Kitabı oku: «The A-List Collection», sayfa 16

44

Las Vegas

The Orient was just as Lana had dreamed, a mine of gold shimmering in the desert.

Christmas had come to Vegas in glittering style–a great, sparkling tree soared into the sky outside the hotel, cherubs and baubles dripping from its flanks; three reindeer, their antlers tough and wide, stood with their keeper in a little wooden stable, their noses gently patted by tourists under a snow-capped roof. To Lana it was scarcely real, like finding a door to her imagination. She half expected to feel a hard pinch and wake up back in LA.

An army of waiting paparazzi swarmed out front, cameras brandished like weapons. Lana held her breath as the car pulled up. Word had got out: hordes of screaming fans, a crowd three-deep, waited to catch a glimpse of Hollywood’s most famous couple.

Cole adjusted his tie and smirked. ‘Ready?’ he asked, as he always did. A flush wrapped round his neck like a scarf, a badge of adrenalin at what was to come.

He had produced a new gown for her to wear this evening: a backless silk cream dress that clung in all the right places. She wore her auburn hair loose and only a light dusting of make-up. Cole liked to have the final say in her wardrobe.

Lana nodded. He seemed to have forgotten their earlier dispute–not that she expected him to act any different when there was press waiting.

She took a deep breath. Robbie Lewis was seconds away. She fought down panic, remembering what she had to do and what she had to tell him. What was it they said? In Vegas, anything was possible.

In Vegas, you can be whoever the hell you want.

The door was pulled open and noise flooded in like water. The force of it was like a vacuum and Lana had to push herself to step out into it, smile in place, the luckiest woman in the world. And there was Cole’s hand taking hers, moving her forward, presenting her to the cameras. She knew the routine and didn’t put a foot wrong.

They were calling for her over and over until it didn’t make sense any more. It wasn’t her: it was just two words, a made-up name.

Cole guided her inside, stopping once or twice to look into her eyes, whisper something in her ear and make her laugh. The whisper was always a direction, like ‘Left, three o’clock’, and they would both giggle like besotted lovers before turning in sync to any camera that had missed the killer angle. Cole was a masterly director, and in part she was thankful to him for steering her through. She did not have to think at all, just smile, always smile and never let it slip.

Inside the lobby, Lana took in the sheer opulence of it and shook her head in wonder.

‘Wow,’ she said.

‘Hmm,’ said Cole.

There was a man at Reception with his back to them. He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair cut neatly at the neck, where she could see a thin band of skin just visible above his white collar. It was this part of him that told her who he was, like a country she had visited a hundred times; a land she knew as home.

When he turned, Lana gave nothing away, even though her heart was thumping so fast she feared it would soon burst free of her chest, and wouldn’t it be a shame to spoil this beautiful clean floor.

He looked the same, only older. There was no other way to describe it. He was Robbie.

She met his eyes for a split second and it went through her body like lightning.

‘Hello,’ he said warmly, stepping forward and holding out his hand. ‘It’s my great pleasure to welcome you both to the Orient.’

He was handsome in a midnight-blue suit, his eyes dancing as he smiled, and oh, that dimple in his chin. She realised she had kept every detail locked away, she hadn’t forgotten any of it, because it wasn’t like remembering what was lost as much as reminding herself of what had been there all along.

It’s still you.

‘It’s our pleasure to be here,’ said Cole easily, shaking Robbie’s hand. ‘It’s a beautiful hotel, very unusual. Lana’s not been to Vegas before, have you, darling?’

Lana opened her mouth. ‘No, as a matter of fact, I—’

‘So we’re very excited,’ finished Cole. Lana saw he was still holding firm to the handshake, placing his other hand on Robert’s arm in an assertion of power. There was quite a difference in height between them and in a lifetime of looking up at people, Cole was loath to let the taller man think he had the advantage. This guy might be a billionaire hotel magnate, she could hear him thinking, but he wasn’t a movie star.

Lana smiled politely as she extended her own hand. ‘It’s good to see you,’ she said, wanting to hold him, hug him, love him, her friend.

To her dismay she couldn’t read his face. He glanced at her briefly and she detected a flicker of something, a splinter in his composure, but then just as quickly it was gone. Instead Robbie took her hand, smiled and gave it a single shake.

‘I’d like to give you a tour of the hotel before supper,’ he said, looking only at Cole. With a twist of desire Lana could tell he was good at what he did–you put your trust in Robert St Louis straight away, you let him take the lead.

Except maybe for Cole, who now placed a protective hand at the small of Lana’s back. ‘I’d prefer to eat first,’ he said, changing the order of things for the sake of it. Like a test he added, ‘If that’s OK.’

Robert held out his hands in an easy gesture. ‘Of course, whichever you prefer.’ He smiled again, but still he didn’t look at her. ‘If you’ll follow me.’

The Aromatique restaurant was vast and empty, closed for the night in their honour. They took a booth overlooking the glittering Strip. The window was curved and the glass ran right down Lana’s side and under her feet, so it was like sitting in the sky. The illusion was clever and it made her smile. She felt Robbie’s eyes pass over her. When could she get him alone? It was all she could think about.

Robbie requested a Lotus, the Orient’s signature aperitif, for four, and then suddenly, stupidly, Lana remembered that his fiancée was joining them. How could she have forgotten? In planning her great confession, she had neglected to think once of Elisabeth Sabell.

He was conducting a brief, rather formal phone conversation.

‘Darling, we’re in the restaurant now … Yes, that’s right … Of course, see you then.’ He snapped his cell shut and turned to Lana and Cole. ‘My apologies, Elisabeth’s on her way.’

That was never how you used to talk to me, Lana thought.

‘I’m looking forward to meeting her,’ Lana said, to make out like she didn’t mind, but it sounded bitchy and stupid.

When the drinks arrived, Robert focused almost exclusively on Cole as they discussed the ways in which Vegas had changed over the years. Every so often Cole would reach to stroke Lana’s hand or her arm, his small, soft fingers trailing over her skin. He was sending out a very clear message to Robert, communicating that his relationship was an intimate, physical one. Lana didn’t know if this was an antidote to his own insecurities or because he could pick up on something between Robert and his wife. To her it was glaring, the atmosphere too much to bear. She needed to get Robbie alone. She had to.

Just then the far door opened and a dramatically beautiful woman swept in. Her enviable figure was cloaked in a stunning grey gown. Jewels glinted like light on water as she drifted towards the table, a mane of blonde hair cascading down her back like liquid gold. She exuded a clean, musky scent. Lana didn’t know what she had expected, but never a creature as glamorous as this.

‘Good evening.’ Elisabeth smiled, the epitome of charm, as the three of them stood to greet her. ‘It’s wonderful to meet you both.’ She kissed Cole and Lana on both cheeks, then Robbie on the lips. The kiss lasted a fraction too long and Lana had to look away. She felt sick.

It’s not Robbie, stop thinking of him as that. It’s Robert.

‘Excuse me,’ Lana said, standing. ‘I must just go to the bathroom.’

‘What is it, darling?’ asked Cole. She could hear the tight strings of his anxiety.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said, desperate to get away. With all the dignity she could muster she headed out of the restaurant, without a clue where she was going.

She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back against an elaborately papered wall, trying to slow her breathing.

It was all too much. Seeing Robbie again had knocked her hard and, worse, seeing him so happy with Elisabeth. He was ignoring her. But what had she expected–a chat about the good old days? Part of her wanted to stalk back in, shatter this polite bullshit between them and tell Cole and Elisabeth exactly what their history was. She couldn’t. All she could do was find an opportunity to tell him how she felt.

When she arrived back at the table, a huge platter of seafood–oysters, mussels, lobster, caviar–was the talking point. Cole was telling an anecdote, ever the raconteur, about fishing in his boyhood, which ended with him securing an almighty catch and being dragged into the water. Lana had heard the tale before at numerous dinner parties and small details changed every time, making her wonder if it was true.

Elisabeth laughed with spirit in all the right places. She had a nice laugh, thought Lana.

‘So, Lana,’ said Elisabeth, ‘tell us about Eastern Sky.’ She chucked back an oyster and then tried feeding one to Robert, who gently pushed her away with an uncomfortable expression.

‘Never liked them,’ he explained. Elisabeth looked confused.

‘It’s a magnificent piece of work,’ smiled Lana, relieved to be on safer ground. ‘Filming with Sam Lucas has been a dream of mine for some time.’

‘We can’t wait to see it,’ said Elisabeth, raising her glass for a toast. ‘We’re both so thrilled that the premiere is coming to the Orient.’

‘To Eastern Sky and the Orient,’ said Robert, as the glasses collided.

‘Lana’s set for great things,’ Cole chipped in faithfully. ‘She’s an exceptional actress and this film will showcase her brilliantly.’ Lana waved down his praise.

‘I’ll be the first in line to see it,’ said Robert. Finally he looked at her, his dark eyes grave. Lana couldn’t bear to hold it; the electricity between them was crackling. Next to him, Elisabeth threw back a glass of champagne in one.

‘I understand you have a residency here,’ said Lana, turning to Elisabeth. She couldn’t help but watch Elisabeth’s mouth and imagine Robert kissing it. Did he kiss Elisabeth as he had once kissed her? ‘The Desert Jewel must be a special place to perform.’

Elisabeth nodded, happy to get down to business. ‘That’s right,’ she said, shredding a fillet of salmon. ‘I’ve had an excellent reaction so far, more than I could have hoped for.’

‘I’d love to see your show,’ said Lana, knowing the opportunity would never arise.

‘Well,’ said Elisabeth, squeezing lemon on to her plate with gusto, ‘as a matter of fact, I’ll be performing at the after party.’

‘At the premiere?’ asked Cole. ‘Isn’t that a bit unusual?’

‘We pride ourselves on leading, not following,’ said Robert.

Lana had to admit his plans sounded sensational. Robert described with passion how the sets were under construction, florists and caterers working round the clock to perfect every last detail; plans for accommodating a flood of A-listers were under way across the Parthenon, as well as logistics for bringing guests to the Orient’s red carpet. He was frank about his desire not only to showcase Eastern Sky but also his hotel. They were, he explained, made for each other. Lana, relishing the chance to watch him while he spoke, had to look away.

‘Which brings me to your own accommodation,’ Robert finished. ‘I’d like to invite you both to stay here at the Orient as our very special guests.’

Cole was pleased. He had expected preferential treatment. ‘We’d be delighted.’ He nodded, failing to consult Lana.

As Elisabeth elaborated on the show she had planned, Lana listened politely and pretended not to notice Robert’s every move. When he filled up her wine glass she watched his capable hands, his long fingers and the colour of his wrists. She missed his skin.

Elisabeth and Cole were locked in conversation about performance techniques. Robert leaned forward. ‘Actually, the bathroom’s that way,’ he said, thumbing behind him. There was a smile on his face that she hadn’t seen all night. It lit her up inside.

She laughed and the release was giddying. ‘I guess I just went for a walk.’

He was still smiling. ‘Find anything nice?’

‘It’s all nice.’ It felt like such a limp compliment, but it was all she could think to say.

‘Can I show you the view?’ he asked, standing up before she could object. Cole’s eyes shot to Lana but Elisabeth was still talking and manners won out.

‘I’d love that,’ said Lana, thrilled. She liked Elisabeth, she felt bad, but she had to do this–she had to try.

The panorama from the north side was breathtaking. Lana watched it quietly for a moment before turning to Robert. They were far enough from the table not to be heard.

‘Robert, I … I don’t know where to begin.’

‘Don’t,’ he said, staring ahead. ‘You don’t need to say anything. Let’s just get through this evening.’

She watched his handsome profile. ‘I can’t forget,’ she whispered. ‘You might be able to, but I can’t.’

He turned to her, his eyes flashing. ‘You didn’t leave me with a lot of choice.’ His voice was even. There was sadness in there and she clung to it like a raft.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I had to leave, I–I thought it was the right thing.’

‘It was,’ he cut in.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Don’t you dare cry.

‘What happened is behind us,’ he went on. ‘We can get along; we’ve a premiere to share, after all. Let’s keep this professional.’

‘I’m proud of you,’ she said, desperate to get through to him. His eyes came to meet hers, their gentle brown so familiar. ‘It’s beautiful. You did it.’

‘Of course he did it,’ interrupted Cole, suddenly at her side. ‘He built the whole thing from scratch, isn’t that right, St Louis?’

Robert straightened. ‘Well, I had—’

‘Let’s go back, shall we?’ Cole put an arm across Lana’s shoulders in a fatherly fashion and guided her gently. She followed Robert, watching the gleam of his heels.

‘Robert and I have an announcement,’ said Elisabeth when they’d all sat down. ‘Well, sort of.’ She was clearly slightly merry and tapped the top of her glass with a long fingernail as if she was about to make a speech. ‘I just can’t keep quiet a minute longer. Darling …?’

All three of them turned to look at her. Robert appeared perplexed.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

She gave him a look. ‘Sweetheart, come on. Do you want to invite them, or shall I?’

Realisation seemed to dawn. ‘Elisabeth, I don’t know if now is the right time.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport-this is barely notice as it is!’

‘What is it?’ asked Cole, looking from one to the other.

Lana had a horrible feeling she knew what was coming next.

‘We’d like to invite you both to our wedding,’ Elisabeth said happily. ‘In August.’ She looked at Lana. ‘Robert and I would be thrilled if you could come.’

45

‘Just what in Christ’s name is wrong with you?’ demanded Cole, tugging off his tie.

It was midnight and they’d been shown to their suite after Elisabeth had enjoyed one too many celebration cocktails and fallen off her chair. Not terribly dignified, but at least she’d been having a good time–unlike his wife.

Fuck! Lana had been in a shitty mood ever since they’d arrived, hardly uttering a word through dinner. It was apparent that St Louis and his fiancée were extremely important people in this town–God only knew what conclusions they had drawn from Lana’s doomed expression. Cole and his wife were meant to be the happiest couple in Hollywood–if she’d forgotten that, she needed to get with the damn programme.

‘Nothing,’ said Lana blankly. She was sitting quietly on a chair, her hands in her lap. Mercifully their suite had separate sleeping quarters, but Cole was on a rampage and wouldn’t let her out of his sight until she’d accounted for her behaviour.

‘Is that all you can say?’ Cole shook his head in disgust.

‘All night you’ve been distracted, acting like I dragged you here against your will.’ He momentarily ran out of steam at the corner he’d walked into. Moving on, he stormed, ‘Even when they invited us to the wedding you couldn’t slap on a goddamn smile!’ He stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

A second later it opened again.

‘Don’t think I don’t know what this is about,’ he said.

Lana laughed humorlessly. ‘Sure.’

Cole walked towards her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘Just what is that supposed to mean?’

‘Forget it.’

This was bad; he’d never seen her like this before. Their second argument in one day! Normally they wouldn’t talk this much in a week. He’d have to placate the situation before tomorrow–if she could at least perform at breakfast then perhaps they could salvage it.

He sat down opposite her. ‘I know you’re still upset about what happened this morning.’

She stayed quiet. Maybe she was ill.

‘I apologise for keeping you in the house,’ Cole said magnanimously. He closed his eyes as though it pained him. ‘There, it’s done. Now can you please throw off this childish sulk and concentrate on tomorrow.’

She frowned. ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

‘I’d like us to breakfast with St Louis before we go,’ he said, glad she was finally engaging.

‘No,’ she cut in. ‘Please, Cole. I want to leave immediately in the morning.’

‘Why?’

She looked away. ‘I can’t explain. I’m tired. I just want to go … home.’

Cole’s anger was instantly dispelled. Lana had always refused to refer to the Beverly Hills mansion as her home–until now. If she was thinking of it in those terms, perhaps it would be easier to keep her than he thought.

As if on cue, his cell rang. It was Marty King.

‘Marty.’

‘Cole, hi. You’re in Vegas?’

‘Yeah. What is it?’ He got up and paced over to the window. He could see his wife reflected in the glass, her sad expression still in place.

‘Two things,’ said Marty, who sounded like he was eating. ‘First, I got you scheduled for an impromptu appearance next week at Castelli’s–thought you could throw a few shapes like you did at that fundraiser, get everyone dancing, y’know, like a spontaneous thing. Remind everyone what a great sense of humour you’ve got.’

Cole pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. ‘And second?’

‘And second …’ Marty was quiet a moment. ‘Is Lana there?’

Cole held the phone closer to his ear. ‘Go ahead.’

‘I’ve found a way to seal this deal,’ he said. ‘Lana’s yours, Cole. I can’t discuss it over the phone but come see me when you’re back and we’ll go through the plan.’

He kept his voice low. ‘This had better be good.’

‘Oh, don’t you worry, it is.’

Cole breathed an inward sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was get his wife smiling again. Fine, if it made her happy, they’d leave first thing.

‘I’ll be there,’ he said, snapping his cell shut. He watched Lana’s reflection in the glass. For a long time neither of them moved.

46

Days later, at the Vegas palace he called home, Frank Bernstein uncorked his finest bottle of vintage Krug with a great flourish. A twist of vapour escaped at the neck before it was emptied into a spread of waiting glasses.

‘What did I tell ya?’ he boomed, slapping Robert hard on the back. ‘I knew you’d do the right thing, son, I knew it all along.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the wedding!’

Robert smiled at Elisabeth as everyone lifted their crystal flutes-Bernstein, looking more leathery than usual after a business trip to Sicily; Christie Carmen, clad in a microscopic pair of silver hot pants; and Jessica, with lips slightly pursed, as usual, at her sister being the centre of attention.

‘Mr and Mrs St Louis,’ said Elisabeth, savouring the words as she took a drink.

Her father nodded, satisfied. Thank Christ this damn union was finally going ahead. He’d thought back in France they were cooling things off, taking their time. Not on his watch.

There was too much at stake. Elisabeth had to get down that aisle and not a moment too soon.

‘How long will this take?’ moaned Jessica, already thinking about her outfit for the New Year’s party she was attending that evening.

Ignoring her, Bernstein took Robert’s arm and they moved away from the women.

‘You know what this means, right, St Louis?’ At the window they stopped and he put a hand on the younger man’s back. ‘You and I got some talking t’do.’

Robert ran a hand through his dark hair. He was tired. ‘We have? ‘

‘The future,’ said Bernstein, lighting a Cuban and angling his body away from the girls. A curl of smoke escaped out the side of his mouth. ‘You got responsibilities now.’

‘I know my responsibilities, Bernstein.’

‘Damn right. An’ now I’m tellin’ you, you got some more. Capiche? ‘

‘I won’t be threatened.’ Robert kept his voice down. ‘You can tell your associates it’s not happening.’

‘Wake the hell up, kid. What makes you think you’re any cleaner than the rest of us?’

‘I told you, I’m not interested.’

‘Well, get interested.’ Bernstein’s eyes darted to his daughter. ‘Call it insurance. One of these days you’re gonna need someone t’watch your back, an’ Elisabeth’s, an’ the kids’.’ He leaned in. ‘You got a story I could wipe my ass on? Think about it, wise guy.’

Robert’s head snapped up. What did Bernstein know?

He was being paranoid. Christmas had been and gone since Lana’s visit, but still he couldn’t get her out of his head. Every night since he had replayed it and tried to find a different outcome. The bottom line was: he’d blown it.

Sleep had eluded him that night of the dinner, knowing she was close by, closer than she’d been in years. He’d lain awake and thought of her in his hotel, making love to her perfectly pleasant but strangely artificial husband; of all the things he wanted to do but couldn’t. In the end he had given up and crept out of bed, careful not to wake Elisabeth, and spent the early hours composing a number of letters, none of which said what was important and all of which were balled up and thrown in the trash. He had dressed at six, waited an hour and then headed to the Orient, resolved to find her. He hadn’t prepared what he would say, but knew when he saw her that he’d find the words.

But she had already gone. He was too late.

‘Can you please tell your girlfriend to put some clothes on?’ Elisabeth drifted over in a mist of Chanel, a distasteful expression on her face. ‘It’s like the Playboy mansion in here.’

Bernstein chuckled as his eyes feasted on Christie Carmen, burbling on to a fed-up-looking Jessica, her ass like a split peach. He patted his stomach as though he’d just eaten a big and satisfying meal.

As soon as he moved off she pounced on Robert. ‘What was he talking to you about?’

‘Nothing important.’ Robert twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers.

Elisabeth was suspicious. Her sister’s words came back to her.

Something Daddy’s not telling us.

‘It looked important,’ she said, narrowing her eyes.

‘It wasn’t.’

She held up her hand, showing him her engagement ring like an identity badge. Elisabeth loved diamonds. It struck Robert then that he’d never thought he would marry a woman about whom he could say that.

‘We’re going to be married,’ she announced. ‘Let’s start by being honest.’

Elisabeth was shocked at how far she could push her hypocrisy. It’s easier to point the finger, isn’t it?

‘Can I get everyone’s attention?’ bellowed Bernstein, mercifully coming to the rescue. His terracotta face was cracked in a wide smile as he fondled Christie Carmen’s behind. ‘Me an’ Christie’ve got a special announcement of our own.’

‘What is it?’ asked Jessica, impatiently tapping her foot.

‘Well …’ said Bernstein, giving Christie a quick kiss on the lips, ‘we’re tying the knot.’

‘What?’ Elisabeth made no attempt to conceal her shock. She turned to Robert for reassurance. He shrugged. Jessica started laughing.

‘An’ you know what this calls for?’

‘More champagne!’ recommended Jessica, hiccupping.

‘Honeys,’ Bernstein held his arms out to Christie and Elisabeth, ‘this is gonna be the double wedding of the century!’

‘What do you want?’ Elisabeth said coldly, pushing past Alberto Bellini and stalking into her dressing room.

‘I had to see you.’ He followed her in and closed the door. ‘It has been too long.’

‘Forget it, Alberto. I have.’

Elisabeth pulled off her clothes and lifted a Dior gown from where it hung in waiting. She stood for a moment in her underwear, trying to work out how to put it on.

‘Could I get a little privacy?’ she snapped, sliding her wrists through the armholes.

Alberto watched her hungrily, his eyes scanning her body. ‘We must talk.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ She turned and unfastened her bra, tossing it over the back of a chair. ‘Now, please, I’ve got a show to do.’ Dropping the fabric over her head and trying to tug it down to cover herself, she thought she heard a tear. Shit!

There was a tentative knock at the door.

‘I’m capable of dressing myself!’ barked Elisabeth blindly through the folds of material. Why did Alberto have to choose now of all times to make an appearance? The New Year Show wasn’t something she could afford to blow.

‘Let me help, bellissima,’ he crooned, approaching her half-clothed form.

Elisabeth gritted her teeth. She felt Alberto’s rough hands pull gently at the fabric, and a couple of times the cold metal of his rings as they brushed against her naked skin. His face was close to hers, she could feel his hot breath. Her nipples hardened and she realised she was aching to be touched.

‘Thank you,’ she said tartly, as with a final movement he slipped the dress over her head.

‘My Elisabeth,’ he whispered. He looked in her sea-blue eyes. ‘How I have missed you.’

Elisabeth shook her head. ‘Give it up, Alberto.’ She dragged an ivory-handled brush through her hair, now something of a nest after the scuffle with the gown. ‘Our night together was a mistake. I’m sorry for having led you on. I’m marrying Robert and that’s the end of it. Please,’ she looked at him, ‘let’s forget it ever happened.’

‘Amore mio,’ Alberto murmured, ‘I cannot forget.’

‘Then try.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘Do you disregard all that we talked about?’

‘I made a mistake,’ Elisabeth retorted sharply, spritzing fragrance behind her ears. ‘This is my future, Alberto, and you had better get used to it.’

In a heartbeat he was behind her, his fingers tracing a line down her spine. ‘You cannot erase the passion we have shared.’ He planted a chain of soft kisses across her shoulders.

‘Passion?’ She tried to make a joke of it. But she could feel her resolve crumbling.

What is one last time? she reasoned as Alberto began to kiss her neck. His hands crept round and cupped her breasts, caressing her between a finger and thumb, covering her delicate frame with his bear paws. She turned, and in a flash his lips were on hers. In her heels she was almost as tall as him and could smell the ginger in his hair. When he placed his hands on her waist, they were so big they almost met round the middle.

Call it one last time before she walked down the aisle, Elisabeth thought. Call it a lucky charm before the show. Call it a poison she had to bleed. She ignored the voice that called it different. Call it infidelity.