The Savages by Matt Whyman Page B

sauntered by, Sasha emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing jeans and a capped T-shirt, with her hair scraped back in a band. It was clear that she’d made no big effort to dress. That, she hoped, would come later.
    â€˜Where’s Dad?’ she asked, and looked nervously at her mother.
    â€˜In his study. Working.’
    â€˜But it’s a Saturday,’ said Sasha.
    â€˜He has a lot on right now.’
    â€˜I really need to speak to him about this evening.’
    Angelica tipped her head, appraising her daughter.
    â€˜This boy, Jack … is he important to you?’
    Sasha looked a little unsure.
    â€˜It’s just he’s my first,’ she said, and looked to the floorboards for a moment. ‘I mean my first, you know … boyfriend. I just want to see how it goes for now.’
    Angelica met her gaze once more with a smile. Sasha was certainly flowering, but even she could see that her daughter wasn’t set to lose her head with this young man. If anything, she sounded as if she was discovering for herself that romance wasn’t always a fairy tale.
    â€˜Then talk to your father calmly, like a grown-up,’ she told her. ‘I’m sure he can spare you a moment.’
    Downstairs, Lulabelle Hart sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. She wasn’t there to eat, despite the offer of a bacon sandwich from the catering manager brought in to feed the cast and crew. Lulabelle didn’t really do food at this hour. Ever since she found herself in competition for modelling jobs, meals had become something she felt the need to control. Just then, the smell of eggs in the pan made her mouth moisten. Starting the day with a glass of warm water and a sprig of mint just didn’t compare. Still, it meant come lunchtime she would earn the right to make the most of what was on offer. Until then, Lulabelle closed her eyes and tipped her head back so the make-up artist could work.
    â€˜Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’ the catering manager asked one more time, as he loaded the plates on the breakfast bar.
    â€˜I’m fine,’ said Lulabelle, as a foundation brush whisked over her face. ‘Don’t torment me.’
    Her response was so abrupt it left an awkward silence in the kitchen. It meant when footsteps creaked overhead, everybody heard.
    â€˜Someone’s on the prowl,’ said the make-up artist.
    â€˜Who lives here?’ asked Lulabelle. ‘That mirror is just wrong.’
    â€˜Well, they like to cook,’ observed the catering manager. ‘Kitchens don’t come much classier than this.’
    Lulabelle eyed the display of knives. They clung to a magnetic strip above a butcher’s block, and ranged in shape and size.
    â€˜It’s just showing off,’ she said, as if to correct him. ‘I mean, how many blades do you need?’
    â€˜Judging by the grooves in the block,’ said the catering manager, who had crossed the floor for a closer inspection. ‘I’d say they make full use of them all.’
    This was a first for Titus Savage. Normally, the ground floor of the house would be hired out during the working week. It meant he could steer clear all day, forget about the intrusion, and then return from the office to find his wife happy and everything as it should be.
    Now he found himself under the same roof as a film crew. Just thinking about them poking about down there made his temples throb. What’s more, he had work to do. A lot of it. If the takeover was going to happen, he needed to go through reams of documents to be sure everything was covered. Normally at weekends, Titus liked to close the door and spend time with his family. Instead, he faced a day of hell.
    â€˜Dad, can I talk to you?’
    Sasha had been sure to knock at the study door first. Even though it was wide open, she wanted to do everything right this time.
    â€˜Honey, can it wait?’ asked Titus, without looking around from his