‘I have my sources,’ he said smugly.
‘What about photos?’
‘Yes. I have some with me.’ He bent down, fishing in a battered leather briefcase, producing an eight-by-ten manila envelope from which he slid several pictures.
Brigette inspected the photos. There was Carlo, undeniably handsome in a blue blazer and grey pants, standing with his arm around a short, plumpish woman who was not at all attractive.
‘Is this his fiancée?’ she asked, hardly able to hide her surprise.
‘That’s her,’ Horace said.
‘Hmmm . . . well, I suppose he could’ve done better.’
‘Not money-wise,’ Horace said, with an odd little chuckle. ‘There aren’t that many good-looking heiresses around.’
Brigette pushed away her plate and got up from the table. ‘What else can you tell me about him?’
‘He’s a loner, his father pays his bills, keeps him on a short leash because, as I said before, they’re low on cash. From what I understand, Carlo is waiting to return to Rome when the scandal dies down. Either that or he’ll marry this Englishwoman, especially if her father makes him an offer he can’t refuse regarding the family business.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Fiona Lewyllen Wharton. She’s heiress to a paper empire.’
‘Is there a lot of money?’
‘Enough to keep Carlo happy although, from what I hear, she doesn’t.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Fiona never stays over at his apartment, nor he at her family home – she still lives with her parents in a house in Eaton Square. But he has been known to send for high-class call-girls at midnight. They visit his apartment, stay an hour, and leave.’
‘Really?’ Brigette said.
And in her mind she was already forming a plan.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘We’re getting inundated,’ Detective Johnson said.
‘Anything worthwhile?’ Lucky asked, not at all satisfied with the way the investigation was progressing, but trying not to blow her cool.
‘We’re sifting.’
While he was sifting, Lucky had her own team of detectives going from house to house, questioning all jeep owners within a five-mile radius of the hold-up, showing the sketch artist’s rendition of the two suspects. If only Lenntie could remember at least one of the numbers on the licence plate. But he couldn’t, his mind was a blank.
With the children safely in Palm Springs at their grandfather’s house, and Bobby away in Greece, Lucky made a concentrated effort to spend more time with Lennie, hoping she could persuade him to visit Venus’ shrink.
Getting him to agree was impossible: he refused to even consider it.
She held her temper and attempted to go along with whatever he wanted to do. Eventually, she knew, he would return to being the man she loved.
‘That’s okay, Lucky,’ he said, when one day she offered to accompany him on one of his marathon walks along the beach. ‘Truth is, I’d sooner be alone.’
‘You would?’ she said, somewhat uptight.
He didn’t seem to notice her reaction. ‘Uh-huh,’ he said evenly.
‘If that’s the way you feel . . .’
‘I’m allowed to feel, aren’t I?’ he snapped.
‘Keep it up, Lennie,’ she said, her patience faltering. ‘You can be alone permanently if that’s what turns you on.’
‘Is that what you want?’ he countered. ‘’Cause if so, it’s easy enough to arrange.’
She’d been trying to avoid a fight, but obviously Lennie was heading in that direction – in fact, he seemed determined to get into an argument.
‘You’re acting like a jerk,’ she said. ‘Nothing ever pleases you.’
‘Can I help it if I prefer to be by myself?’
No, she told herself, staring at him. I will not get into a fight with this man who I love. I refuse to. And he will not goad me into it.
‘Have you given any thought to New York?’ she asked casually. ‘We could go for a long weekend and try to have fun?’
‘Fun?’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Mary Lou’s ten feet under and you want to have fun?’
‘Jesus, Lennie,’ she snapped, ‘you’re really pushing.’
‘I’m pushing?’
‘This feeling sorry for yourself shit has to stop. How long do you think we can take it?’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Me, the kids, anybody who tries to get close to you. You’ve shut off, Lennie. Just like you did after the kidnapping.’
‘I’m sorry if Mary Lou getting killed is inconveniencing everyone,’ he said stiffly. ‘The timing was wrong, huh? You decided to dump the studio and sit around having fun, but unfortunately things haven’t worked out the way you planned. And while we’re on that subject, it would’ve been nice if you’d discussed leaving the studio with me before you announced it to the world. Do I make major decisions without including you?’
‘So that’s what you’re burning up about?’
‘No, I’m merely saying I remember once before you made a major decision without asking me – and that was to buy the goddamn studio in the first place.’
‘Let’s not fight, Lennie.’
‘Why? You’ve been following me around for the last six weeks looking for a fight.’
‘You are so full of shit!’ she responded, outraged that he should be this unfair. ‘You’re the one who’s looking for a fight.’
‘No. I’m the one who merely wants to be left alone. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Yes, Lennie, it is,’ she said angrily. ‘You have a life, a family, and a wife. Do you know that we haven’t made love in nearly two months?’
‘Ah, so that’s what this is all about – sex.’
‘It’s not sex, Lennie. It’s about being together and loving someone.’
‘I should’ve known you would have focused on the sex.’
She stared at him as if he were a stranger, because that’s the way he was acting. ‘If you could remember the goddamn licence-plate number, perhaps we could catch the killers and get on with our lives,’ she said, needling him.
‘You think I’m forgetting on purpose?’ he said, furious.
‘No. But you say you thought you saw it, and yet you can’t even remember the first letter.’
‘That’s not my fault.’
‘Y’ know, Lennie – I don’t care to be around you when you’re like this.’
‘I think I should move out for a couple of days,’ he said. ‘Get my head straight without you, since I’m making you so miserable.’
‘Move out and what?’ she challenged.
‘Get laid, get drunk,’ he said, waving a verbal red flag. ‘Who the fuck knows? I’m fed up with you watching every move I make. You’re a very controlling woman. Maybe what I need is some freedom.’
‘Screw freedom,’ she said vehemently. ‘We’re married. Being married is togetherness. If it’s freedom you want, then let’s get a divorce.’
She could hardly believe the words had come out of her mouth. She loved Lennie, they’d been through so much together, yet if he was going to behave like an asshole, she wasn’t about to take it.
‘Fine with me,’ he said, just like that.
Did nine years of marriage mean nothing to him? Was he simply prepared to walk? This situation was getting out of control. But, hey, she’d never been the little woman sitting at home waiting to take crap from some man. She was Lucky Santangelo, and she lived life by her rules. If he was so anxious to go, let him.
‘I’m outta here,’ Lennie said. ‘I’ll call in a few days when you’ve calmed down.’
‘When I’ve calmed down?’ she said. ‘You’ve got it wrong, Lennie.’
‘No. I can see what’s happening here. I’m caught in a trap with you. I’m in prison.’
‘You’re the one who never wants to leave the beach,’ she said heatedly. ‘You’re the one who sits in the house every day. If it’s a prison,
it’s yours – not mine.’
‘So what is it you want me to do, Lucky? Go out with your Hollywood friends – Venus, Charlie Dollar and that group? They’re not my kind of people.’
‘Since when? You love Venus, and you’ve always got along great with Charlie.’
‘How come you’re not mentioning your close friend, Alex, who’s only nice to me ’cause he’s got a hot nut for you? And everyone knows it.’
‘Now you’re really talking crap.’
‘You know it’s true. Anyway,’ he said abruptly, ‘I don’t want to discuss it any more. I’m leaving.’
‘Go ahead,’ she said coldly.
And he did. He went upstairs, threw some clothes in a bag, walked downstairs and out of the house.
Lucky shook her head in disbelief. She loved this man. She’d loved him from the moment they’d met in Las Vegas and had an erotic first encounter. And when they’d re-met a year later, she was married to Dimitri and he to Dimitri’s daughter, Olympia. What a tangled web. But they’d loved each other – fiercely, passionately. They’d had two children together, and now he’d walked out. Impossible.
What was she going to do how? Cry?
No fucking way. She was a Santangelo. Santangelos didn’t cry.
Besides, as soon as Lennie got his head straight, he’d realize what a mistake he’d made and come running back.
And if he didn’t?
Well . . . much as she loved him, Lucky Santangelo was a survivor. And she would go on – with or without Lennie by her side.
Chapter Thirty-Three
By chance Brigette ran into Kyra Kattleman in the health spa at the Dorchester. It was a fortuitous meeting as she’d been thinking about who she could have lunch with, and there was Kyra wearing a bright orange leotard, lifting weights with effortless ease, looking every inch the superjock supermodel she was.
‘What are you doing here?’ they both said at once.
‘I’m on my way to Milan,’ Kyra said, in her incongruous squeaky voice. ‘Is that where you’re headed?’
‘No, actually I have business here,’ Brigette explained. ‘I ducked out of Milan this year.’
‘I’m doing the Valentino show,’ Kyra said casually. ‘Dear Val says he can’t live without me. I’m his favourite.’
‘You sound like Lina,’ Brigette said, laughing. ‘By the way, what are you doing for lunch today?’
‘Nothing,’ Kyra said, with a casual shrug. ‘I was planning a bit of shopping ’cause I’m leaving in the morning.’
‘Then let’s go to Le Caprice,’ Brigette suggested. ‘I hear it’s fun.’
‘I love Le Caprice,’ Kyra said enthusiastically. ‘And we can do the shopping thing after.’
The last thing Brigette felt like doing was going shopping, but she needed Kyra so she rallied. ‘Where did you have in mind?’ she asked.
‘Harvey Nichols – it’s such a great store, makes Bloomingdale’s look sick.’
‘Sure,’ Brigette said. ‘I’ll get us a reservation for lunch. Let’s meet in the lobby at noon.’
‘Aren’t you working out?’
‘Of course,’ Brigette said, heading for the nearest Stairmaster. Working out was boring, but if she wanted to keep a great body it was absolutely necessary. Olympia had verged on the plump side; she would never allow that to happen to her.
Things were falling into position nicely. Lunch at Le Caprice with Kyra and, according to Horace, Carlo would definitely be there.
Good. She didn’t plan on wasting a moment.
* * *
It was raining in New York as Lina made a wild dash for the airport. Early that morning her agent had called to inform her that Charlie Dollar was leaving for Africa on location, and that the only time he could meet with her was within the next twenty-four hours.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lina had said. ‘I’ll make it.’
Since her assistant was out sick, she’d called American Airlines, booked herself on a flight, and now she was in a cab on her way to the airport. She glanced at the script her agent had sent over, scanning the role she was supposed to audition for.
The cab driver hit a pot-hole, and she abandoned the idea of reading until she was on the flight.
An hour later she was settled in her seat on the plane, and once more began leafing through the script. The part she was up for was Zoe, the girl next door to Teal – Charlie’s character. Zoe’s description in the script was of a beautiful, exotic model.
Hmm, that shouldn’t be too hard, she thought, reading through Zoe’s scenes. In the first scene Zoe heads out of her apartment on the way to the laundry room, bumps into Teal, and a mild flirtation ensues. In a later scene they end up in bed together. Nudity required, Lina thought. So what? She’d paraded up and down enough runways in see-through crap – everyone knew what she looked like without clothes, and it was pretty damn spectacular. Besides, all the big actresses were stripping off in the movies, she wouldn’t be an exception. No body doubles for Lina: she was prepared to go all the way, especially if she was in bed with Charlie Dollar. He had that Sean Connery/Jack Nicholson thing going for him. He was an oldie but a goodie!
The role of Zoe was small, which was a drag. After all, in the modelling world Lina was a major star. But her agent had pointed out that unless she had film on herself, she’d never get a chance. And a flashy role in a Charlie Dollar movie could be it.
She wondered if she should call Brigette’s godmother, Lucky, when she got to LA. Then she remembered, Lucky was in London with Brigette. Shame. She’d like to have met her.
The businessman sitting next to her was desperate to make conversation, he kept shooting her knowing looks. She foiled him by hiding behind a Stephen King paperback, which she had no intention of reading, but knew it offered good protection.
She hadn’t remembered to order a limo at LAX, so it was into another cab and on to the Bel Air Hotel, where she was greeted by fellow Brit Frank Bowling, the manager, who always looked after her. He gave her a room near the pool, and she unpacked the few things she’d brought with her.
As soon as she was settled she called the LA branch of her agency. ‘I’m here,’ she announced to Max Steele, her LA agent, whom she’d never met.
‘Great, Lina,’ Max said, sounding overly friendly. ‘Wanna have dinner?’
‘No thanks,’ she said crisply. ‘What I would like to know is when I’m supposed to meet Charlie Dollar.’
‘I’ll set it up,’ Max said. ‘I might even get good old Charlie to come to dinner.’
‘What is this?’ she asked, slightly irritated. ‘A social event or a bleedin’ audition?’
Max laughed. ‘Don’t get upset. It’s an audition. This is the way we do things in LA. I’ll get right back to you.’
She hung up the phone. One of the disadvantages of being a world-famous supermodel was that everyone wanted to be seen with her. Especially agents. They thought it raised their profile. And that’s not the only thing it raises, she thought, with a ribald chuckle.
Of course, Max Steele might be incredibly attractive, and if he was, she’d be missing out. Better check him out over drinks, she thought. Because if she liked him, they might end up in bed. Lina excelled at sex, it was her favourite pastime, and lately she’d been going through a dry spell. Nobody since Flick Fonda, and he had been a total waste of time and energy.
Sometimes, when she was feeling very bad, she imagined what it would be like to be a porno star. Oh, God, what a kick – showing off her goods in front of the world! Naughty, naughty!
Not that she’d ever consider it. It was merely one of her erotic fantasies – of which she had many.
* * *
Kyra talked too much in her loud, squeaky voice. Brigette wished she’d shut up as they entered the exclusive London restaurant. Jeremy, the man who ran the place, gave them a big greeting, ushering them to a prime table against the wall. Brigette made sure not to look around. She didn’t want to catch Carlo’s eye if he was already there: she
wanted him to come to her.
Kyra ordered a martini and immediately began talking about her husband, a fellow model she’d married a few months ago. ‘He’s meeting me in Milan,’ she squeaked. ‘I got him the job. Calvin wanted him in New York, but I insisted he come to Milan. He’s sooo hunky. A real man.’
‘I know,’ Brigette said. ‘I’ve worked with him.’ Actually, she’d always thought he was gay.
‘Can you imagine what kind of children we’ll have?’ Kyra said dreamily. ‘Do you know how cute they’ll look?’
Hmm, Brigette thought. Kyra’s about as modest as Lina. ‘I’m sure they’ll be very beautiful,’ she said.
‘I’ll get pregnant in two years,’ Kyra announced. ‘Then I’ll give birth in Australia, because my mum would like that.’
‘She must be very proud of you.’
‘Oh, yes, all my family are. I’m a national treasure in Australia. Me and Elle MacPherson and Rachel Hunter – we’re totally famous. Not like here where there’s supermodels all over the place. Cindy, Suzi, Naomi, you. Lina, Didi—’
‘You’d better not let Lina hear you call Didi a supermodel,’ Brigette interrupted.
‘Why? Is she jealous of her?’
‘I’d say there’s a touch of rivalry. And, besides, Didi hasn’t been working that long, she doesn’t deserve the title.’
‘She’s still pretty famous,’ Kyra remarked. ‘It’s those great big tits on that skinny little bod. Guys cream over her.’
‘She’s famous because she hired a PR,’ Brigette pointed out.
‘I have a PR,’ Kyra said, as if it was a given. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No,’ Brigette said. ‘Publicity is the last thing I need.’ And out of the corner of her eye she observed Carlo enter the restaurant.
Good, she thought. Let the games begin.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Teddy spotted the posters first. How could he miss them? How could anyone miss them? They were everywhere. Big freaking posters with a hundred-thousand-dollar reward printed in huge letters right in the middle. Naturally everyone stopped when they saw that. And then they read the smaller print, and when Teddy read it, his stomach did a double somersault.
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