Page 64 of The New House

I’ve put his photo on the bottom of the screen and there’s a link just below the comments section where you can text him directly, and we want you to blow up his phone! And if you see him in the street take a picture and send us a message and we’ll add it to our Felix Tracker!

Because we’re giving you notice, Felix Porter, you and all the other men out there like you! Like that guy says in the movie — What’s it called?

— Thanks, babe, I knew you’d know.

To paraphrase the guy inNetwork, we’re super-angry and we’re not going to take it any more!

chapter 39

millie

‘You have to stop her,’ Stacey says.

‘I’m not sure that’s possible,’ I sigh. ‘You’ve seen what Harper’s like when she gets the bit between her teeth.’

Stacey scrubs at an invisible stain on her pristine marble counter: I’ve never seen her this rattled. ‘She’s going to set the media circus going again with this ridiculous vendetta of hers,’ she says. ‘They’ve only just stopped camping on my doorstep, but if she doesn’t stop she’ll bring them all back.’

Until now, Stacey’s been lucky: less than twenty-four hours after the revelations about Copper Beech hit the headlines ten days ago, a new Royal scandal broke and knocked everything else off the front pages.

Jogging past the Glass House last week, I noticed the throng of journalists and desperate investors had dwindled to fewer than a half-a-dozen. The morning after that, it was down to a lone photographer. By the time I finished my five-mile loop even he was gone.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t have moved back home just yet,’ I say. ‘It’s too easy for the media to find you.’

‘Ihaven’t done anything wrong,’ Stacey says.

Against expectation, theMorning Express Show’s PR polling suggests the public see Stacey as a victim of her husband’s fraud rather than a co-conspirator:the producers couldn’t wait to get her back on the air. All talk about moving her to the breakfast show has apparently been shelved: as Stacey noted bitterly, any publicity is good publicity, and with the wife of Britain’s answer to Bernie Madoff anchoring the programme, theMorning Express Show’s ratings have gone through the roof. Oscar Wilde was right: the only thing worse than being talked about isnotbeing talked about.

‘The press aren’t going to go away,’ I say. ‘With Felix missing, you’re the closest they have to—’

‘Felix isn’tmissing,’Stacey says shortly, tossing her sponge into the sink. ‘He’s probably halfway to Argentina or some other country without an extradition treaty by now. But if Harper keeps up with this ridiculous manhunt of hers, the police are going to start taking his disappearance seriously. If I get sucked into an investigation, my poll numbers will take a dive and then the network will pull the plug on me without a second thought.’

‘I thought the policewereinvolved?’

‘The fraud squad. That’s totally different.’

I’m not sure I understand the distinction, but I’m not going to press the issue.

This mess is partly my fault:Iwas the one who told Harper to take control of the narrative, but a nationwide manhunt for Felix Porter wasn’t what I had in mind. Stacey is right: with his absence now front and centre of the story, it’s only a matter of time before the police consider foul play.

And that’s not in anybody’s interests, least of all mine.

‘I should probably get going,’ I say, pushing back my stool. ‘I have a trustee meeting at work I can’t miss. It was really good of you to take Peter into the studio today with everything else you’ve got going on. I appreciate it.’

‘It was a nice distraction,’ she says. ‘And a promise is a promise.’

She follows me downstairs. Peter is playing computer games in Archie’s bedroom: I have to call him three times before he slopes out into the hall.

‘I hope you thanked Mrs Porter for taking you to the studio today,’ I say.

He smiles insolently. ‘What do you think?’

‘Peter and I had a good day,’ Stacey says. ‘Didn’t we?’

Peter’s eyes slide away. He stares at the mirror at the end of the hall as if transfixed by his own image.

‘Peter,’ I say.

‘I had a lovely time, Mrs Porter,’ Peter says, treating her to his most charming smile. ‘Thank you very much. I hope I can come again.’

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