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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 disappointed 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 was 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.
‘D’you need any help with your unpacking?’
The bellboy had departed now and Bonnie was regarding her with a vaguely irritated air. Olivia guessed her reaction hadn’t been the one she’d expected. She wondered if the secretary knew that Richard had once been married to her. Somehow, she doubted it.
‘No,’ she answered now, slipping off her corduroy jacket. It was quite a relief to feel the air-conditioned air cooling her bare arms. ‘Um—thank you,’ she added, almost as an afterthought. ‘I can manage, really. You’ve been very kind.’
‘Well, good.’ Bonnie was mollified by her reply and with a tight smile she gave the apartment another thorough look. ‘I suggest you rest up for a while, and then order yourself some dinner from Room Service. You’ll have plenty of time to explore the hotel when your body’s caught up with your mind.’
Olivia nodded. It was true: she was feeling a little dazed, and it wasn’t just the shock of her arrival at the hotel. Perhaps Diane was right; perhaps she would be glad to have a place of her own to return to. Once she got used to it, that was. Right now, she was too exhausted to care.
CHAPTER THREE (#u62d1b8bf-88e2-5587-b3dd-9d4f2ceb716f)
IN FACT, Olivia left most of her unpacking until the next morning. After Bonnie left, she felt too exhausted to do much more than take out her nightshirt and the bag containing her toothbrush and soap. A shower, in a fluted glass cubicle, refreshed her sufficiently to order a light supper, but she fell asleep without finishing the shrimps and salad they’d brought her.
She was awake before it was light. Her watch said it was lunchtime, but the clock on the bedside cabinet told a different story. Four o’clock! she thought, in dismay. At least three hours until she could order an early breakfast. Goodness, how long would it take her body to adjust to an eight-hour time change? She’d be falling asleep when by Pacific time it would only be four p.m.
She was hungry now, so she rescued one of the bread rolls they’d supplied her with the night before and spread it with butter. The coffee was cold, but the water from the tap was a palatable alternative, and after enjoying her small feast she fell asleep again.
The next time she opened her eyes, a pale dawn was turning the sky to palest yellow, with fluffy white clouds shredding before the rising sun. Slipping off the huge bed, she went somewhat disbelievingly to the window. She was actually here, in California, she thought, running a hand through the tumbled weight of her hair. Incredible! Twenty-four hours ago she had just been leaving London.
She discovered, when she rang down for breakfast, that it was in fact a twenty-four-hour room service, which meant she could have ordered herself a snack at four a.m. Still, it was much more pleasant to eat cereal with fresh strawberries and scrambled eggs seated at the table in the window with the sunshine streaming over her. She felt much brighter this morning, and far more optimistic than she’d done the night before.
She’d unpacked her suitcases while she’d been waiting for her breakfast, and in consequence she was dressed and ready by eight o’clock. She’d taken another shower and decided on a simple short-skirted dress of lime-green cotton, and because her hair was too silky from the shampoo to behave neatly she’d used a scarf to hold it back instead.
The effect was quite dramatic for her, and she studied her reflection for some time before turning away. Was her skirt too short? Was her neckline too low? Should she have chosen something more businesslike? She realised she was starting to spook herself, and dismissed her misgivings. She’d need all the ammunition she possessed to face the interview ahead.
Assuming that no one was likely to contact her before nine o’clock, Olivia decided to go and take a look at the rest of the hotel. She knew that if she stayed in the suite she’d start worrying, and it would be much better if she kept her mind occupied with something other than the reason why she was here. Besides, she told herself fiercely, she was curious about her surroundings, and if she was staying here for any length of time she should know where everything was.
The lift transported her down to the foyer without incident, and she discovered that far from being the only person who was up and about the ground floor of the hotel was fairly buzzing with activity. She remembered now that when she’d stayed in New York she’d noticed this same phenomenon. Americans very often held business meetings at breakfast, and as if to prove this there were lots of immaculately suited men and women with briefcases passing in and out of the terrace restaurant.
They reminded her of Joe Castellano, and she wondered if he ever ate breakfast at this hotel. It was an unlikely scenario, she had to admit. Did she actually think he might come looking for her?
Brushing such a ridiculous thought aside, she saw the glint of a swimming pool through the long windows that flanked a palm-shaded courtyard. The hotel appeared to be built around this inner courtyard, and she moved towards the automatic doors that gave access to the pool area. Striped umbrellas, cushioned loungers and a wealth of thick towels piled on an old-fashioned handcart invited investigation. The whole place had a ‘twenties’ feel about it, but the facilities were as luxurious as they come.
Still, it was good to know that she could take a swim whenever she felt like it She could imagine how delightful that would be in the heat of the day. She smiled. She was in danger of enjoying this temporary exile. She had to remember exactly why she was here.
She’d had no problem remembering last night. Then, the strangeness of her surroundings, the fact that she hadn’t met Diane, after all, and the news that she was to stay here and not at her subject’s mansion, had left her feeling decidedly down. The only bright spot in her day had been her meeting with Joe Castellano at the airport, but she was intelligent enough to know that she was unlikely ever to run into him again.
But he had been kind, and because of him she hadn’t done anything stupid. Like trying to ring Richard, or crying herself to sleep. And this morning she could safely say she was looking forward to starting work. That was the only reason she was here, she assured herself. She didn’t care if she saw Richard or not.
She sighed. As she sauntered round the huge pool, she was forced to acknowledge that her last assertion wasn’t precisely true. She did want to see Richard again—but only to reassure herself that he was all right, she told herself firmly. They had known one another for a long time, after all. It was natural that she should care what happened to him.
The fact that he hadn’t particularly cared what happened to her when he walked out on her followed on from this assumption. But she wasn’t like Richard, she reminded herself. She did care about people’s feelings. She couldn’t help it. But what she had to remember was that Richard had hurt her. She mustn’t give him the chance to hurt her all over again.
The message light was flashing on the phone when she got back to her suite. Checking in with the receptionist, she learned that a car was coming to pick her up at ten o’clock. She was asked to be waiting in the foyer at that time, and she guessed that Bonnie Lovelace would be coming along to identify her to the driver.
Which left her just a short time to worry about her appearance. Having seen so much informal attire downstairs, she wondered if she ought to wear shorts. But no. Meeting Diane again, she wanted to look half decent. And a vest and shorts would put their association on far too familiar a level.
She was downstairs at five to ten, still wearing the lime-green cotton, with a tote bag containing her notebook and tape recorder slung over her shoulder. She’d managed to tame her hair into a French braid so it looked considerably tidier, and she’d added a pair of gold earloops for good measure.
‘Liv?’
She’d been watching the antics of a toddler, who’d got away from his mother and was presently causing a lot of grief to one of the waiters who was trying to serve coffee from the foyer bar, when a hand touched her shoulder. She hadn’t been aware of anyone’s approach, and the unexpected British accent took her by surprise. She swung round, all thoughts of hiding her feelings going out of her head, and stared at the man behind her with her heart in her eyes.
‘Richard!’
‘Hello, Liv.’
His response was every bit as emotional as hers had been and before she knew what he was doing he’d bent his head and bestowed a lingering kiss on her mouth. His lips were warm and wet, as if he’d been licking them in anticipation, and although Olivia had expected to be gratified by the warmth of his greeting she found she didn’t care for his assumption that she’d welcome it.
‘I’ve missed you so much, Liv,’ he added, and she was dismayed to see that his eyes had filled with tears. Eyes that were slightly red-rimmed, she noticed, with a telling puffiness beneath each one.
Indeed, as she came to look at him properly, she saw that his eyes weren’t the only evidence of change about him. He’d put on weight, for one thing. His limbs had thickened, and his stomach swelled over the leather of his belt. He’d bleached his hair, too, and although it accentuated his tan it looked artificial. In a polo shirt and shorts, he looked little like the man she remembered.
‘You look—terrific,’ he went on, surveying her slim figure and bare legs with greedy eyes. ‘Come on.’ He gestured towards the exit. ‘I’ve got the car waiting.’ His lips twisted. ‘Is Diane going to get a shock when she sees you!’
‘I doubt it.’
Olivia let him escort her towards the glass doors with some reluctance. Although it was true that she had lost weight since the divorce, otherwise she looked much the same. Her hair was longer, of course. When she’d been married to Richard and working in the city, it had been easier to handle when it was shorter. But compared to Diane Haran—or should she say Diane Haig?—she was very ordinary indeed.
And no one knew that better than Richard himself.
Outside, the limousine in which she and Bonnie had travelled from the airport the previous afternoon was waiting, with Manuel at the wheel. Actually, Olivia was quite relieved to see the chauffeur. For a moment, she’d wondered if Richard had come alone. But, whether the unhappy rumours about his marriage were true or not, Diane had evidently decided they needed a chaperon. Or perhaps it was the fact that, even at this early hour of the morning, Olivia could smell the sour scent of alcohol on Richard’s breath.
Once they were in the car, she took care to put a good twelve inches of white leather between them, and Richard turned to give her a wounded look. ‘Don’t you trust me, Liv?’ he protested, making an abortive attempt to take her hand. ‘God, you didn’t used to look at me like that. What an unholy mess I’ve made of both our lives.’
Olivia caught her breath at this assertion. Although he was staring straight ahead, she prayed Manuel wasn’t listening to Richard’s maudlin complaints. Not only was he full of self-pity, but he was acting as if she shared his regrets.
And she didn’t.
Well, not really, she amended, trying to be brutally honest with herself. She couldn’t deny that she’d hoped it hadn’t been all plain sailing for him. She was human, after all, and when Kay had said his marriage to Diane was in trouble she had felt a quiver of anticipation. But she’d never expected that Richard might really want to see her. Or that he might covet what he’d lost.
‘So—how are you?’ Richard asked now, evidently deciding he’d said enough about his feelings for the present.
‘I’m fine,’ she answered, with determined brightness. ‘The jet lag’s a bit of a problem. I was awake at four o‘clock; can you believe that?’ She grimaced. ‘Thank goodness I managed to go back to sleep.’
Richard relaxed against the soft upholstery, one arm spread expansively along the back of the seat. ‘It affects different people in different ways,’ he said carelessly. ‘Myself, it’s no problem. But then, I’m used to travelling a lot.’
Olivia wound the strap of her bag round her fingers. ‘With Diane?’ she asked, and he gave her a jaded look.
‘I used to,’ he said. ‘I used to think she wanted me with her. But these days I usually stay at home.’
Olivia pressed her lips together. ‘Well, you certainly have a beautiful place to live in,’ she murmured, gazing out of the car window. She didn’t know what to say, what to think, and it was easier to talk about impersonal things. ‘Is this Beverly Hills?’ she asked as the limousine wound its way up quiet streets flanked by high hedges and stone walls. There was little to see of the estates that sprawled behind the wrought-iron security gates.
‘You’ve been in Beverly Hills since you left the hotel,’ replied Richard indifferently. ‘This whole area is known as the City of Beverly Hills. What a laugh! It’s really just the west side of Los Angeles. But people like my wife think it’s paradise on earth.’
‘Oh, I’m sure—’
‘She does. I’m telling you. Diane’s really into this West Coast lifestyle. My God, I don’t think a scrap of meat has passed her lips in the last four years! It’s all fruit and cereal and therapy and body massage. God, you don’t know how sick of it all I am, Liv. That’s why I’m so glad to have you here.’
‘Richard—’
‘It’s not real, Liv. The people who live here don’t live in the real world any more.’ He cast a disparaging glance out of the window at the walled estates. ‘Fortress America! Can you honestly say you know what all the excitement is about?’
Olivia’s lower lip curled between her teeth and she bit on it, hard. It seemed obvious that whatever comment she made Richard was going to put it down. When had he got so cynical? she wondered unhappily. She didn’t know what to say so she decided to hold her tongue.
‘I suppose I should congratulate you on your success,’ he remarked, after a moment, and once again she heard the bitterness in his voice. ‘My Liv, an author! Who’d have thought it? I told you you were wasted at that rag you used to work for.’
