Hollywood Sinners (32 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

C
hloe had kept busy all afternoon. After her lunch with Brock she’d had Bonnie round for a work-out, which had succeeded in knackering her out so much that she couldn’t think about anything except getting through the next repetition.

‘You OK with this?’ Bonnie had asked as she’d powered through the next series.

‘I’m fine,’ she’d panted, taking it to the brink.

Bonnie looked pleased. ‘Seems like you’ve got something to burn.’

Now she was alone, anxiety crept back in.

Chloe soaked for a long time in the bath, unable to shake the knot of dread that had plagued her since her run-in with Nate.

I’ve been having an affair with Kate diLaurentis’ husband.

Part of her didn’t care—this was the game, it was how the rules went. But the other part of her, the part she’d wanted to lose, recoiled as the gravity of it hit home. Chloe sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. Famous or not, she’d had revenge sex with a married man, a father, while his wife was away on business. It was just like her mother had done, just like Nate, just like every other hurtful person who’d torn a family apart. She shivered.

Yesterday she’d spoken to her father. She’d felt ashamed, like she’d betrayed him.

‘I’ll be home soon,’ she’d told him, not knowing when soon was.

‘You don’t want to come back here,’ he’d teased, ‘you’re having far too much fun. I’m fine, sweetheart, really. Me and Janet are happy.’

I’m not happy
, she’d wanted to scream.
I’m not fine.

‘Take care, darling.’

But she wasn’t taking care. She wasn’t being careful at all.

There was her career to consider, too. Kate diLaurentis was a powerful force in Hollywood; she and Jimmy were a powerful couple. Chloe was just starting out, working to maintain her sweet image, the English rose that Sam Lucas had wanted for
Eastern Sky
. With the premiere a matter of weeks away, nerves jangled.

She would end it. Completely, and for good. That’s what she would do. Right this minute. This wasn’t her; it’d been a huge mistake.

Clambering out the bath, Chloe wrapped a towel round her and squeezed out her hair. A web of dark strands got caught on her palm and she washed them off, picking them out from between her fingers.

She slipped into some tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt then, settling on the sofa, punched a number into her phone and waited. Jimmy would get mad if she called again but, fuck it. It would be the last time.

Frustratingly he didn’t answer. She considered leaving a message but decided not to—she didn’t want something so important to get swallowed up on an answer phone. She tossed the phone down, hoping he’d ring back and knowing he wouldn’t.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Las Vegas

E
lisabeth swept across the Poseidon Terrace, stopping by one of the marble plinths and folding her arms. All around her the flanks of the Parthenon rose into the scorching blue sky.

‘What the hell are you talkin’ about?’ came Bernstein’s voice from behind. He was sprawled on a shallow bench, watching his daughter. ‘You brought me out a meeting to tell me this bullcrap?’ He chewed on his cigar. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Elisabeth whipped round. ‘I told you, I don’t want a joint wedding.’

‘I do. Get used to it.’

‘Robert doesn’t either,’ she announced, looking at the ground. ‘In fact, I think we’ll… Well, we might put back the date.’

‘
What?
’ Bernstein bellowed, sitting up. He jabbed a finger at her. ‘To hell with that idea. This has got to be the longest engagement in history. What’s the problem with you kids?’

Elisabeth closed her eyes. She hadn’t actually spoken to Robert about it but, damn it, she needed more time.

‘It’s got nothing to do with you,’ she said, meeting her father’s gaze.

Against the backdrop of marble, smooth sculptures and rounded pillars, Bernstein was an imposing figure. He stood up, his shadow spilling around him.

‘It’s got everything to do with me.’ His voice was grim. ‘You’re not letting me down.’

‘This is between Robert and me. Back off.’

‘There’s more to this than you realise, Elisabeth. The plan’s goin’ ahead whether you like it or not.’

She laughed. ‘You can’t threaten me, I’m not a kid any more.’

Bernstein eyeballed her.

‘I mean it.’ She matched him. ‘What is it about you and this stupid wedding anyway?’

‘There’s things you don’t know,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh, yeah?’ she challenged. ‘Like what?’

He squinted. There was a long pause.

‘You steal somethin’ from my office?’ he said eventually.

Elisabeth thought of her mother’s note, clean and unopened, untainted by her father and his machinations. She felt a surge of gratification. He couldn’t prove a thing.

‘No.’

He observed her.

‘Why?’ she pushed it. ‘Have you lost something?’

Seconds passed.

Bernstein changed tack. ‘This is down to that damn broad showing up, ain’t it?’

Elisabeth was bemused. ‘What do you mean?’

He slotted the cigar back between his lips. ‘A piece like Lana Falcon don’t just roll up at the Orient expecting a free lunch. What’s her husband got to say?’ He chewed on the end.

‘Robert and I discussed it.’

‘And?’

‘It’s a private matter.’

‘A private matter, huh?’ Bernstein narrowed his eyes. ‘Maybe I should straighten that out with St Louis myself.’

‘He’ll only tell you the same. Besides, she’s gone. She went this morning.’

Elisabeth had gone to see Lana the night before her departure. She’d largely been keeping away from the Orient since Lana had arrived—she’d had enough other distractions—but it was an encounter she’d felt had to happen.

* * *

At the door to the Pagoda Suite Elisabeth had knocked confidently. Lana had answered almost straight away. The younger woman was prettier than she’d remembered and she’d cursed her decision to overdress in a sequin top and heels—Lana had looked like a fresh-faced teenager in her plain jeans and top.

‘Elisabeth!’ She seemed wary at first, kissing her hello and standing back to let her in.

Elisabeth figured she must be worried about going back to LA. No wonder she was tense. Cole Steel was not a man she’d like to get on the wrong side of.

‘Thanks,’ she’d said as Lana closed the door. ‘How are you feeling?’

The other woman had seemed to relax a bit. ‘Good. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for letting me stay.’ A pause. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘Can I get you a drink?’

Elisabeth shook her head. ‘I can’t stay.’ Then she added, ‘Robert’s very fond of you, you know.’ She scanned Lana for a reaction and, sure enough, it came: a slight blush to the cheeks. It was enough.

‘He’s been kind.’

‘He’s a kind man.’

In the ensuing silence Elisabeth understood that she didn’t know half of Lana’s and Robert’s shared story, despite what he had said. In fact, she realised, in all the time they’d been engaged they hadn’t really talked about their pasts in that respect. God knew how many skeletons he had in his closet. She tried not to think about her own skeletons swinging in the dark, their bones knocking together like wind chimes.

‘Have you spoken to Cole?’ It was a sensitive question.

Lana was honest. ‘Not yet. I’m afraid.’

Elisabeth sat down. ‘It’s not easy to admit when you’ve done something wrong.’

‘No.’ She put a hand to her stomach. ‘But I don’t have a choice now.’

Their eyes met. ‘And if you did?’

Lana took a seat. ‘If I did…’ she frowned ‘...I think I’d stay married. I don’t think I’d have the strength to break away.’

Elisabeth nodded. ‘It’s easier to walk, I guess,’ she said softly. ‘Just leave, not face things, hide away.’

‘That’s what I’ve done. I’m not proud of it.’

‘But it’s worked out.’ Elisabeth crossed her legs. ‘You’ve got people on your side.’

Lana bowed her head. ‘People can surprise you.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Elisabeth, a little sadly. She got up and walked to the window. It was dark outside and she could see her own reflection in the glass.

‘Funny, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘What is?’

‘The premiere.’ She touched the glass pane with a fingertip. It left a foggy print. ‘You’ll be back here in a few weeks, no one any the wiser. You’ll pull off a great performance.’

Lana came to stand next to her. Two women, side by side, on the brink of the world and scared to death of the fall.

‘And you will,’ said Lana, avoiding the undercurrent.

‘Perhaps.’

‘It’s not easy to be in the spotlight,’ Lana conceded. ‘Secrets get difficult to ignore.’

‘Secrets?’ Elisabeth had looked at her sideways. ‘I suppose it depends on what you’re trying to hide.’

‘Yes,’ said Lana. ‘I suppose it does.’

* * *

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Bernstein now, dragging her back to the present. ‘Enough crap about putting things off. Spend some time with Jessica, she’ll give it to you straight.’

Elisabeth approached him, took his hands. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

His leathery face looked back at her, smoke curling from his lips. ‘What?’

‘About the wedding. About me.’

He took her hands, for the first time since she was a little girl.

‘There’s things I got to tell you an’ all,’ he growled. ‘But now ain’t the time—’

‘I can’t go ahead with it.’

‘What?’

‘The wedding. I can’t go ahead with it.’

He shook his head. ‘Sure you can. You’ll get used to the idea.’

‘That’s not what I mean. I don’t give a crap about you and Christie.’

Bernstein pulled away, extinguishing the cigar. ‘I know damn well that’s how you feel. I might be old but I’m not as dumb as you think.’

‘You’re missing the point.’

‘So tell me.’

Elisabeth searched her father’s eyes. She felt overcome with shame. What would he say when she told him? Alberto Bellini was like a brother to him, an uncle to her. The words stuck.

She stalled. ‘You first,’ she said softly. ‘Please. You said you wanted to…’

Bernstein took a deep breath. He looked down at his shoes, a humble gesture she’d never seen before.

Suddenly his pager went. He seemed puzzled, patted his pockets, before drawing it smoothly from his suit.

The moment was lost.

‘I’m out of time, puss.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘See you tonight?’

Elisabeth and Robert were due at a restaurant opening, she’d nearly forgotten. She put a hand to her head. ‘Yes, of course.’

Bernstein turned on his heel. ‘Put a smile on it, Elisabeth,’ he threw back over his shoulder. ‘Nobody’s died.’

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Los Angeles

L
ana was collected from the airport by one of Cole’s drivers. She’d thought he might have come himself but guessed he’d worry about media attention—it was safer to maintain that his wife had been away on business and that nothing was out of the ordinary.

Behind the blacked-out windows, the lights of Vegas seemed to belong to another lifetime, even though she’d left them only hours ago. She was dreading confronting Cole but she had to go back—it was part of the agreement. The marriage, or at least the image of one, had to be sustained until the post-premiere split. They would endeavour to keep apart over the coming weeks, but a conversation had to take place. What would he say to her? What would he do?

Minutes later they arrived at the mansion. It was as quiet and still as a dead person’s house.

Lana headed straight to her rooms, remembering the warmth of the Orient and how it had felt more like a home over the past two weeks than this place ever had. Smiling, she thought of Robert. When this was over, a new life would begin. The thought of being with him again, properly being with him after all this time apart, made her weak with longing.

She felt bad when she thought of Elisabeth. Lana liked her—it would be easier if she didn’t. Their conversation last night had been stilted, uncomfortable, loaded with uncertainties. Lana hadn’t been sure what to say, how to say it, how much Elisabeth knew.

She walked around her quarters, as if to reclaim them, stopping for a moment at the window. Looking out at Cole’s grounds, remembering the route of her perilous escape, she had the strange sensation of being watched. On impulse she turned away and pulled the blind, her pulse racing. A marriage of surveillance had made her jumpy. She shook her head, feeling silly.

Lana showered and changed. When she was out, Rita called.

‘Everything OK?’

‘I’m just back,’ she said, running a comb through her wet hair. ‘I haven’t seen him yet.’

‘You know I’m here if you need me. Right?’

‘Right.’

Lana’s intercom buzzed, startling her. It would be her husband.

She reassured Rita a final time and moved to answer it. ‘Hello?’

‘Lana, it’s me.’

‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

There was a pause. ‘Can I talk to you?’ Cole didn’t sound like himself—this wasn’t the cold, hard voice of the betrayed. He was composed. Hopeful, even.

Minutes later she came to the top of the stairs. He was pacing the marble floor in a tight black turtleneck and loose-fitting slacks. Her first impression was that he looked like a dancer.

‘How are things?’ she asked, tentatively making her way down.

‘I’ve been better,’ he said, not unkindly. She saw there were dark circles under his eyes. ‘Come, sit. I want to talk to you. And I want you to listen very carefully.’

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

F
inally he had seen her. And it was worth the wait. Oh, was it worth it.

Lester had been flicking through a dirty magazine when a sleek black Mercedes had pulled into Cole Steel’s drive. Manoeuvring the Saab to the east of the mansion, he had parked and waited to see who emerged. Two fearsome-looking dogs had sniffed hungrily at the car. The passenger had been obscured—he saw a burly man open the door, his back thick as a wall. Cursing, Lester had fumbled for the binoculars, but by the time he’d found them it was too late.

A light had gone on in an upstairs window. Lester had exited the vehicle and crept round the perimeter. He’d been shaking with anticipation.

That was when she showed herself to him.

That soft chestnut hair, falling in waves around her shoulders. That beautiful face, so innocent until that filthy sonofabitch got his hands on her. That body, the one he had known so well when she was a girl. She had been so desperate to take her clothes off then, to let him feast his eyes on her adolescence. What would she be like now? He could see her new shape and he wanted it.

Lester closed his eyes to imagine. He put his nose up to the fence and inhaled deeply, as if he could smell her.

Murdering bitch!

She still had him cast under her terrible spell. But not for much longer. The time to reveal himself was getting close. Vegas was close. And with it the moment of his exquisite revenge.

He sat against a tree, panting hard. The light was fading; shadows crept in, stretching across the street, pooling beneath his car.

Up in the mansion his sister pulled the curtains, hiding herself from view.

Temptress. Killer.

He’d make her pay. She didn’t know it yet, but her world was about to end.