Page 21 of Private Lives

‘Look. I’m sorry if I flew off the handle, but this is very stressful for me.’ Her voice wobbled. Her show of emotion caught him by surprise and he instantly softened.

‘I know. I’m sorry too. Come on, why don’t I take you down there?’

‘No, it’s fine. How is he?’

Matthew shook his head.

‘He’s sleeping. And I could do with some fresh air.’

She looked down the corridor nervously.

‘How is he?’

‘Don’t worry, the doctors say he’ll be fine.’

Loralee’s eyes searched his.

‘I feel awful not being there for him, but I got the first flight I could.’

Matthew nodded.

‘He’ll just be glad to see you now.’

She touched his arm, stroking it. Her hand lingered long enough for him to think there was something traitorous in her gesture.

‘Thanks, Matthew,’ she said. ‘I think we need to be friends, don’t we?’

He nodded, dismissing his paranoia. His father’s heart attack had scared him, shocked him into realising there was something worth salvaging in their relationship. It was a time for being open and forgiving. Not cynical and suspicious.

‘Sure. Friends,’ he said slowly, turning and walking out into the warm summer air.

6

Sam sat back on the white leather seat of the Riva speedboat, his arm around a beautiful model, and sipped his eighth cocktail of the day. Okay, so it wasn’t a real cocktail, but then this whole set-up was completely unreal: he was bobbing on the sparkling sea just off the coast of Capri, a former Pirelli girl named Adrianna was purring in his ear, and best of all, he was getting paid a small fortune to appear in an advert that no one he knew would even see. Still, he felt like a fraud. This Italian drinks commercial should have been like a holiday for him, a chance to lark about and recharge, but instead he felt edgy, distracted, as if he was watching someone else clink glasses and laugh and look relaxed and carefree for the crew.

‘Cut!’ shouted Dino the director. ‘The light is no good. We stop until tomorrow.’

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure for how much longer he could keep a cheesy smile pasted on his face, even with Adrianna running her fingers across his chest.

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; ‘You want to go out for supper, Sam?’ she said, tipping her head seductively to one side. ‘My grandfather is from Capri. I can show you around.’

He was tempted to say yes – Adrianna was drop-dead gorgeous and her cascade of coffee-coloured hair was tickling his shoulder – but it was that kind of thinking that had got him into this mess in the first place.

‘I’m sorry, Adrianna,’ he said, ‘but I have a meeting this evening. Legal stuff, very boring.’

The model’s smile faded – rejection was clearly something she was not used to.

‘And I guess we don’t want to make Jessica angry, do we?’ she said bitchily.

Sam smarted at the jibe, but he had to agree with the sentiment. Actually, no, he thought. We really don’t want to make her angry. That was why he had been desperately working with his manager and his new lawyer to contain this shit storm, and why he had been letting Jessica’s calls ring through to message.

The speedboat circled back to a gleaming sixty-metre yacht moored off Capri’s Marina Piccolo. He climbed on board and slipped into a towelling robe being held out for him by an attractive young stylist.

‘Call for you,’ said Josh, his PA, holding up his mobile. Unlike most high-profile Hollywood actors, Sam had held back from getting a PA until very recently. Now he had one, he admitted that it made his life considerably easier, although the thought that Josh might know about his indiscretion – probably did – made him feel sick. The fact that the whole world might soon know if he didn’t cough up half a million quid – that made him feel worse.

‘Who is it?’