'I'm sorry I slept with Katie Grey,' Sam said quietly.

'I bet you are,' said Anna. 'Your girlfriend leaves you, your career implodes, and now your lawyer's dragging you into some murder mystery halfway around the world.'

He shook his head.

'My career will be fine. Jess and I should have finished months ago, and I've been to worse places than this amazing houseboat in the middle of Paradise.'

'Nothing to worry about then.'

'Except I don't want you to think badly of me for being unfaithful to my fiancee and sleeping with a prost.i.tute.'

He looked at her, his confidence gone. He seemed nervous, almost bashful.

'It doesn't matter what I think, does it?'

'It does,' he said. 'Do you think I'm a sleazeball?'

She couldn't help but laugh.

'Maybe. A little bit. Before. But I think I know you a lot better now.'

'Good.' He smiled. 'You know Mike has spent the last month persuading me to downsize and simplify my life. How come it's suddenly got more complicated now that you're in it?'

A bolt of excitement rushed down her spine.

Sam reached over and touched her fingers then stretched forward to brush her lips with his. His kiss was slow and seductive. In the creamy moonlight, Anna felt like a leading lady in some sweeping fifties romance. Her brain felt dizzy. Desperately she tried to recall the solicitor's code of conduct. Was there anything in it that prohibited a s.e.xual relationship between lawyer and client? She wasn't sure, but right now she was certain of nothing except the sensation of his soft lips crashing against hers and the swell of desire that curled between her thighs.

He took her hand and led her up the stairs to her bedroom on the mezzanine platform overlooking the backwaters. They were not even in the room before he had pulled off his T-shirt. Rule Three, Rule Three Rule Three, Rule Three, a little voice told her. Did Rule Three forbid s.e.x between lawyer and client? Not expressly, but it didn't matter. Her resistance had evaporated.

They tugged at each other's clothes, kissing, tasting, fingers through hair, lips against skin. And then they were naked, her nervousness forgotten as they tumbled back on to the huge bed, the river breeze washing over them but doing little to cool their need.

Laid back on the mattress, Anna's eyes fluttered closed. Her thighs parted instinctively and Sam knelt between them, lowering himself to plant soft, tender kisses on her lips and neck. She groaned as his tongue moved south. He traced a circle around her swollen nipple, then took it in his mouth, sucking sweetly until his lips moved lower, over the curve of her belly, through her soft scrub of pubic hair. Gasping, she grabbed his hair to push him deeper. She cried out as his tongue lapped her c.l.i.toris; hard, firm strokes that sent an arrow of l.u.s.t directly to her belly.

Don't climax now, don't, she told herself, wanting this extreme sensation never to stop. His mouth, damp and musky, returned to hers, and as his hand parted her legs wider still, he pressed his weight against her, entering her slowly until he filled her completely, their bodies melded into one. They moved in time, slow at first and then faster, more urgent. 'Don't stop,' she pleaded, as they rolled over and she pushed herself up so she was straddling him. Her hips rocked against his, her muscles squeezing around him, every nerve ending jump-started to life, waves of pleasure building to a sharp, shivering crescendo. For so long she had denied herself, for so long she had convinced herself that s.e.x was overrated, but as her body surrendered to a sweet, potent o.r.g.a.s.m, her head tipped back, and crying out in screams of unfettered joy, she knew how glad she was to be back in business.

48

'You looked hara.s.sed, so I made you a coffee.'

Matt stood at the door of Anna Kennedy's office, holding two mugs.

She glanced up from her computer, still typing furiously.

'Strong and black, I hope,' she said as he put the cup down next to her keyboard. Now that she mentioned it, he could see that she was tired too: dark rings under her eyes.

'Good weekend, then?'

'Actually, yes.' She smiled playfully, her clever grey eyes not meeting his.

His curiosity was piqued. Anna Kennedy did not seem the type to go crazy at the weekend. She was hands-down the most attractive girl in the office. It was a fact, as her employer, he had tried not to notice, although he hadn't been shocked to hear that her sister was that fit chef off the telly. Anna didn't have that minxy over-s.e.xiness that got Sophie Kennedy on the front covers of the Sunday supplements, but then Matt found those sorts of women quite intimidating. Actually, Anna was if anything prettier than her sister; it was just that she looked more clever and officious and ... what was it? Sad, he thought suddenly. He'd never noticed it before, but she always seemed a little sad.

'So what did you do?' he asked, suddenly eager to find out more.

'Just went away for the weekend,' she said vaguely.

'Boyfriend?'

'I'm not sure yet,' she said, beginning to blush. He felt bad for embarra.s.sing her and changed the subject, keen to carry on talking.

'What are you working on so feverishly?'

She rattled at the keyboard for a few more seconds, then hit the return b.u.t.ton and sat back, letting out a long breath.

'Just a ton of stuff for Helen. The b.l.o.o.d.y Balon case is still going on, and now I've got to go and babysit Chantal Elliot.'

Matt chuckled. 'What's she done this time?'

'Nothing, actually,' said Anna, getting up to feed paper into the printer. 'She's been quite well behaved and I think that's what's troubling her management; they're expecting an explosion any minute, which could scupper some big deal in America.'

'But she's won a Grammy, hasn't she?'

'Doesn't matter,' explained Anna. 'The record industry is screwed at the moment and they want dull safe bets, not aspiring artists who are going to be trouble.'

She took a long swig of coffee, tapping a press release on her desk.

'Chantal's singing at some all-day charity thing near Richmond today, loads of celebs, and that means ...'

'Loads of paparazzi.'

'So I've got to go and make sure they keep their distance.'

'Surely that's a job for security, not a solicitor?' said Matthew.

Anna shrugged. 'I'm taking no chances.'

Matthew picked up the press release as she prepared to leave.

'Is this it? The Fallout Festival?' he read. As his eyes scanned the musical line-up, one name jumped out at him. 'Kim Collier's going to be there?'

'One of many.'

Matthew looked at her.

'Can I come with you?'

Anna eyed him cynically.

'Why do I have the feeling it's not to see Chantal sing?' she said.

'Who's the boss around here, Kennedy?' he chided.

'Well don't dare try and bill it to my client.' She smiled, grabbing her sungla.s.ses and slinging her bag over her shoulder. 'And it's going to be full of young people,' she whispered playfully. 'So if you insist on coming, you'd probably better lose the tie.'

The festival was being held at Parkstead House, a Palladian mansion on the fringes of Richmond Park, a thirty-minute cab journey from the office. The front of the house reminded Matthew of the White House, with curly Ionic columns and marble steps facing the estate's park, which had been transformed into a music festival enclosure with a stage at one end and a fairground off to the right.

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, it's like a posh Glas...o...b..ry,' said Matthew as they left the cab and walked through the gate, eyeing the overgroomed blondes in skinny jeans and flip-flops sitting on the gra.s.s smoking and drinking.

'Glas...o...b..ry,' said Anna wistfully. 'Those were the days. From what I can remember of them, anyway.'

'You went to Glas...o...b..ry?' said Matthew with surprise. went to Glas...o...b..ry?' said Matthew with surprise.

She nodded.

'Every year from sixteen to twenty-five. Before I got sensible and tied myself to a respectable career.'

They flashed their wristbands at a security guard and were directed through into a VIP area. The house itself was being used as a production-headquarters-c.u.m-dressing-room for the artists and the backstage area was full of famous faces from television and music, either dashing about or just lolling on the gra.s.s enjoying the sun.

'Christ, if someone dropped a bomb in here,' said Matthew, 'the whole of the music industry would grind to a halt.'

They walked past a spiky-haired singer Matthew recognised from one of the TV talent shows Jonas liked watching. Anna pulled a face.

'On the other hand, it might do us all a favour and get some real music on the telly,' she whispered.

'Ooh, Little Miss Rock Chick.'

They stopped at a stall and got a fresh lemonade each, then sat down on the gra.s.s. From where they were, they could hear the music blasting out from the stage.

'So is that what attracted you to media law? Drugs, s.e.x and rock and roll?' said Matthew, enjoying the sun, the atmosphere and the company of his a.s.sociate.

Anna shook her head.

'Actually, it was a subst.i.tute career for journalism,' she said, sucking on her straw. 'I studied law to please my parents, but I got the writer's bug in my first year, when I signed up for the uni newspaper. I really wanted to do it, but everyone kept telling me I'd have to start in regional press, covering jumble sales and doorstepping the families of dead people which didn't sound like the sort of news career I was after. Then I got offered a shiny well-paid job at Davidson's, which I knew had a media law division. It was as if I could combine two careers law and journalism in one.'

She squinted at him.

'What about you? Just following in daddy's footsteps?'

Matthew snorted.

'Hardly. We barely spoke for twenty-five years.'

'So why follow him into the law? Why not make a statement and do something completely different, like a fireman or an archaeologist or something?'

It was a question Matt had asked himself many times over the years and one he had never properly been able to answer. Graduating from Cambridge with a 2:1 degree and a rowing blue, he could have gone into banking or insurance or any number of other sideways career paths, but he'd stuck with the law.

'Maybe that was my statement.' He shrugged. 'Choosing family law actually p.i.s.sed my dad off in a big way. He sees it as the poor relation no one talks about. Media, M and A, property, tax, they all have prestige, but Larry sees family law as one step up from those dusty little high-street practices you only visit to make a will or sell your house. Which is funny really, considering the huge amount of time he's spent in the divorce courts himself. Disappointing him seemed the ultimate way to rebel.'

They slurped their plastic cups empty.

'How is your dad anyway?' asked Anna.

'He'll be okay.'

He felt guilty that he hadn't spoken to Larry since their argument in the pub.

'I wish I'd had the chance to work with him.'

'Well at least you get to learn at the feet of Helen Pierce. Helen and Larry are cut from the same cloth.'

'Ruthless b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, you mean.'

They both laughed.

'Helen obviously sees some steeliness in you. She wouldn't have hired you otherwise.'

'I'm not sure she sees anything in me these days except a c.o.c.k-up.'

'After the Sam Charles thing?'

Anna nodded. 'I thought she was going to fire me.'

He put a rea.s.suring hand on her shoulder.

'We've all screwed up, Anna. Don't you think Helen's had her failures?'

'I thought she was indestructible, like Superwoman,' she laughed.

'That's the secret of high-achieving people: good spin. You never hear about the knock-backs, the disappointments, just the good stuff. History is written by the victors, isn't it?'

Anna nodded. 'Wise words, boss man. But I still don't want Superwoman blasting me with her laser eyes, so I'd better go and have a little word with our friends the paparazzi.' She stood up, brushing the gra.s.s off her skirt. 'Are you going to stay here?'

'I've got a little mission of my own,' he said, trying to sound mysterious.

Anna smiled.

'My guess is that she'll be in the production office up at the house. I don't think she's on for a couple of hours.'

Matthew watched her trot over the gra.s.s, her ponytail bouncing from side to side. The photographers were stationed at the entrance to the VIP area, waiting to catch any celebrities going in or out. He couldn't hear what she was saying to them, but he could see her face, serious and no-nonsense, as she jabbed her finger at one of the paps, warning him to keep his distance from Chantal or face her wrath. Matthew chuckled to himself as he watched those burly, scary-looking men with their big cameras and their stepladders all looking at the ground and shuffling their feet. You go, girl, he smiled admiringly, then turned and strode towards Parkstead House.

Kim Collier was standing on a balcony at the front of the mansion. The event was being filmed for TV and there were cameras pointing towards the stage. She was watching Chantal Elliot perform on one of the monitors.

'h.e.l.lo,' she said as she spotted Matt, folding her arms defensively across her chest. 'I'm not sure I should be speaking to you.'

Matt knew he had to play it cool, make it seem like a coincidence.