Kitabı oku: «The A-List Collection», sayfa 10

25

‘I got news for you, kiddo,’ said Rita Clay. ‘Your premiere’s going to the Orient.’

Lana sat down on the bed. She pressed the phone so hard against her ear that it hurt.

‘The Orient Las Vegas?’

Rita sounded confused. ‘Where else? We’re not catching a plane to China.’

Lana felt the ground go out from under her. Next summer came at her with gathering, terrible speed, like a train hurtling towards a gap in the line.

I’m going to see Robbie again.

Except he wasn’t Robbie any more: he was a world-famous billionaire. And he hated her.

She managed a small, ‘Why?’

‘Is something the matter?’ Rita asked. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

Lana squeezed her eyes shut. So she’d be meeting Robbie again–so what? It had to happen sooner or later and she’d just have to deal with it. She didn’t have to talk to him; she didn’t even have to look at him. Except when she thought of the pictures she’d tried to avoid seeing but ultimately couldn’t resist–pictures showing his smile, his chin, his kind eyes, his arms–she didn’t know how she would manage. She wanted him so much it stopped her heart.

Rita interrupted her chain of thought. ‘I’m serious, Lana, what is it? ‘

‘Nothing,’ she told her agent. ‘Shooting’s almost over and it’s been an exhausting few weeks.’

‘OK. You know I don’t believe you.’

Lana ran a hand over her crisp white bed linen–Cole’s staff were perfectionists in every task and never risked a thing. Her fingers were shaking.

‘I used to know the guy behind it,’ she found herself saying. She closed her eyes. ‘A long time ago.’

‘What guy?’

‘Robert St Louis.’ It was good to finally speak his name, though it trembled in her throat. ‘He owns the Orient.’

‘A ha!’ exclaimed Rita, missing her friend’s tone. ‘There’s a history there, I knew it. No wonder you’re acting so shook up. Was he good?’

Yes, he was good. He was so, so good.

Lana harnessed her emotion. ‘It was nothing, really,’ she lied. ‘Just a fling.’ Forget the rest of it. Forget that she had been deeply in love with him. Forget that he had saved her life. He might take the blame for it, but she knew better. The decision she had made that terrible night had been the truly unspeakable one.

‘He’s a little bit to die for,’ said Rita, a smile in her voice. ‘You are one hell of a lucky lady, Ms Falcon.’

Lana stood up and went to the window. She looked out at her world, the perimeter of Cole’s mansion as solid and unyielding as it had ever been. She would not think about Robbie today, she would not let herself. Later, lying in bed, her thoughts would turn to him as they had for the past ten years, only this time with a sense of inevitable collision, like two cars running head-on in the night.

Next summer. Seven months.

After the women hung up, Lana lay down on her bed. She stared up at the blank ceiling for what felt like hours, listening to the quiet.

26

Belleville, Ohio, 1997

Every day for the next two months, Robbie turned up at the trailer park, wanting to talk to her. The first few times she walked straight past him, but after he followed her one afternoon and discovered exactly where she lived, he became harder to ignore.

It was a Friday and she had finished late at school. She knew Lester would be angry. No matter that it was her fifteenth birthday today, a secret she hadn’t told anyone.

She saw Robbie straight away, leaning against the side of the trailer, his dark hair falling over his eyes. He wore old blue jeans and a grey T-shirt, his strong arms bronzed by the sun.

‘What do you want? ‘

‘Finally she talks to me.’ He grinned. For the fifteen-millionth time she noticed the dimple in his chin.

Laura couldn’t tear her eyes from his. She had become accustomed to his handsomeness but still she couldn’t get used to the way it made her feel, like there were a thousand stars exploding in her blood.

Just then the door to the trailer burst open and Lester loomed into view, a bottle of beer in one hand and a smoke in the other. Her brother hadn’t washed or shaved in days, his skin and hair, now worn in a straggly long ponytail that lapped over his right shoulder, were grey with dirt and there were sunken purple shadows under both his eyes. His chest was bare and alarmingly thin, the ribs jutting out like a prehistoric thing.

‘Get in here, bitch,’ he ordered, ‘there’s things t’do.’ He took a swig from the bottle.

Laura’s eyes switched to Robbie, just in time to see his shocked expression. Lester’s gaze travelled sluggishly to the other man.

‘Who the fuck’s this?’ he snarled.

Robbie took control. ‘Robert Lewis,’ he said, holding out his hand.

‘You fucking my baby sister?’

It was an appalling question. Laura pushed past her brother and into the trailer, desperate to get away. How dare Lester say such a thing? She felt horrified when she thought of sweet, handsome Robbie and the dirt and grime of her own life. He would never want to see her again, that much was for sure.

‘How could you?’ she stormed, after Lester had slammed the door shut.

‘Lookin’ out for you, is all,’ he growled, wiping his hand across his mouth and slumping into a chair, its stuffing escaping at the seams. ‘There’s things a boy like that wants t’do, things you gotta look out for.’

He eyed her greedily. She was aware of how her body had changed over the past years–the growing fullness of her breasts and the pinch of her waist. Her chestnut hair had grown longer and thicker, her green eyes wide. Men stared at her when she went into town.

Laura was afraid: her brother liked to see her naked and he liked to hit her. Soon he would want to touch her. She knew what he did with those people he brought back in the middle of the night, severe things, painful things. Soon he would want to do them to her. The thought made bile swim in her throat.

Realising she could not go against him–that she did not want to risk the punishment–she fixed him his dinner and kept quiet. She could not eat a thing herself, could not stop thinking of Robbie Lewis and how whatever friendship they might have had would now be over. Why could nothing good ever last? It was her. She ruined everything.

A little over an hour later, when Lester had escaped to his nearest drinking hole, she stepped outside to clear her head. The trailer park was silent and dark, a warm wind rustling through the trees. She closed her eyes and thought of Arlene.

Happy birthday, Laura, she told herself. This year, you’re going to change your life.

A sound distracted her. It was a whisper, a crackle of leaves. Then a face was before her, bathed in the silver light of the moon, its features hidden. Robbie Lewis.

‘What are you doing?’ She panicked, looking about her, afraid someone would see. The community knew that Lester was a drunk and they probably thought as much of his sister, especially if she was caught sneaking around with a boy.

‘Did he do anything to you?’ Robbie asked urgently. ‘I tried to find a way in—’

She pulled him into the shadows. ‘You must never, ever do that,’ she commanded. She put a hand to her head. ‘My brother’s dangerous.’

Robbie’s eyes searched hers. ‘Then why are you living with him?’

She looked at him helplessly. ‘It’s a long story,’ she said eventually.

His hands were on her shoulders now, his touch as hot as the sun. ‘So tell me.’

Laura searched for a place to start, thinking how strange it was, this boy who she hardly knew but who had always been kind to her, wanting to listen and understand. He was so gentle, so patient, and he’d waited for her every night because, because … Because what? He wanted to be her friend, her saviour, something more?

Suddenly he was kissing her. She had never kissed anyone before and she had time to think, If I never kiss anyone ever again in my life, this will be enough. It started off gently, his lips soft on hers, unsure if she would respond. Then it became deeper and she felt his tongue slip around hers and it was the most exquisite, fragile thing she had known. Instinctively she put her arms around his neck and pulled him close, drawing in his delicious scent, feeling the skin on his arms. Only when that male part of him became hard did she pull away.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said throatily. ‘You’re just … you’re so goddamn beautiful. I’ll wait, you know I’ll wait.’

Lana caught her breath. She felt herself spinning.

‘It’s my birthday,’ she blurted, a propos of nothing.

‘Happy birthday,’ he said simply.

They laughed, uncertain of this new territory but wanting to explore it. He took her hand and led her to where a tree had been felled. They sat together on its rough bark.

‘I wanted to know you,’ he confessed. ‘As soon as we met I wanted that. What’s gone on all this time? Why didn’t you let me?’

Her eyes met his. She couldn’t hide any more.

She began with the story of her parents dying, how she and Lester had been sent to live with Arlene. Then how her brother had fallen apart with grief, turning to drugs and drink to the point where he had to be taken away. How they said he had got better and made her come live with him when he came of age. How things had been all right at first, except for the way he drank, and how, one time, he had been so out of it that he’d soiled the bed and she had been forced to clean him up. How recently she could tell he wanted other things from her, things that were wrong between a brother and sister. How he had hit her.

She felt Robbie tense. When she looked, there was passion in his eyes.

‘Laura,’ he said, ‘you know what you’ve got to do. And I’m going to help you.’

27

Las Vegas

Elisabeth Sabell fastened the clasp on her diamond necklace and took her position in the wings. Swathes of red curtain plunged all around like velvet waterfalls. She could hear the crowd taking their seats, the buzz of anticipation in the air. The spotlight awaited.

Lowering a hand to her stomach, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would have been like to be carrying Robert’s child. She would be eight weeks gone by now, they would be preparing to reveal their news to the world. But it hadn’t been. She was surprised by how deeply it had affected her–she never had herself down as the maternal type.

While she told herself it didn’t matter, that there had been nothing there in the first place to lose, it somehow felt portentous. Since they had returned from the South of France, an impossible distance had opened up between them.

Alberto Bellini was at her side.

‘You look ravishing.’ His voice was soft, dripping with intent.

Elisabeth ignored him, waiting for the director’s cue. She didn’t want to see Alberto right now–the performance demanded her full concentration.

‘What is it?’ she asked, refusing to meet his eye. ‘I only want to wish you luck.’ When he came closer she could smell his spicy cologne. ‘You know I care for you, Elisabeth.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I know.’

His eyes raked over her body, so like her mother’s. Clad in a sapphire shoulderless Dolce & Gabbana gown, she wore her golden hair loose. A string of jewels glinting at her throat was the only adornment. It could almost be thirty years before. It could almost be Linda.

His voice caught. ‘You are more exquisite by the day.’ ‘Thank you,’ she said tightly.

‘Will you meet me later? I wish to speak with you. It is important.’

Elisabeth received her thirty-second intro. ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate.’ Alberto’s response was smooth. ‘I will be at the Oasis.’ He came so close that his lips grazed her ear. Elisabeth felt a hot chill. ‘I know you will change your mind.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ And she swept out to greet her adoring crowd.

Robert was as deep in conversation as he was in paperwork. Budgets, plans, details of sponsors and businesses littered his desk at the Orient. The Eastern Sky premiere, he promised Frank Bernstein, would be a superior show the likes of which had never been seen before.

Earlier that day he had met with organisers for an on-site consultation. They’d had big ideas; he had bigger. From high-impact lighting and set design, through a stunning red carpet backdrop to movie-themed hors d’oeuvres and customised menus, together they had it covered. In a city of gamblers, Robert was leaving nothing to chance.

‘What’s this crap about Elisabeth doin’ a show?’ asked Bernstein, reaching for his third consecutive cigar.

‘It’s under control.’

‘She oughtta be helpin’ you, not dancin’ around makin’ work for everyone.’

‘I’ve got it covered, Bernstein.’

Robert hoped the old man would leave it at that. He didn’t want to talk about his fiancée–his head was in business and he couldn’t indulge the disruption, even if it was related. He loved Elisabeth. It was just that it wasn’t the true, lasting, fundamental love he knew for a fact existed.

Bernstein puffed away thoughtfully. ‘You really want her?’ He raised his bristly eyebrows and Robert knew it was a loaded question.

‘Of course.’

‘Horseshit. You don’t think she’s that good.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Lie number one. Elisabeth was talented, but in his view her voice was average. It was her looks that made the performance special.

‘Well, between you an’ me, son, I don’t.’ Bernstein sat back in a leather recliner chair and put his feet on the desk. He knocked over an empty coffee cup, which Robert caught with one hand. ‘She’s better off takin’ over from me, runnin’ this town like it needs t’be run. Forget this parading heap of crap. And that goes for both of you.’ He gave Robert a meaningful look. ‘You see what I’m talkin’ about here?’

Robert saw only too well. Christ! Why couldn’t Bernstein take a goddamn step back? Ever since he’d introduced the two of them he’d been on at them about marriage, been set on tidying Elisabeth away for whatever reasons he was hiding. He was a bully, a tyrant, a dictator. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was Elisabeth’s father.

‘You gotta get a ring on her, St Louis. I’ve seen the kind of attention she gets. A thousand other guys would take her in a second.’

Robert slammed a palm down on the table. It hit the surface with such force it sent a flurry of papers to the floor. Bernstein didn’t flinch.

He spoke slowly. ‘Elisabeth’s and my relationship is ours alone. We will make our own decisions and nothing you say will interfere with or influence that. Tell me I’ve made myself clear.’

Bernstein chuckled infuriatingly. ‘You’re just like your father, kid. Too goddamn emotional.’ He blew out a ribbon of smoke.

Pushing his chair back, Robert paced over to the window. The lights on the Strip blinked and danced, all day, all night, always. He linked his hands behind his head. Bernstein spoke the truth–it was the right thing to do, for Elisabeth, for Bernstein and for Vegas. And, yes, even for him. Marriage would lay the past to rest, put an end to the time he had spent regretting a fact he could not change. He’d wasted enough of his life stalling, and in the hope of what? That she’d walk back into his life, say it had been a mistake? She wouldn’t dare.

Often he wished he had never met Lana Falcon, never bothered with any of it. Maybe if he’d stayed clear then none of the rest would have happened. Here he was now, prince of Sin City with a beautiful woman on his arm and all the money he could wish for. He clearly meant nothing to Lana. For her he’d given up everything and she’d dropped him like a stone.

The phone rang. It was his concierge. The distributors had arrived.

‘Send them up.’

Robert turned to Bernstein. ‘You want in?’ he asked. ‘We’re approaching the final decisions.’

Bernstein eyed him. ‘Ain’t that the truth, son.’

28

Alberto Bellini was already there, sprawled in a crimson booth on the Oasis’s private deck.

He wore a black, finely tailored suit and his crisp shirt was just open at the neck, revealing a crinkly triangle of skin the colour of burnt sugar. A piano tinkled in the background and the moody, low-level light reflected off his pure-white hair.

Elisabeth, resplendent in a sleek Zac Posen dress, approached the table.

‘You came,’ he said, his voice silken as he stood to greet her.

‘I had nothing better to do.’

‘I knew you would change your mind.’

Elisabeth felt a stab of frustration. ‘I didn’t, until about ten minutes ago.’ She slipped in next to him.

After her performance she had returned to her dressing room, showered and called Robert. Unsurprisingly he hadn’t picked up. She remembered he was in meetings till late, was too busy to talk. It was a familiar scenario. Alberto’s invitation had come back to her.

She surveyed the drinks menu, even though she knew it off by heart. Just as she was opening her mouth to speak, Alberto barked his order at a hovering waiter, who scribbled it down with a flourish. Elisabeth was cross, even though a tiny part of her rather liked it.

‘I have requested a very special cocktail,’ said Alberto, ‘of my own invention.’ His eyes scanned her body, taking in every inch of her long legs, exposed at the thigh in her slip of a gown. It occurred to Elisabeth that she should have kept her distance and settled opposite him, but she’d done it now.

‘Very well,’ she said tartly. She noticed that he was partway through a bottle of Chianti, its bottom squat in a basket of cork, and made a mental note to drink slowly. Whatever was in Alberto’s creation was likely to be far more intoxicating than wine.

The drink arrived–a garish concoction of pinks and oranges in a tall, thin-stemmed martini glass. A glacé cherry hung suspended in the syrup, impaled on the end of a fizzing sparkler. It was gloriously nineties.

Sensing he was waiting for her response, Elisabeth made a face. ‘It’s stunning.’ Which wasn’t entirely a lie.

But it did taste good. Several cocktails later and Elisabeth was starting to feel decidedly woozy. This was accompanied by a blooming sense of recklessness as she basked in the glow of Alberto’s adulation.

‘There is something I hoped to speak with you about,’ he said, taking her hand.

Elisabeth flinched at the contact, but she didn’t move away. ‘What is it?’

‘It is about your mother. About us. You see, we—’

‘Bellini, please …’

‘Listen to me. I have thought very carefully about this, and I must—’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t. I just want to forget about everything tonight. I need to. Let me. I don’t want to talk about her.’

Alberto searched her eyes. ‘What is the matter?’

A pause. ‘Honestly?’ She met his gaze. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Talk to me. You know you can tell me anything.’

Elisabeth smiled. ‘Of course I know. You’ve always been like part of the family.’

He looked sad. ‘Indeed.’

‘Robert and I, we’ve got standing in this city. People look up to us.’ She was talking fuzzily now. Another cocktail arrived and she hiccupped. ‘Sorry, that sounds awful.’

Alberto shook his head. ‘Nothing you say ever could.’

‘I’m losing him.’ She wrung her hands. ‘I can’t explain why, but I am. It’s ever since my father brought him in on this premiere, I just know there’s something he’s keeping from me.’

Alberto waited for her to go on.

‘It’s Bernstein.’ Her gaze hardened. ‘He’s pushing so far he’s just driving Robert away. It’s all his fault.’

‘Your father has always done what is best for you.’ Alberto leaned closer. ‘He wanted to try and make up for what happened–I know that, I was witness to it. Maybe he has gone too far, it is possible. After your mother died, we all—’ ‘Do you think he still loves me?’ she asked.

‘St Louis?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am not best placed to judge it,’ said Alberto honestly. ‘You know how I feel.’

Elisabeth swigged her drink. She looked at him kindly, like she was seeing him for the first time. ‘Funny how you’re the only person who understands,’ she said. ‘You’ve always been there. I’ve never said so before, but I appreciate it.’

His voice was a whisper. ‘I had to be.’

‘No, you didn’t. You always cared for my mom, that’s why you care for me. She’d like that.’

‘Perhaps.’

A pause. ‘I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t talk to me any more, not properly, not like before. I’ve never seen Robert like it. He was always so there, you know; so with you. Now it’s like he’s on a different planet most of the time.’

‘St Louis does love you.’ It pained him to say it.

Her voice cracked. ‘So what’s changed?’

Alberto didn’t say anything.

Her eyes switched to his. ‘Do you think he’s having an affair?’

Leaning in close, Alberto placed a hand on her knee. On each he wore several chunky gold signet rings, one which cloistered an almond-sized emerald jewel. Elisabeth shivered inwardly when she imagined what those hands might be capable of–Alberto had been in Vegas when the mob ruled town.

‘I cannot answer that.’

‘I wish I could.’

He kept his hand where it was. ‘What I do know is this: St Louis is crazy. You are beautiful, Elisabeth. You are strong and you fight and you are good.’

Elisabeth’s heart swelled. She met Alberto’s eyes and fell into their rich dark pools. Suddenly she felt faint. The potency of his ardour was dizzying.

She pushed him away. ‘Bellini, you mustn’t.’ But she had to force the words out. ‘There are people here who will talk.’

‘Let them.’

His eyes held hers for what felt like an eternity.

‘Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She almost retracted it–she might have had he given her any opportunity.

‘You go,’ he said hoarsely. She thought she saw his hands shaking. ‘I will follow.’

Fifty storeys up in his private suite, Alberto was like a man possessed. Pushing Elisabeth hard against the wall, he ripped open the front of her gown with his bare hands, sucking at her neck, her earlobe, mauling her skin with his huge paws. It was the single most erotic thing that had ever happened to her in her whole entire life.

Shrouded in a cloak of darkness, his lips dived to her breasts, sucking hard on their peaks. She fumbled to turn on the light, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, but he restrained her arms behind her back. He felt different from Robert: his tongue drier and more abrasive, like a cat’s.

‘Elisabeth, my sweet Elisabeth,’ he moaned, his voice smothered by the task. He muttered something in Italian then he was kissing her on the mouth. He took his time exploring, grinding against her, forcing a knee between her legs to bring her apart.

She tore off the rest of her dress and sent it flying across the room, a white ribbon in the pitch. Instantly he was on his knees, a shock of hair gleaming in the moonlight, bright as a swan. Using both thumbs to open her up, his tongue darted to find her wetness. Elisabeth hooked a leg over his shoulder and pulled him further in, little sounds escaping her mouth as he feasted with growing enthusiasm. As the pleasure mounted, she reached down and took his face in her hands.

‘Wait,’ she breathed, all of her crying out for more, ‘not yet.’

With shaking fingers she released the catch on her diamond necklace, the one Robert had given her. She held the gems up a moment, their bright lights winking in the darkness. Then she dropped them to the floor.

Alberto took her hands and led her to the bed, laying her down and kissing her over and over. She heard him undress, the buckle of his trousers; the shiver of material as he shrugged off his shirt. Silently he mounted her. She groped for his hardness, a quick flash of disappointment that he had none of Robert’s size, and slowly began to stroke, guiding him in. It was as if she were looking down at herself from above, as if none of this was actually happening. This is Alberto Bellini. A man older than your father. But her heart was racing and her head was swimming and her body was all aflame.

When he entered her she screamed out loud. Her nails raked lines down his back. As he moved on top, beginning the climb, she tightened her legs around his waist and surrendered herself to the inevitable. Tonight she belonged to another man. And there was nothing Robert St Louis could do about it.