Page 92 of Private Lives

‘No it won’t. You’re just missing the thought of an adoring crowd, people laughing hysterically at every word you say.’

‘No I’m not.’

‘You are,’ laughed Mike. ‘You’ve been seduced. And right now is a chance to stop this silly life you’ve been sucked into.’

‘What silly life?’ Sam replied, affronted.

‘Look at you, mate. Your three-hundred-dollar haircuts. Your waxed chest. Your concierge on speed-dial. Where does it stop, Sam? A facelift at forty, a Pekinese dog on the passenger seat of your Aston? A circle of friends, an entourage, that you pay for?’ Mike shook his head. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I know being a celebrity can be a really great gig sometimes. The free stuff. I especially liked the free stuff. But it turns your head, mate. Turns it away from all the important stuff. You should be hanging out with people you have a connection with. Not people who are connected. Doing work that you feel passionate about, not stuff that pays the biggest cheque.’

‘You’re right,’ said Sam, thinking about the string of bad, soul-destroying rom-coms he’d made, compared to the thrill of appearing at the National Theatre for the first time.

‘Mate, this is the best thing that could have happened to you. Sometimes when you hit rock bottom – and in this penthouse flat I’d say you’re hardly there – when you come up for air, it’s in calmer, less shallow water.’

Sam’s phone was ringing.

‘I’d better take it,’ he muttered.

For a moment, he didn’t recognise the plummy voice on the other end of the line.

‘Helen Pierce,’ she prompted.

‘Oh, Helen, sorry. I was miles away. How are you?’

‘Well, thank you. And how are you, Sam? I enjoyed Robotics.’

‘You saw it?’

‘Yes, I took my nephew. It was wonderful.’

Sam smiled to himself. He would put money on the fact that Helen Pierce didn’t even have a nephew, and if she did, they would not enjoy a movie that had been universally panned by the critics. Then again, Helen Pierce was part of his entourage; one of the sycophants and yes-men who agreed with everything he said and thought everything he did was fabulous.

‘So, Helen . . .’

‘Just a heads-up about a story that was going to print about your latest house guest.’

Sam frowned.

‘My mate Mike.’

‘Well, the Bugle were going to splash with “Sam Charles Moves Hunky Male into Chelsea Penthouse”. You can see where that story was heading. Fortunately we managed to head it off at the pass.’

‘Thank you.’

‘What is Mike there for?’

Sam had no intention of telling the lawyer about their proposed Edinburgh show. Word would get back to Jim and Eli, both of whom knew nothing about it on the grounds that they would vigorously oppose it.

‘Just a holiday.’

‘Very good. Anyway. We should meet. Have a catch-up while you’re in town.’

‘How’s Anna Kennedy?’ he asked suddenly as the female lawyer sprang into his head without warning.

‘Fine.’

Sam looked at Mike, then walked into the bedroom to continue the call.

‘I want to apologise to her,’ he said. ‘I went a little over the top. I was rude. Very rude, in fact.’