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calm and order in the frantic chaos of Jack Messenger’s professional life. He and Ivan used to joke that running a music management business was the best on-the-job training a psychotherapist could have. As managers they were part mentor, part friend, part boss, part life coach to some of the most talented, spoiled and rampantly fucked-up individuals on the planet. Life at Jester was equal parts exhausting and rewarding, but it was never dull. Jack loved it. But he also loved leaving it behind in the evenings and retreating behind the walls of his tranquil fortress.
    Sonya had designed and decorated the house, and her presence was still everywhere. Jack limited photographs of his wife to the master bedroom. He’d learned that having them around the house made some people feel uncomfortable, and prompted others to try and talk about his loss, something Jack was congenitally incapable of doing. But you couldn’t pick up a cushion or switch on a lamp, without being reminded of Sonya’s subtle, feminine taste, her love of colour and texture, her
warmth.
That was the one thing Jack Messenger missed most about his wife. The world was a colder place without her.
    Flipping open his calendar (Jack was still a pen and paper man where possible), he groaned. He’d totally forgotten he had a dinner date with Elizabeth tonight. Elizabeth Grey was Jack’s female companion of the moment. Nominally his ‘girlfriend’, though that wasn’t a word Jack himself ever used. She was a senior exec at Paramount – smart, funny, independent and kind, as well as beautiful in the classy, understated way that Jack liked: long hair, minimal make-up, slim without being scrawny. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Elizabeth, not one complaint that Jack could level at her. Except the fact that she wasn’t Sonya.
    Dialling her number, Jack was relieved to get the voicemail. ‘Hi, Liz. Listen honey, I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to bail on tonight. I’m totally wiped after my trip. I’ll call you tomorrow, OK? OK thanks. Sorry. Goodnight.’
    He hated how awkward he sounded. Somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that dating at 40 automatically made you a jerk. Switching off his phone so Elizabeth couldn’t call him back, he padded into the kitchen for a snack when something caught his eye. The door to his wine cabinet was ajar. No bottles were missing. Everything else was as it should be. But Conception, Jack’s housekeeper, always locked that particular cabinet.
    Kendall.
    Kendall was curled up on the couch watching
Two and a Half Men
with Lex Abrahams when Jack burst in with a face like fury.
    â€˜Have you taken wine from my house while I’ve been gone?’
    Kendall didn’t look up from the screen. ‘Hi, Kendall, hi, Lex. How are you? Nice to see you again,’ she said sarcastically.
    â€˜Answer the question.’
    â€˜Of course not! Jesus, so what, I’m a thief now?’
    â€˜Not a thief. You replaced it,’ said Jack. ‘But you forgot to lock the wine closet afterwards. Where’s Kevin?’
    â€˜He wasn’t feeling too good,’ said Kendall blithely. ‘So I sent him home and called Lex to come over and save me from my deepest, darkest urges. So far it’s going great.’ She raised a glass of Diet Coke in Jack’s direction. ‘How was England?’
    â€˜Don’t change the subject,’ snapped Jack. ‘How much did you drink?’
    â€˜It wasn’t Kendall,’ Lex piped up from the couch. ‘It was me. I’m sorry, I, er, I had a few friends over on Friday and I needed some decent vintage stuff, so I, er, I borrowed a couple of bottles. I replaced them at the wine merchant’s today. I must have forgotten to lock the, er, the closet.’
    Jack sighed. He liked Lex and was an ardent admirer of his work. But when it came to Kendall, he couldn’t be trusted. ‘Do yourself a