than the shadows.
Inside, she had that initial shudder of nerves, known to every person who ever arrived at a party on their own. She scanned the room, looking for a familiar face. Had she got here too late? Had Katharine and Enrica come here, tired of it and moved on? She dug into her pocket, her fingers searching out the reassurance of her phone.
While her head was down, she felt the clasp of a hand on her shoulder.
‘Hey, you!’
It took her a second to place the face, then she had it: Charlie Hughes. They’d met straight after college.
‘You look great, Maddy. What you doing here?’
‘I thought I was going to be celebrating. But I can’t see the people I’m meet—’
‘Celebrating? That’d be nice. I’m here to do the very opposite.’
‘The opposite? Why?’
‘You know that script I’ve been working on for, like, years?’ Charlie was a qualified, practising physician but that wasn’t enough for him. Ever since he’d been hired as a consultant on a TV medical drama, Charlie had become obsessed with making it as a screenwriter. In LA, even the doctors wanted to be in pictures. ‘The one about the monks and devils?’
‘Devil Monk?’
‘Yes! Wow, Maddy, I love that you remember that. See, it does have a memorable title. I told them.’
‘Them?’
‘The studio. They’ve cancelled the project.’
‘Oh no. Why?’
‘Usual story. Sent it to Beijing for “approval”. Which always means disapproval.’
‘What didn’t they like?’ God, she could do without this. She gazed over his shoulder, desperately seeking a glimpse of her friends.
‘Said it wouldn’t resonate with the Chinese public. It’s such bullshit, Maddy. I told them the most particular stories are always the most universal. If it means something to someone in Peoria, it’ll mean something to someone in Guangdong. The trouble is, if they won’t distribute, no one will fund. It’s the same story every time—’
She showed him glazed eyes, but it made no difference. He was off. So lost was he in his own tale – narrative, he’d call it – that he barely looked at her, fixing instead on some middle distance where those who had conspired to thwart his career were apparently gathered.
With an inward sigh, Maddy scoped the room. The group that caught the eye had occupied the club’s prime spot, perhaps a dozen of them gathering against the wide picture window that made up the far wall. Their laughter was loudest, their clothes sparkling brightest. The women were nearly all blonde – the exception was a redhead – and, as far as Maddy could see, gorgeous. Cocktails in hand, they were throwing their heads back in laughter, showing off their long, laboriously tonged hair. The men were Chinese, wearing expensive jeans and pressed white shirts, set off against watches as bejewelled and shiny as any trinket worn by the women. Princelings, she concluded.
She hadn’t realized the Mail Room had become a favoured hangout for that set, the pampered sons of the Chinese ruling elite who, thanks to the garrison and the attached military academy, had become a fixture of LA high society. Soon these rich boys would be the officer corps of the PLA, the People’s Liberation Army. PLAyers, the gossip sites called them.
The redhead was losing a battle to stay upright, tugged down by her wrist to sit on the lap of a man whose broad grin just got broader. He ran his hand down the woman’s back, resting it just above her buttocks. She was showing her teeth in a smile, but her eyes suggested she didn’t find it funny.
Maddy contemplated the tableau they made, the Princelings and their would-be princesses, their Aston Martins and Ferraris cooling outside. She was surprised this place was expensive enough for them. Now that they were here, it soon would be.
Charlie broke into his own monologue to wave hello at one of the PLAyers.
‘Is he an investor?’ Maddy asked, surprised.
‘I wish,’ Charlie sighed. ‘He’s a patient. The thing is …’
Suddenly she caught sight of Katharine standing at full stretch in a corner, her mouth making an O of delight, waving her to come over. Maddy gave Charlie a parting peck on the cheek, mumbled a ‘Good luck’ and all but fled to Katharine and Enrica, standing in a cluster with a few others around a small, high table congested with cocktails.
She slowed down when she saw him. What on earth was he doing here? She thought it was going to be a night with the girls, or at least men she hadn’t met, ideally gay. A night off. She gave Katharine a glare. But it was too late. He was already there, glass in hand, with his trademark embryonic smile. The beard was a new addition. When they lived together, she had always vetoed facial hair. But that was nearly nine months ago and now she saw it, she had to admit, it suited him.
‘Leo.’
‘Maddy. You look as stunning as ever.’
‘Don’t be slimy. Slimy never suited you.’
‘I was being charming.’
‘Yeah, well, charming never suited you either.’
‘How would you like me to be?’
‘Somewhere else?’ She lowered her voice. ‘Seriously, Leo. I thought we were going to give each other some space.’
‘Come on, Maddy. Let’s not ruin your big night.’
‘How do you know about that?’
He nodded towards Katharine, then took a sip of his drink. The budding smile had blossomed in his eyes, which never left her. They were a warm brown. In the right mood, when his interest, or better still his passion, was engaged, they seemed to contain sparks of light that would careen around the iris, bouncing off each other. They were brightening now.
‘What did she tell you? K, what did you—’
He reached for her wrist. ‘Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me anything. Just that you’ve reeled in a big one. Big enough to win a Huawei.’
‘Katharine doesn’t know what’s she’s talking about,’ Maddy retorted. But her shoulders dropped for the first time since she walked in here. She couldn’t hide it: she’d been thinking this story had the potential to win a Huawei prize from the beginning, before she’d even written a word. It had just what the judges liked: investigation, risk, its target corruption – at just that mid-level where its exposure did not threaten those at the very top. In more than one sleepless hour, she had worded the imaginary citation.
‘But you do, Maddy. And your face is telling me I’m right. You’ve landed a biggie.’
‘Don’t think you’re going to get me to tell you by flattering me, because it won’t work.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I know you, Leo Harris. I know all your tricks.
