Hollywood Sinners (20 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Los Angeles

H
arriet Foley’s mansion sat in the heart of Beverly Hills, a magnificent white building set in a cluster of palms and furnished with a staggeringly expensive collection of contemporary art. Guests milled poolside under a violet sky pierced with stars. The evening smelled sweet, like money and sex and the December sun bleeding out of the day.

Chloe hadn’t felt like coming. Since her afternoon with Nate a few days ago she’d felt dreadful—she hadn’t seen him since. All her instincts told her to run back to London, back to the house in Hampstead and curl up in bed, shutting the curtains and forgetting the world. But she couldn’t. And anyway, the UK was the worst place she could be right now.

She couldn’t find the courage to break up with him. She didn’t know if she could do it by herself. And what if she’d misunderstood? What if she’d misread the situation? But despite these brief intervals of hope, she always reached the same conclusion: whichever way she looked at it, Nate was guilty as sin. It killed her.

‘Hey,’ said Brock, taking her arm as they were ushered inside to take their seats, everything all right?’

She nodded. She had to pull herself together—this was an important evening.

Harriet’s dining room was more like a greenhouse, with lush jade foliage hanging down each side. An absurdly long table, as it would need to be to cater for this number of diners, was decorated with lavish flower arrangements and spotted with baskets of multi-seeded bread. A small, tastefully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner, as if to show willing.

‘You know...’ Brock nudged her ‘...Harriet’s been looking at you all night. She likes what she sees.’

Chloe had dressed carefully in an all-black trouser suit, Louboutin heels and bold silver jewellery. With her glossy black hair and cat-like grey eyes, the effect was simple but striking. She knew she ought to feel more excited, but couldn’t get rid of this lead weight in her stomach. The thought of Nate with all those other women or, arguably worse, with just one…

‘I’m glad.’ She forced herself to smile.

‘Good.’ Brock reached into an ornate Japanese bowl for an edamame bean pod. ‘Stop looking so glum.’

A starter of tempura prawns arrived—only two, resting self-consciously on a tiny nest of watercress. While Brock turned to an agent friend of his, Chloe searched for someone with whom to start a conversation. She found the women difficult to approach, had been especially sensitive to it since the reception she’d had from Kate diLaurentis. Apart from a kid actor opposite who she vaguely recognised, she was probably the youngest person here—and guessed that didn’t do her any favours. She wondered where Lana Falcon was tonight. Probably with Cole, enjoying a dreamy romantic evening.

Chloe clenched her fists in her lap. She couldn’t bring herself to think where Nate was tonight. Or with whom.

‘Excellent,’ said Brock, dragging her back to the moment. ‘Here’s Jimmy.’

She heard the accent first, a little bit Americanised but still very much there, then looked up as a lofty, shambolic-looking man swept in, apologising profusely in the British tradition, greeting his host then falling into the seat next to Chloe, where he promptly did justice to the plate in front of him.

‘What a fucking day,’ he said, chewing loudly. His wine glass was filled and he slugged half of it back in one.

It was past nine o’clock and Chloe suspected his late arrival wasn’t the best etiquette, but seeing Jimmy now she understood how he could get away with things like this—in that bumbling, awkward way people like Hugh Grant might.

Chloe felt Brock tense. ‘Jimmy,’ he said in an undertone, ‘what’s going on?’

Jimmy glanced up, ready to placate his agent, when he clapped eyes on Chloe and his face froze. It was a classic double-take.

‘Good, you’re not drunk,’ Brock said out the side of his mouth, topping up Jimmy’s water glass all the same. ‘Jimmy, meet Chloe French. Lana Falcon’s new protégée.’

He stared at her, a prawn suspended between his finger and thumb.

‘I’m Jimmy,’ he said finally, holding out his other hand. He had a nice face, with scratchy lines round the eyes that suggested he smiled a lot. His top teeth came out a fraction over his lower, which gave him an unpretentious, quite geeky look, and his hairline was receding in a sexy Jack Nicholson-type way. Yes, Chloe thought, he was definitely attractive. Not that it mattered one way or the other.

‘Nice to meet you,’ she said. He had a good, firm shake. She thanked the waitress as her glass was refilled.

‘Which part of London are you from?’ he asked, not taking his eyes from her.

‘North,’ she answered, glad to have someone to talk to, ‘Hampstead. And you?’

‘Even further north. Manchester, originally.’ He looked down at the prawn, appeared surprised, as though someone had put it there without him noticing, and popped it in his mouth. ‘Don’t go back to the UK so much any more—except for work, which isn’t the same.’

‘Do you miss it?’ she asked.

He made a face. ‘Yeah. Not so much it as, well, me.’ A pause. ‘That sounds weird.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’

He grinned. ‘You’re sweet.’ His gaze was so intense that Chloe felt the rest of the room retreating, as if she and Jimmy were the only people here. He was not what she’d expected: she’d seen him in a few things, including that awful film where they put him in a fat suit, and had always thought him borderline cringy. In the flesh he was surprisingly charismatic and charming.

When the main arrived Chloe found she had lost her appetite. But this time it wasn’t because she was sad, it was something different. She’d never been able to eat in front of someone she fancied.

A pang of guilt shot through her, before she remembered what Nate had done. A little flirtation was nothing compared with his betrayal.

‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’ asked Jimmy.

Chloe was embarrassed—she didn’t want him to think she had a problem. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she told him.

He seemed unfazed. ‘Mind if I…?’

‘Go for it!’ She laughed, nudging across her plate.

‘Thanks,’ he said, forking a chunk of meat into his mouth. ‘There’s barely food at home, have to grab it when I can.’ He winked and she wasn’t sure if he was joking.

‘Really?’

It was his turn to look embarrassed. ‘I’m exaggerating,’ he said, a little uncomfortably. ‘My wife’s on a permanent diet, that’s all.’

Chloe all but slapped a palm to her forehead. Of course, he was married to Kate diLaurentis. For a moment she’d totally forgotten.

‘How is Kate?’ she asked politely, not really caring how Kate was. She couldn’t believe such a nice man was married to that bitch.

‘She’s fine,’ he said abruptly, stabbing at the food. He was clearly ill at ease talking about his wife.

Chloe sipped her drink. A snippet of information was swimming to the light, something she remembered Lana telling her. Wasn’t Jimmy a serial cheat, forever doing the dirty?

They all are
, she thought bitterly.
Everybody
cheats
.

‘Kate’s in Italy. She’s working on some fashion range, meeting designers and stuff.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t know too much about it, actually…’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Chloe, wondering how many girls he was bedding in his wife’s absence. Much as she disliked the woman, she now knew how it felt.

And how her father must have felt.

Chloe gritted her teeth. Trust. There was a joke of a word.

Fortunately Brock cut in and the men struck up a conversation about some casting Jimmy had been to. Chloe was relieved and decided not to talk to him again this evening—it was a shame, she’d liked him, but now she was learning that the only person she could really rely on was herself. This town would make her tough. Maybe it was what she needed.

Dessert arrived, a chocolate concoction with a blood-red jus, and Chloe, regaining her appetite, shovelled it in.

‘You like sweet things,’ observed Jimmy. ‘You know, I could tell you a terrible chat-up line.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Chloe, finishing up.

Jimmy grinned, happy with her feisty response. ‘Sweet, but with a twist,’ he said.

With a screech she pushed back her chair and stood, excusing herself.

In the bathroom she sat on the loo with her head in her hands, trying not to think about Nate. The number of times he must have chatted up other women, taken them home, done things to them that she’d thought were only theirs. How many? How long had it been going on? Her mind flipped back sickeningly through the times they’d shared in London, that crazy night in Kentish Town that she’d thought had been a one-off but maybe hadn’t, looking for the signs. She’d been blind, thinking he loved her. What was love anyway? Growing up, it had been what her parents had; then it had been what she shared with Nate. Now she didn’t have a single fucking clue.

When she came back to the table, people were up and mingling. She caught Jimmy Hart watching her and pulled her shoulders back, for a moment enjoying his attention. If she’d wanted Jimmy, not that she did, she knew she had him hook, line and sinker.

She and Brock mingled for a while before he suggested they make an early exit.

‘But it’s only just gone eleven,’ Chloe protested, a little drunk, as he wrapped a coat around her shoulders.

‘Always be among the first to leave, darling,’ he advised. ‘Remember it.’

They said their goodbyes to Harriet, who air-kissed Chloe in dramatic fashion, enveloping her in a cloud of citrusy perfume. A tiny piece of spinach was clinging to her top lip, which no one was daring enough to tell her about.

‘Call me,’ she told Brock, giving him a meaningful look.

On the way out a tall, curly-haired figure stepped in front of Chloe, blocking the way.

‘Leaving so soon?’ Jimmy asked, swaying a bit.

Chloe nodded. ‘It was good to meet you.’

‘Can I see you again?’ he asked. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. It was clear what he wanted and he was practised in getting it.

Suddenly Chloe felt reckless. She was tired of being the good little girl that everybody crapped on, left behind, got bored with.

‘You can take my number,’ she found herself saying. She expected it to come out shaky but instead it came out firm, like a new voice.

If Nate could do it, why couldn’t she?

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Las Vegas

T
he 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. 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: hoards 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.’ She 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 serious. 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, turning back to the view.

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—’