by Anne Mather
She wondered who he was. Not a film star, she decided, though there was another man hovering close by who could be a minder. If he needed one, she speculated doubtfully, realising she was being far too nosy. Whoever he was, he wasn’t interested in her, and she was unlikely to see him again.
The carousel had begun to turn and suitcases appeared like magic from the chute above it. A black holdall appeared, and the man standing beside the man she had been watching went to rescue it. She noticed he also had a suit carrier looped across his shoulder, and after he’d plucked the holdall from the conveyor he and his companion turned towards the exit.
First class, Olivia informed herself silently, realising the two men must have travelled on the same flight from London. She grimaced. So what? It was nothing to do with her. It was time she started paying attention to her own luggage. She thought she could see one of her suitcases just starting along the metal belt.
‘Would you happen to be Ms Pyatt?’
The unfamiliar voice was amazingly sexy. It conjured up images of hot sultry nights and bare brown limbs tangled in satin sheets. Olivia decided she was in danger of acting out her own fantasies, and, blaming the man who had fired her imagination, she turned to find that he hadn’t left after all but was standing right behind her.
‘I—’ Swallowing to ease the dryness of her throat, she started over. ‘Yes,’ she said, a little reluctantly. ‘I’m Olivia Pyatt.’ She’d reverted to her own surname when she and Richard were divorced. Then, because it was the only thing she could think of, she asked, ‘Did Miss Haran ask you to meet me?’
The man’s lean mouth twitched. ‘Not exactly,’ he said, humour tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘But Diane told me you were travelling on this flight.’
So he did know Diane. Olivia breathed a little more easily, although common sense told her it was the only explanation. ‘Did you travel from London, too?’ she asked, as if she didn’t already know that he had. He was probably a Californian, which would explain his accent and his tan.
‘Yeah.’ He glanced towards his companion, who was waiting patiently for him to finish. ‘B.J. and I make the trip fairly regularly.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s not to be recommended.’
‘Because of the jet lag?’ guessed Olivia, aware that her suitcase was about to start going round again. ‘Excuse me, I must get my luggage. I don’t want to have to carry it any further than I have to.’
‘I’ll get it.’
Leaning past her, the man lifted the heavy bag off the carousel and set it down beside her. In jeans and a light cotton jacket, he moved much easier than she did in her corduroy suit. The suit had seemed reasonably lightweight, too, when she’d left London, but she was already sweating. But that could be because of the present situation, she conceded. She wasn’t used to being accosted by strange men.
‘Is this all?’ he asked, and for a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘Your luggage,’ he prompted, and, glancing up at him, she noticed he had tawny eyes. Like a cat, she thought, realising she was behaving stupidly. For God’s sake, he was being polite. Nothing else.
‘Um—no, there’s one more,’ she said hurriedly, scanning the conveyor. ‘It’s always the way, isn’t it? One comes, and then you’ve got to wait for ever for the other.’ She glanced towards his companion, who was still standing with the holdall in his hand and the suit carrier draped over his shoulder. ‘Please—don’t let me keep you. I’m sure your friend must be getting impatient.’
‘B.J.?’ He, too, glanced the other man’s way, and then turned back to give Olivia a lazy smile. ‘No sweat,’ he said as Olivia’s toes curled inside her Doc Martens. ‘It’s cooler in here than outside.’
‘Oh, but—’ Olivia wanted to ask why he was waiting with her, but she couldn’t. Loosening the tight cuffs of her jacket, she peeled them back over her wrists. ‘Um—do you think Miss Haran’s secretary will be waiting outside? She said she’d come to meet me herself.’
‘Bonnie?’
He had the name right, and Olivia nodded. ‘A Miss Lovelace,’ she agreed, not used to using the woman’s given name.
‘I guess she’ll be waiting in the Arrivals Hall,’ he responded carelessly. ‘I’ll point her out to you when we go through.’
Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I—gather you’re a friend of Miss Haran’s,’ she said awkwardly, and he made a husky sound of disbelief.
‘Hell, yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Joe Castellano. I—guess you could say I have an investment in Diane’s career.’
He held out his hand, and Olivia had no choice but to shake it, hoping he wouldn’t be too put off by her sweaty palm. ‘How do you do, Mr Castellano?’ she said, wondering if he was a frequent visitor to Diane’s Beverly Hills mansion. It would be rather nice, she thought, if he was.
She barely had time to extract her hand before she saw her other suitcase approaching. There were quite a lot of people gathered round the carousel now, and she saw several of the women weighing up the man at her side. And why not? she thought ruefully. He was attractive. Was he married? she wondered, rather foolishly. He was wearing a signet ring on his right hand but that was all.
When her suitcase was within reach, she lunged for it, staggering as the unexpected weight of the bag pulled at her arm. ‘Let me,’ he said shortly, and she felt his impatience. He set the suitcase down and summoned a porter with a trolley. ‘I guess we can get moving now?’
‘Right.’
She had little choice but to follow the porter, and to her relief they passed through the Customs channel without incident. It crossed her mind as they were walking past the officials that he could be a drug smuggler using her as cover. But she decided she was allowing her imagination to get the better of her again. Just because he had an Italian surname, that did not mean he was connected to the ‘mob’.
Beyond the baggage collection area, a barrier separated arriving passengers from those waiting to meet them, and Olivia immediately saw her name on a board being held up by a woman at the end of a line of similar boards.
‘That must be Miss Lovelace,’ she said to her companion, nodding towards the rather harassed-looking woman with tinted blonde hair and immaculate make-up who was scanning the new arrivals. Olivia guessed the woman was in her forties but her skirt was shorter than anything she’d have worn herself.
He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s Bonnie. But don’t call her Miss Lovelace. She prefers the anonymous Ms.’ He grinned at Olivia, and once again she was struck by his magnetism. ‘You’re going to be dealing with some tender egos here. Keep that in mind.’
The woman had seen them now but from her expression Olivia guessed she hadn’t made any connection between them. Or perhaps she had and it was the wrong one, she reflected doubtfully. It was flattering to think Miss Lovelace—Ms Lovelace, she corrected herself firmly—had assumed she was travelling with him. But this was the moment when she had to come down to earth.
‘Hey, Joe.’ Bonnie Lovelace greeted him like a long-lost friend. Then her eyes moved suspiciously to Olivia. ‘Diane said you’d be on this flight. She’s missed you. Did you have a good trip?’
‘The usual,’ drawled Joe as the porter halted uncertainly beside them. He slipped a note into the man’s hand and indicated Olivia. ‘These ladies will show you where their transport is parked.’
Bonnie Lovelace’s jaw dropped as she turned back to Olivia. ‘You’re Ms Pyatt?’ she exclaimed, and Joe touched her shoulder with a mocking hand.
‘Who else?’ he asked. ‘I just thought I’d do my good deed for the day and deliver her into your hands, Bonnie.’ He arched a brow at Olivia. ‘Take care. I’m sure I’ll see you around.’
Olivia didn’t know who was the most deflated as he strolled off with the man he’d called BJ. but she suspected it had to be her, judging by the way she felt. She swallowed her chagrin. So—he was a friend of Diane’s. She’d been told as much so why did she feel so disappoin
ted now?
‘Ms Pyatt.’ Bonnie seemed to come to her senses, too, and, holding out her hand, she took Olivia’s in a limp grip. ‘You must forgive me,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise it was you with Joe—er—with Mr Castellano.’ She gestured to the porter to follow them and as they moved along she added, ‘Did you travel out together? How did he know who you were?’
‘He—helped me with my luggage so I suppose he read the labels,’ said Olivia after a moment, curiously loath to discuss the details of how they’d met. It was nothing to do with this woman after all. She was just curious. Probably wondering why he’d even bothered to speak to her, she thought glumly, changing her tote bag from one shoulder to the other.
‘Mmm.’ Bonnie gave her another assessing look, and then excused herself to head first through the glass doors that gave onto the concourse outside. ‘I left Manuel in the car,’ she added, glancing about her as the porter halted beside them. ‘Oh, there he is.’ She waved her arm at a man seated behind the wheel of a huge Mercedes. ‘It’s so difficult to find a parking space. Do you have this problem back home?’
‘Sometimes,’ answered Olivia absently, her attention caught by the sleek black saloon that was just moving past them. Joe Castellano was at the wheel, and he raised one hand in a casual salute. ‘Um—’ She gathered her wits. ‘I don’t own a car, actually. It’s not worth it in London, and if I want to go further I have an old Harley-Davidson in the garage.’
Bonnie stopped in the act of lifting the boot lid of the Mercedes to stare at her. ‘You ride a motorcycle?’ she exclaimed in horror. And then said, ‘Well, I guess you are tall enough at that.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Olivia weathered the back-handed compliment with her usual forbearance, and as Manuel slid out from behind the wheel to open the rear door for her she slipped inside.
Soft leather, air-conditioning and the fragrance of expensive perfume were some consolation. Unbelievable, she thought, stretching her long legs luxuriously. Wait until she could tell her stepmother about this! Unlike her father, Alice had been able to see the advantages of what she was being offered, and there was no doubt that it was going to be an experience she wouldn’t forget.
Which reminded her that she hadn’t thought of her ex-husband for the past half hour. From the moment Joe Castellano had spoken to her, she’d completely forgotten that she’d soon be seeing Richard again. Oh, God, she thought as the realisation that she was actually here in California penetrated the haze of anticipation she was feeling. She dreaded to think what his reaction was going to be.
Bonnie got in beside her at that moment, which prevented her from continuing along that stony track. And besides, she chided herself, she shouldn’t care what Richard might think. It was Diane who had invited her. If he had any complaints he should take them up with her.
She expelled a deep breath and turned to look out of the window. She realised that for the first time since she’d been offered this commission she was actually feeling optimistic about the result. It was foolish, probably—definitely—but somehow meeting Joe Castellano had given a boost to her confidence. Richard wasn’t the only man in the world. She’d been nursing her broken heart for far too long.
‘There we are.’ Bonnie seated herself beside her and cast the younger woman a relieved look. ‘This place gets more and more like a bull ring. I swear to God I’ll have a heart attack if I have to fight my way out of here one more time!’
‘I’m sorry.’ Olivia felt responsible. She watched Manuel get back behind the wheel and start the engine. ‘Anyway, thank you for coming to meet me. I could have got a taxi, I suppose—’
‘Diane wouldn’t hear of it.’ Bonnie interrupted her to make her point. ‘So—you had a good flight, yeah? What was the movie? These days, the only time I get to see a decent movie is on a plane.’
‘Oh, well, I’m afraid I didn’t—’ began Olivia, only to find her companion wasn’t listening.
‘Yeah, movies,’ Bonnie went on reminiscently. ‘You’d think living in a town like this I’d be up on all the latest blockbusters. But, you know what? I spend all my time watching television instead.’
‘Really?’ said Olivia. ‘I like television, too.’ Or she had since the break-up of her marriage. Somehow, she couldn’t see herself as part of the singles scene again.
“Cause working for Diane takes up most of my day, so when I get home I’m exhausted,’ Bonnie continued, almost as if Olivia hadn’t spoken. She flapped an expansive hand. ‘I guess you’ll get used to it. I swear to God, I sometimes think Diane’s too generous for her own good.’
Olivia nodded now, but she didn’t make the mistake of trying to join in again, and she saw Manuel watching her with an amused expression on his olive-skinned face. He winked at her in the rear-view mirror, and she hid a smile. Obviously he was used to Ms Lovelace. Perhaps Olivia should call her Miss. That might get her attention.
But she decided against it. It was too nice a day to spoil it, and the last thing she wanted to do was make an enemy here. She had yet to discover what Diane’s attitude towards her was going to be, and until she did it was safer to play it cool.
Beyond the car’s tinted windows, the streets of the City of the Angels shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Olivia was looking forward to the prospect of taking a shower and changing into something cooler. She hoped she’d have time to freshen up before she met her hostess. She wondered where she was going to stay. Kay had merely said that Diane’s secretary had made the arrangements. Perhaps she’d be expected to stay at the house. Again, according to Kay, Diane’s mansion was quite a showplace.
Their route from the airport was not immediately inspiring, however. They passed what seemed like dozens of car dealerships and abandoned warehouses, with strip malls illuminated with garish neon signs. She saw houses with flaking porches, and incongruously customised vehicles in hot metallic shades. It made it easier for her to grasp the fact that she was actually here. She’d read somewhere that Los Angeles had taken over from Ellis Island as the most heavily burdened immigration point in the United States.
They drove north through sprawling suburbs, passing signs for well-known districts like Marina del Rey and Santa Monica. Olivia seemed to remember there was a pier at Santa Monica, and she guessed there was surfing, too. She couldn’t quite see herself standing up on a surfboard, she mused, deliberately avoiding thoughts of her destination and what it would mean.
Santa Monica Boulevard drove through the heart of the wealthiest district of Los Angeles. Olivia recognised the names of some of the hotels they passed, and Bonnie pointed out the ‘HOLLYWOOD’ sign that towered over what had once been the movie capital of the world. Nowadays, the glitz had become rather tarnished, she told Olivia laconically. But there was still a thriving film community, supplemented by the successful soap stars from TV.
Beverly Hills lay to the west of Hollywood, but to Olivia’s surprise they turned off before the road wound up into the quiet streets far away from the commercial district. A couple of turns and they were in Hunter Plaza, with the Moorish arches of the Beverly Plaza Hotel fronting its famous façade.
Olivia was still admiring the square-cut towers that rose behind its entrance when Manuel drove into the courtyard and stopped before the double glass doors. A major domo stepped forward instantly and opened the door of the limousine, and Bonnie said, ‘Welcome to America,’ before stepping out and gesturing to Olivia to do the same. ‘I’m sure you’re going to be very comfortable here.’
‘Here’ turned out to be a penthouse suite situated on the top floor of the twelve-storey hotel. While Manuel handed her bags over to one of the hotel’s bellboys, Bonnie checked her in, and Olivia realised that it was only a formality by the speed with which Bonnie was given her key. Well, not a key, exactly, she learned, when Bonnie demonstrated how to use the laminated card. Apparently, the code was changed every time a new resident took possession of the room, the card being pressed into the slot to open the door of the suite. The card wa
s obviously easier and lighter to carry around, too.
The suite itself was the most luxurious apartment Olivia could have imagined. Airy, high-ceilinged, furnished in delicate shades of green and blue, with expansive views of Beverly Hills and the hazy downtown areas, it was apparently where she was going to stay. ‘You’re sort of in back of the Beverly Wiltshire,’ explained Bonnie, mentioning the name of one of the landmark hotels. ‘That’s Rodeo Drive down there.’
Olivia guessed she was supposed to be impressed, but in fact she was feeling a bit let down. However reluctant she might have been to meet Diane—and possibly Richard—she’d been ready for it. Now she felt deflated, aware that at some future time she was going to have to face it again.
‘You like it, don’t you?’ Bonnie was looking a little worried now and Olivia guessed that however indifferent the woman might be to her feelings she was anxious that Diane should have nothing to complain about. ‘See.’ She opened another door. ‘This is the bedroom. And that’s the bath—you’ve got a spa bath and a Jacuzzi—through there.’
‘Very nice.’
Olivia tried to sound enthusiastic, but it wasn’t easy. However luxurious it might be, it wasn’t home. She half wished she’d insisted on making her own arrangements for accommodation. A small hotel would have suited her better than this.
‘The hotel can supply you with a PC,’ added Bonnie briskly. ‘Diane didn’t know what you’d need so she’s left that up to me. I’ll be checking in with you all the time, so that’s not a problem, and Diane was sure that you’d work more easily here.’
And keep out of her hair.
The words were unspoken, but as the bellboy came in with her luggage and Bonnie went to tip him Olivia gazed around the suite with a cynical eye. Was this what Richard had really abandoned her for? she wondered. This wealthy lifestyle? What price now his accusations that she couldn’t give him the children he wanted? As far as she knew, he and Diane hadn’t had any children either. Though, of course, that could be her decision, not his.