From the angle of the photograph, it had been taken from the wall that surrounded the property.
“I’d suggest someone took out your security system,” Howard said. “If we can prove that, then we can sue. They’re calling it an anonymous tip-off. He’s lying of course but the lawyers won’t go near it.”
Udo sank onto the sofa. “What do we do?”
“We get you out of here first,” Howard replied. “Before long that road will be swamped with reporters. Steven, Javier wants you at his place.”
Steven had his head in his hands. “Wait a second. This is going too fast.”
“We have to,” Howard said. “For the time being you two can only see each other at work. Fuck knows what the lads will think of this.”
Udo thought he might have a panic attack. The walls were coming in so quickly he could barely see.
“Udo, is your car here?” Howard asked.
He shook his head miserably.
“Then I’ll give you a lift home. At least that’ll give us a chance to talk. I’ll meet you outside.”
Udo appreciated Howard’s discretion. When they were alone, Udo stood and fell into Steven’s outstretched arms.
“We’re fucked,” he sobbed.
“Hey now,” Steven replied, kissing the top of his head. “We will survive this. No matter what. I think we have to trust Howard. He knows what he’s doing.”
He was right. A follow-up shot of Udo leaving Steven’s house would not be good.
“How did they get that photo?”
“I’ve got an idea,” Steven replied. “We can’t worry about that now.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Sweetheart, you have to.”
They kissed. Udo’s heart broke as it felt like the last kiss. He had no idea when he would get another.
Steven wiped the tear from his eye.
“It will be fine.”
“It has to be.”
TWENTY-ONE
STEVEN
Steven stared into the cup of coffee that had gone cold ages ago. He sat at Javier’s huge kitchen table that looked as if it had been made from one piece of wood. The kitchen was clinical white so the deep hue of the table really shone.
He had no interest in interior design. The story had broken an hour ago. He’d checked his phone from under the duvet and winced. The photograph that might end two careers.
Bastards.
Of course, the minute one paper had dropped the news, the rest of the gutter press fed from it like rats. They would be discussed on all the daytime shows. He screwed his eyes tightly shut. As a child he’d done that to block out the woes of the day. It didn’t work.
“How are you doing?”
Nikki swept into the kitchen. As always she looked sensational, in white linen trousers and an oversized striped shirt. Steven was in his work gear.
