Love in Vogue (25 page)

They walked back to the staircase.

‘I wish she and Corinne would sort out their differences,’ Miles continued. ‘I don’t suppose you still have any influence with Yolande?’

Yves laughed bitterly. ‘Hardly. If I had, she’d be my wife now. Anyway, she tried to patch things up with Corinne at Christmas. It was too soon. When Corinne gets hurt, it takes her a very long time to recover.’

‘I’d noticed.’

‘I’m sure they’ll work things out in the end. They were always very close.’

Miles didn’t pursue it, and they began to descend the stairs. To avoid having to think about Yolande, Yves switched the subject to UVS and the Marchand shares, but found Miles strangely noncommittal considering the urgency of the situation. When he returned home he broke the news about Corinne’s relationship to Philippe as gently as possible.

‘I see. I suppose he must make her happy.’ Philippe stood up and paced the room for a while, frowning. When he faced Yves again, he was his usual nonchalant self. ‘So how did it go with Gabrielle?’

‘It’s over. She screamed a bit, but it was only her ego hurting.’

‘Brilliant. I got results too. Maman has agreed to a consultation with Dr Kamekian. I’m going to arrange it while I’m in Paris tomorrow. And I’ve a favour to ask. You couldn’t possibly let me borrow your car again, could you?’

Yves took the keys to the BMW from his pocket and dropped them into his brother’s hand. ‘Use it for as long as you like. I hope Claire and Isabelle enjoy the ride.’

Shit, the woman could talk for England, France, and California too. It was a wonder she wasn’t hoarse. It was one of those things he hadn’t found out until they started living together. Yolande’s habit of spending hours on the telephone always irritated Patrick intensely, and today it was infuriating. They were expected for lunch with Vic Bernitz, Jayne Herford, and assorted movie insiders at Althea Pedersen’s Malibu home. Another social success for him, another picture in the paper. But Yolande was chattering non-stop down the line to her mother, her dress half-zipped and her face still without a trace of make-up. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea of his to heal the rift between them.

He wandered into the living room and crept up behind her as she leaned against the wall by the telephone. She was just finishing the conversation, and nearly jumped when she turned and saw him.

‘Patrick, you beast.’

He laughed, slipped his arms around her, zipped up her dress, then kissed the hollows of her shoulders.

‘I thought you preferred to undress women,’ she said. ‘What’s the hurry?’

‘It’s quarter to twelve. We’re going to be late.’

‘And is it so important?’ Yolande stepped back, her eyes rather cold. ‘Quite honestly I’ve seen enough of Jayne and Vic – and Mrs Pedersen – all week. We could have had a day to ourselves for once.’

‘But the film, darling. It’s good publicity. Anyway, what’s there to do here on a Sunday afternoon?’

‘I seem to remember when you would have liked to stay in bed with me.’

He drew close. ‘We’ve got time. If you really want to.’

Yolande was always amazed by his constant readiness for sex. A hint, a few kisses, and he could be switched on like a machine, like the performer he was. But she wanted him focused on her alone, without consideration for time or unwanted lunch invitations. It had been like that once – before they came to California.

Patrick kissed her lips and began to pull up her dress, but looking into his eyes she could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. She pushed his hands away. He responded by picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom.

‘Put me down!’

‘You wanted it, Yolande.’

He dumped her on the bed, pulled up her dress, yanked her legs apart and thrust inside her without preamble. She wasn’t at all ready and gasped with pain as he pounded into her. It was the first time she hadn’t enjoyed sex. The realisation that there was no love at all about it hurt more than the horrible sensation of being raked by his unrelenting cock. All he cared about was his bloody career. He grunted as he came – in record time – and almost immediately pulled out of her. Then he planted a kiss on her unresponsive mouth and got straight up to finish dressing. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his shirt.

Yolande lay shaken and violated on the bed, wondering why they had never again reached that pitch of ecstasy she remembered from the night she had agreed to back the film. She had sold her stake in Marchand for him, alienated a sister she loved, and now they were together and their passion had dwindled to a tawdry three minutes before they went partying. Horrible. Degrading. She wanted to cry, but she was too angry.

He sauntered over to her, smiling. ‘Coming?’

She glared at him. ‘Did it sound as though I came?’

‘I thought you were ready. Look, I’m sorry. Later, eh? I’ll make it up to you. Now, are you going to get dressed for lunch?’

‘You go on your own. I’ve got things to do here,’

‘But Althea made a big fuss about inviting you. After all, without you there wouldn’t be a film. And it’s only a lunch. We can have all evening together.’

She sat up, semi-naked, beautiful, like a wild cat ready to pounce, her green eyes fixed on him reproachfully. He sat down beside her, suddenly contrite.

‘Please come, Yolande.’

‘I’d rather not. I’ve just had interesting news from my mother and I want to make some calls to France.’

Patrick lowered his eyes. He ought to give up the party and make slow, passionate love to her, then everything would be all right. She would once again be the sweet, carefree, fun-loving Yolande who had taken his fancy at Hervy. But he didn’t want to. He had to keep his name before the public, go to all the promotional gigs Ethan told him to attend and work the most influential people in the room. It was no hardship. He loved the buzz, the gorgeous women, the huge mansions with ocean views and limitless cocktails. It was ridiculous of Yolande to behave this way, particularly given her investment in the whole project. He couldn’t understand why she wasn’t happy. They were together, which is what she had said she always wanted. Surely that was all that mattered. But she’d even started going to Belco’s offices a couple of times a week and bringing home contracts and reports, whose turgid business prose, he was surprised to discover, she was actually able to decipher. Obviously she was more of a Marchand than he had realised.

‘Look, darling, I really do have to go. They’re going to have reporters from
Variety
and one of the cable channels there. We need the publicity, to build up expectations about the film. I won’t stay long. And when I get back …’

He leaned down, pushed his head between her thighs and licked his way up to her vagina, slick and swollen from sex. She fell back on the pillows, arched up and moaned as his tongue flicked over her, inside her, sent spears of desire jarring through her. And growled in bitter frustration when he stopped abruptly and stood up.

‘Patrick! Don’t leave me like this!’

She was exactly where he liked her to be – at his mercy, begging for him. He smiled, bent to kiss her lips. ‘Think of me.’ He cupped her, teased her with his fingers. ‘Think of all the things I’m going to do to you later.’

Then he left. This time she cried.

He drove to Malibu alone, in a brand new sports car with a personalised number plate which he had bought to look impressive on the set. Quite an advance on his old Renault. Soon it would feature in publicity photographs too; the image would be complete. Raybans, leather jacket, T-shirt, designer jeans, Ferrari – irresistible masculinity packaged in an irresistible format. It had taken Ethan Casavecchia all of two seconds to think of how Patrick was to be marketed. But Hollywood knew what it liked, and Ethan liked what Hollywood liked. It was a marriage of true minds. Patrick was a willing partner in the
ménage à trois
.

Althea Pedersen wouldn’t have dreamed of treating Patrick as anything other than extra-special. After all, he was a rising star, and she liked to know the big names. But there was something else about him, too. An attention to women, a charming way of answering even the most innocent speeches with a gallant smile, a constant acknowledgement that she was feminine and he was acutely aware of the fact. It was such a difference from Hank’s laconic love. Not that she had tired of her husband – she knew he was the only man she really wanted. But she was flattered by this clandestine, tantalising, safe flirtation.

‘Where’s Yolande?’ was the question almost everyone asked as soon as Patrick arrived at the Pedersens’ house.

He lied and said she was ill, then dutifully listened to their condolences. Lunch was a calorie-controlled affair, and he was glad he had stopped off at a drive-in for a burger en route. He made sure he conversed with the reporters, flirting just the right amount with the cable journalist, who was a dizzy redhead with a great cleavage and bedroom eyes. But Patrick had other objectives. After the reporters had left, things got better. Vic, Jayne, and Ethan were engaged in a heated debate and did not wish to be interrupted, so Patrick and Althea took drinks outside by the pool.

It was warm and sunny, and they sat close together on a lounger, enjoying each other and the fresh sea air. Patrick wasn’t sorry that Mr Pedersen had been detained by business in New York. Althea said it was an important deal he had been cooking up for a long time, though she failed to mention it was because Stessenberg had called to say he was soon leaving for Europe to buy Corinne out of UVS, and wanted to draw up a preliminary contract with Hank for the Marchand shares he would then be free to dispose of to Pedersen Corporation.

‘I guess you’re not much interested in business,’ she said, smiling.

‘No. I’ve always wanted to be an actor – ever since I can remember.’

‘Do you have family connections with the movies? I’m sure I’ve seen you before somewhere.’

Patrick twirled his cocktail glass between his fingers. ‘My mother was an actress at the Comédie Française,’ he said at last. ‘She encouraged me to go to drama school.’

‘Oh. Well, I guess you’ve just got a classic French face. How’s shooting going after that hassle with the scriptwriters, by the way?’

‘Vic got them to do another rewrite. He had to. Jayne wouldn’t say the lines. She wants Amanda to be a stronger role – no playing sidekick to a man. I don’t mind. She has to say she loves me at the end.’

Althea laughed. ‘Are we talking about the same script I read back in the fall? But I suppose Vic knows what he’s doing.’

‘The story did need tightening. And Jayne has really improved some scenes. I try to do the same.’

‘How do you feel about the love scenes with Yolande keeping an eye on you?’

‘Nervous.’ Patrick leaned forward, putting his glass down. ‘You see, Althea, when I have to hold Jayne like this,’ he put his arms round her and pulled her close, ‘it’s embarrassing when Yolande’s there. She starts coughing and walking up and down.’ He could feel Althea breathing faster against his chest. ‘Then when we kiss, it’s worse. And when we have to do the sex scenes, it’s going to be terrible.’

Althea looked up, rather nervous herself, and felt his lips against hers. Confident, demanding. She couldn’t help but respond. She closed her eyes and slid her arms around his neck, enjoying his young, warm, vigorous kisses, his hand searching for an opening in her blouse, his sigh of pleasure as he touched her skin and began to negotiate her bra. The front fastening was very helpful. Her breasts were fuller than Yolande’s. He eyed them hungrily.

‘Patrick, no.’

He smiled as he slowly rubbed her nipples. ‘Don’t you like it?’

Yes, she did. More than she should. She gave herself up to his exploring hands and tongue, but when he started to unbutton his jeans, she panicked. No, she must cool it. What had Hank said about Patrick’s lecherous eyes? She stood up quickly and fastened her clothes, while he lay back on the lounger, trying to get himself under control. It had been a perfect opportunity; but there would be others. He was sure of that. Now he had staked his claim, Althea was his anytime he liked.

They went back into the house and entered into a discussion with Vic and Jayne on another script change she had proposed. When they all said goodbye, Patrick kissed Althea’s hand, then kissed Jayne’s with extra gallantry. No one would have even guessed at their indiscretion. She began to think his acquaintance definitely worth cultivating.

‘Corinne, it’s me. Please talk to me. I just wanted to say how pleased I am about you and Miles. Mummy rang and told me.’

Corinne wasn’t exactly brimming over with goodwill, but she was friendlier than she had been at Christmas.

‘I suppose you also want to say
I told you so
,’ she said dryly.

‘Well, I was right, wasn’t I? So come on, tell me what happened. You couldn’t stand him. Don’t spare the gory details.’

‘Incorrigible brat! He just wore down my resistance with his charm, good looks, and general gorgeousness, of course. He’s great.’

‘You really are in love with him, aren’t you?’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about anyone else. He must be special. I’m so glad. You deserve someone special.’ And Yolande was more than a little pleased that she had been instrumental in kicking off the whole affair. ‘There’s something else I wanted to say. Can you get my shares back?’

‘I think so. Miles is working on it for me.’

‘About the apartment and Le Manoir …’

‘I was wondering when you’d get round to that,’ said Corinne crisply. ‘My lawyers have been waiting for you to finalise for weeks. I’m having the contents valued soon.’

‘Could you please put it off for a while? I think I’ll come over in the summer, and it would be easier to do it on the spot.’

Corinne agreed. Long distance negotiations with a correspondent as poor as Yolande would be infinitely more difficult. ‘By the way, Toinette’s back at the Avenue Foch. I had to do it to get a stake in UVS.’

Yolande could hardly complain, since it was all her fault. In fact she was surprised to find herself thinking how much more fun it would be at one of Toinette’s parties than at Malibu. Pure heresy.