Players

by Karen Swan

  Feeling her eyes on him, he looked up. She felt locked by his pale grey eyes as he took in her appearance. The shimmering highlights, bare legs, new dress. (Actually he didn’t appear to notice that the dress was new – which was a good thing given the size of their overdraft.) He sat up and put his hands on his knees. He still hadn’t talked to her. Well, not unless you counted Neanderthal grunts.

  Tor took his appraisal as positive and, sensing an opportunity to make up, crossed the room and sat on his lap. The dress became indecently short when she sat down – she’d need to watch that.

  ‘Darling, look,’ she began. ‘I’m sorry. Truly. I know I was a witch. I don’t know what came over me. I know you’d never have an affair. You know I know that.’

  She didn’t know anything of the sort but they couldn’t go on like this. He didn’t say anything, just placed his hand on her thigh and looked her up and down. Then, slowly, he began kissing her exposed neck, inched a hand up and cupped her breasts. She hoped his hands weren’t greasy – this fabric would show up everything – and to distract him, put her hand on his crotch. He was already hard. With one hand, he undid the towel so that it fell open on the bed and leaned back on his forearms, regarding her lasciviously.

  She paused, taken aback by his cavalier attitude. His eyes were glazed with lust and cool anger. He was testing her, daring her to make it up to him. It was clear there would be nothing for her from this. He wanted cold, selfish, onesided sex. This was his revenge.

  She slid to her knees and wet her lips, trying to look more in the mood than she felt. Although she still wasn’t sure he was a faithful husband, she instinctively knew that right now she had to play the good wife. She bent her head and took him in her mouth, teasing him as she flicked her tongue lightly. She heard him moan, felt his body stiffen, his fingers roughly entwined in her hair, and as he pushed her head further and further down, she had to resist the urge to gag as he came. She hated the taste, but she hid it with a smile, kissing him lightly on the lips.

  ‘I love you, darling,’ she said, stroking his cheek.

  ‘I know,’ Hugh said, but his eyes remained closed.

  Tor stared at him for a few moments, then got up and walked into the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and as quietly as she could, began to discreetly brush her teeth.

  They walked in hand-in-hand and Tor felt like Cinderella with her prince. Cress came running over, a delight in scarlet. ‘God, I hope they let you in the main entrance after all,’ she beamed impishly. ‘You look amazing.’ She kissed them both and grabbed them each a bellini from a passing waitress, who didn’t slow down.

  ‘Hmm, watch the staff,’ Cress murmured. ‘They’re pissed off they’re not at the Arab wedding. Better tips, you know.’

  Tor giggled and scanned the room. It was full of strangers and familiar famous faces, though she could see Kate and Monty standing in a far corner, propping up a knackered-looking Mark.

  ‘He made it then,’ Tor said, nodding at Mark.

  ‘Yes, bless.’ Cress smiled. ‘Got in an hour ago. Literally showered and got dressed again. You boys are going to have to get him tanked up if he’s going to last the evening.’ Cress put a hand of mock pity on Hugh’s shoulder.

  ‘You can count on us, Cress,’ he smiled. ‘Come on, let’s do our duty.’ And he led Tor across the room. Tor lagged behind, letting her arm stretch out, liking being led like a little girl.

  ‘Spotted him yet?’ Tor interrupted. Kate looked quizzical. ‘You know, the rarely-sighted, blond-tufted, tweed-bedecked bird magnet, known to migrate to the sunnier climes of Cap Ferrat in high season, preys on Botox blondes?’

  Kate giggled. ‘No, he’s not here yet. Waiting to make his entrance. Probably standing in the alley around the corner, having a crafty smoke.’

  Tor took in the bling hanging off Kate’s ears. Kate always treated herself to a piece of fine jewellery when she won a case, and she now had a bounty that warranted a security guard and a Swiss bank vault. The only piece she would never buy was a particular ring for her left hand – the token eternity ring that Monty would give her when she’d given birth to their first child.

  ‘I see you won again.’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed happily. ‘Fell like a house of cards on the third day. Not quite a knockout, but near enough.’ She fingered the diamond peardrops hanging from her earlobes. ‘And these were winking at me from Graff. It would have been rude not to, really. Cheers.’ The girls clinked glasses in celebration. Tor hoped nobody would notice her studs were cubic zirconia.

  The little group fell into easy banter, enjoying the frivolity and merriment of such a grand occasion, eyeing up the other women, spotting fashion disasters, who’d had cosmetic surgery and trying to guess who was cheating on whom. The gardens looked beautiful, theatrically lit with low-level lanterns tucked away behind shrubs and flaming torches perched atop the walls. Purple and orange banners were swagged like Bedouin tents and vast daybeds were scattered all about, with glamorous couples lounging around like Talitha and Paul Getty in Morocco.

  The views over London were spectacular. Tor zoned out of the conversation and looked around, identifying faraway neighbourhoods and people-watching the little streets. She had just located Westbourne Grove when she heard a commotion. She turned around to see Cress, standing with a microphone and with one arm linked through the arm of quite the most beautiful man Tor had ever seen.

  She gasped. The international paparazzi had not done Harry Hunter justice. They’d need to try harder. He was taller than she’d imagined and there was a twinkle in his eyes that was just downright filthy. He was wearing a midnight blue velvet smoking jacket – not her kind of thing at all, far too dandy – but, good God, he wore it well.

  She went and stood with the group. Kate was speechless too. ‘I think I’m wearing too many clothes,’ Kate murmured.

  Monty’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘I’d watch your wife with him, mate,’ Monty said to Mark teasingly. ‘If this is how they react from the pits, imagine what it’ll be like working at close quarters.’ Mark looked more awake than he had all evening, and regarded Harry Hunter with fresh eyes.

  Cress had finished gushing about how pleased she was Harry had chosen to come to Sapphire Books, blah blah, and they were crossing the room together like newlyweds, graciously accepting thanks and best wishes. Tor felt like she was in a receiving line, and she suddenly fervently hoped Cress wouldn’t come over with him. She didn’t have a clue what to say to him. He was far too gorgeous. He should consort only with nymphs and demi-gods, surely.

  She grabbed a couple of bellinis from another speeding waitress, and she and Kate took several swigs.

  ‘Now look, Harry,’ Cress began earnestly, indicating to the little group. ‘You don’t need to be nice to these people. They’re not in the industry and can’t do a thing for your career.’ Everyone chuckled nervously. ‘But they are my dear friends and so, I guess, I would so love it if you could just try to pretend to like them.’ She crinkled her nose and he laughed.

  It was clear from the razzle-dazzle in Harry’s eyes as he took in the impeccable women that he had no intention of snubbing them. He adored adoring his adoring public.

  ‘This is my best friend and interior designer, Victoria Summershill.’ Tor nodded politely, discreetly sucking in her tummy and flashing a toned thigh. ‘And her husband Hugh, here, is an architect.’ Harry quickly sized up Hugh, who had come and put a protective arm around Tor’s waist.

  ‘Monty is a rather good stockbroker and I think he earns almost as much as you do, Harry.’ Both men’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Ha ha, not really! But I‘m sure you can do some bonding over Sunseekers or the new Vantage – or something. He’s also jolly lucky to be married to Kate.’

  Kate nodded soberly. Cress caught sight of her new diamonds twinkling like glitterballs and leaned in.

  ‘God, I love those earrings, hon – they make Tor’s look like cubic zirconia.’ Tor privately died.


  Cress leaned in to Harry and muttered in a mock whisper, ‘Watch yourself. She’s a libel lawyer and a complete ball-breaker. Those rocks are her trophies.’ She paused. ‘Rather like your girlfriends.’

  Everyone laughed. Cress was always great at breaking the ice.

  ‘And of course, last but not remotely least, this is Mark, my poor beleaguered husband, who has to put up with me.’

  Everyone felt relieved the summations were over, not least Harry, who was terrible with names and couldn’t remember a single one, although he had clocked which husband was guarding which wife.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you all. You look terribly normal, though I suspect you can’t be, seeing as you’re such great friends with Cressida.’

  ‘Ah, she broke us long ago,’ Monty smiled.

  Cress rolled her eyes, and caught sight of a paparazzo lurking in the corner.

  ‘I just have to see to something. I’ll catch up with you all in a bit,’ she said, and she raced across the gardens like a Jack Russell out ratting.

  ‘Well, she’s done you proud tonight, Harry,’ Kate said. ‘This is a super party. The guest list reads like Debrett’s.’ She narrowed her green eyes as she scanned the room. ‘Actually, I’m sure I’ve sued half the people here.’

  Harry looked at her, intrigued. ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘Moreton Parker. We’re not the biggest, but we are the best.’ Kate went straight into the spiel. She was proud of her career, and highly ambitious. She was up for partner this year. Bringing in a name like Harry Hunter could be her meal ticket. Heaven knows, there were flies on him. ‘I’ve been keeping up with the tabloid coverage on you. They’re really fond of you, aren’t they?’ She jutted out a shapely hip and held his gaze. ‘Barely a day goes by without them finding some opportunity of putting your picture on the page. Do you ever feel they’re lining you up as the new David Beckham?’

  ‘All the time. Who does he use?’

  Bingo. ‘Us.’ Kate smiled and reached into her tiny beaded clutch. ‘Here’s my card. Call me if you like.’

  Harry slipped it inside his dinner jacket, without looking at it. ‘I shall be sure to,’ he said with a smile. Monty frowned again.

  ‘So, uh, I bet everyone asks you this all the time, but have you started work on a new book yet?’ Tor asked hesitantly, worried about sounding boring, or stupid, or both.

  ‘Yes, Cressida’s already cracking the whip. She’s just signed me to a five-book deal and I have to deliver my first manuscript by Christmas. She keeps telling me how I mustn’t keep my public waiting.’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘And is it true your earlier books are going to be made into films too?’ she asked earnestly, like a student newspaper reporter.

  ‘Yes. Miramax bought the rights for Scion – which has already been made – as well as for The Snow Leopard and The Ruby Route. I’m writing the screenplays for both those films as well, so it’s going to be a busy year.’

  ‘However will you find the time to stay in the papers?’ Kate asked archly.

  Harry looked at her, his interest piqued by the amusement dancing in her eyes. ‘It’s a constant battle,’ he smiled back devilishly.

  They stared at each other for a moment, and Kate nodded in recognition, already imagining telling the partners she’d landed Harry Hunter.

  There was a long silence. Tor took another gulp from her drink and wished the boys would be a bit more hospitable. Just because Harry was world-famous, internationally renowned and gorgeous didn’t mean they had to be rude.

  Hugh clearly couldn’t be bothered to get involved in the conversation at all and engaged Mark in a lairy argument about who should captain the next Lions tour. Monty was just weighing up which splinter group to go with – the husbands (very tempting), or Harry and the wives – when he spotted a familiar figure moving through the crowds towards them, and did a double-take.

  ‘I say, fancy seeing you here.’ He thrust forward a friendly handshake.

  James White responded in kind. ‘Hello, squire,’ he smiled.

  Harry started suddenly upon hearing his voice and spun round. Stiffening, he looked at James, who had put his hand back in his pocket and clearly had no intention of offering it.

  ‘Lord White,’ Harry said with a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘Hallo Hunter,’ James said levelly. ‘How did you manage to crash this party? Slip a fiver at the door?’

  Harry chuckled, but there was no smile in his eyes.

  Tor looked on, shocked. What on earth was he doing here?

  Kate dropped her cool demeanour and, shrieking with delight, kissed James on the cheeks. Cress dashed back over, having unceremoniously ejected the gatecrashers.

  ‘How on earth do you two know each other?’ Cress asked, trying to think how she could have missed James’s name on the guest list.

  ‘Ah, surely you can guess: “Bright with names that men remember; loud with names that men forget”,’ James replied enigmatically, staring at her.

  ‘Huh?’ Cress replied, perplexed.

  Harry sighed dramatically. ‘Eton. We were in the same house. He’s quoting Swinburne, trying to show you how clever he is.’

  ‘Oh,’ Cress said, embarrassed to have missed the literary marker – it was supposed to be her specialism, after all.

  An awkward pause ensued, as both men failed to fill the gap with a merry anecdote or embellishment from their schooldays together.

  ‘Right,’ Kate said slowly, sensing the tension between the two men.

  James looked away first, to greet Tor. He liked her hair worn up like that, and she looked a vision in the short creamy dress.

  ‘Definitely the right choice,’ he smiled, flicking his eyes down at her dress. She smiled shyly, and as he kissed her hello, his hands felt firm on her back. Tor saw Kate’s eyebrows shoot up.

  ‘We ran into each other on Walton Street this afternoon,’ Tor explained quickly. ‘I made the mistake of trying on the same dress as Coralie. Big mistake, huge,’ she said smiling, paraphrasing the Pretty Woman scene. ‘Where is she, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, over there somewhere,’ James said. ‘Ran into some acquaintances on the way.’ He looked at Harry. ‘She’ll be over in a moment, I expect.’

  Tor craned her neck and could just make out Coralie’s petite form. She was wearing the viridian dress and looked every inch the magnificent peacock. Almost as though her ears were burning, Coralie glanced up and, seeing James standing with the guest of honour, left her companion mid-sentence and wiggled over.

  Tor didn’t like her, though she couldn’t really specify why. There was a coldness about her. She wondered why – besides her obvious beauty and stupendous figure – James was with her. She didn’t seem his type. Not that Tor had the slightest clue what his type might be. But somehow she hadn’t reckoned him as a trophy hunter.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, James?’ Coralie simpered.

  ‘Yes, of course, darling. Coralie, this is Harry Hunter, struggling author.’ Everyone chuckled. ‘Hunter, this is Coralie Pedeaux.’

  Coralie proffered a delicate hand – as limp as a dying swan, Tor thought – and instead of a polite handshake, Harry kissed it. This time, Kate and Tor rolled their eyes at each other. Yet again, they’d been eclipsed by La Parisienne.

  A speeding waitress zoomed past with a tray of mini fish and chips, and Kate’s eyes lit up. ‘God, I’m starving,’ she said. ‘I haven’t eaten all day.’

  Tor looked at her friend’s plum silk jersey Ungaro dress. You could tell. There wasn’t a lump or – more to the point, a bump – to be seen. She looked more like a fashion editor than a lawyer in her outfit, accessorizing with some jumbo turquoise bangles pushed up on to her upper arms and turquoise-feathered Pocahontas-style Manolos.

  ‘Quick, catch that waitress,’ Kate said to Monty, grabbing his sleeve, and before you could stop them they were weaving through the crowds, trying to rugby-tackle her to a halt. Cress stomped off to the kitchens to complain about t
he serving staff’s stroppy attitudes.

  Tor and James, who had looked on in amusement, turned back to find Coralie and Harry engrossed in conversation about hiding places in Paris.

  ‘I always stay at the Costes,’ Harry was saying, with a slight slur.

  ‘Mais non,’ Coralie replied, placing a hand on his arm. ‘It is not so discreet. It must be so terrible for you with ze press. Do you not have somebody to stay with out zere?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, a trace of little-boy-lost in his voice.

  ‘Jesus,’ James muttered under his breath.

  Tor felt awkward, like an unwanted fourth point in a triangle.

  ‘Would you like a drink? Let me get one for you,’ she said hurriedly, noticing he didn’t have one and thinking this would be an opportunity to escape.

  ‘Better make it a stiff one,’ he smiled wryly, embarrassed that Tor had observed his annoyance.

  ‘I’ll go to the bar,’ she said, beginning to move away. ‘The waitresses are shocking.’

  ‘Don’t think you’re leaving me to watch their love-in,’ he smiled, nodding towards Harry and Coralie. With charismatic self-assuredness, he grabbed her hand and she was deftly steered through the crowd for the second time that evening.

  They found a couple of bar stools in the corner. It was a bit dark – just about the only place in the room not lit with a lantern or candle or tealight – but it was either that or stand, and Tor was feeling short in her flat sandals now. All the other women were in stacked heels and James was so tall she wouldn’t hear a word he said.

  He was wearing a pale blue shirt beneath a slim navy suit, and as he ordered at the bar, one hand in his trouser pocket, she saw his stomach was washboard-flat. She caught herself and quickly looked away.

  He ordered them a martini each, not bothering to ask whether she liked it (she didn’t, but that seemed irrelevant). They sat knee to knee. Tor fiddled with her dress, trying to pull it down, and didn’t notice James surreptitiously glancing at her thighs. He cleared his throat.