by Anne Mather
But, for the most part, she’d been too busy to feel homesick, although she had to admit she was not looking forward to the following day. Having been made an unwilling party to the problems Richard and Diane were having, she couldn’t help being influenced by them, and her own association with the man who was causing their unhappiness didn’t help.
It was ironic, she thought. She had come here more than ready to take advantage of the situation. Indeed, it had been the knowledge that Richard’s marriage was in difficulties that had persuaded her to take the commission. Until then, she’d been adamant that nothing Kay said could change her mind, but the tantalising prospect of comforting the man she’d believed she still loved had swung the balance.
Yet now, after only a few days, she knew that the image she’d kept of Richard over the years wasn’t real. Had never been real, she suspected. She’d just made it so. The destruction of her marriage had been so painful, so unexpected, she’d convinced herself that everything Richard had done had been manipulated by Diane. Now, she had to admit to being doubtful. She couldn’t believe that Richard had changed that much.
And Diane...
Getting up from the table where she had been working, Olivia stretched her arms above her head and gave a sigh. She didn’t like her, she thought, but she could admire her. And perhaps Kay was right. Perhaps this would be good for her writing career.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIA had dreaded going back to Diane’s on Monday morning, but in the event her fears proved groundless. A call from Diane’s secretary, Bonnie Lovelace, first thing Monday morning confirmed that Manuel would pick her up at nine-thirty sharp, and when she arrived at the Beverly Hills mansion Diane was waiting for her in a sunlit sitting room off the entrance hall.
The sitting room was small compared to the arching atrium, but Olivia guessed her own sitting room would fit into it several times over. It was furnished in limed oak, with chairs and sofas upholstered in flowery pastels, and once again there were flowers everywhere, scenting the cool, conditioned air.
Diane herself was fully dressed this morning, but the businesslike suit of dark blue linen only accentuated her blonde good looks. Nevertheless, she was apparently prepared to treat the interview with all seriousness, and although she greeted Olivia courteously her mind was obviously on other things.
‘Please, sit down,’ she said, indicating the chair opposite her at a marble-topped table by the flower-filled hearth. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’
‘I—yes.’ Olivia was taken aback by her change of attitude. Gone was any attempt at familiarity, and in its place was a cool politeness that Olivia decided she preferred. ‘I—went shopping,’ she added, sure Diane wasn’t really interested. She would have liked to ask, Did you? but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the reply.
‘Good.’ But Diane’s response was absent. ‘Then, if you’re ready, I suggest we get down to work.’ She paused, and for a moment Olivia caught a glimpse of the woman she’d met before. ‘That is,’ she appended, ‘if you’re still interested in the commission. I realise I haven’t given you an opportunity to say what you think.’
Olivia hesitated. Tell her you can’t do it, a small voice urged her, and she knew this was her last chance to back away. But, although she had the feeling she would live to regret it, some perverse impulse was egging her on.
‘I’m still interested,’ she said, but her hand shook a little as she removed her tape recorder from her bag and put it on the table. But fortunately Diane didn’t appear to notice. Her expression mirrored a satisfaction all its own. Who was she thinking about? Olivia wondered. Richard or Joe Castellano? And once again that small voice mocked her for even having to ask.
Yet, for all that, the next two weeks were productive ones for Olivia. Diane had arranged things so that most of her mornings were free of other commitments, and, although there were occasions when Bonnie Lovelace rang to cancel an appointment, on the whole Olivia’s visits were treated with respect.
Olivia soon discovered that, like many women in her sphere of entertainment, Diane enjoyed talking about her childhood. Although it had been far from happy—she pulled no punches when she talked about the stepfather who had abused her—she seemed to regard those years as character-forming. They were past now, so therefore they couldn’t hurt her, and if she chose to embellish any of the details there was no one likely to contradict her now.
Her own mother and father were dead, she explained without emotion. Her parents had never been married and Diane had hardly known the Scandinavian seaman who her mother had maintained had sired her. She had died fairly recently, Diane continued with rather more feeling. She’d always neglected herself when her children were young, and although things had been easier for her since Diane became successful she hadn’t discovered she had a terminal form of cancer until it was too late.
Diane’s brothers and sisters were scattered around the globe, with one of them settled a comparatively short distance away in Nevada. They all kept in touch, she said with some pride, but it wasn’t always easy because they had family commitments. She regretted not having any children, she added, but her career came first and she considered she still had plenty of time.
Olivia had wanted to ask her then if Richard had had a part in her decision. Remembering his cruel denunciation of her for not giving him a child, she couldn’t believe he’d accepted it without complaint. But perhaps it was enough to be married to an icon. She could hardly compare Diane’s situation to hers.
And she reminded herself that she wasn’t here to question Diane’s lifestyle. It might just be that she didn’t consider Richard a suitable father for her child. Of course, Olivia had no doubt about whom Diane would consider a suitable candidate for fatherhood. Although she hadn’t encountered Joe Castellano again, she had no doubt that he and Diane continued to see one another on a regular basis.
In any case, she’d found it safer not to dwell on their relationship. Imagining what they did together would have caused her far too many sleepless nights. As it was, it was too easy to let thoughts of him dominate her consciousness, so she did her best not to think about him at all.
She’d seen little of Richard either, which was equally a bonus. According to Diane, he was a keen golfer these days, and his absence from the estate was due to the fact that he’d flown to Las Vegas to take part in a tournament there. In a rare moment of confidence, Diane had hinted that he usually spent more time in the clubhouse than on the golf course, but Olivia had chosen not to comment. She was just relieved that he wasn’t around to complicate the situation.
Despite her working schedule, Olivia also found time to do some sightseeing. Her afternoons were usually free, and she’d found she could work just as easily in the evenings. In consequence, she joined several of the organised tours around the area, visiting Disneyland and Universal Studios, as well as the breathtaking beauty of the Orange coast.
She was beginning to feel at home in the hotel, too. Now that she’d become accustomed to its noise and bustle—and she’d stopped being afraid she was going to meet the hotel’s owner round every corner—she often booked a table in one of the restaurants, and spent some time people-watching from behind her menu before going up to her room to do some more work.
The hotel certainly attracted a lot of famous people. The main restaurant—the Pineapple Room—was renowned for its excellent cuisine, and Olivia appreciated how lucky she was to be able to dine there every night if she wished. Sometimes, she chose the Bistro, which concentrated on Italian food. And real Italian food, she acknowledged. Not the fast-food variety she was used to eating back home.
It was just as well she didn’t have to worry about putting on weight, she thought one evening about three weeks after her arrival. She was sitting in the Bistro, enjoying a luscious pizza with all the trimmings, while the anorexic woman at the next table was picking at a Caesar salad, and sending envious looks in her direction. Olivia thought how awful it must be to be always counti
ng the calories. Did Diane do that? Was that how she stayed so slim?
Her thoughts broke off at that moment. Swallowing rapidly, she put down her knife and fork and stared disbelievingly across the room. Either she was hallucinating, or that was Joe Castellano sitting at a table half-hidden by the trailing greenery. He was alone, she saw; or perhaps his companion had left the table for a few minutes. Either way, he wasn’t paying much attention to what he was eating. He appeared to be reading papers from a file that was propped beside his plate.
He hadn’t seen her. Or if he had he’d chosen to ignore her. And who could blame him? she mused, remembering how she’d responded the last time he’d spoken to her. She’d been little short of rude and that wasn’t like her.
But how was she supposed to behave when a man like him came on to her? It had amused him to make fun of her, that was all, and if she’d fallen for it she’d have been a fool. Of course, he might just have wanted to be friendly and she’d overreacted because of what she knew of him. Surely she wasn’t considering Diane’s feelings? She would really be a fool to do that.
She looked down at her plate consideringly. If Diane found out he was seeing someone else, what would she do? She didn’t appear to care about Anna Fellini, but she was just his business partner. If there was someone else, would her marriage to Richard stand a chance?
She blew out a breath. Not that she owed Richard any favours, but she’d be glad to get him off her back. Joe Castellano’s feelings were not her problem. If he was having an affair with a married woman, he deserved everything he got.
She looked up again. Joe hadn’t moved. He was still sitting there, scanning the papers he’d taken from the file and sipping his wine. A desolate sigh escaped her. Could she do it? With Diane as a rival, she didn’t really stand a chance.
Was he alone? It seemed he was. Stretching her neck in his direction, she could see no evidence that anyone else was dining at his table. The woman at the next table was staring openly at her now and Olivia forced a rueful smile. Did she have the nerve to speak to him? she wondered. And if she did, what did she expect him to say in return?
She took a deep breath. It was ludicrous. For heaven’s sake, Richard had left her for Diane and Joe Castellano was infatuated with her, too. What possible chance did she have of attracting his attention? She was tilting at windmills if she imagined she could change his mind.
But... She sighed. She’d never know unless she did something about it. Yet did she really want to get involved in something like this? She frowned. It could be fun, she supposed, but it could also be dangerous. Not just for her peace of mind but because of her career.
Yet she wasn’t planning on making a serious commitment, she reminded herself. And it might just save Richard’s marriage, after all. And revenge? her conscience chided, bringing a wave of heat to moisten her hairline. She wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t thought about that. She sighed. The truth was, her motives were complicated. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to achieve.
And she wouldn’t achieve anything if she continued sitting here, staring at her congealing pizza, she acknowledged. She glanced down at what she was wearing, wishing she’d dressed with more care, as she did when she dined in the Pineapple Room. Not that her black trousers and cropped black vest were unattractive. But a slinky dress might have helped her to feel more like a femme fatale.
‘Don’t I know you?’ As Olivia was trying to summon up the courage to make her move, the woman at the next table, who had been staring at her, spoke to her. ‘You’re Elizabeth Jennings, aren’t you? Oh, this is so exciting! I love the role you play in Cat’s Crusade.’
Olivia’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, hardly able to believe that anyone could have mistaken her for a television personality. ‘I’m sorry. You’re mistaken. I’m not Elizabeth Jennings, I’m afraid.’
‘Are you sure?’ The woman had got up from the table she had been sharing with a male companion and approached Olivia’s table. ‘You’re so like her—and you’ve got an English accent, too.’
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said Olivia again, unhappily aware that they were attracting an audience. ‘Um—it’s very kind of you to say so, but I can assure you I’m not an actress at all.’ She pushed back her chair and got to her feet just as Joe Castellano did the same at the other side of the restaurant, and when he turned his head to see what was going on across the room their eyes met.
It was not the way she’d wanted to do it. She’d planned on sauntering by his table and pretending surprise when she noticed who it was. Now, she was caught in the middle of what was rapidly becoming an embarrassing situation. Despite her denials, the woman seemed unwilling to accept the truth.
However, Joe Castellano seemed to sum up the situation in an instant. Whether he’d heard what the other woman had said, she didn’t know, but he didn’t walk away. His eyes narrowed for a moment and then, picking up the file he’d been reading, he walked casually towards them. In navy trousers and a matching button-down shirt he looked absurdly familiar—and Olivia had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
‘Olivia,’ he said, by way of an acknowledgement, and the woman who had mistaken her for a celebrity produced a frown.
‘You’re really not Elizabeth Jennings!’ she exclaimed as her companion came to join her. ‘But you must be an actress. I’m sure I know your face.’
‘Perhaps you’ve seen it on the jacket of one of her books,’ remarked Joe smoothly, and the woman’s lips parted in a triumphant smile.
‘Of course,’ she cried. ‘You’re a writer. Oh, may I have your autograph? I’m an avid reader, you know. I must have read one of your books.’
Joe’s brows arched in silent humour as the woman bent to search her purse for a pen and paper, and, meeting his gaze, Olivia felt a surge of excitement herself. It was as if they were sharing more than just this moment, and she decided the woman’s intervention hadn’t been such a bad thing, after all.
With Olivia’s signature on the back of an envelope, the woman was persuaded back to her table, and Joe pulled a wry face as he watched her retreat. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘We try to ensure that our guests aren’t troubled by autograph hunters.’ He smiled, and Olivia felt warm all over. ‘Though I must admit you do look rather familiar to me, too.’
‘Well, I’m sure she doesn’t know me from Adam,’ she murmured modestly. ‘I doubt if she’s even seen—let alone read—any of my books.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself.’ His tawny eyes glinted humorously. ‘And no one could mistake you for Adam in that outfit.’
‘Why, thank you.’ Olivia’s breath seemed to be caught in the back of her throat. ‘That was a nice thing to say.’
‘But true,’ he declared easily. ‘With that tan, you look as if you should be famous, and that’s what counts here.’
Olivia bent to pick up her bag. She wasn’t embarrassed exactly, but no one had paid her such a compliment before. And then, because she knew she’d never have such an opportunity again, she turned to him. ‘If you’ve got time, perhaps you’d let me buy you a drink.’ She hesitated. ‘To make up for the way I behaved the last time we met.’
They walked towards the exit together. As he hadn’t answered her yet, she didn’t know if he wanted her company or not. But once they were outside in the foyer he turned to face her, and she endeavoured to look more confident than she felt.
‘You want to buy me a drink?’ he queried disbelievingly, and she nodded. ‘Hey—what happened just now wasn’t your fault.’
‘I know that. But that’s not the point.’ Olivia gripped her bag with nervous fingers. ‘Actually, I’d be glad of your company. I don’t like going into a bar on my own.’
Joe regarded her intently. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Of course.’ Olivia licked her dry lips before continuing, ‘You can tell me all about this woman, Elizabeth Jennings.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Being mistaken for her—is it a compliment or not?’
If he was puzzled by her change of attitude, he chose not to show it. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a deal, if you’ll let me buy you a drink instead.’
‘Why not?’ She felt a little dizzy with her success. ‘Whoever said we had to stop at one?’
The foyer was reasonably quiet at this hour of the evening, and no one took any notice of them as they strolled across to the Orchid Bar. Olivia knew a moment’s panic at the thought that Richard might be propping up the bar, but then she calmed herself. So what if he was? she chided. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
Except flirting with the boyfriend of the woman whose biography she was researching, her conscience reminded her. This wasn’t the way she usually behaved. That was the truth. But what did she have to lose? she argued impatiently. If Diane chose to sever her contract, so what?
So, she’d go back to England, she acknowledged flatly. But at least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing she’d done what she could. To destroy Diane’s relationship, or to save Richard’s marriage? she wondered ruefully. She wasn’t absolutely sure, she admitted honestly. And what about her own self-esteem?
‘D’you want to sit at the bar?’ asked Joe as they entered the subdued lighting of the cocktail lounge, but, glancing about her, Olivia noticed an empty booth against the wall.
‘How about there?’ She pointed, squashing the memory of how she’d responded to Richard when he’d made the same suggestion. And when Joe nodded his agreement she started across the room.
The booths were cushioned in dark blue velvet and they had scarcely seated themselves before the waiter was there to serve them. ‘Good evening, Mr Castellano,’ he said, and Olivia wondered if he was surprised at whom his employer was escorting this evening. ‘What can I get you, sir—’ his smile included Olivia ‘—and madam?’