read, ‘Willow Carruthers has wasted no time mourning the death of her marriage and has stepped into Harold Gaumont’s new picture epic, filming in Bristol. It is believed that Willow will be in Bristol for six weeks with her children filming the multi-million dollar epic.’
Kerr looked at the pictures of Willow. She did look beautiful, he thought, and then he looked at the muscular and groomed Tatiana on the sun lounger.
So different; the Madonna and the whore, he thought. Tatiana grabbed the magazine back from him.
‘That is your wife, yes?’ she said with distaste.
‘Yes,’ said Kerr, looking into the distance. No other boats in sight.
‘She is an actress, yes?’ asked Tatiana, her thoughts ticking.
‘Yes,’ said Kerr vacantly.
‘I think I would like to be an actress. I think I would be good, yes?’
‘Sure, sure,’ he muttered. Three words from the article played over in his mind. Multi-million dollar. How much would she be getting paid for this role? he wondered.
Walking over to his phone on the table on deck he picked it up and saw he had thirteen missed calls and eight new messages. He ignored them and rang his lawyer, who took his call immediately.
‘You’re alive,’ came the voice down the phone.
‘Yes, I’ve just been having some time out,’ said Kerr. ‘Rethinking my options.’
‘Willow is desperate to get a hold of you, as is your manager,’ said the lawyer.
‘Tell me, if Willow and I are split up then does she have to share with me what she earns still?’
‘Not really. The kids are with her full time aren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you have the kids then yes, but otherwise no.’
Kerr waited for a moment and then looked at Tatiana. He knew she was tiring of him. It was time to get his life back on track: music and money, that was what he wanted, and Willow held the key to both of them.
‘I think it’s time I came back to London,’ said Kerr.
‘High time,’ said his lawyer. ‘Call me when you get here. There are a few things we have to discuss. Actually many things.’
Kerr hung up the phone and turned to Tatiana. ‘I have to go home,’ he said.
She didn’t bother to turn around. ‘OK.’
Kerr waited. ‘Can I use your jet?’
Now Tatiana rolled onto her back and sat up. ‘What’s in it for me, darlink?’ she asked slowly.
‘I could fuck you,’ he offered.
She shrugged. ‘Boring. What else?’
‘I could write you a song?’ he offered again. He was tired of her games and bullshit. He just wanted to be back in England with a pint in his hand and a full bank balance.
‘Maybe, but first I want to be an actor. I want to meet your wife. Maybe she can help me.’
Kerr looked at her, shocked. She couldn’t be serious? There was no way Willow would ever entertain this woman, whose nipples he had been seen sucking in pictures all over the world.
‘Umm, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ he stammered.
‘Then no jet,’ she said and she rolled onto her stomach again.
Kerr picked up his phone, dialled his phone banking number and keyed in the details. He would check his bank balance and then make his own way home. He had hidden this credit card from Willow, and it was strictly only to be used in an emergency. He considered being held hostage off the coast of Sicily as an emergency, and he waited while the automated voice gave his balance over the phone.
‘You have one hundred and eleven pounds available,’ the automated voice stated.
That can’t be right, he thought, and he pressed the button to hear it again. ‘You have one hundred and eleven pounds available,’ said the voice again. ‘To hear the last six transactions press two.’
Kerr pressed two, his hands shaking. There had been twelve thousand pounds on this card. ‘Last six transactions. Monday the twelfth of June – The Apple Store – two thousand and twenty-one pounds. Tuesday the thirteenth of June – Net-A-Porter – three thousand one hundred and two pounds. Tuesday the thirteenth of June – Ralph Lauren – one thousand and seven pounds, twelve pence. Tuesday the thirteenth of June – Whole Life Foods – five hundred and forty-two pounds, eighty-two pence. Wednesday the fourteenth of June – Harrods – two hundred and twelve pounds, eleven pence. Thursday the fifteenth of June – Harrods – eight hundred and fourteen pounds, ninety-nine pence.’
Kerr hung up, rage pouring from him. Fucking Willow had his card details. Well she could go fuck herself. She was going