Brigette was tempted. She wanted to see Tim more than anything. But if she took Roberto anywhere CeeCee would go bananas. CeeCee was very protective. As soon as she realized she had to go to the dentist she had tried to get Gino or Costa to come and collect Roberto, but they were both unreachable. And she didn’t trust the maids. Reluctantly she had left the child in Brigette’s care. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight,’ she had admonished. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Brigette did not like CeeCee. She was bossy. All she cared about was stupid Roberto. It would serve her right to come back and find him gone.
‘Well?’ Tim demanded. ‘What’s happening?’
‘We’re coming for ice cream,’ she giggled. ‘Can’t wait!’
* * *
Things were working out better than Tim expected.
He picked up the tabloid newspaper on the table in front of him and stared at the headline above a picture of a small dark-haired child climbing out of a swimming pool, THE RICHEST BOY IN THE WORLD.
He re-read the small print underneath:
Is Roberto Stanislopoulos the richest boy in the world? Close friends of the late billionaire Dimitri Stanislopoulos say that he soon will be. It was reported in New York today –
Slowly Tim put the paper down. Brigette Stanislopoulos was catch enough, but now he would have both of them.
It was a piece of good fortune he could only have dreamed of.
Chapter One-Hundred-Ten
Steven didn’t know whether to tell Mary-Lou or not. He agonized over what he should do, and then he realized there was only one way to go. He had to tell her. The offending magazine was just about to hit the stands. The press would be bugging her, waiting for her comments. He knew it wasn’t Mary-Lou in the pornographic photo spread, but they were going to have to prove it to the rest of the world.
‘Goddamn it!’ he muttered to himself. And he wondered how slime like Santino Bonnatti could even exist.
Lucky Santangelo had eliminated Santino’s father, the notorious Enzio. She had had her reasons. According to the word on the street, Enzio had been responsible for the murder of her lover, Marco, and her brother, Dario. At the time Steven had been disapproving. The law was adequate. The law would have dealt with the likes of Enzio Bonnatti.
Now he wasn’t so sure. The law was a long, shaky process. People could be bribed to see that justice never took place.
He cancelled an appointment and hurried home. The sooner he told Mary-Lou the better. She would have to speak to the network and the sponsors of her show. The best thing to do was to have her release a statement before the press besieged their brownstone.
He planned how to handle the situation. Dignity and denial, that was the only way.
A strong smell of gas hit him as he opened the front door. He gagged and almost choked, the air was thick with it.
Jesus Christ! Had Mary-Lou left the oven on? She hated to cook, they usually sent out for food.
He held his breath and rushed into the kitchen.
Mary-Lou was on the floor slumped by the open oven.
Next to her lay a copy of Comer magazine.
Chapter One-Hundred-Eleven
Lucky wandered into Matt’s office and perched on the edge of his desk. ‘I’ve had it,’ she told him with an exhausted sigh. ‘I’m taking off for L.A. in the morning. I’ll spend the weekend and be back on Tuesday. Can you manage without me?’
‘I think we’ll get by,’ Matt said dryly. ‘As long as calling you day or night is in order.’
The Santangelo had opened to capacity business – but there were the usual problems with chefs, managers and general staff. All controllable.
Lucky smiled ruefully. ‘You know I never sleep. And you also know I like to be the first to hear everything that goes on.’
Matt said, ‘So go – relax – have a rest and enjoy yourself. You deserve it.’
She picked a pencil off his desk and played with it. ‘I can’t wait to see Roberto. That’s what I really need – a massive fix of baby love.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Well, who knows, maybe when you and Jess do the deed you’ll have one of your own.’
He laughed self-consciously. ‘I don’t know about that.’
They discussed several business matters. Matt knew of Lucky’s plans to sell. She had included him in for a piece of the action. He hadn’t made up his mind what he would do next. The potential buyers had offered him a firm management contract with points – but he needed to discuss it with Jess before deciding.
Business concluded, Lucky pecked him on the cheek and went off to pack. She hadn’t called to tell Gino she was coming. She wanted to surprise everyone.
Chapter One-Hundred-Twelve
The sound of the shower filtered through to the bedroom. Gino, clad in a bathrobe, sat on the edge of the rumpled bed and plucked a bottle of Dom Perignon from the ice bucket on the side table. Empty. Every drop gone. And he couldn’t remember drinking that much.
‘Hey—’ he called out. ‘We finished the champagne.’
‘Live dangerously,’ Paige called back. ‘Order another bottle. There must be some compensations to sleeping with a rich old man!’
He chuckled as he picked up the phone. She always made him laugh. ‘More champagne on the way,’ he said as he walked into the bathroom, opened the shower door, and watched her soap herself. She had full, real breasts (how he hated silicone – whoever invented silicone tits should be shot), a firmly packed body, soft thighs, and an unmanageable thatch of pubic hair, copper – like the hair on her head. ‘Y’know what I want,’ he said.
She massaged her breasts vigorously. ‘What?’
‘I want you to stay the night. Just like in New York. Remember? We had some good times there, didn’t we?’
She put the soap down and allowed the water to wash over her. Then she stepped from the stall and enveloped herself in a fluffy towel.
‘You know I can’t stay,’ she said briskly.
‘Why not?’ he demanded.
‘Because,’ she replied patiently, ‘I am a married woman, and I have a husband at home who will be extremely concerned if I just decide to stay out all night.’
‘Will he?’
She began to towel herself dry. ‘Yes, he will.’
‘He doesn’t mind you spending the day gettin’ laid, but an all nighter is out of line, huh?’
She refused to let him get to her. ‘You got it.’ She dropped the towel and reached for a bathrobe.
He sat on the side of the tub. ‘I missed you, kiddo,’ he said. ‘I tried a selection – but you’re the only one can do it for me.’
She began to laugh. ‘I don’t believe that, Gino. You’ll go to your grave with a hard-on!’
He grabbed her around the waist and pressed his face against her stomach.
She parted the bathrobe. ‘While you’re down there . . .’ she murmured.
He didn’t need any more encouragement.
* * *
Alice lingered with Claudio in Marina del Rey. She showed him her old photo albums and carefully preserved silver tasselled G-strings. He was duly impressed. Especially when she produced the set of pictures she had taken on the famous Stanislopoulos cruise.
They sipped Martinis, admired the view from Alice’s waterfront apartment, and made out on the couch. Alice smiled to herself. Claudio might be short, but he had the biggest schlong she’d ever seen.
It wasn’t until an irate CeeCee phoned from the dentist’s waiting room that Alice realized they were running two hours late. ‘Ooh la la!’ she exclaimed in mock horror. ‘The schvartze is mad – we’d better be running.’
* * *
The harsh slap sent Eden reeling across the room.
‘You’re a cunt, that’s all y’are. An’ an old cunt at that.’
‘I’m thirty-one,’ Eden sobbed, out of control. ‘That’s not old . . .’ She crouched in the corner waiting for his next move, ‘THAT’S NOT OLD,’ she s
hrieked.
‘In this town it’s friggin’ pushin’ up daisies – for a woman,’ Santino spat disdainfully. He had removed his jacket and vest, and rolled up the sleeves of his striped shirt. Beating up a woman took it out of you – he was sweating more than usual.
Eden pulled herself into the foetal position – knees up to her chest – arms clutched around them. She was a mess. One eye was blackened and half-closed, her jaw was swollen and bruised purple, blood dripped from a cut lip.
Santino bore down on her. ‘If ya fuck around on Santino Bonnatti, ya gotta pay the price. Understand, cunt?’
‘I haven’t done anything,’ she whimpered.
He raised his arm to strike another blow, but thought better of it. She had learned her lesson. She wouldn’t open her legs for anyone else in a hurry. She knew who she belonged to.
Now all he had to do was deal with Tim Wealth. Teach him the score.
Nobody fucked Santino Bonnatti’s woman off camera.
Nobody.
Not unless he said so.
Chapter One-Hundred-Thirteen
‘So this is the kid?’ Tim Wealth asked.
‘This is the geek,’ Brigette agreed.
‘Not a geek. Not,’ Roberto asserted.
‘Hold my hand, brat, and shut up.’ Brigette grabbed the small boy’s hand. Traffic was racing past on Sunset. All she needed was for Roberto to wander under a car. Lucky would never speak to her again.
Tim bent to talk to the child. ‘Hello there,’ he said.
‘Ice cream?’ the boy asked eagerly.
‘If you’re good,’ replied Tim.
Brigette giggled. ‘I bet people passing by think we’re a family,’ she said. ‘I’m mommy, and you’re daddy, and this is our little one.’ She exploded with mirth.
Tim looked quickly around. He didn’t want anyone noticing anything. Brigette was not exactly low profile in a red T-shirt with HOT STUFF emblazoned on the front, skin-hugging white jeans and cascades of long blonde hair.
‘Let’s go to my place,’ he suggested.
‘Ice cream,’ repeated Roberto, trying to wriggle out of Brigette’s grasp.
‘Shut up, Bobby,’ she snapped, thinking to herself that she should have left the kid at home. What was the point in bringing him along? CeeCee would be furious.
So what? She was only a stupid nanny. Who cared what her reaction was? In fact, it would do her good to worry. Brigette would never forget the spanking she had received from her when she was eleven. The humiliation still stung.
‘You promised the geek ice cream,’ she pointed out. ‘Let’s get it over with and send him home.’
There was no way she could let Tim drive Roberto back to the house. She had already decided to put him in a cab, and then call Alice and say he was on his way. Alice would believe anything. ‘Hi, Ali,’ she would say. ‘I’m over at my girlfriend’s house and we’re going to a movie. Bobby’s in a cab – he should be there any minute. And I’ll probably stay at my friend’s tonight.’ That way CeeCee couldn’t say a word to her. Yeah – the brat would be okay, it was only a ten minute drive. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him and be alone with Tim.
‘I’ve got ice cream at my place,’ Tim said.
‘You have?’
‘Haagen-Dazs. Chocolate, chocolate chip.’
Brigette linked her arm happily through his. ‘What are we waiting for?’ She grinned, pulling Roberto along with her other hand. ‘Let’s go.’
Chapter One-Hundred-Fourteen
Information.
Carrie had the information her son required. And once Fred Lester confessed the truth it was all so simple.
Gino Santangelo was Steven’s father.
Gino. A memory from so long ago . . .
He had fathered her child and had no idea he had done so.
Gino Santangelo.
Over the years she had occasionally read about him in the newspapers. Once a gangster he was a big man now, and old, as she was. And respected. Only last week she had seen a picture of him in the newspaper at a charity function in Las Vegas with an ex-President. The two men had faced the camera with their arms around each other. Good friends.
Steven’s father.
She couldn’t care less. But Steven needed to know.
Carrie hurried along Lexington heading toward Steven’s brownstone on Fifty-Eighth Street. Her head was filled with thoughts. She was confused . . . so very confused. For forty-five years she had remembered Freddy Lester as nothing less than scum. And now he had re-entered her life. A perfectly respectable man. A good-humoured man with excellent manners and a kindly face.
It was so difficult to believe he had once been the drunken pig who had raped her. The unfeeling lout who had called her ‘. . . a fucking dinge . . .’
He had told her his story while she stared at him, contempt written across her face.
He told her about his accident and his family and his life.
She had listened in stony silence.
Finally he had said, ‘If I was Steven’s father I would want to know so that I could begin to make up for all the lost years.’
Her voice was cold. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’
‘But I do know,’ he had said very quietly. ‘Once I was in possession of all the facts, I made it my business to find out.’
‘How could you possibly do that?’ she asked.
‘If you are positive that Gino Santangelo and I were the only two candidates, then there is no doubt.’
‘My book is the truth,’ Carrie said icily. ‘I don’t lie.’
‘Well then, Gino is Steven’s father. I have an extremely rare blood type. I checked Steven’s medical records – genetics prove I could not have fathered him.’ He paused, then continued. ‘I took the liberty of investigating Gino Santangelo’s past. He was in jail between 1940 and 1947. They have a complete medical history. His blood type matches Steven’s exactly.’
Fred had continued further with confirming facts. He also had full documentation of all the evidence he had collected, which he handed to her.
Eventually he stopped speaking and she gathered herself together.
‘Mr Lester,’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t wish to proceed with the plans for my book to be published.’
‘But—’
She raised her hand to stop his protestations. ‘Please. I need time to think. Maybe I’ll feel different next week, next year. I simply don’t know.’
‘I hope so,’ he said anxiously. ‘I can’t tell you how important it is to me that we publish this book. It is a—’
‘Ah, as long as the names are changed,’ she interrupted dryly, ‘to protect the not-so-innocent.’
He gestured helplessly. ‘Carrie. It all happened a long long time ago . . .’
‘Not long enough, Mr Lester. Not nearly long enough.’
She left his office and walked unseeingly down Fifth Avenue. Now it was late afternoon and she was approaching Steven’s house. He had to know the truth at once.
There was an ambulance parked outside, and a small crowd had gathered to gawk.
Carrie pushed, her way through. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked a well-dressed woman.
‘Suicide I think,’ the woman said, eyes agleam. ‘Don’t light a cigarette, the whole neighbourhood,’ go up. Gas I think. Can’t you smell it?’
For one heart-stopping moment Carrie thought the victim might be Steven. But thank God, before she could panic he came rushing out of the building, and behind him hurried two ambulance attendants carrying a stretcher.
‘Steven,’ she called out desperately. ‘What happened?’
Chapter One-Hundred-Fifteen
A very pleasant nurse kept Costa sane while Ria spent hours in delivery.
He continually tried to phone Gino but a stupid machine kept on answering the phone, and Costa had no intention of speaking to a machine. Finally he called Olympia’s mansion to speak with CeeCee and Roberto, but a maid informed him everyone was out.
/> Was there no one he could give the good news to? He, Costa Zennocotti, was, at the age of seventy-five – about to become a father.
* * *
CeeCee had bad feelings, she didn’t know why, but they were powerful bad feelings. The day Dimitri Stanislopoulos died she had suffered from the same thing. Woke in the morning. Cleaned her teeth and washed. Got Roberto up and fed him his favourite hash and scrambled eggs. Then together they had gone to visit his father, as they always did.
Mr Stanislopoulos was sitting in his usual place. He looked weak and tired.
‘Good morning, CeeCee. Good morning, Roberto,’ he had said. Just as usual. And she had known, at once, that he wouldn’t last the day through. Now she was racked with those ominous forebodings again.
She glared at Mr Golden’s foolish mother and her foreign companion, for they were responsible for Roberto being left with Brigette longer than he should have been.
Brigette was irresponsible. She had no idea how to look after a four-year-old child. She was spoiled, selfish, and jealous of Roberto – she always had been.
CeeCee sighed loudly. She had not known Marina del Rey was such a long drive. If she had been aware of the distance, she would have ignored her tooth, stuck it back with chewing gum or something. On top of everything else, Alice had left her sitting in the dentist’s waiting room for nearly two hours. CeeCee was silently fuming.
Finally they were on their way back to Bel Air in Olympia’s white Rolls-Royce.
‘How long before we’re there?’ CeeCee asked the chauffeur.
He was a dour-faced Englishman in full uniform. ‘About half an hour, madam, depending on the traffic,’ he said pompously.
‘Thank you.’ She wished the bad feelings would go away.
Chapter One-Hundred-Sixteen