The malibu house, p.1
The Malibu House, page 1
Praise for Tasmina Perry
'No one can mix a deliciously classy cocktail of intrigue, passion and glamour like Tasmina Perry.' – Hello
‘Gripping from the off: sexy, scandalous brilliance, this book is a genuine must-read *****’ – Heat
‘Takes you to the most glamorous corners of the globe while keeping you on the edge of your seat’ – Glamour
‘A gripping, pacy read with a few dark twists I did not see coming. The perfect end-of-summer novel’ – Daily Mail
‘Excellent . . . A dark and devious thriller but with all the glamour you’d expect from Tasmina’ – Red
About The Author
Tasmina Perry is a Sunday Times bestselling novelist. Her books have been translated into twenty languages and have sold over two million copies worldwide.
A former lawyer and award-winning magazine journalist, she has edited several national titles, including InStyle UK and More.
She also writes psychological thrillers under the pseudonym JL Butler. JL Butler's debut thriller ‘Mine’ has been optioned by Sony Pictures for development with Original Film.
Tasmina is the founder of Sunflower & Co, a female-focused media company. The team plots escapist stories and creates content from their boathouse office by the River Thames.
Copyright © 2024 by Tasmina Perry
This edition published by Sunflower & Co 2024
https://www.sunflowerandco.com
ISBN 978-1-911297-43-7
All characters in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or places and organisations is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.
All rights reserved.
www.tasminaperry.com
Facebook.com/officialtasminaperry
Instagram.com/tasminaperry
If you’d like to be kept up to date with all the new releases from Tasmina Perry, why not join my VIP Book Club for news on books, giveaways, events and other book recommendations:
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The Malibu House
Tasmina Perry
Sunflower & Co
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1
From the air, LA was dazzling. An endless plain of white roofs reflecting the relentless sun, ten thousand polished cars on a diamond-bright freeway streaming below the listing Hollywood sign. And as the aeroplane sank lower, Lara Stone could see the brighter sparkle of commerce: nail bars, bottomless cocktails and 24/7 valet services, all framed by palm trees and the glistening ocean far beyond. From her window seat, the City of Angels was mesmerising, but the moment the wheels scorched the runway, Lara was already moving, unclipping her seatbelt and shouldering her carry-on, a seasoned explorer ready for the concrete jungle.
LAX did feel like a forest, constantly alive, a tangle of legs and cases and beeping vehicles, the chatter and shouts in foreign tongues. As an investigative reporter, Lara Stone was used to being on the move, weaving through the vines and dodging the snakes – and normally, that was how Los Angeles felt to Lara, especially the airport: claustrophobic and hostile, all queues and questions. But today, she was excited. Today, she was here to see her boyfriend Alex. Her boyfriend; how strange that still sounded. For so long, Alex Ford had just been her friend and colleague. Handsome and funny, of course, but romance? No. Until six months before, when Lara had taken a visiting lecturer post at an Ivy College, and Alex had come out to see her.
Lara grinned to herself. The best ‘yes’ I ever said.
But it was just Lara’s romantic luck that the moment they found each other, Alex was offered the editor-in-chief’s job at the LA Globe. It was the job of his dreams, and who was she to stand in the way of that?
And now, here she was, not on a flying visit, like their previous snatched weekends, but a two-week vay-cay to spend quality time together. But first, Lara had to collect her case. She joined the stream of humanity following the signs for the baggage claim hall. This was an alien environment for Lara; she didn’t usually check anything. As a reporter, Lara had perfected the art of travelling light – laptop, toothbrush, a change of clothes. But this was different, so she’d brought a bikini and an assortment of dresses– yes, she even had shoes, not just sneakers. Alex had also pestered her for Marmite and Jaffa Cakes, so Lara was standing by the baggage carousel, watching black cases drop onto the conveyor belt. She was wondering how people could tell one black case from another when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
‘Hey, I’ve arrived,’ she said with a smile.
‘Glad to hear it, Darling!’
Darling? Alex was from Cumbria; ‘darling’ wasn't in his vocabulary.
Lara glanced at her phone screen. Darius. Her heart sank; it was too late to send the call to voicemail now. Darius was the flamboyant editor of the London Chronicle, where Lara worked as their investigative reporter-at-large. Darius was not a traditional newspaperman; he was a political animal, a sharp operator primarily focused on the bottom line. So, getting a phone call from Darius was never good news.
‘Darius. How can I help?’ Lara asked, as brightly as she could.
‘I've been thinking,’ he replied, ‘We need to increase the paper’s celebrity content.’
‘Okay, said Lara. ‘And you're telling me this why?’
‘Because you’re in Hollywood, Lara,’ said Darius, as if it were obvious. ‘And I had a brainwave: who better than the great Lara Stone to dig out a world-class scoop from the cesspit of La-La-Land?’
‘You do know I’m on holiday, don’t you?’
‘Lara Darling,’ he said. ‘Reporters are never on holiday. So put on your party shoes and go out and find me some celebrity exclusives. Big ones. Tom Cruise shows you around his plane; Brad Pitt gives you a massage - that sort of thing.’
‘I'm not sure Alex would be that pleased about the massage thing, Darius.’
Her boss snorted dismissively. ‘I'm sure even Alex would give you a pass for Brad. Anyway, you get the idea: glitter, glamour – scandal!’
She thought down the urge to give him a piece of her mind. This was not the kind of thing she did. Tracking down crime lords or exposing high-level corruption at a government level - that was Lara Stone. Sharing a jacuzzi with the latest Spider-Man?
‘Not really my kind of thing, Darius.’
‘True, but the world is changing. If the readers want celebrity fluff, we have to give them celebrity fluff. All done in an intelligent and incisive Lara Stone way, obviously. Besides, it’s has been quite a while since you came up with any of those world-shattering crime scoops, hasn’t it?’
There was a pause. A pause Lara did not like.
‘Not that I mind paying your retainer, and I understand how disruptive a long-distance relationship can be, but even so…’
But even so, do as you’re told. Lara took a deep breath, squeezing her fingers around her phone, resisting the urge to smash it against the edge of the carousel.
Lara Stone wasn’t short of money. Her uncle owned The Chronicle, and a series of trust funds meant she never needed to work. But that wasn’t Lara’s style. Journalism was her lifeblood, and she adored her job as an investigative reporter with the freedom to chase down stories, important stories that held people to account, not sensationalist fluff.
‘Fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. Her uncle might be the proprietor of the paper, but Darius was still her boss, and it would be just like Darius to terminate her contract just to prove the point.
‘I’ll keep my eyes open,’ said Lara, ‘And if I spot Serena Balcon smoking crack, you'll be the first to know.’
‘Splendid, I knew you wouldn't let me down. Pip pip.’
And he was gone, just as Lara's silver suitcase thunked down in front of her.
‘Dammit,’ she muttered, wrestling it onto a trolley. Was this what she was reduced to? Recycling press releases and doing puff pieces designed to increase the box office of the latest superhero movie?
Cool your boots, she thought, steering the trolley towards customs
Much as she hated to admit it, Darius had a point. Scoops won awards, and they kept newspapers relevant, but nobody bought a newspaper specifically for a Lara Stone expose. And such was the speed of international media that, even if she broke an exclusive story in the Chronicle, by the end of the day, every news outlet in the world would be recycling it as if it were their own. So she could see why Darius and his paymasters were reluctant to invest in investigations when the readers were online gaping at cute cats and vacuous influencers. The truth was Lara Stone was an anachronism, and her deeply held conviction that a free press was vital to the effective functioning of a democracy was, well, just old-fashioned. God, I need a holiday, she thought as she pushed the trolley through the customs hall, hoping against hope that she would not get pulled over and have to explain Marmite to the stony-faced border agents.
Or maybe I just need a new career.
Lara had, of course, considered following Alex out here to LA. Even when they were ‘just friends,’ Lara and Alex had been inseparable. They had studied together at their post-graduate journalism college, both landing junior jobs on The Chronicle and coming up through a fast-moving newsroom. Alex had graduated to news editor via stints in the US and Far East bureaus, finally ascending to deputy editor, while Lara had won awards – and industry respect - for her world-class investigations.
But recently, the world of the media had changed radically. People absorbed news—if at all—through fast clips scrolling past their eyes in a small window. Lara doubted anyone younger than 25 had ever felt newsprint under their fingers.
It was one reason Alex had been so excited to take the editorship of the LA Globe. The paper’s owner, Simon Desai, had given Alex carte blanche to change it, update it and make it as relevant as possible. Darius was clearly thinking along the same lines, so perhaps it was time for Lara to join them. Was there any point in clinging to your principles if no one was listening?
‘Excuse me,’ she muttered, sidestepping an overzealous tourist snapping selfies with his phone, but as she approached the arrival area, Lara’s heart skipped a beat. Alex Ford was waiting for her, a smile lighting up his handsome face.
‘Hey,’ he said, and she fell into his arms, squeezing and holding on.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said into his shoulder. Alex had always been a rock on whom she could rely. Even as best friends, he was the person that she had always wanted to tell things first, and since they had got together, that feeling had only intensified; Lara realised how much she had felt lost without him over the past months.
‘Missed you too,’ said Alex, before fixing her with a mischievous grin. ‘But you did bring the Frazzles, right?’
She swiped a playful swat at his shoulder. ‘I thought you wanted Monster Munch.’
His face fell, and she snorted.
‘Not a joking matter,’ he said, taking her case and heading for the exit. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I've got a surprise for you.’
‘What is it?’
‘It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?’
Chatting about flights and traffic, they quickly navigated through the tangle of high-rise parking, and then Alex stopped by a red convertible. Lara gave it a double-take.
‘Wait. This is yours?’
‘When in Rome...’ he smiled. ‘I did think about wearing a Hawaiian shirt for you, but I thought you might walk past me.’
‘I've always liked the Magnum PI look. Maybe you could grow a moustache too?’
‘If you say so,’ grinned Alex, throwing her case in the back.
They drove out onto the freeway, Lara enjoying the rush of the warm air through her hair and the brush of sun on her skin. Back in London, spring had been trying to push through, but down on the Thames, where Lara lived on a Chelsea Harbour houseboat, it was more often drizzle and grey clouds. A giant fire truck ploughed past them in a flash of red and Lara laughed to herself; even after all these years working jobs in overseas locations, Lara still felt a rush of energy from arriving somewhere new. And she relished the idea of spending two weeks here really exploring; perhaps they could drive up the coast to visit the Bay Area - she had always wanted to see Carmel, Big Sur and Monterey. Steinbeck had been a lightning rod for Lara when she had been at university.
‘So, how's the supplement coming along?’
‘Slow.’
The moment Alex started at the LA Globe, he made a bold declaration: Los Angeles was a movie town, so its premier newspaper should reflect that. His flagship project was Limelight, a glossy 48-page Saturday supplement meant to rival the big trade papers of Variety and the Hollywood Reporter. It was due to launch at the end of the following week.
‘I think I've finally got the advertising team on side, which is half the battle,’ said Alex, with a sigh. ‘But who knows? It’s still down to whether the public buys into it. Sales of the paper were up last week– the changes we’ve made to the business pages have been popular, but we need to gauge what industry people think of Limelight.’
The Globe had planned a splashy party to present the magazine to players in the movie and TV worlds, and the demands of overseeing both the marketing and the editorial of Limelight alongside the main paper meant Alex had been working flat out.
‘I know it’s tough,’ she said. ‘So if you have to work late every night, I will totally understand.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Mind? Alex, this is your big chance. I want you to show the world how amazing you are. Besides, this is LA: I’m sure I can occupy myself. And I already know my way around Echo Park.’ Alex had a beautiful duplex apartment in the hip LA enclave near the Globe’s Downtown offices.
‘On that subject,’ said Alex with a smile, turning the wheel and taking an unfamiliar exit. Lara looked around, twisting in her seat.
‘Where are we going?’ Lara asked.
‘I told you. I’ve got a surprise.’
‘Are we checking in somewhere for a dirty weekend? Because FYI, it’s a Sunday, which doesn’t leave us much time…’
‘Just sit back and enjoy the ride.’
Lara did as she was told, imagining herself as a character in a Kerouac novel, one hand waving in the slipstream, no particular place to be, just a crazy beatnik following her muse. Maybe it wasn’t just a fantasy; maybe this was her future. Maybe it was time Lara Stone took her foot off the gas. Certainly, she wished Alex could join her. Even at the airport, she’d noticed how tired he was looking. Alex needed some serious R & R. Even in all this sunshine, his skin was pale, and Lara suspected he was spending far too much time in an air-conditioned bunker of an office. Newspapers were stressful environments at the best of times, but revamps and relaunches put the whole team under pressure, and right now he was being asked to compete with the immediacy and glitter of the Internet. It was an impossible task, yet Lara knew Alex Ford would try his best, even if it killed him.
She reached over to touch his knee, but suddenly, the windscreen was filled with sparkling blue.
‘The ocean!’ she cried, sitting up to drink in the sight of surfers, sunbathers, and swimmers silhouetted against a tan stripe of sand.
Alex glanced across, grinning. ‘What's the point in coming to the West Coast if you never see the sea? Especially when you love the water.’
Alex knew her so well. While Alex’s new place was a practical choice that cut his commute to the bone, she yearned for the sea.
But where is he taking me? Lara wondered as they drove through Venice Beach towards the pier.
‘Not Shutters then,’ she said, as they sailed past Santa Monica’s iconic white hotel out on the sand.
‘Even better,’ said Alex, driving down onto the Pacific Coast Highway.
Lara stopped trying to guess and just let herself enjoy the sight of the endless sea and the seagulls wheeling above. The bridge of her nose felt hot from the sun – already, she felt as if she was deep into her holiday.
‘Nearly there,’ said Alex, looking at the GPS on the dashboard. A sign reading ‘Malibu City Limits’ flashed past. To the right, the land rose to sun-scorched hills, while to the left was a long line of buildings squashed between road and sea, with barely a gap between them.
