Page 178 of Private Lives

Andy looked at his watch, then picked up his phone.

‘Amir, can you pop over?’ he said officiously. Anna could tell that the meeting was finished. She felt panicky.

‘Look, Andy. Bear with me,’ she pleaded. ‘I know this sounds spurious . . .’

‘Yes – it is. Which is why I’ve just called Amir. Maybe he can move things forward.’

‘Amir?’

‘Our deputy investigations editor.’

‘You mean you believe me?’

‘There’s bugger-all here,’ he laughed, tapping Anna’s cuttings file. ‘But if we only followed up on stories that had everything cut and dried, newspapers would be very dull and very empty. So I’m prepared to let Amir have a look at this. Let’s shake the tree and see what drops out, eh?’

Anna sat back, letting out a long sigh.

‘Thanks, Andy,’ she said with relief.

‘If we can prove any of this, which admittedly is going to be extremely difficult, then this is a major society scandal. Swann’s set is one of the richest, most powerful circle of men and women in the country. Which is why I am not having you poking around all this on your own.’

‘Spoken like you care,’ she teased him.

His expression softened.

‘I always did. I still do.’

She brushed his comment away.

‘I’m not here to discuss that again.’

He shrugged.

‘So, is it true about you and Sam Charles?’

Anna fought to keep her expression neutral.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, just something I heard from a girl on the gossip desk at the Globe.’

She could tell the information had needled him.

‘Just gossip,’ she said innocently. ‘And you can tell your friend that if she prints that, I’ll have her in court faster than you can say “record damages”.’

There was a tap at the door and a slim Asian man stepped in.

‘Anna, Amir,’ said Andy. ‘Amir, Anna. Anna’s the top arse-kicking media lawyer in the country, Amir’s the best investigative journalist. You are now a team.’

Amir smiled and shook Anna’s hand.

‘Glad to have you on board,’ he said, sitting down.

‘Okay, Anna,’ said Andy. ‘Do you want to tell Amir what you’ve just been telling me?’

57

Jessica sat on the balcony of her Malibu beach house and stuck her spoon into a gallon tub of Ben and Jerry’s. She’d spent the last hour on Google, finding out everything she could about Brooke Geller, and felt she deserved a little pick-me-up. Brooke was like a Girl Scout, she thought miserably. No one had a bad word to say about her. Clever, pretty, a ‘beautiful soul’, she’d been an all-state athlete and come top of her acting class at the Orba Festen Drama School, which had a reputation for producing serious acting talent and edgy playwrights. She’d done some pretty shitty pilots, sure, but had managed to get good reviews for her characters. Jessica was sure that there would be something hidden away – a secret pregnancy, an early ‘artistic’ photo shoot, a drugged-up mother – but who was interested in winkling that out at the moment? Right now, Brooke was Shirley Temple. Jessica put the ice cream down on the table. Four mouthfuls in and she was already feeling sick. Maybe it was the meds she was on.