think on her feet. She explained about the confidential-
ity agreement and how Roz had not checked it out first.
‘She was set to make a lot of money, but it makes me
wonder if they intended paying her at all. I mean, why
the one-way flight? And why were they so cagey about
who they were?’
Dympna realised she was expressing her thoughts aloud.
Thoughts that had plagued her for months. Activating
her voicemail, she played the message on speakerphone.
If this didn’t persuade her father, nothing would. Roz’s
voice haunted the air between them, and she watched as
he scrutinised the call.
‘Hi, Dympna, it’s me … Roz. Listen, sorry for not
ringing sooner. I miss you all like hell. I um … I need
your advice. I’m fine and everything but … I thought
I should give you my address. It’s just that … I’ve not
been able to come and go as I like. In fact. I’ve not been
able to leave at all.’ Roz’s words came in stops and starts, followed by an inhalation of breath before the message
came to an abrupt end.
‘She was about to give me her address.’ Dympna said.
‘She could be hurt. I’ve tried ringing her back, but the
phone line is dead.’
‘Well, let’s not get carried away here,’ John replied.
‘She sounds worried, but not scared. She said she’s un-
harmed. But the fact she wants to give you her address
means that something is potentially wrong. My biggest
cause for concern is that she’s not able to come and go.’
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He met Dympna’s gaze. ‘You’re right to be concerned.
Let’s get the ball rolling and see what we turn up.’
‘Thanks,’ Dympna said, relieved her dad was taking
her seriously. It was good to share the burden at last.
Her father was deep in thought, already planning
ahead. ‘I’ll look into the legitimacy of this Miracle-Moms
site first. The fact that she signed an official agreement
suggests that they planned to follow this through.’
‘Roz told me it would blow my mind if I knew
who the couple were.’ Dympna slipped on her glasses
before flicking through the pages of her notebook to a
list. ‘I’ve narrowed it to about fifty people who would
blow me away, and if it’s a celebrity couple then there
are a lot less.’
‘Very good,’ her father said, looking suitably impressed.
‘Did she sound scared the last time you spoke?’
‘That was two months ago.’ Dympna licked the froth
from her lips after a sip of her cappuccino. ‘She said she
was fine, but she was whispering, and she didn’t text or
ring on Christmas Day. Please, Dad. She’s in trouble. I
can feel it in my bones.’
‘OK,’ John replied. ‘What about the baby’s father?
Did she say who he was?’
Dympna shook her head. She was too upset to relay
her suspicions. She didn’t know if there was a future for
her and Seamus any more. ‘The da didn’t come into it
because they want to raise the baby as their own. I told
her she should stay in Ireland and…’
‘Wait,’ her father interrupted. ‘They want to pass the
baby off as theirs?’
Dympna nodded.
‘Then go through your list of people and find any
celebrities who’ve announced a pregnancy over the last
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few weeks. Their baby should be due around the same
time as Roz’s. That should narrow it down.’
‘Oh, yeah … why didn’t I think of that?’ Dympna’s
pulse quickened at the prospect of finding her friend.
‘Remember – all we have is a concern for her welfare.
Without a crime, there’s not a lot we can do. I’ll enquire
with the New York police, but I can’t see them giving
me much time.’
‘It’s worth trying to get the hotel CCTV – that is, if
it’s not taped over.’ Dympna’s knowledge of closed-circuit
television had been picked up from her dad.
‘Hmm … but these hotels make their living off discre-
tion. In the unlikely event that they have it, they’re not
going to hand it over just like that.’ John paused to gulp
his coffee. ‘I need time to think about this, come up with
a plan. Listen.’ He scratched the back of his head. ‘Best
we keep this to ourselves for now.’
Dympna nodded emphatically, a red spiral curl falling
into her face.
The coffee shop was almost empty now, and one of
the waitresses began to sweep the floor. ‘I can’t see this
place lasting much longer … shame,’ Dympna’s father
mumbled under his breath. He pocketed the notebook.
‘I’ll hold onto this for now. If you hear from Roz again,
let me know.’
‘What should I say if she rings? They might be listen-
ing in.’ Dympna had imagined all sorts of awful scenarios
since Roz’s call.
‘Ask if she’s in danger. If she says yes, then it will give us more leverage to work with.’ He raised a cautionary
finger. ‘No exaggerating, though. If these people are as
powerful as you say, then we have to tread carefully.’ He
checked his watch before rising from his seat.
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The Perfect Mother
Dympna’s legs felt weak with relief. To think she’d
been worried about her father’s reaction. A swell of pride
rose. He was there when she needed him. Now it was up
to her to be there for Roz.
197
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sheridan
Sheridan rested her menu on the crisp white table linen.
She ate for sustenance, not for pleasure, but Raffaele’s
was one of the few places in New York where the food
made her mouth water. There was a simplicity to it that
appealed to her, a wholesomeness she could not find
elsewhere. The low clunk of double doors signalled
meals making an arrival, and the aroma of creamy pasta
dishes roamed tantalisingly in the air. She would order
her favourite: Parmesan-crusted chicken finished with a
Chardonnay butter sauce, accompanied by whipped po-
tatoes and steamed broccoli. She glanced around, taking
in the recent refurb as she relaxed into the Italian leather seat. Chandelier after chandelier sparkled like diamonds
overhead, and exquisite glass pillars contained myriad
tropical fish darting this way and that. They were the
restaurant’s talking point, deflecting from the absence
of windows, which protected the identity of the din-
ers within. Privacy was everything, hence the distance
between tables and the background music that softened
the chatter in the room.
Sheridan’s eyes flicked to her Cartier watch. If Monica
didn’t arrive soon, she would start without her. Sheridan
could not be away from home for very long because she
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needed to keep an eye on Roz. She surveyed her fellow
diners, allowing the soft
piano music to wash over her.
The restaurant was one of New York’s top establishments,
and there, amongst her own people, she felt truly at home.
Their money was so tangible you could smell it. In her
social circle, you were a nobody if you didn’t own your
own private jet.
People like Monica were merely visitors, pressing their
noses against the windowpanes of their world. Monica was
sweet, but she avoided publicity, which suited Sheridan
just fine. Like Daniel, Adam was on his way up, and the
last thing Sheridan needed was another power couple
threatening to take their thrones. She took a sip of her
virgin martini. The usual people were in town; a mixture
of agents, celebrities, supermodels and pop stars contrib-
uted to the low chatter in the room. The people here had
egos so large they needed their own zip code. But not
Daniel; not yet. He’d given up everything to establish
their brand: cigarettes, booze, playing around. But he did
not react well to having his freedom curbed. A shiver ran
down Sheridan’s spine as her old fears came into play. The
odds were not in her favour, which was why she had to
work twice as hard to keep their union solid. Dipping
her hand into her bag, she slid out her mobile phone and
checked on George’s location through the Friend Finder
app. A separate notification came through as George sent
the latest recording of his conversations with Roz. She
would listen to them later, checking for any gaps between
recordings so every minute was accounted for.
As she lowered her phone, her gaze fell on Felicity
Grey. Twenty years Sheridan’s senior, she was a fading
actress well beyond her prime. Inhaling a sudden breath,
Sheridan took in her ragged features. What surgeon had
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butchered her this time? Her lips were bulbous; the skin
on her face tugged so tightly it appeared painful to the
touch. Twin black lines represented her eyebrows, set-
ting her face in cartoonish shock. Not that the obscenely
young actor across from her seemed to mind. Sheridan
recognised him as a clinger-on. Rumour had it he was
willing to sleep his way to the top. He made an adequate
replacement for Felicity’s movie producer husband, given
he had left her for a much younger model, too. Sheridan
sighed. Would that be her in twenty years’ time? Or would
she end up like her mother, penniless and alone? Cold
dread spread like ice water through her veins.
‘Sorry, traffic was hell.’ Monica’s Boston accent in-
filtrated her thoughts. Slightly breathless, she paused to
air-kiss Sheridan’s cheeks. Sheridan mentally assessed her
wardrobe, a low-cut Saint Laurent print blouse with a
knee-length black skirt.
Monica briefly acknowledged the maître d’ as he
pulled out her chair. ‘Howareya?’
It was the typical Bostonian greeting, a mixture of
eastern New England dialect delivered in her own unique
style.
‘Fine.’ Sheridan beckoned the maître d’, wasting no
time in ordering Monica a drink.
‘I’m impressed you got a table. Adam called yesterday
– they said they had nuthin’ until next week.’
Sheridan forced back a smug smile. Tables were allo-
cated on a tier system and she never had to wait. ‘I can’t
stay long, I’m afraid – I’ve got a new member of staff
I need to keep an eye on.’ It was a lie, a cover in case
Monica should ever see Roz at the house.
‘Really? What’s she like?’ Monica paused. ‘I say she,
but I shouldn’t presume.’
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‘She’s inexperienced, but Daniel loves her. He only
hired her because she’s Irish.’ She smiled at Monica’s quizzical expression. ‘His mom’s Irish. You must be the only
person on the planet who doesn’t know that.’
Magazine articles contained everything from the co-
lour of his eyes to his favourite flavour chewing gum. In
the early days, Daniel used to chat to interviewers as if
they were his friends. He was more guarded now, but his
early insights still did the rounds. Sheridan had learned
from her childhood to only tell people what you wanted
them to believe.
In the end, she went for a salad; no dressing, no oil.
Felicity Grey’s presence was enough to curb her appetite.
The ghost of her future self? She picked at her iceberg lettuce while Monica devoured her pasta dish.
‘How’s Adam?’ Sheridan asked, nodding towards the
diamond on Monica’s pinky finger. ‘Is that a precursor
to an engagement ring?’
‘Not much chance of that,’ Monica replied, her hand
before her mouth as she chewed the last of her food. She
rested her cutlery on her plate. ‘To be honest, I’m wor-
ried…’ She dabbed the napkin against her lips. ‘But you
knew Adam before me … I shouldn’t be bringing this
to your door.’
Now she had Sheridan’s attention. If developments
were underway, she needed to know. She reached across
the table, squeezed Monica’s hand. ‘Hey, you’re my friend.
Now tell me … what’s wrong?’
Monica chewed on her bottom lip, her conflicted
emotions creasing the corners of her eyes. ‘I promised
not to say anythin’.’
‘I won’t say a word. Is it work? Has he been offered a
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their loved ones for months when they filmed on loca-
tion abroad.
‘It’s his agent,’ Monica replied with a sigh.
Sheridan knew TJ Greene, the renowned agent to
the stars; he was Daniel’s agent, too. She could see him
in her mind’s eye: his over-tanned skin, too-white teeth
and crocodile smile. Sheridan had sought out a female
agent because she refused to deal with TJ, that misogy-
nistic pig. She waited for Monica to continue, refusing
the waiter’s offer of dessert. The restaurant had grown
quieter, and she felt a little better now that Felicity Grey had left.
‘He wants to pair Adam with a supermodel. You know,
the Swedish one that won Miss World?’
‘Klara Johansson?’ Sheridan replied.
Monica nodded. ‘He’s already coming up with a double
name for them both. The Kladams, or something stupid
like that. He said it’s all for show…’ Her chin wobbled
as she fought a battle to hold everything in place. ‘But
birds of a featha flock togetha. What chance have I got
against someone like her?’
Monica rehearsed all the reasons why she was not in
the same league as Klara Johansson. Sheridan had to agree.
A few photos of Adam and the beautiful Klara kissing on
a white sandy beach would be beneficial to them both.
Monica was sweet, but she would not advance Adam’s
career. That was exactly why Sheridan couldn’t allow
them to break up.
‘This is typical of TJ,’ Sheridan replied, with genuine
annoyance in her voice. ‘I’ll talk to Daniel. We won’t
let this happen. Don’t you worry about it.’ Talk to him
she would. She could not allow Adam’s profile to grow
bigger than theirs.
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‘Thanks, sweetie.’ Monica swirled her wine before
knocking it back. ‘Put your money away. Lunch is on me.’
Sheridan rested her purse on the table. Monica was
no freeloader, and she was right; it was her turn to get the check.
‘You won’t be seeing as much of me from now on,’
Sheridan said. ‘I’m going to be working from home.’
‘You’ve got a new script? What’s it for?’
Sheridan shook her head. ‘No, I’m too busy with my
sponsorship deals. I’ll be working on my social media
profile, and I’m planning on writing a book.’ Another lie.
Sheridan would be too occupied watching Roz to write.
‘Good for you,’ Monica replied. ‘Fiction or non-fiction?’
‘An autobiography. Celeb Goss has made enough money off my back all these years. I may as well put the record
straight.’ As the words rolled off her tongue, Sheridan
realised it might not be a bad idea.
‘Is Santana still bitching about you two? Honestly,
it makes me so mad. You and Daniel have the strong-
est marriage I know.’ Monica rested her elbows on the
table, her considerable cleavage peeping through the gap
in her blouse.
‘Ugh.’ Sheridan grimaced. ‘Santana is the author of my
pain. But he doesn’t care about the truth, only what sells.’
‘So how do you guys do it? Seriously, I’m impressed.
Love, I suppose.’
‘Love can only take you so far,’ Sheridan said truth-
fully. ‘Having a history together helps, and knowing each
other’s secrets inside out.’
‘Ooh, your deepest darkest fantasies … Next thing,
you’ll be tellin’ me you have a red room.’
Sheridan laughed. ‘I wouldn’t go that far, but there’s
nothing wrong with being adventurous, taking risks. In
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this business, you don’t keep your man by playing it safe.’
Sheridan paused to sip the last of her drink. ‘Sorry, that’s a bit old-fashioned. Even I cringed at that.’
‘On the contrary, I’m all ears. I’m dying to know more.’
‘Another time, maybe.’ Sheridan checked her watch.
She needed to get back. She had an hour before Roz re-