things, thought Catriona, watching him weave his way back into the house. She so hoped he and Ivan managed to patch things up.
Inside, Jack suddenly realized he was famished. Ignoring the dainty silver trays offering caviar blinis and mini vol-au-vents, he headed straight for the kitchen and helped himself to a large peanut-butter sandwich and two mugs of tea, ignoring the death stares from Catriona’s catering staff. The Rookery kitchen was a cosy, welcoming room, dominated by a pink six-oven Aga and a gnarled old farmhouse table that looked as if it hadn’t been moved for centuries. Hector and Rosie’s artwork covered most of the available wall surfaces, with the remainder given over to family photographs, all taken by Cat. Hector as a baby, his chubby face smeared with chocolate cake. Rosie, aged seven, on her first pony, beaming a gap-toothed grin as she held up her ‘Highly Commended’ rosette. Jack was ashamed to feel a stab of envy. He and Sonya had never had children, though they’d both wanted them. Sonya was halfway through her first round of IVF when her cancer was diagnosed, poor darling. Am I tougher on Ivan because I’m jealous? Because he has a family and I don’t? It was an uncomfortable thought.
Pushing it from his mind, Jack went upstairs in search of a bathroom. The queue for the downstairs loo was enormous and all that Earl Grey had gone straight to his bladder. There were two sets of stairs at The Rookery: the grand, sweeping mahogany staircase that led up to the principal bedrooms and that tonight was lit by simple white candles and bedecked with yet more flowers and greenery from the garden; and the back, servants’ stairs, a narrow, steeply winding passage that spat one out into a long corridor, giving on to a series of smaller, pokier rooms. Vaguely remembering there was a guest bathroom at the end of this corridor, Jack took the back stairs. Pushing open the last door, he stopped dead.
‘Jesus!’
Ivan was standing at the foot of the bath with his pants around his ankles. Joyce Wu was bent over the bath, spread-eagled and moaning as he took her from behind, thrusting so hard that Joyce’s tiny apple breasts quivered like twin jellies with each jerk of the hips. The young girl’s eyes had a familiar, glazed look. Sure enough, when Jack glanced at the sink, a fine line of leftover white powder was clearly visible.
It took Ivan Charles a second to realize that they had been interrupted. Joyce, lost in her own world, took longer, only registering Jack’s presence once Ivan stopped moving. She opened her mouth to scream, but Ivan lunged forward, covering her mouth with his hand.
‘Now, now, darling. We don’t need a bigger audience. One’s enough.’
Shaking, Joyce grabbed her red dress off the floor and held it protectively over her naked body. Jack Messenger held open the bathroom door. ‘Go home,’ he said quietly.
Joyce darted into the hallway, sobbing. Ivan, meanwhile, looked distinctly unruffled. He’d pulled up his pants and was busy smoothing down his hair and removing lipstick marks from his face and collar with a damp flannel.
Jack spoke first. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘I don’t know,’ drawled Ivan. ‘Am I?’
‘Anybody could have walked in!’
‘Indeed. But it had to be you who actually did, didn’t it Jack? You’re like an old housemaster, prowling the dorms looking for miscreants. And lo and behold, you found me.’ He held out his hand in mock supplication. ‘Go ahead, whip out your cane. I’m used to it.’
Jack’s stomach turned. ‘You think this is funny.’
‘Well, I don’t think it’s tragic, let’s put it that way,’ Ivan shot back. ‘OK, so I’ve been a naughty boy. But nobody knows, so there’s no harm done.’
‘No harm?’ Jack spluttered. ‘She’s a client!’
‘So?’
‘She’s a teenager!’
‘Only just,’ said Ivan, cleaning up the cocaine remnants before swigging from a bottle of mouthwash and spitting into the sink. ‘It’s my birthday. Joyce was my present. Oh for God’s sake, stop looking so thunderous. It was a one-off, all right? It won’t happen again. Jack. Jack!’
But Jack had stormed off down the corridor, ignoring Ivan’s shouts. The servants’ stairs were blocked by a kissing couple so he veered left, practically running down the grand main staircase, so eager was he to get out of there. Bloody fool. I should never have come tonight. So much for Ivan turning over a new leaf.
‘Oh, there you are.’
Jack was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost knocked Catriona flying.
‘You’re not leaving already, are you?’ Her face fell. ‘We haven’t even had the fireworks yet. You must stay for those.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled awkwardly. ‘Something’s come up. I have to get back to London.’
Goddamn Ivan for implicating him in his bullshit. Now Jack was forced to stand here and lie to one of his oldest friends.
Catriona tried to be understanding. ‘Oh. Well, I suppose if you have to. Anyway, before you go, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll look out for Kendall when she comes over. As you know, lots of Ivan’s clients come up here to stay when they’re burned out or stressed or whatever. We’ve become quite the heartbreak hotel, haven’t we?’ she laughed. ‘I doubt even Miss Bryce can get into too much trouble in the bright lights of Widford on a Saturday night.’
‘Thank you. Really. That means a lot.’ Jack looked at Catriona, then hugged her tightly, squeezing as if he might never let her go. ‘You’re a good woman, Catriona Charles. Ivan doesn’t deserve you.’
Catriona smiled wryly. ‘He probably doesn’t deserve you either, Jack darling. I know he must be difficult to work with. But don’t give up on him. For my sake.’
Speeding back towards London half an hour later, Jack Messenger felt as depressed as he had in months. Every time it seemed as if Ivan might finally have turned a corner and developed some scruples, he went and did something so shatteringly stupid and selfish it beggared belief.
Jack wished he could give up on Ivan. But after fifteen years as partners in Jester, their lives and interests were irrevocably intertwined. Being in business with Ivan Charles was like walking through life with a bomb strapped to your chest. The unpredictability, the selfishness, all wrapped up in a lethally charming package.
Come to think of it, Ivan Charles had a lot in common with the other giant headache in Jack Messenger’s life. But, he reflected with relief, at least she was safely ensconced in his Brentwood guesthouse under the watchful eye of her twenty-four-hour sobriety coach.
Not even Kendall Bryce could get into too much trouble in those circumstances.
CHAPTER TWO
‘Harder! Oh my God, what is the problem? Why do you keep stopping?’
Kendall Bryce looked over her shoulder at her red-faced sobriety coach with withering disdain. Weren’t these sober health-freaks supposed to be fit? This guy screwed like a grandfather.
‘My electric toothbrush makes me come faster than this. Come on, Kevin. Do it!’
Kevin
