by Anne Mather
CHAPTER SIX
THE rest of the day was an anticlimax.
Despite her determination not to think about Joe Castellano, Olivia couldn’t seem to put him out of her mind. Wherever she went in the hotel, she half expected him to be there, waiting for her, and when he wasn’t she knew a sense of flatness she’d never experienced before.
It was stupid, she knew, particularly as their conversation had been so antagonistic, but she’d seemed to come alive when she was talking to him. It was his experience, of course, his ability to make any woman feel as if he was interested in her, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed talking to a man so much.
Which was pathetic as well as stupid, she thought later that morning as she lounged somewhat restlessly beside the pool. She was letting a man she knew to be involved with someone else interfere with the reasons she was here. Worse than that, he was the man who was involved with the woman she’d come to study. If she’d taken him seriously, she could have been in danger of blowing her commission as well.
In the event, she decided not to leave the hotel that day, and by the time the evening came and she had to start thinking about getting ready to meet Richard she was almost relieved to have something to do. She could have worked, she supposed, as she’d told Joe she intended to do, but she seemed incapable of concentrating on anything—except images of Joe and Diane in each other’s arms...
She decided to wear an ankle-length skirt and wrap-around top for the evening. The skirt was patterned in blues and greens and the crêpe top was a matching shade of jade. It fitted tightly to her arms and displayed a modest cleavage, as well as leaving a narrow band of exposed flesh at her midriff.
She’d washed her hair after her swim as it was inclined to be unruly. It wasn’t much more than shoulder-length, but she thought twisting it into a French braid was probably the safest means of keeping it tame. Red lights glinted in its dark gold strands as she secured the braid at her nape, and she was reasonably pleased with her appearance as she checked her reflection in the mirror.
Not that she could hope to compete with Diane’s beauty, she admitted as the thing she had been trying to avoid needled back into her thoughts. She couldn’t help wondering if Joe would approve of her appearance, and what he’d really meant by accosting her today. Why had he waited? she wondered. What could he possibly hope to gain by playing such a game? Perhaps he enjoyed living life dangerously. She couldn’t believe he’d meant what he’d said.
The phone rang as she was stepping into low-heeled strappy shoes that added a couple of inches to her height, and her heart accelerated in her chest. It couldn’t be him, she assured herself. Just because she’d been thinking about him it didn’t mean she had some kind of extra perception. But her voice was breathy as she said, ‘Hello.’
‘Liv!’
Her pulse slowed. ‘Richard.’
‘Who else?’ He sounded more cheerful this evening. ‘Shall I come up?’
‘No.’ Her response was unflatteringly swift. ‘No, don’t bother,’ she added quickly. ‘I’ll come down.’
Richard was evidently disappointed, but he managed to stifle his frustration and only said stiffly, ‘Don’t be long.’
‘I won’t be.’
Olivia replaced the receiver, wondering if this had been the wisest move, after all. Wasn’t she just playing into Diane’s hands whichever way you looked at it? Whether they ate here or at Diane’s house, they were still together.
A glance at her watch told her it was still just a quarter to seven. Richard was early, which accounted for the fact that she hadn’t been waiting for him in the bar downstairs. Perhaps he’d planned it that way. Perhaps he’d hoped she’d relent, and invite him for a drink in her suite. It must have been quite a blow when she’d said she’d come down.
Whatever, there was no point in keeping him waiting now. There was always the danger that he might take a chance and come up anyway, and it would be difficult to get rid of him if he was at the door.
A final glance in the mirror assured her that if she wasn’t exactly glamorous she had nothing to be ashamed of, and after collecting her purse she left the room. But she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she was making a mistake, and she wished she wasn’t such a pushover where Richard was concerned.
He was waiting in the lobby, his blond hair glinting brilliantly in the light. She suspected he’d had a root job since she’d seen him the day before, and in a formal shirt and white tuxedo he looked more like the man she remembered.
‘Liv!’ Once again, he came eagerly to meet her, but this time she was prepared for him and turned her face aside from his seeking lips. ‘Oh, Liv,’ he muttered huskily, drawing back to survey her, ‘you look bloody marvellous! I can’t believe I was such a fool to let you go.’
Olivia managed a smile, but she extricated herself from his clinging hands and glanced around. ‘Is that the bar?’ she asked unnecessarily as the preponderance of orchids should have given her an answer, and he was obliged to nod and accompany her across the foyer.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he said, after they were seated on tall stools at the bar. He would have guided her to a secluded booth in the corner, but Olivia had climbed onto a stool before he could do anything to prevent her. ‘White wine, right? You see, I even remember what you used to drink.’
Was she so predictable? Olivia considered the point, conceding to herself that her choice of drink hadn’t changed in more than ten years. ‘Um—I’d prefer a G and T,’ she said, even though she rarely drank spirits, and Richard gave her a startled glance before making the order.
‘So,’ he said, after their drinks were served—Olivia noticing that he’d ordered a double Jack Daniels for himself. He took a swallow from his glass, evidently savouring the stimulation. ‘Here we are again. It’s just as if we’d never been apart.’
‘Not quite like that,’ murmured Olivia drily, wondering if Richard had always deluded himself in this way. When they were married, she’d usually deferred to him, so perhaps he was accustomed to her agreeing with everything he said. But he had to realise that she had changed.
‘Okay, okay.’ He took another generous gulp of his Scotch. ‘I know a lot of water’s flowed under the bridge since the old days and we’ve both had time to regret our mistakes. But we’re here now and that’s important. It shows that something has survived our separation. We might not be able to forget the past, but we can forgive—’
‘Richard—’
‘I know what you’re going to say.’ He held up one hand, as if in conciliation, while raising his glass again with the other. Draining it, he handed the empty glass to the bartender, and Olivia realised the gesture he’d made had not been to her. ‘Same again, pal,’ he ordered, after a desultory check that her glass was still full. ‘But believe me, Liv, I’ve learned my lesson.’ He grimaced. ‘But good!’
‘Richard, I—’
‘You’re doing it again.’
She frowned. ‘Doing what again exactly?’
‘Judging me, before you’ve heard what I have to say.’ The waiter brought his second drink, and he took another mouthful before continuing, ‘You’re not sure if you can trust me. We’ve just met again, and you’re naturally a little nervous. But I swear to God I mean what I say.’
Olivia decided to say nothing. Sipping her drink, she wondered rather cynically if there was anything significant in the fact that Richard had used the same expression as Bonnie Lovelace had done in the car. Well, whatever, she thought ruefully, it really wasn’t important any more. If she felt anything for Richard, it was pity, not love.
He was staring at her now, evidently expecting her to make some comment, and she searched her brain for something uncontroversial to say. ‘Er—do you come here often? ’ she asked, licking a pearl of moisture from her lip. ‘I must say, it’s a beautiful hotel.’
Richard glowered. There was no other word for it. Then he took another huge swig of his drink before going
on.
‘It’s okay, I guess,’ he said indifferently. ‘It lacks character, but most things do over here. Give me a beamed ceiling and an open fire any time.’
Olivia rolled her lips inwards. ‘A beamed ceiling and an open fire,’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘This from the man who wouldn’t stay in a thatched cottage in case the roof leaked!’
Richard’s expression lightened. ‘You see, you do remember! ’ he exclaimed eagerly. ‘Our first anniversary, wasn’t it? You wanted to see Romeo and Juliet at Stratford, and I said Cats was more my thing.’
‘Yes.’ Olivia sighed. ‘I guess we were incompatible even then.’
‘No—’
‘Yes.’ She was firm. ‘I suppose I just didn’t want to see it. Richard, I’ll never forget those years we had together, but I don’t want them back.’
Richard’s expression darkened again. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said coldly. ‘You’re going to punish me. It’s not enough that I’ve spilled my guts to you, you’re still determined to have your pound of flesh!’
‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Olivia was impatient. ‘I’m sorry if things haven’t worked out for you and Diane, but that’s not my fault.’
‘Did I say it was?’ He had already finished his second drink and was summoning the bartender again. ‘Fill it up,’ he ordered rudely. Then, to Olivia, ‘I’ve ordered dinner for eight.’
‘Eight?’
Olivia repeated the words barely audibly, mentally calculating how many Scotches Richard could consume before then. More than she wanted to think about, she acknowledged, imagining the scene that was likely to ensue. She had no desire for him to make an exhibition of himself here.
‘Yes, eight.’ Clearly, his hearing hadn’t been impaired, and when his third drink arrived he reached eagerly for the glass. He nodded towards her G and T. ‘You’re not drinking much tonight. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a glass of wine?’
‘No, I—’ What she would have preferred was for him to go and sober up. She was firmly convinced now that he’d been drinking before he arrived. ‘Um—why don’t we go for a walk? I’d enjoy the exercise. I haven’t been out of the hotel all day.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Richard looked at her as if she were mad. ‘You can’t go walking around the streets at night.’
‘It’s hardly night—’
‘All right. People don’t walk here. Except maybe on Rodeo Drive. This isn’t Westwood Village, you know.’
‘Westwood?’ The name struck a chord. ‘Oh, yes. That’s where Phoebe Isaacs lives.’
‘Phoebe? Yeah, it might be.’ He frowned. ‘How would you know that?’
‘She came here. This morning.’ Olivia could feel her cheeks filling with colour, but it wasn’t because of Phoebe Isaacs. ‘Um—she joined me. At breakfast. In the restaurant.’
Richard scowled. ‘She joined you for breakfast?’ He regarded her with suspicious eyes. ‘So, you had time for her but not for me.’
Olivia’s lips parted. ‘Richard, that was last night—’ ‘What’s the difference?’
‘A lot. I was jet-lagged last night.’
‘Well, how the hell did she know who you were?’
‘My—my picture.’ Olivia moistened her lips. ‘It’s on the back of all my books.’ And then, because she was angry at herself for hedging, she added, ‘And—and Mr Castellano was there.’
‘Joe Castellano?’ Richard stared at her through narrowed lids. ‘You know Joe Castellano?’
‘I’ve met him,’ said Olivia uncomfortably, half wishing she hadn’t been so honest after all. ‘He—er—he was at Diane’s yesterday morning.’ She hesitated. ‘I believe he has some—some investment in her career.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Richard was bitter. ‘He has an investment all right.’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘How about that walk?’ she asked brightly, not wanting to get into a discussion about Joe Castellano with him. ‘If—if you think it’s unwise to go outside the hotel, we could always go and look at the shops.’
Richard’s jaw clenched. ‘So, how well do you know this guy?’ he demanded. ‘Are you saying he had breakfast with you, too?’
‘No—’
“Cos I have to tell you, Di won’t like that. Hey, did she know Castellano was going to be there? If she did, that’s probably why she sent Isaacs along.’
‘He wasn’t there,’ retorted Olivia hotly, but she disliked the thought that Richard should have had the same thought as she’d had herself. ‘He—just pointed me out to Ms Isaacs, that’s all.’ She slid abruptly off her stool. ‘Now, are you coming for a walk or not? I do not intend to sit at this bar for another hour.’
‘Another half-hour,’ protested Richard, but he must have realised she meant what she said. ‘Oh, all right.’ He finished his drink and got down from his stool, taking a moment to sign the tab the barman slid across to him. ‘We’ll go and look around the foyer. You can tell me what you think of macho man!’
Olivia’s lips tightened. She refused to be drawn into a discussion about Joe Castellano, and she found she resented the fact that Richard should speak so disparagingly of him. And yet, she acknowledged ruefully, perhaps she shouldn’t blame Richard. It couldn’t be easy for him competing with a man who seemed to be everything he was not.
The shops in the foyer were still open. Their signs indicated that they would be so until ten o’clock. A long day, thought Olivia, recognising one of the sales assistants she’d seen earlier. But the girl was still as immaculately made up as she’d been that morning.
‘He’s sleeping with her, you know,’ Richard persisted, when Olivia stopped to look in a jeweller’s window. ‘Castellano, I mean. Theirs isn’t just a business arrangement.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ said Olivia tightly. ‘Um—that ring’s beautiful, isn’t it? My God, it’s fifty thousand dollars! I thought it was five thousand at first.’
‘Chicken feed,’ said Richard carelessly, scarcely paying any attention to the ring she was admiring. ‘Diane spends more than that on her personal trainer, and all he does is supervise what exercise she’s taking in the gym.’ He grimaced. ‘His name’s Lorenzo; can you believe it? Lorenzo MacNamara! Isn’t that a hoot?’
Olivia blew out a breath. ‘If you’re going to talk about Diane all evening—’
‘I’m not.’ Once again, he seemed to realise he was going too far. ‘But you can’t blame me if I get aggrieved sometimes. And it’s so good to have someone—sympathetic—to talk to.’
Sympathetic? Olivia frowned. Was she? She was frustrated, perhaps, and a little resentful that Richard should think she’d be willing to take up where they’d left off, but sympathetic? She didn’t know if she was that.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, tucking his hand through her arm, ‘I promise not to talk about Diane and her—well, Castellano, any more. How’s that?’
Olivia forced a smile. ‘Good,’ she said, wishing she could put them out of her thoughts so easily. Instead of which, she spent the remainder of the evening half wishing Richard would tell her what their connection was. Did Joe intend to marry Diane when she was free? Was that an option? From what she knew of Castellano, she couldn’t see him as anyone’s pawn.
* * *
By Sunday evening, Olivia had done some preliminary work on the computer the hotel had supplied for her. She’d precis-ed her initial impressions of Los Angeles, and typed out the notes she’d made before she left England. She had several tapes of interviews, but she’d left them back in London. She hadn’t wanted to take the risk that they might get lost during her trip.
She’d bought some magazines in the drug store downstairs and spent Sunday afternoon checking for pictures of Diane. She thought it would be interesting to read another person’s point of view of her subject, but in the event she’d found nothing of any note. Except an edition of Forbes that featured the brilliant tycoon, Joseph Castellano. Although she’d despised herself for doing so, she’d bought the magazine and read every word of the arti
cle about him.
Which had told her a lot more than Richard had confided. Although he’d broken his promise not to talk about his wife several times during the dinner they’d had together on Friday night, his comments concerning her relationship with the other man had been judgmental at best. He didn’t like Castellano—which was reasonable in the circumstances. But not every word he’d said about him was true.
For instance, he’d said that Joe was sleeping with Diane, but there’d been no mention of their association in the article Olivia had read. On the contrary, the woman who most often featured in the article was someone called Anna Fellini. They were partners in a winery that was situated in the Napa Valley.
There’d been lots more, of course: about his investments in the film industry and banking, and the fact that he owned a string of luxury hotels. She’d been disturbed to find that he owned the Beverly Plaza. It was just one of several along the coastal strip.
That kind of success was overwhelming, and she’d been glad she hadn’t read the article before they’d met. She would never have dared to say what she’d said to him on Friday morning, she thought, with a shiver of remorse. It was just as well he’d gone away for the weekend.
The last two days had passed reasonably quickly, she acknowledged as she closed down the computer. On Saturday morning, she’d taken a cab to Century City, and spent a couple of hours wandering in what was really an extensive shopping mall. Then, on Sunday morning, she’d visited Rodeo Drive, buying herself some expensive perfume she didn’t really need.
She’d taken most of her meals in her room, preferring not to run the gauntlet of open curiosity. Except at breakfast, when she felt less conspicuous, and the waiter, whose name she now knew was Carlos, made sure she always had a table in the window.
She’d missed Henry, of course. When she was working, he often came to sit on the window-ledge beside her, hissing his disapproval when he saw a dog go by in the street. She missed the Harley, too. At weekends, she often took the old machine for a spin.