Chapter One
JENNA, WITH HER back to the door, and her arms splayed either side of her, palms flat on the wall, tried to focus on her breathing.
One in, one out. Again. And again.
Outside the bedroom, downstairs in the hall, was stuff she really needed not to think about. So she didn’t think about it. She just breathed.
One in. One out.
Slowly, steadily, the chaos in her head began to break up and recede.
Three things had happened. She could list them, put them in order. It would calm her. The first thing: Lawrence Harville had trespassed his way into her garden to tell her, with malicious delight, that the charges against him had been dropped. This was dismaying for several reasons. One: he was guilty as sin of masterminding Bledburn’s thriving drug trade, then setting up various poor souls as fall guys. One of those poor souls being, of course, her lover, Jason Watson. Two: he knew who had grassed him up – Jenna’s personal assistant, Kayley. Three: he would be hell-bent on revenge against the whole lot of them.
Then there was the second thing: Jason’s mother’s confession that she had known all along who Jason’s father was. And, of all the likely candidates in the whole wide world, it had to have been a Harville. The most hated family in Bledburn. Jason’s own most hated family. The fallout from this was likely to be severe.
And the third thing … She shut her eyes tight, trying to beat back her fury. How dared he? How dared Deano Diamond, her estranged ex-husband, turn up at her door, unannounced, tonight of all nights? But that was the easiest of all to deal with. She would just have to send him away. That much, at least, would not give her too much of a headache.
By the time a hesitant knock and a whisper of, ‘Are you OK?’ intervened, she had managed to fight off the enormous urge to scream, ‘Enough!’, that had sent her into flight.
She was calm. It would be OK.
‘Come in,’ she said, stepping away from the door and turning the handle.
She admitted a slender, vivacious young woman in a deep purple taffeta sheath dress.
‘I can’t believe what just happened,’ said Kayley, stepping in and putting a steadying hand on Jenna’s arm. ‘You’ll want a sit down, won’t you?’
Jenna nodded, grateful to have somebody around who seemed to know what to do. God knew, all her own self-care instincts had temporarily dissolved.
Kayley helped Jenna over to the bed, on which she collapsed, head in hands, and let out a low moan. She felt an arm slide around her shoulders and leant heavily into the other woman’s side.
‘Why is he here?’ Jenna said, and it was a plea for mercy.
‘He said he thought you’d be pleased. He was trying to get maximum exposure for Jason’s show.’
‘The hell he was!’ Jenna raised bloodshot eyes to Kayley. ‘Do you believe that?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘You know him better than I do.’
‘He’ll have his own selfish reasons for it, trust me. Oh God. Tomorrow’s papers. Jesus.’
Kayley tried a little grin. ‘It’ll turbo-charge Jason’s profile, though, won’t it?’
But Jenna wouldn’t be mollified.
‘Are you kidding? Jason’ll be lucky to get two lines at the bottom of the column. It’ll be all DIAMOND RECONCILIATION ON THE CARDS.’ She waved her hand in the air as if to call the headline into being. ‘I could kill him. Where is he now? Is he still down there?’
‘Tabitha took him into one of the little drawing rooms. Jason tried to chuck him out.’
‘Oh God, did he?’
‘Yeah. After you turned tail and ran up here, he looked Deano right in the eye and said, “Your name’s not down, mate.”’
Jenna gasped. ‘He didn’t!’
‘Yes, he did.’ Kayley sounded amused underneath her concern. ‘And when Tabitha tried to talk him down, he just said it again, louder. That’s when she took Deano away from all the action and left us to it.’
Jenna nodded slowly.
‘I should go down and talk to him.’ She clutched her brow again. ‘God, poor Jason. His big night, co-opted by non-stop attention-seeking arseholes. I’m going to see that Deano makes this up to him.’
She stood up straight, smoothed herself down, had a brief hair and make-up check, and marched back out, Kayley at her heels.
Luckily no press contingent had spilled in with Deano, so she wasn’t photographed on the stairs, but the atmosphere – which had been excitable to start with – was now positively carnivalesque.
If the world could be powered on pure gossip, she just needed to connect this place to the National Grid.
At the foot of the stairs, it became clear that some kind of palaver was taking place in the main exhibition area – her living room.
She peeked in to be confronted by the dismaying sight of Jason, taking all his paintings down and roaring at the guests to leave.
‘Go on, get lost,’ he shouted hoarsely, turning another canvas to the wall. ‘Show’s over. You’ve got what you came for. Now fuck off.’
‘Jason!’
Muttering people in black tie and glamorous gowns passed, giving her looks that were sympathetic or curious or just plain greedy.
‘Go and sort your husband out,’ he said to her, letting go of the painting to stand, arms folded, staring h
er down. ‘Go on. Don’t mind me. I’m just the bloody artist.’
‘Jason, please …’
‘Get him out, or I’m off.’