Chelsea Wives. Anna-Lou Weatherley

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СКАЧАТЬ the kerb right outside your apartment block indeed belongs to you. At least, it could if you do exactly as I tell you and don’t ask questions, do I make myself clear?’

      Mylo nodded.

      ‘Yeah. I hear you.’

      There was a pause on the line and for a second he thought the caller might’ve hung up.

      ‘I believe you’ve been hired to shoot the new L’Orelie commercial. Is that right?’

      ‘Yeah, dude, that’s right,’ Mylo replied, wondering what the hell it had to do with anything.

      The L’Orelie shoot was the gig that was about to pull his sorry ass right from the doldrums and propel him into the big time. It was just pure luck that a couple of months ago he’d been at a W magazine party and ended up boning some older chick who turned out to be the CEO of L’Orelie no less. She’d taken quite a fancy to him; promised him she’d help him out with his career, get him on track with some of the big players. She’d been a bit of a goer in the sack too, even teaching him a few new moves, which was no mean feat.

      ‘You’re test shooting someone by the name of Imogen Forbes, yes?’

      Mylo couldn’t think straight. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

      ‘The British chick? She was big, like, years ago, right?’

      ‘Yes, that’s her.’

      ‘Dark hair. Dark eyes. Pretty damn foxy. Lips like pillows. I’ve seen some old shots of her.’

      ‘Yes, yes.’ The voice was growing tetchy.

      ‘What about her?’

      ‘I want you to make sure that she is not successful on the shoot, Mylo. By that I mean she must not get the L’Orelie contract – not even a look in. Do you understand?’

      There was a silence while Mylo digested this information. The line crackled.

      ‘I’m not interested in how you might go about achieving this,’ the voice continued, ‘but achieve it you must. If, of course, you want the keys to that perfect piece of machinery you’re no doubt still looking at right now.’

      Paranoid, Mylo dropped the curtain in alarm. Was he being watched?

      ‘The keys will be delivered to you personally by courier the very moment I get the news that she hasn’t got the job. Have I made this all very clear, Mylo?’

      Mylo closed his eyes and opened them again as if this somehow might give him more clarity on the situation.

      ‘OK, dude. So you’re telling me you’re going to give me 300,000 bucks’ worth of car if I take dud shots of some British broad so that she don’t get this L’Orelie gig, right?’

      ‘In a nutshell, Mylo, yes.’

      ‘And if I don’t …?’

      ‘Then the deal’s off and you go back to driving your mother’s old Chevvie, I suppose.’

      Mylo frowned.

      ‘Hey! How’d you know it was my mother’s …?’

      ‘Do we have a deal, Mylo?’ the caller repeated, impatient.

      The blonde in the bed stirred suddenly, lifting her head from the pillow.

      ‘Morning, baby,’ she husked, her southern drawl breaking the intensity of the moment.

      Mylo put his finger to his lips angrily and waved her away.

      He lifted the curtain back from the window again and glimpsed the glossy red masterpiece on the pavement. He could almost hear it purring softly as he imagined himself turning the key in the ignition and hitting the big red START button. He thought of all that willing pussy making itself available on the buttery soft leather interior, of all the heads that would turn when he roared up in that little baby. Mylo: photographer du jour. He didn’t stop to think why the caller might want to scupper the British chick’s chances of getting the gig. Like the caller said: no questions asked.

      Mylo dropped the curtain and allowed a small chuckle to escape from his lips.

      ‘You have a deal, my friend,’ he said finally. Frankly, it was a no frickin’ brainer.

      CHAPTER 8

      ‘Mr Mystern will see you now, Mrs Rothschild,’ the young, raven-haired receptionist said as she ushered Calvary through to the modestly grand offices in Temple where Nikolas Mystern was sitting in his perfectly worn leather chair, hand outstretched in warm acceptance.

      ‘Calvary,’ he stood, smiling. ‘It’s been too long. You look wonderful. Please, sit down, sit down. Luci, fetch us some coffee, will you.’

      Calvary waited until the door had firmly shut behind her before grasping Nikolas’s hand in both of her own.

      ‘Nikolas, it’s so good of you to see me,’ she said, gratitude audible in her voice. ‘I know it’s terribly short notice.’

      ‘Never too busy to see an old friend,’ he replied with genuine warmth.

      Nikolas Mystern QC was one of the top divorce lawyers in Britain and an old family friend. Having secured some of the heftiest alimony payouts on UK record, including £5 million for a spouse married to her cheating footballer husband for all of eighteen months, he had deservedly earned the moniker, ‘Nik the Great’ and certain others he would rather not have mentioned.

      Somewhat of a dandy in his de rigueur braces, perfectly styled hair and Gucci brogues, he looked younger than his sixty-eight years, his soft, rather jovial features belying his fearsome reputation; he was not nearly as frightening in the flesh as he could be in the courts.

      ‘Tell me. How are you keeping?’ Nikolas asked brightly, detecting her lachrymose mood. He imagined she wasn’t here to catch up on old times. ‘And the boys? Though I say boys … I heard on the grapevine that your eldest is getting hitched no less. Good Lord, I remember that boy in his Moses basket!’ He shook his head. ‘Where do the years go?’

      ‘I’m fine, Nikolas,’ Calvary said, though both of them knew this to be to the contrary. ‘Tom is all set for Oxford and Hen, well, yes, Henry is planning to tie the knot with his fiancée, Tamara.’ She hissed the girl’s name as though it were blasphemous. ‘Actually, Hen’s the reason I’m here, in a manner of sorts.’

      ‘Oh?’

      There was a brief knock at the door before the beaming receptionist walked in with a tray of refreshments.

      ‘Thank you, Luci,’ he smiled, pouring them both coffee in a Wedgwood china cup as the young girl withdrew from the room once more.

      ‘I need your help, Nikolas,’ Calvary said, shocked by the sound of her own desperation.

      ‘I need a divorce.’

      Nikolas sighed. СКАЧАТЬ