Tilly Bagshawe - Friends and Rivals

Kendall closed her eyes. Ivan’s hands and mouth and body felt wonderful. Wrong but wonderful. She forced herself to think about Jack. If she did this deal she would never go back to his guesthouse. Would she even go back to LA? She wasn’t sure. Either way, Jack Messenger would no longer be her manager. He won’t be my friend either. Or anything more than a friend.

But then she remembered the things she’d heard him say to Ivan. ‘ She’s spoiled … emotionally immature … a walking disaster .’ With friends like that, did she really need enemies? Maybe Jack needed to lose her – really lose her – to realize she was something worth having?

Or maybe not. Either way, Kendall wasn’t about to walk away from forty million dollars just to massage Jack’s ego. Not when there were so many more appealing things to massage. Reaching down, she tentatively touched the bulge in Ivan’s jeans. It was enormous and hard as a bullet. For a second she thought about Catriona, and about Ned Williams in the stables at The Rookery, giving her the third degree. But only for a second. Clearly Ivan made a habit of extramarital flings. One more was hardly going to make a difference.

‘I don’t want things to go back to how they were,’ she murmured, unbuckling his belt. ‘I want London. And Fascination. And you.’

It was all Ivan Charles could do not to punch the air in triumph.

The next morning, Catriona Charles came down to breakfast to find Miley Bayley, the three-year-old daughter of The Blitz’s lead singer Brett Bayley and his wife Stella, drawing on the walls in indelible marker.

‘Stella!’ she said, horrified, removing the pen from the little girl’s clutches to a cacophony of spoilt wails. ‘Look what Miley’s doing. It’s everywhere.’

‘Hmm?’ Stella Bayley looked up absently. Sitting in the middle of Catriona’s kitchen floor in the lotus position, her lithe, perfectly toned limbs folded over one another effortlessly, like bent pipe cleaners, she was clearly in a world of her own. ‘Oh, sorry, sweetie. I was meditating. Nothing gets through to me when I’m in the zone.’ She turned her attention to her whining daughter. ‘Hey, baybeeeee,’ she crooned. ‘Whassamatter? Did you get scared, Miley-Moo?’ Scooping the child up into her arms, she turned back to Catriona. ‘We try never to raise our voices to her,’ she said chidingly. ‘Brett and I are big believers in peaceful parenting.’

Catriona bit her lip and counted to ten. What had possessed her to say yes when Stella invited herself down for the weekend? She was a well-meaning girl at heart, and Catriona felt sorry for her, trying to create an illusion of the perfect family life while married to the vain, philandering Brett Bayley. Stuck at home with Miley while her husband gallivanted around Europe on tour with his band must be a lonely life. But, even so, having Stella as a house guest was tough work. She wouldn’t eat anything that wasn’t organic and cruelty-free and purified to within an inch of its life. She would only sleep in east-facing bedrooms – something to do with energy flow – and was terribly keen on ‘healing’ people by laying her hands on their heads. Rosie and Hector both found this hilarious, but the poor dogs were really quite frightened by it. Old Mr Carruthers, the gardener, had threatened to give in his notice last time if Catriona’s American friend didn’t leave him and his tomato plants well alone. But worst of all was the little girl. Catriona felt guilty actively disliking a child of three. But Miley was without doubt the most whingeing, overindulged, obnoxious brat she had ever encountered, the spitting image of her famous father, and obviously destined to be just as much trouble.

‘I’ll pay to get it repainted,’ said Stella, sensing that Catriona had perhaps been pushed too far this time. ‘But you mustn’t yell at Miley.’

‘I didn’t yell at Miley, Stella. I merely pointed out that she was defacing my walls and took away the pen.’

‘The problem is she’s so creative,’ sighed Stella, smothering her daughter with kisses. ‘Gifted children often struggle with boundaries. Don’t they, Miley-Moo?’

‘What the bloody hell happened in here?’

Ivan’s voice made both women jump. Standing in the doorway with his overnight case in his hand, he looked tired, unshaven, and distinctly grumpy.

‘Darling!’ Catriona’s face lit up. Ivan almost never came home early. ‘I wasn’t expecting you till tonight. How lovely you’re here.’

But Ivan evidently wasn’t feeling lovely. He’d forgotten Stella Bayley was down for the weekend, and was irritated to find her hanging around in his kitchen with her snotty toddler glued to her hip. ‘Who the hell scrawled shit all over my walls?’

Sensing a drama brewing, Miley secured her own starring role by bursting into noisy tears.

‘It seems Miley had a little accident with one of our permanent markers,’ explained Catriona.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Ivan turned on Stella. ‘Can’t you fucking control her?’

‘How dare you curse in front of my child!’ Stella shot back. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Sweeping past him, a sobbing Miley in her arms, she stormed out of the room. ‘We’ll be upstairs in our room if anyone wants us,’ she called over her shoulder to Catriona. ‘Packing.’

Catriona sat down at the table with her head in her hands. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than an aspirin and to crawl back to bed. ‘That wasn’t very diplomatic, darling,’ she said to Ivan. ‘You’d better go and apologize.’

‘Apologize? Look at this shit.’ He pointed to Miley’s artistic efforts, which extended right around the base of one wall and halfway up the side of another. ‘We only redecorated at Christmas. What the hell are they doing here again anyway?’

‘You knew they were coming,’ Catriona said wearily. ‘Brett’s away again and—’

‘I don’t care. Seriously, this place is turning into a fucking doss house. We never get a weekend to ourselves.’

Lovingly, Catriona reached out and stroked his cheek. He would have to apologize to Stella. They couldn’t have the wife of one of Jester’s biggest clients storming out of the house in high dudgeon. But secretly she was pleased that Ivan wanted more family time. It was what she wanted too, more than anything.

‘I came home early to talk to you,’ said Ivan. ‘A lot of stuff’s happened at work. It’s been an exhausting bloody week, you’ve no idea.’

‘I’ll put some coffee on and make breakfast,’ said Catriona, kissing him. Her week had been exhausting too, taxiing the children around from one engagement to another, filling in Ivan’s horrifically late tax returns and cooking for an apparently endless stream of house guests. Saying no had never been her strong suit. ‘You go up and smooth things over with Stella. Then we can talk.’

‘Do I have to?’ Ivan scowled. But he knew she was right. If ever there was a time to stay on the right side of Jester’s big clients, this was it. In the coming weeks, Ivan and Jack would be battling to the death over each other’s acts. Losing his temper with Stella Bayley was hardly the best start to Ivan’s charm offensive. ‘OK.’ He kissed his wife back. ‘Sorry for being such a grump. I’d like a bacon sandwich please, extra crispy. With ketchup.’

Catriona laughed. Grumpy or not, life was always much more fun when Ivan was around.

Half an hour later, having eaten humble pie and cooed grovellingly over the ghastly Miley, Ivan had mollified Stella Bayley sufficiently to be allowed to breakfast alone with his wife.

‘Alone time is so important in a love relationship,’ Stella said earnestly, ‘especially when you have kids. It’s a real hot topic on my blog: keeping the flame alive.’