pinned against the wall. They weren't kissing, but his knee was pressed into her groin and his distinctly predatory face was less than an inch from hers. As soon as he heard Ned, Ivan stepped back, and did his best to act as if nothing had happened. ‘Jolly good,' he grinned. ‘I'm famished. I'll see you in there, shall I?'

Ned didn't move as Ivan brushed past him. He was still looking at Kendall. Her dark-blue shirt was unbuttoned just low enough to show a hint of cleavage and was coming untucked from her tight white riding breeches. She looked tousled, sexy, and more than a little guilty.

‘Oh, come on,' she said to Ned. ‘Don't give me the evil eye. It was just a bit of harmless flirting. Nothing happened.'

‘It would have, though, wouldn't it? If I hadn't come in.'

‘Of course not,' Kendall said brusquely. She always got defensive when she knew she was in the wrong. ‘Ivan's a colleague.'

‘Ivan's a shit,' said Ned bluntly. ‘And Catriona—'

‘Oh, yes, I know, I know, she's marvellous and he doesn't deserve her. I've heard it all before.'

Ned frowned. Last night he'd got the impression of Kendall as a sweet, funny girl. A little vain, perhaps, but certainly not an out-and-out bitch. He was disappointed.

Registering the emotion on his face, Kendall shot back, ‘If he's such a shit, and you're so loyal to his wife, why do you let him represent you? Isn't that a bit hypocritical?'

‘I'm not sleeping with him,' said Ned.

‘Nor am I!'

‘Not yet.' Turning on his heel, Ned left Kendall standing there.

Lex Abrahams was fast asleep when the phone rang.

After a gruelling, insanely long day's shooting out in Palm Desert (Enrique Iglesias had seen the shots Lex had done of Kendall Bryce last month and decided he wanted a similar look for his own new album), Lex got back to LA to a mountain of editing and paperwork and hadn't collapsed into bed until after three.

Glancing groggily at his bedside clock now, he saw it was ten o'clock. No doubt the call was from Jack Messenger, dumping another ten tons of work into Lex's in-tray. There was a reason Lex Abrahams had agreed to work for Jester, but right now he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?'

‘What's wrong with your voice?' Kendall asked accusingly. ‘You sound like you've been gargling with sandpaper.'

Lex cleared his throat, wishing he didn't feel so stupidly elated to hear from her. ‘Late night.'

‘Partying? Lucky you.'

‘Working actually. How are you? How's England?'

‘It sucks.' Without drawing breath, she proceeded to moan about everything from having her Dorchester reservation cancelled, to her show and rehearsal schedule, to Ivan Charles's ‘holier than thou' clients presuming to try to tell her how to live her life. ‘As if I don't get enough of that shit from Jack. How is he, by the way?'

Lex could hear how much effort she put into trying to keep her tone casual.

‘Jack's fine, Kendall.'

‘D'you think he's missing me a little bit?'

‘It's only been a few days, honey,' Lex said kindly. ‘How's Ivan Charles? Is he as disgraceful as everyone says?'

‘Actually, he's a good guy,' said Kendall. ‘He's fun. Good-looking too.' Lex suppressed a pang of jealousy. ‘That's probably why Jack hates him.'

‘I wouldn't say he hates him,' Lex yawned, stretching out his arms like a cat. ‘More like disapproves.'

‘I miss you, Lexy,' Kendall said suddenly, her voice taking on the needy, little-girlish quality it often did when she was bored or in need of attention. ‘I wish you could have come with me. Can't you ask Jack to fly you out?'

Lex felt his stomach flip over like a pancake. Deep down he knew she didn't really want him there. Or, if she did, it certainly wasn't in the way he wanted her. But every time Kendall threw him a straw of hope, he clutched at it like an idiot. If she had any idea how much he missed her, how constantly she filled his thoughts, she wouldn't say these things and torture him. At least he hoped she wouldn't. For all her many faults, Lex didn't think of Kendall as deliberately cruel.

‘Sorry,' he sighed. ‘I've got three albums and a ton of editing to do before you get back. I'll be lucky if Jack gives me five minutes off to go to the bathroom. Anyway, you're only there a few weeks. You should try and make the most of London while you can.'

At The Rookery, upstairs in the blue guest bedroom, Kendall gazed glumly out of the window. It had been a lovely day today, exhilarating and flirtatious and fun, until Ned Williams had come along and given her a guilt trip. Sometimes she felt as if Lex Abrahams was the only person in the world who was unconditionally on her side. If only he were a bit more attractive, and a lot richer, he'd make a perfect husband.

Well, almost perfect.

There would only ever be one Jack Messenger.

Jack Messenger leaned back in his two-thousand-dollar ergonomic Therapod office chair and felt a warm rush of satisfaction.

He always enjoyed coming to work. Jester's offices at the top of Beverly Glen, near Mulholland Drive, had some of the most spectacular views in Los Angeles. Jack's corner office was almost all window. In one direction lay the shimmering blue Pacific with Catalina Island in the distance. In the other, the jutting skyscrapers of downtown LA were framed by a ring of perfect, snow-capped mountains, encircling the city like benevolent giants. It was hard to get depressed in Jack's home city; in a space so flooded with light, so energized with sunshine and blue skies and astonishing natural beauty. Between the constant light and the equally constant flow of work, Jester was a place where Jack came to forget the pain of his home life. It worked.

Today he was in even better spirits than usual. In front of him on the desk were Lex Abraham's album cover shots of Kendall. Even by Lex's usual high standards, they were exceptional, exactly the sort of haunting, slightly unexpected images that drew the eye and translated into bumper sales. With visual media stimulation everywhere, it was becoming both harder and more important to grab an audience's attention, to stand out in an ever-growing, ever more visually dazzling market. But Lex had done it, and he'd done it with understatement. Of course, Kendall was an unusually beautiful girl, even by the standards of an industry where exceptional beauty was considered the norm. But Lex's shots had transcended her looks, conveying an innocence and intelligence and depth not typically associated with Kendall Bryce. Matador, her record company, were gonna love it.

Lex's pictures weren't the only reason for Jack's good mood. It was two weeks since Kendall had left for England, and she wasn't due back for another week. Her first gig had gone well, and the trip, miraculously, had been scandal-free, so far – a personal best for Miss Bryce. With Kendall out of his hair for the best part of a month, Jack finally felt able to relax at home and his productivity at work had shot up too. Brett Bayley and Kendall Bryce between them took up more of Jack's time and energy than the rest of his client list combined. Like Kendall, Brett had on-off addiction problems (and on-on stupidity problems), especially when it came to dealing with the media and/or keeping it in his pants. But Brett's band, The Blitz, were also in London on the first leg of their European tour. To have both his ‘problem children' away at the same time almost felt like being on vacation. Jack hadn't realized how stressed he was with the pair of them till Kendall had gone too and he'd finally had a chance to breathe.