what’s the plan?’ asked Tess.
Patty folded her arms in front of her. ‘I can get it taken down from the website but it’s obviously too late for the paper. Good news is that the Oracle publishes a European edition, so I can threaten to sue them in the British courts. That should be enough leverage to make them print a retraction in tomorrow’s paper.’
She looked at Tess meaningfully. ‘Then I’m afraid it’s up to you to do the damage control.’
She spun around on her high heels and walked out of the room. When Tess looked back, she saw that Brooke had picked up the paper and was reading the story again.
‘I can’t believe Jeff would do this,’ she said dejectedly. ‘I guess he needed the money.’
‘Why do you think it was Jeff who went to the papers?’ asked Tess.
Brooke looked up sharply. ‘It must be Jeff,’ she said, her eyes widening. ‘They’ve run pictures of his wife and kids. How else did the paper get hold of those?’
‘Newspapers have their ways,’ said Tess, feeling a slight sense of guilt for having committed similar crimes at the Globe. It was different when you were on the other side of the fence.
She examined Brooke carefully. Tess’s last week at the Globe had been spent using its substantial resources to dig up everything she could about the girl she had been hired to protect. In fact, Brooke had led a very low-key life for a girl from such a wealthy background, which was no doubt part of her appeal for a politically ambitious family like the Billingtons. The big surprise for Tess was that Brooke Asgill appeared to be everything she was supposed to be: beautiful, clean-cut, honest. Certainly, none of the features or photographs did justice to Brooke’s natural beauty and grace. From her years in the media, Tess knew that average people with good PR and clever marketing could become household names, but with Brooke’s raw material – her looks, marriage, and sweetness, she really could become more iconic than Jackie O. More importantly, if Tess succeeded in helping her do that, it would put her in a very strong position indeed. If the rumours about David’s political future were true, she could even follow Brooke to the White House.
Tess smiled to herself. Before she could start indulging in any fantasies as a glamorous Chanel-clad aide climbing aboard Air Force One, she had to deal with the matter in hand. Scandal might do a B-list soap actress some good, but to establishment families it was dangerous, even fatal. Society could forgive anything except embarrassment.
‘And who is this Matthew Palmer?’ said Tess, rereading Danny Krantz’s column more carefully.
‘An old friend,’ said Brooke, looking irritated once more.
‘Says old flame here.’
‘Another lie!’ said Brooke, her voice raised and trembling.
Tess raised an eyebrow.
‘Honestly,’ repeated Brooke. ‘I haven’t seen or spoken to Matt since I left Brown. I’ve no idea why he’d say such a thing.’
Tess snorted. ‘I’ll give you two good reasons. Money and fame. Brooke, I worked at a national tabloid and, trust me, there’s always someone you think is on your side who is really selling stories. In London there was one star, part of a very fashionable London clique, who sold stories about her famous friends to fuel a drug habit. But it could just as easily be a hairdresser, a stylist, a cleaner, even a relative. There’s always someone wanting to make a quick buck. Which is why I’d love to know who leaked this story. This is going to happen again if you don’t find out who it is.’
‘And how do we let people know I’m not a home-wrecker?’
‘Well, if Patty can swing an apology in tomorrow’s paper that will be a start, but it won’t be big or prominent so we need to set up an interview with you, somewhere like the New York Times ‘Style’ supplement … I’m also going to sort you out some media training.’
Brooke looked up. ‘Which is what exactly?’
‘The art of being vague and uncontroversial,’ smiled Tess.
‘And to think I told my mom I didn’t need you,’ said Brooke sheepishly.
Tess reached out and touched Brooke’s arm. ‘People are snakes Brooke,’ she said kindly. ‘The second you have something that everybody else wants, people will be out to get you. You are going to be the target for stings, whispering campaigns, and jealous and disgruntled people who just want to mouth off about you. You’re going to have to be on guard twenty-four/seven and you’re going to have to develop a thick skin. Added to which, you’ll have to think about everything you do and perhaps modify your behaviour.’
‘My behaviour?’
‘For example, you’ll have to be generous and kind to everyone. I’m sure you are that way naturally, but now being a stingy tipper or walking past a beggar is a news story. From now on you have to be a saint.’
‘A saint?’ said Brooke sceptically.
‘I think you’ll do fine,’ smiled Tess as Brooke stood up.
‘Thank you, Tess,’ said Brooke, offering a slim hand. ‘I’m glad you’re on my side.’
‘Think of it as a penance for past crimes,’ said Tess. ‘I’ve been a bit of a bitch to people like you in my past life, but at least you know you’ve got a bitch in your corner.’
As Brooke left the office and closed the door, Tess let out a long breath.
To do this job, I’m going to have to be the biggest bitch New York has ever seen.
‘So, how was everyone’s weekend?’
At table seven in La Revue restaurant, Paula Asgill unfolded her starched white napkin, stabbed her fork into her thirty-dollar Caesar salad and flashed her friends an uncommonly full smile. Twice a month, Paula, Gigi Miller, and Samantha Donahue gathered in whichever restaurant was currently white-hot for the Upper East Side’s ladies-who-lunch crowd. This month it was La Revue. The East Sixty-First street eaterie had mediocre food and appalling service, but it was irresistible to the fashionable lunch crowd due to its unpublished impossible-to-get-hold-of reservations hotline.
Eating here was just one of the reasons Paula was feeling particularly buoyant. In her myriad of acquaintances in the city, Gigi and Sam were the nearest thing she had to close friends, all having children in the same class at prestigious coed prep, the Eton Manor School. Sam was a nice middle-class girl from Oregon with an art major college degree who had married well and liked pretty dresses. Her husband, Gregor, was a fallen Lehman’s high-flyer who had downgraded to a smaller bank but still commanded a low seven-figure salary that allowed the Donahues a small household staff and a summer Hamptons rental in one of the less prestigious streets in Quogue. Gigi, a former modern-ballet dancer who now populated the party pages of W magazine and Style.com, was married to Bruce, another investment banker. Bruce was often found at the Beatrice Inn, invariably the oldest man at the fashionable downtown nightspot, and had once suggested to Paula that they ‘fuck sometime’
