“I’m sure that’s not her intention. And whatever she writes will have to be vetted by me before it’s even published. So there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Easy for you to say. You won’t be in the book.”
“How do you know? Maybe she’s devoting an entire chapter to me.”
“I very much doubt it,” said Michele as she smoothed her pristinely white tennis shirt, then tucked her long blond tresses behind her ears. In her mid-forties, she had retained the figure of her teenage years, and even her face was still relatively wrinkle-free, much to the envy of her female friends, who often wondered how she did it. “Otherwise she would have told you. Like she told me, and the rest of our circle of friends.”
“Look, I can assure you that by the time Isobel’s autobiography goes out, there won’t be anything controversial left in the text. You have my word on that.” He patted her knee affectionately. “There’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart. Nothing at all.” He gave her a reassuring smile.He might be a full decade older than she was, but he still looked youthful enough to pass as her contemporary. But then he spent much of his leisure time playing tennis, and not on long drawn-out lunches or games of golf as a lot of his colleagues did.
“Mh.”
In spite of Chris’s reassurances, Michele was still worried. She knew Isobel, and what she had told her had given her great cause for concern. When Isobel’s husband Gavin had disappeared seven years ago, it had led to a complete meltdown and had precipitated the most dreadful episode in Isobel’s life. It had taken years and countless sessions of counseling before Michele’s sister-in-law had managed to extricate herself from the claws of the alcohol demon and take control of her life again. She still attended regular AA meetings, which is where she’d picked up the idea to write a book about her life,detailing her own descent into madness, and revealing the truth about what happened to her.
Not content with sharing her own secrets, though, she was now so enamored with the notion of cleansing her life by shining a light on all that was dark and shameful that she had decided to extend this treatment to all her loved ones. When she had announced to Michele what it was that she intended to do, Michele was shocked. But arguing with Isobel had proven useless: the woman was so convinced she was doing the right thing that it was impossible to talk her out of it.
At least she’d accepted Michele’s suggestion to bring her project to Chris, who might be able to subject the autobiography to an editor’s eagle-eyed scrutiny and weed out the most egregious problems before being unleashed upon the world.
“Look, it’s all part of Isobel’s process,” said Chris, repeating a mantra he’d been using ever since they’d signed the contract for the book. “And you have to admit that she’s doing much better since she started writing her autobiography.”
“Of course it’s her process,” Michele agreed, “but why does she have to drag us into it? She can write about herself all she wants, but not about me or the kids.”
“I’m sure she’ll keep Michael and Drew out of it,” said Chris.
“I should hope so. Though she should keep us all out of it.”
“I’m afraid that ship has sailed,” said Chris, and returned to checking his messages.
Michele gave him a sideways glance. Chris came at this from a different angle than she did, of course. For him this autobiography meant a great deal of money. Dean and Gavin Droba were the sons of Bill Droba, of Droba Group fame. The Droba tires were renowned around the world, and had made the Droba family very rich indeed. Even the tragedy that had befallen them seven years ago hadn’t managed to put a dent into this success story, and so when a member of the family had announced a tell-all autobiography, speculation was rife, and already the press had been peppering them with questions. According to Chris sales figures for Isobel’s autobiography might even exceed those ofpolitical luminaries like Bill Clinton or Barack Obama, who had sold millions of their life stories.
Millions upon millions of people—reading saucy stories about their personal lives. For a private person like Michele this was nothing short of a nightmare.
CHAPTER 3
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
Ona Konpacka took great precautions to protect her precious skin from the sun. Not only had she selected the biggest umbrella for herself, but she was also wearing a long-sleeved shirt, cotton pants, outsized sunglasses, and lathered the parts of her skin that were exposed in a thick layer of sunscreen at regular intervals.
Once the best-paid model on the planet, an incompetent plastic surgeon had ended her career when he’d injected her face and parts of her body with fillers that had triggered the most horrendous allergic reaction, causing her famous face and figure to become disfigured. Only through the diligent and patient ministrations of genius cosmetic surgeon Max Stinger had the damage been undone. She would never be a model again, but at least she looked human again, and was able to leave her apartment, after locking herself up like a recluse for the best part of the past two years. Max had earned her eternal gratitude, and model and surgeon had grown so close during this period that they’d becomea couple.
“Are you sure I should be out here?” she asked for the gazillionth time. “Everyone knows that scar tissue shouldn’t be exposed to the sun, right?”
Max, who was reading the latest Patterson, didn’t look up. “You’re not in the sun, sugar plum. You’re in the shade. Nothing to worry about.”
Now that she had her looks back—or at least partly—she wasn’t taking any chances. Which was why she wasn’t playing any matches. No singles and no doubles. She’d made this clear to Michele, who hadn’t hesitated to invite her anyway.
She was grateful to Michele, one of the few people who had kept in touch after the incident, and had been a great support in the year she’d been terrified that she would never look like herself again.
Her miniature Brussels Griffon Joey jumped on her lap, and she tickled the doggie behind the ears. Then a second Brussels Griffon followed the first when Zoey joined Joey. Michele had told her a couple of weeks ago that it wasn’t a good idea for a little doggie like Zoey to be alone, and didn’t she want to get her precious darling a friend? And that’s how Zoey had come into their lives. Now both her constant companions, she loved the two doggies with all her heart. In fact if it hadn’t been for them, she didn’tknow how she would have survived.
She hugged both sweethearts to her chest, and giggled when they licked her face—they soon stopped though. Probably didn’t like the taste of sunscreen!
[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]
Marge was heading upstairs to take a shower after her doubles match when she heard noises of a fight in progress. She was passing by the room where Isobel Droba was staying, and if she wasn’t mistaken the voice raised in anger was that of Isobel’s daughter Alison. For a moment Marge dawdled on the doorstep, pressing her ear to the door. She wasn’t normally one for peeking through keyholes or listening at doors, but this business between Isobel and her daughter had been going onfor a while now, and it frankly worried her a great deal.
“You can’t do this!” Alison was saying.
“Watch me,” Isobel returned coldly.
“You’re such a—”
“Hey! Watch your language, young lady!”
Marge shook her head. Even though Alison wasn’t a teenager anymore, her volcanic temper still persisted to this day. For as long as Marge could remember mother and daughter had been having arguments. Sometimes about things as mundane as a skirt Alison had bought that her mom thought too short, or a new car Alison felt she was entitled to. But recently the arguments had turned even more acrimonious. Ever since Alison had met a young man named Jason Rocamora, in fact. Alison had had boyfriends before, of course, and some of them hadn’t met her mother’s approval. But Jason was an ex-con, and when that little fact had been brought to Isobel’s attention, she’d blown a gasket, and had forbidden her daughter to keep seeing this highly unsuitable suitor.