Page 33 of Private Lives

‘Then you should actually speak to a friend of mine,’ said Erica thoughtfully.

‘Marital problems?’

She smiled sadly.

‘Something like that. Have you got a card?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He pulled out one of his brand-new Donovan Pierce business cards and handed it to her. ‘That’s actually the first one I’ve given out.’

‘Well then I shall treasure it,’ she said, putting it into her bag. ‘Must make you cynical, huh, dealing with love’s great fallout every day.’

‘Love sucks.’

‘I don’t know about that. My ex-husband was a jerk, but I live in hope.’

All too soon, the car pulled up outside his flat. Erica was looking up and down the deserted street.

‘So what’s Chiswick like for a night out?’

‘Well, there’re a few great places but nowhere that could compete with your social life.’

‘You mean the red-carpet premieres, the gala dinners, the fashion shows, all those glittering events you see me attending?’

‘Yes, those.’

‘I go where I’m forced, contractually. Where you have to starve for weeks to be squashed into some sparkly gown, then make small talk all night with the most ruthless people on earth. You can keep it. Give me a burger and a beer any time.’

‘Well, beer we can do in Old Blighty,’ said Matthew.

‘Here . . .’ she said, reaching into her bag. ‘My number. If you ever want to show an out-of-towner the giddy sights of Chiswick.’

He looked down at the card. It was like he was having an out-of-body experience. Erica Sheldon had just handed him her number.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Beats watching another movie on Blu-ray.’

Matthew stood outside his apartment block and watched the black Mercedes disappear down the street. For a moment he looked down at the card still clutched in his hand and a schoolboy grin spread across his face. Erica Sheldon. The biggest film star in the world wanted to go out with him. Him.

He glanced at himself in the reflection of a car. Matt was not vain in the slightest, but he had been teased so often about his good looks, by ex-girlfriends, by his old secretary, that he almost believed in them. But while his even features, thick dark hair and sporty physique had ensured a steady stream of gorgeous women at Cambridge, he was still no way a match for a movie star.

He shoved the business card into his pocket and let himself into the flat, a small two-bedroom apartment that overlooked the river. He chucked his keys on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge for a beer.

Sitting back on the sofa, he slugged back his lager and put his feet up on the coffee table.

Maybe it was time to start dating, he told himself, staring absently out on to the water. He was sure Erica’s offer was just a friendly gesture, but what a place to start. At thirty-three, Matthew’s social life had shrunk to almost nothing. After his divorce, the friends he’d made as a couple had been unwilling to pick sides, and had slowly vanished off the radar, while his good mates from university had started disappearing into family life just as he had done following his own marriage seven years earlier. Every few months he’d be invited to a barbeque or a dinner party, where almost inevitably there would be a couple of single girls dangled in front of him, complete with raised eyebrows and gentle shoves. And yes, he’d slept with a few of them, but the truth was, he’d been so battered by his ex-wife’s betrayal that his heart wasn’t in anything more serious than no-strings sex.

He touched Erica’s card with one fingertip. Maybe he should call her. After all, she was nice. For a Hollywood star. He smiled to himself at how ridiculous that sounded. She was one of People magazine’s Most Beautiful People. She earned upwards of fifteen million dollars per annum. Which meant that what she had earned for that minute-long arse-crack scene today was more than he took home in a year.

The growl of the intercom made him jump. He frowned. The only people who usually rang his doorbell were pizza delivery boys.

‘Yes?’ he said, pressing the button.

‘It’s Carla,’ said the tinny voice.

He was completely thrown by the sound of his ex-wife’s voice.

‘Can I come up?’ she pressed.