‘Shame.’
‘Quit being such a smartass.’
‘And she continues to entice me with her masterful use of the English language.’
‘Anyway, Alex, thanks for last night, you helped as usual. Talking to you is the best.’
‘You know I’m always here for you, Lucky.’
‘And it’s much appreciated. Oh, yes, and the good news is that I won’t be bothering you again. You’re free. You can call up Mia or Pia, or whatever her name is, and get into that tantric-sex thing you mentioned.’ A meaningful pause. ‘By the way, is it worth it?’
He gave a dry laugh. ‘When you’re ready to find out, let me know.’
‘Oh, and, Alex,’ she added casually, ‘not that it’s a big secret or anything, but I’d sooner not piss Lennie off, so let’s keep last night’s dinner between us.’
‘Damn! And I was gonna call the Enquirer.’
She hung up smiling, and dressed quickly. She was excited at the thought of seeing Lennie, it was almost as if she was embarking on a date with him.
Before leaving the house she called Steven. ‘How’s my favourite brother today?’ she asked cheerfully.
‘Still here,’ Steven said. ‘I was thinking of driving down to Palm Springs to visit the kids.’
‘Sounds like a great idea to me.’
‘Want to come?’
‘I would, but it seems like I only just got rid of them. And actually . . . I was planning a romantic weekend alone with Lennie.’
‘Think I’ll call Gino, tell him I’m on my way.’
‘By the way, before I forget, Venus and Cooper are having an anniversary party on Monday. They wanted me to ask if you’d drop by.’
‘Thanks anyway, but I’ll pass.’
She had hoped he’d say yes. As far as she knew he’d gone nowhere since Mary Lou’s death. ‘Isn’t it time you got out?’
‘Lucky,’ he answered slowly, ‘it hasn’t been long enough.’
‘I know you need time, Steven, but eventually you’ll have to meet other women.’
‘No,’ he said fiercely, ‘I had enough women before Mary Lou. She was my life, my prize. I’ll never be able to replace her. And I have no desire to do so.’
‘That’s how you feel now, but don’t forget that old cliché, time heals everything.’
‘It doesn’t heal, it covers up.’
‘Whatever you say,’ she said, backing off, because the worst thing she could do was push him. ‘Have a good drive to Palm Springs. Kiss my babies for me, and hug Carioca.’
‘I will.’
‘Uh . . . Steven, maybe when you leave Palm Springs you should take her home with you, spend time together. Y’ know, daddy and daughter, that kind of deal.’
‘She likes staying with you, Lucky.’
‘And we love having her, but she can’t stay here for ever, because that’s not good for either of you.’
‘Okay,’ he said impatiently. ‘I get it.’
He knew she was right, his daughter should be with him. But he didn’t need it shoved in his face. It was difficult enough getting through each day. And the sad thing was that every time he looked at Carioca she reminded him of Mary Lou.
‘By the way, I have excellent news,’ Lucky added.
‘What?’
‘Lennie came up with a couple of numbers from the licence plate.’
‘That is good news.’
‘I kind of threw him out last night, and I guess sitting alone in a hotel room gave him time to think.’
‘You threw Lennie out?’
‘It was a mutual deal. I told you before, he’s having a lot of trouble with this.’
‘We both are, Lucky,’ Steven said grimly. ‘We both are.’
* * *
When Lucky walked in Lennie was sitting at a table near the hotel pool. He jumped up and waved. She waved back, dodging her way around palm trees to reach him.
‘Hello, you,’ he said, holding out his arms, half an embrace, half a gesture of apology.
‘Hello you, too,’ she said, falling into them. He gave her a long, lingering soul kiss. ‘Wow!’ she said, backing off and gasping for breath. ‘Where did you come up with that?’
‘You’re my wife, aren’t you? I’m entitled.’
‘Hmm . . .’ she said, thinking that he looked more relaxed than he had in weeks. ‘Did you call the detective?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘He told me it’s a big help.’
‘This ain’t bad,’ she said, looking around, checking out the small hotel.
‘I figured if I was taking off I may as well do it in style,’ he said. ‘This hotel is full of horny models and English rock stars. Better vibe than the fancier places.’
Lucky regarded him with a quizzical expression. ‘Okay,’ she joked. ‘I’ll take the rock stars – you can stick with the horny models.’
He scratched his chin. ‘Wanna see my room?’
‘Is it worth seeing?’
‘You tell me,’ he said, taking her by the hand and leading her along the side of the pool to one of the bungalows.
Inside the room the shades were drawn, the bed rumpled. ‘So . . .’ she said casually. ‘Did you get laid and drunk?’
‘Oh, yeah, sure,’ he said, gesturing across the room. ‘Can’t you see all the signs? Empty bottles, women’s panties, drug paraphernalia.’
‘Lennie, Lennie,’ she said, shaking her head and smiling. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
‘What’re you gonna do with me?’ he said, perplexed. ‘The question is, what am I gonna do with you?’
She sighed. ‘Don’t let’s get into that game again.’
‘What game?’
‘Repeating everything.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let me tell you what happened. I woke up this morning, and it was like I was struck by a ray of light. I saw the jeep driving away. I saw the licence plate, and those numbers came to me. If I keep thinking about it, I’ll come up with the rest of them. You’re right. When those murderers are caught, I’m gonna feel totally different.’
‘Revenge has always worked for me,’ Lucky said. ‘Lock ’em up and throw away the key.’
‘I want to help make it happen,’ Lennie said. ‘I want my day in court.’
Lucky sat down on the edge of the bed, testing the mattress. ‘Nice room,’ she said, ‘but now I’d like you to come home.’
‘I’m ready.’
‘This is good, ’cause I sent the kids away so we could have a romantic weekend.’
He came over and stood in front of her. ‘I’m sorry for walking out and acting like a jerk. I kind of got stir crazy, and took it out on you.’
She reached up and touched his cheek. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the studio. You’re right, Lennie, I was wrong. I did it to you once before and you went crazy – I remember that now.’ A long beat. ‘Y’ see, I thought I’d surprise you. Then after, I realized we should’ve discussed it.’
‘Right.’
‘But you know me, I have a thing about making my own decisions. Thing is, I’ve never had to answer to anyone.’
‘Do you know?’ he said. ‘We’ve been married nine years.’
‘I know that.’
‘And right now I feel as if we’ve been married nine minutes.’
‘Me, too.’
‘I know I haven’t been much fun to be around lately, but believe me, I’ll make it up to you.’
‘Promise?’
‘You got it. Anything you want.’
‘Anything?’ she teased.
‘You,’ he said, smiling, ‘are such a turn-on.’
‘I am?’ she said, toying with his zipper. ‘Tell me more, Lennie.’
‘Well, all I have to do is look at you . . .’
‘And?’
‘. . . and Elvis is back in town.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Such a way with words!’
‘Remember our first hotel room???
? he said.
‘How could I ever forget?’ she said, laughing. ‘Vegas.’
‘And you walked out on me.’
‘That’s ’cause you thought I was a hooker.’
‘You acted like one.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ she said indignantly. ‘I was single. I saw something I liked and went for it. What’s wrong with that?’
‘You always lived your life like a man, didn’t you?’
‘Seems to me men have always known how to have a good time.’
‘And you, my little darling, have always had a good time, too.’
‘And you, my little sweetheart,’ she countered, ‘were never exactly a virgin. In fact . . . the word stud comes to mind. You and your never-ending parade of blondes.’
Now they were both laughing as she pulled him down on the bed beside her.
‘Lucky, Lucky,’ he sighed, ‘I love you more than anything in the world.’
‘You too,’ she whispered.
‘And I never want to hear the word divorce come out of your mouth again.’
‘I promise.’
‘You do?’
‘I do.’
And then they were kissing, and soon they were caught up in passion and love and everything nice.
Lennie was back, and it felt indescribably good.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
At Brigette’s request, Horace Otley came up with a detailed report of Fiona Lewyllen Wharton’s movements. According to Horace’s report, Fiona worked at an art gallery off Bond Street, and every Saturday morning she had a standing appointment at a nearby hairdresser’s with a stylist named Edward.
Brigette made an appointment for herself. It wasn’t difficult because once she announced who she was the salon were so thrilled to accommodate her that they would have cancelled anybody. As it happened, she made her appointment fifteen minutes before Fiona was due to appear.
Carlo had called her several times since bumping into her at lunch. She’d instructed the hotel switchboard to inform him that she was not available, which she knew must be driving him crazy. Carlo was not a man used to being turned down.
The one thing Brigette didn’t think about was being pregnant. She pushed the thought out of her mind – it was too disturbing. Right now she had to concentrate on dealing with Carlo.
She arrived at the hairdressing salon on time. There were several stylists working hard, and a few assistants who couldn’t help staring at her.
Edward was a sweet-faced, fair-haired boy who could hardly believe his luck. ‘My goodness, who recommended me?’ he gasped. ‘I’m so flattered.’
‘Someone at the hotel,’ Brigette answered vaguely. ‘I was told you’re good with long hair.’
‘Oh, you’ve got beautiful hair,’ he exclaimed, picking up a strand. ‘Absolutely fab. And what would her loveliness like me to do to it today?’
‘A wash and blow-dry would be great.’
‘Certainly. And may I take this opportunity to tell you that we’re all big fans of yours here?’
Fiona Lewyllen Wharton entered the salon a few minutes later. She was a plump brunette, not quite as homely as she looked in her photographs, but hardly a beauty. She wore an unflattering tweed suit, patterned tights and comfortable pumps. Her legs were sturdy.
Brigette was sitting in Edward’s chair getting her hair blow-dried.
‘Are you running late, Edward?’ Fiona enquired, in a louder-than-usual voice.
‘No,’ Edward answered, flitting around Brigette with his blow-dryer. ‘By the time you’re washed I’ll be ready for you.’
Brigette met Fiona’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I do hope I haven’t taken your appointment.’
Fiona frowned and glanced at Edward, who looked embarrassed. ‘I crammed Brigette in,’ he explained quickly. ‘She’s a big New York model, and uh . . . we wanted to accommodate her. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘You mean she’s taken my appointment?’ Fiona said, obviously not pleased.
‘No, no, she was here earlier. You’ll only have to wait five minutes.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Fiona said. ‘However, I do have somewhere special to go tonight.’
‘Wish I did.’ Brigette sighed wistfully. ‘I’m in London for such a short time, and I hardly know anybody.’
‘Can’t imagine you sitting home knitting socks, dear,’ Edward said boldly.
Fiona emitted a horsy laugh. ‘Weren’t you on the cover of Vogue last month?’ she asked, peering at Brigette in the mirror. ‘Mummy takes it.’
‘That was me,’ Brigette said.
‘You must be terribly famous in America.’
‘She’s terribly famous everywhere,’ Edward pointed out.
‘And what do you do?’ Brigette asked politely.
‘Oh, me – I work in an art gallery.’
‘What kind of art do you sell?’
‘Old masters,’ Fiona said airily, as if it was the only thing any art gallery could possibly sell.
‘How fascinating,’ Brigette said. ‘Do tell me all about it.’
Fiona’s eyes lit up, it wasn’t every day a famous New York model wanted to know about her.
By the time Edward had finished blow-drying Brigette’s long hair, she and Fiona were fast friends. Brigette had a way of bringing people out, getting them to speak about themselves. It was probably why she was so popular with Lina and the other girls. She never talked about herself, always listened.
Fiona was quite flattered. ‘I have a super idea,’ she said, full of enthusiasm. ‘Why don’t you come over to Daddy’s tonight? Every Saturday we have a little soirée. Daddy calls it our salon. Mummy calls it Daddy’s liquorice all-sorts.’
‘That’s an English candy,’ Edward said, sotto voce.
‘We invite fifteen or twenty interesting people,’ Fiona continued. ‘Sometimes they’re politicians, and once we had Fergie – she’s charming, quite amusing, too. Will you come?’
Brigette glanced at Edward, who nodded encouragingly. ‘Well, I . . . I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I mean . . . I hardly like to intrude.’
‘Daddy will be delighted to have you,’ Fiona said, with another horsy laugh.
‘Then I’d love to come,’ Brigette said. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘I’ll write down the address,’ Fiona said. ‘About seven thirty. Cocktail attire.’
Brigette nodded. ‘Seven thirty it is.’
* * *
Dinner at Morton’s. A good table near the front of the room against the wall. Max Steele was showing off.
‘Where’s Charlie?’ Lina asked, as they were finishing their main course of delicious swordfish.
‘He’ll be here,’ Max said confidently. ‘Charlie’s got a reputation for running late. In fact, if I didn’t want to avoid insulting you, I’d say he runs on black time.’
‘Black time?’ Lina said, pushing a piece of fish across her plate.
‘Well, y’ know,’ Max said easily, picking up a French fry with his fingers, ‘black people do things by their own clock.’
‘Are you a racist?’ she asked sharply, like he’d admit it if he was.
‘That’s the second time you’ve mentioned the word racist,’ Max said, throwing his hands in the air. ‘I’m sitting here with you, aren’t I?’
‘Bloody ’ell,’ Lina said indignantly. ‘You should be so lucky to be sitting ’ere with me. Men give their right balls to sit with me.’
‘Modest,’ Max said. ‘I like that in a woman. If you can act, we’ll own the world.’
‘’Course I can act,’ Lina said, like it was a given. ‘What do you think I’m doing when I’m poncing up and down those stupid runways. That’s acting. I put on my drop-dead-you-morons face, an’ give ’em what they want.’
‘And what is it they want?’
‘They wanna see girls who look better than everyone else. You’ve gotta admit it, Max, right now models are a lot more glam than all those scrungy actresses
up on the screen. Who’ve you got to write ’ome about? Holly Hunter and Meryl Streep. Ha! Great actresses, but not exactly drop dead gorgeous. It’s the models who ’ave all the glamour today.’
‘I disagree,’ Max said. ‘How about Julia Roberts and Michelle Pfeiffer?’
‘Okay, I’ll give you them, only that’s about it.’
‘Can’t wait to see you and Charlie together,’ he said. ‘This’ll be some combination!’
‘If he ever bleedin’ turns up,’ Lina said huffily.
‘He will,’ Max said confidently.
Half an hour later Charlie ambled in, wearing one of his favourite Hawaiian shirts, baggy white pants, dark shades and his usual shit-eating grin. ‘Hey,’ he said, slapping Max on the back, ‘what’s goin’ on in Agent Land?’
‘Hey,’ Max said, standing up, ‘meet Lina.’
Lina gave Charlie a long, penetrating look.
‘Quite an eyeful!’ Charlie said. ‘Five feet ten and—’
‘Eleven,’ she interrupted.
‘Dark hair and big . . . eyes. Just my type.’
Lina narrowed her cat-like eyes. ‘Hmm . . . let me see. Fifty-something, chubby, an’ ever so talented.’ She grinned. ‘Just my type, too.’
‘Okay, doll,’ Charlie said, nodding. ‘I can see you and I are gonna get along like a gang of hookers at a sailors’ convention in Puerto Rico.’
‘I’ve been wanting to meet you,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound too much like a fan. ‘I think you’re smashing.’
‘Smashing, huh?’ Charlie said, raising an extravagant eyebrow. ‘In that case, I’m gonna join you good people.’
And with that he pulled out a chair and sat down.
* * *
The Lewyllen Whartons lived in a luxurious, well-appointed five-storey townhouse in Eaton Square. A butler answered the door and ushered Brigette in.
She looked around for Fiona, who came running over to greet her. ‘Welcome,’ Fiona said, as if they were old friends. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘It was nice of you to invite me,’ Brigette said.
‘Come,’ Fiona said, leading Brigette into the formal living room to meet her parents.
Editha, her mother, was a small, wispy blonde woman, and Leopold, her father, was large, bald and blustery.
‘This is my new friend, Brigette,’ Fiona announced proudly. ‘She’s a top model, you know. She was on the cover of American Vogue last month.’