Players

by Karen Swan

  Kate smiled.

  ‘What is it?’

  Kate crouched down low and looked the little girl in the eyes. She had had an eighteen-week scan with Alex Fallon, to check everything was OK before she flew out, and he’d been fairly certain of the sex. ‘Although there are never any guarantees at this stage. It’s still hard to tell,’ he’d said, covering all his bases. Harry hadn’t wanted to find out, preferring to wait until the birth, but Kate had been absolutely busting to tell somebody.

  ‘Well, you mustn’t tell anybody,’ she said. ‘Because it’s a big secret. OK?’

  The little girl nodded.

  ‘It’s a baby girl.’

  The little girl gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, and Kate giggled. It felt so good to share it with somebody. She hadn’t realized she was so lonely. Once upon a time, she would have been having this conversation with the girls over a coffee at the bandstand café. Now here she was in a swimsuit on Christmas Day, confiding in a pre-schooler.

  ‘What you goin’ to call her?’ the little girl asked breathlessly, her brown eyes wide.

  ‘Well, I’m not really sure yet, but I like Ottilie. What do you think?’

  The little girl nodded. ‘Ollity. That’s pretty.’

  Kate smiled and stood up. ‘Yes, I think so. Now I’ve just got to convince her daddy. He prefers Erin.’

  ‘Me don’t like that,’ the little girl said decisively.

  Kate wrinkled her nose. ‘Me either.’

  The little girl picked up her rope. ‘I got to go now.’

  ‘OK. Well, it was lovely meeting you,’ she said as the girl skipped off unceremoniously.

  Kate smiled and turned back towards the shops and beach stalls. She wanted to get Harry some whimsical stocking-fillers, even though she knew the only thing he wanted to fill in stockings was her.

  She didn’t see the little girl stop at the hibiscus bush and put her hand out for the $10 she’d been promised.

  When she got back, Harry was swimming butterfly lengths in the buff. She sat down next to the pool and dangled her legs in the water, waiting for him to notice her.

  It didn’t take long. For all the splashing above the water, he could see her scarlet toenails clearly underwater and swam over.

  ‘I thought you’d left me,’ he grinned, looking up at her.

  ‘Considered it,’ she said, smiling archly. ‘But I thought I’d wait until after you’d given me my Christmas present.’

  ‘Sweet girl,’ he said, his eyes falling down to her breasts, which were barely contained by the swimsuit.

  ‘I take it you brought a fish back for supper?’

  ‘’Course. Hammerhead shark. It’s sitting on ice in the kitchen.’

  She kicked some water at him. ‘Smart-arse.’ She sighed and stretched. ‘Oh, it’s too hot, Hunter! How can we be expected to eat roast turkey in this heat?’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. Is paradise too much for you?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘You know the saying “bun in the oven”? Well, I’m the sodding oven. I can’t cool down.’

  ‘’Course you can. Get in here with me.’

  She arched an eyebrow and leant back on her elbows, watching that curl right at the front of his forehead beginning to dry and flop forward into its customary place. ‘If you think I’m getting into the water with you, you can think again. I know exactly what’ll happen.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, amused and undeterred.

  ‘I see that lot haven’t moved,’ she said, nodding towards the speedboat. ‘Bloody morons, all of them. I mean, what are they waiting for? What do they think is going to happen?’

  Harry said nothing, but reached up out of the water, artfully pulling one of the strands of her halterneck so that the bow came away and the swimsuit rolled down to her waist.

  ‘Well, something along the lines of that, I should imagine,’ he winked, as Kate’s eyes widened in horror and her hands flew up to cover her modesty.

  ‘Harry! You bastard!’ she shrieked. ‘What’d you do that for?’

  ‘You’d better get in here, hadn’t you,’ he laughed. ‘Or the National Enquirer will have their next cover.’ And he picked her up and brought her down into the water, holding her in the relative safety of his arms.

  ‘You are unbelievable,’ she giggled as he rolled the swim-suit the rest of the way down. ‘What you’ll do to get your own way.’

  ‘Machiavelli’s my hero,’ he mumbled, burying his face in her cleavage. ‘I find the end always justifies the means.’

  Chapter Forty-three

  It was the low whirr of the fan that woke her up, a sure sign she’d had a sufficiency of sleep. Kate rolled over and checked the Asprey carriage clock sitting by the bed.

  10.24 a.m.

  Uuugh. What was wrong with her? The more she slept, the more she wanted to sleep. She hadn’t had this many lie-ins since she was a teenager.

  As usual, Harry was already up. He liked to go for 6 a.m. runs on the beach, before anyone – particularly the paparazzi – was awake. Yawning, Kate rolled herself up into a sitting position, untangling her legs from the crumpled Pratesi sheets, and began absent-mindedly checking for bites, a ritual which had been added to her usual cleanse-tone-moisturize morning routine. The mozzies loved her.

  She checked all over but it appeared she’d got away lightly last night. Well, except for the huge lovebite Harry had left at the top of her left inner thigh. It was just as well she wasn’t scheduled to see Alex Fallon for another ten days, she thought, as she kicked her legs through the mosquito nets. She pulled on a clean pair of knickers and the khaki linen shirt Harry’d pulled off last night and walked to the windows, throwing open the shutters.

  The sky was deep blue, having long since cast off its dawn robes, and the bay was already teeming as jetskis buzzed superyachts, the fishing boats put-putting over the horizon. There seemed to be more speedboats than usual clustered together, but then, on the stretch of beach immediately outside their grounds, Kate saw the clique of local supermodels already lying provocatively on their towels. Word had spread like wildfire around the island that Harry Hunter was resident again, and the glossy posse of girls in Brazilian micro-bikinis and gleaming tans grew by the day. Kate’s hands automatically rubbed her belly.

  She walked away from the window and went downstairs. Everything was quiet, although she knew that if she called, Mary would be in the room within seconds. Kate went over to the breakfast table and helped herself to a half of pink grapefruit, some natural yoghurt, granola and honey, and walked out on to the veranda.

  ‘Would you like tea this morning, madam?’ Mary inquired, as she set the bowls on the table.

  ‘Yes please, Mary. Some Earl Grey would be lovely. Is Harry around?’

  ‘No, madam.’ Mary shook her head. ‘He’s still on his morning run.’

  ‘Still?’

  Mary said nothing.

  Kate shrugged and tucked into her breakfast, picking up the papers, which had been left ironed and folded next to her chair. She clocked the date as she opened them up.

  God, 30th of December! How bizarre. She was loving being here, but she’d never felt less Christmassy in her whole life. Harry had said they would ordinarily have gone skiing, but that what with her ‘condition’, it wasn’t such a great idea this year.

  She speared a segment of pink grapefruit and popped it into her mouth as she opened up the Telegraph. Sub-prime crisis, financial meltdown, teenage knife crime in London . . . Kate’s eyes expertly scanned the first pages, looking for slurs, unfounded allegations, anything that yielded potential new clients, but her interest level was low and she had flicked through all the broadsheets before she was on to her yoghurt.

  It was the Sun that particularly stuck the knife in. They’d been after her, lying in wait, ever since she’d threatened them when the Tatler story first came out. She was the new Neil Hamilton, Jeffrey Archer, Jonathan Aitken – she’d been caught lying and they wanted
her blood.

  ‘It’s a Girl!’ ran the bold black print. Kate choked on her breakfast, her spoon clattering to the floor. They’d used the photograph of her on Christmas Day, sitting by the pool, an arm just about over her breasts and her head thrown back in laughter, as Harry’s muscular arms reached up to her.

  She couldn’t believe it! They couldn’t print that. It was private. How on earth could they have known? Harry didn’t even know! He couldn’t find out like this.

  Kate pushed her chair away and stood up, holding on to the table for support as she tried to clear her head.

  She’d ring . . . she’d ring the office and get one of the other partners to slap it down. Get an injunction. Sue the malicious marrow out of the bastards. They wouldn’t get away with this.

  Who had done it? Who had betrayed her? Think, think. Think! She could imagine the size of the bribes being offered. £500,000? No, more. Easily. Harry’s unborn child was already a celebrity and she wasn’t even born yet. Already, there was a price on her head! It had to be someone at the clinic? A nurse? Fallon? Who else had access?

  And then it came to her.

  James!

  She stood upright. It had to be. He’d do anything to hurt Harry. He’d been waging war against him for over twenty years – why stop now? This was his coup de grâce. Now that Kate was with Harry, it made her James’s enemy too. Especially if Tor’s pitiful voicemails were to be believed and she really had dumped him out of loyalty for her. Kate hadn’t forgotten the way she’d found them together, or the way James had protected Tor. There’d been no doubt he was serious about her ‘. . . It was never not going to happen . . .’ And now, because of Kate, he’d lost her.

  It all made perfect sense. Harry was certain it was James who’d tipped off the press that they’d be coming out of the clinic. And now this.

  Kate’s mouth set. He wouldn’t know what hit him. She’d get him struck off for this.

  ‘Mary!’ Kate shouted. ‘Mary! Bring me the phone!’

  Mary brought it over in an instant, seeing for the first time how very like the other women Kate was, after all.

  Kate punched in the numbers for London automatically, hanging up as soon as the office voicemail came on.

  Of course no one was in.

  She ran upstairs and grabbed her mobile out of her bag. Nicholas Parker’s number was in there somewhere.

  She flicked through the address book and found it.

  ‘Nicholas? It’s Kate Marfleet.’ Though she had taken to using her maiden name in most other matters, she continued to use her married name for work.

  ‘Ah, Kate. Merry Christmas to you,’ came Nicholas’ flat voice.

  ‘Yes, Merry Christmas to you too, Nicholas.’ There was a pause as she tried to remember her manners. ‘Are you – uh – having a nice break?’

  ‘Yes, very nice indeed.’

  ‘Good. Well, I’m glad.’

  ‘And you?’ he inquired, reluctantly.

  ‘Um, yes, very nice, thank you. We’re, um, just by the beach for a few days.’

  ‘Mmmhmm.’ He already knew that. The pictures of her – practically topless – were everywhere.

  There was another pause. She wasn’t sure how to approach this – as client or partner. Her relationship with Harry was the elephant in the room between her and the firm. Having lied to them outright about the nature of their relationship when the Tatler article came out, she’d had to have a very difficult meeting with the other partners when the Evening Standard exposed her, and their coldness had left her in no doubt that if Harry ever went, so did she. In spite of all the years she had spent grafting, networking and building up her career, its destiny now rested entirely with him.

  ‘Look, Nicholas. I’ll just get to the point. Have you seen today’s Sun?’

  Nicholas sighed. ‘No. I’ve been trying to have a day off.’

  ‘I understand, but I’m afraid this matter is very pressing.’

  ‘What’ve they done now?’ He was becoming accustomed to his young partner gracing the news, rather than shaping it.

  ‘They’ve revealed the sex of the baby.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How could they possibly know that?’

  ‘I have my suspicions about who may have leaked it.’

  ‘And is the Sun correct in what it’s printed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you think they’ve definitely been informed? Not a lucky guess?’

  ‘Well, let’s face it, they always had a fifty per cent chance of being right if they did guess. But no, I would say they had information – they know how litigious we are. They wouldn’t risk taking a chance on it.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I want to sue the Sun and the doctor involved for contravention of the Data Protection Act. And I want to go to the GMC to have the doctor involved struck off.’

  ‘Who’s the doctor?’

  ‘James White.’

  There was a pause. ‘As in Lord White? The royal obstetrician?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  There was an even longer pause. ‘And you’re quite sure it’s him?’

  ‘Positive.’ Her tone left him in no doubt.

  ‘OK, well, leave it with me, Kate. I’ll make some calls and get back to you.’

  Kate put down the phone, sank on to the bed and began to sob. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Nothing was sacred any more, nothing was hers. How could she live like this? What kind of mother was she, when she couldn’t even protect her baby before she was born?

  Her mobile rang and she picked it up immediately.

  ‘Hello?’ she sobbed, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. Nicholas would take it as more evidence of her lack of professionalism.

  ‘Kate, it’s me.’

  Kate was stunned into silence.

  ‘Are you there? Don’t hang up! I just wanted . . . I just wanted to check you were OK. And to wish you a Merry Christmas,’ the voice added lamely.

  ‘Monty,’ she whispered, feeling the sobs gather pace again.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’ve been better,’ she blurted, trying to keep her composure but failing, as she heard the compassion in his voice.

  ‘I can imagine,’ he said, his chest tightening as he heard her struggle to control herself. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  She shook her head and sniffed loudly down the line. ‘No,’ she gasped. ‘No, it’s my mess. I have to deal with it. I am dealing with it.’

  ‘You know you can lean on me, Kate.’

  ‘Mmmhmmm,’ she said, unable to speak, as his kindness made the tears worse. She could almost feel his arms around her. She took a deep breath. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In Norfolk.’ There was a silence. ‘With Tor and Cress and Mark,’ he added quickly. ‘Tor needs people around her at the moment. I’m not with . . . you know . . .’

  ‘Have you seen Billy?’

  ‘No, he’s skiing. He hasn’t come home since the summer,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Monty. I’m so . . . I’m so sorry . . . I’m so sorry about everything,’ she cried, feeling all the guilt and regret pour out. ‘I should have told you about the baby, but I didn’t know how and then the papers found out and I didn’t know that either and I’ve been such a bitch and . . .’

  ‘Sssh,’ he soothed. ‘It’s all OK. Don’t worry about that. Just look after yourself. You’ve got a baby to think about now.’

  ‘Uh-huh, OK, OK,’ she gasped, looking down at her tummy, which was jumping up with her hiccups.

  ‘Just give me a ring if you want to talk. Let me know you’re all right.’

  ‘All right, I will. Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks, Monty. Thanks for being so nice. I don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ve had a hard time. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be a mother. I want it all for you. Kate.’

  ‘M
mmmmmhmmmm,’ she nodded, crying heavily again.

  ‘Keep in touch, OK?’

  She wailed as the line went dead, her head swimming with images of him, celebrating with their friends at their holiday house – enjoying a cold Christmas with blustery walks on the beach, the Atlantic churning up the seabed, the water brown and frothy as it bashed the sand; vats of soup and mulled wine simmering on the Aga she hadn’t even cooked on yet, and their godchildren shrieking up and down the stairs as the grown-ups got pissed and played charades.

  Tor, of course. This would be hard for her. Occasions like this must be the hardest to endure, and for all that had passed between them, Kate felt glad to think that she wasn’t alone – and that neither was Monty. That they were all there together, looking after each other.

  As for her? Well, Monty was right. She needed to cheer up. OK, so she couldn’t cool down and she couldn’t face Christmas food and it felt more like the middle of July than December, and there was an army of beach glamazons camping out in the hope of seducing her boyfriend. But! She was pregnant. She was going to be a mother. She was in love with a handsome, successful man who loved her back. And she was living in the lap of luxury. It was time to be grateful for what she had. Even paradise wasn’t perfect.

  Kate walked into the marble bathroom and washed her face under cold water. She heard the phone ringing in the bedroom and she ran back in, just as Harry picked it up.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, as he winked at her, wearing just a pair of Vilbrequins. ‘Hello, Nicholas. Happy Christmas and all of that.’

  She held out her palms, indicating ‘Where’ve you been?’

  He held up a finger to silence her as Nicholas spoke down the line, a frown crossing his face.

  ‘Uh-huh . . . They said what? . . . Christ, are you sure? . . . Well, is there any way we can stop them? . . . Should I come back? . . . Uh-huh . . . No, don’t worry about it . . . Yes, I know exactly how to make this go away . . . I’ll make a call and get back to you.’

  He hung up and put the phone down, visibly paler and less pleased with himself than he had been when he’d picked it up.

  ‘That was Nicholas Parker,’ he said solemnly. ‘He’s just got off from talking to the Sun.’