Page 102 of Private Lives

She hated the thought of Sophie and Andrew pitying her with the little secret they had carried between them. ‘You owe me, Andy.’

‘If I introduce you to Gilbert, will you come to the wedding?’

‘Unbelievable,’ she said scornfully.

‘I want you to come to our wedding.’ He shrugged. ‘Why not? I do you a favour, you do us one.’

‘Forget it,’ she said taking a five-pound note out of her purse to pay for her drink. ‘I thought you might want to do the decent thing and help me, I thought you might think you owed me something for the time we spent together at least, but obviously not.’

She got up to leave, but he caught her arm.

‘Don’t go. Please,’ he said.

Reluctantly Anna sank back into her seat.

‘Look, Parliament has closed for the summer,’ said Andrew finally. ‘But I happen to know where Gilbert lives, some chocolate-box village in Sussex. I’ll see if I can set up a meeting, but don’t piss him off, okay?’

‘Thank you,’ she said honestly. ‘I’ll try not to be my usual offensive self,’ she added with a half-smile.

She watched her ex-boyfriend’s face soften.

‘I’m sorry. For everything.’

‘I’m a big girl, Andy. I get it that two people have to move on because their relationship isn’t working, because they meet someone else . . . But why her?’

‘Because she was like you, only simpler.’ He looked down and then met her gaze intently. ‘Soph makes me feel good about who I am, not bad.’

Anna looked at him with puzzlement.

‘What did I do wrong?’

‘You’re so smart, so always on the money about everything. I guess I wasn’t up to the challenge. You deserve someone in your life who is.’

She waved her hand to order the bill, feeling lighter and more free than she had in years, because she knew she agreed with him.

31

Jessica opened her pale green eyes and sat up, propping herself up on her elbows. God, these hospital beds were uncomfortable, and she’d been lying in it most of the day. Who’d have thought a death scene would need so many takes? She caught a glimpse of herself in a prop mirror: pale make-up, darker around the eyes, a few dribbles of fake blood on her cheek where she’d been coughing it up to dramatic effect. Exactly how I feel, she thought. She was drained, exhausted. For some reason, since Jim Parker had removed Sam’s treadmill and shaving kit, the house had seemed empty and she’d been finding it hard to sleep. Normally she would have taken a Xanax, but she had to stay sharp for the reshoots. Although sharp wasn’t the word. She felt lethargic and moody all the time. Maybe she was coming down with something.

‘All right, people,’ said Judd Spears, the director of Slayer, the serial killer thriller that Jessica was filming. He beamed with pride as he stepped away from the monitor. ‘I think we can say that’s a wrap!’ He slapped Jessica on the shoulder. ‘We nailed it, baby. You were a sensational stiff.’

‘Great,’ said Jessica, forcing a smile as she slid her legs off the gurney.

Joe Kennington, the leading man, walked over.

‘Good work, Jess,’ he said with a smile.

‘Thank you.’ She blushed. Joe had a reputation for being exacting with his own performances and consequently very critical of his co-stars, with stories of on-set dust-ups and sub-sequent freeze-outs of the offending actors, so she was chuffed with the compliment.

‘Hey guys, there’s a party in the Hills,’ said Judd. ‘Wanna come?’

Jessica’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her eyes open, let alone have the necessary sparkle at an industry networking gathering.

‘Not for me,’ said Joe, holding up a hand. ‘I’ve got some interview with Rolling Stone in the morning.’

Judd bounded off and Joe turned to Jessica, raising his eyebrows.

‘He makes me feel really old,’ he laughed.