Hollywood Sinners

‘Sure.’

‘You new?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Forget those guys–they’re creeps.’

Marcie wiped her eyes and looked shyly at the boy. She nudged Laura with her elbow, prompting her to speak.

‘Thanks,’ she said eventually. ‘He won’t come after you, will he?’

The boy shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Nah.’

There was a short silence.

‘Cool.’ He kicked the ground with his feet before starting to walk away. ‘Guess I’ll see you around.’

Before Laura could stop herself she blurted out, ‘What’s your name?’ Then felt like an idiot.

He stopped and turned round.

‘Robbie,’ he said, and for the first time he smiled. It was in a surprised sort of way, like his name was a brilliant idea he’d just thought of. She noticed he had a dimple in his chin. ‘Robbie Lewis.’

Then just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone, his sneakers kicking up dust as he ran back across the yard.

17

St Tropez

Robert St Louis’s luxury super-yacht cut through the sparkling Mediterranean, a white diamond on a sea of blue.

‘Which do you want?’ asked Jessica Bernstein, strolling out on to the sun deck with a cocktail in each hand. ‘Mojito or daiquiri?’

The women were relaxing on Robert’s private, fully staffed ninety-foot vessel. He kept it moored in Europe year-long for business trips and for weekend breaks in France, Greece and his favourite country of all, Italy. He and Bernstein were spending the day in talks with a slot-machine manufacturer in Monaco who was stumping up cash for an expansion they had in mind.

Elisabeth looked up from under her wide-brimmed hat. ‘The green one.’

‘I’m having that.’ Jessica flopped down on to a towel and handed her sister the other glass. ‘God, I’m so bored,’ she moaned. ‘Daddy practically begged me to come and now he’s just left me rotting out here in the ocean.’

Elisabeth stayed quiet. It wasn’t Bernstein who had begged but the other way round. No wonder he had given in-there was only so much of Jessica’s bitching a person could tolerate. Most days she found it reasonably amusing but knew her father did not.

‘Hello?’ griped Jessica, fumbling with her iPod. ‘Are you even fucking listening to me?’

‘You’re ungrateful, Jessica–and your mouth’s awful. Quit cursing for five minutes.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Charming.’

After a moment Elisabeth got up and pulled her lounger into the shade of a parasol.

‘Yes, better,’ said Jessica. ‘It’s age, you know. Old skin can’t handle the sun.’

‘Oh, go flick your bitch switch.’ Elisabeth arranged her towel, watching as her sister extracted a bottle of fuchsia nail varnish from a Gucci beach tote and unscrewed it.

Elisabeth lay back and tried to distance herself from the petty bickering. She and Jessica were born sparring partners–despite their age gap it had defined their relationship since Jessica had hit her teens. Elisabeth supposed she ought to rise above it, but part of her enjoyed the familiar territory of the banter. Her sister was the only person in the world with whom she could violently fall out with one day, only for it all to be forgotten about the next.

‘There isn’t anything to do on this boat,’ Jessica lamented, yanking out one of her earphones.

‘There’s a pool, a bar, table tennis—’

‘And I’m supposed to play that with you, am I?’ Jessica threw a glance at Elisabeth’s nails. ‘Won’t you chip a claw?’

Elisabeth rolled her eyes. ‘Stick it up your ass.’

‘Stick it up yours.’

‘No, thanks. And besides, I know very well what’s on this yacht.’ She played her trump card: Jessica couldn’t hold on to a man for more than five minutes. ‘It’s my fiancé’S, remember?’

‘Yeah, and he’s been looking real happy about that.’

There was a moment’s pause before Elisabeth stood up. Jessica had gone too far–she knew Robert was strictly out of bounds.

‘You haven’t a clue about how relationships like ours work.’

‘Relationships like yours?’ Jessica squawked gleefully as she stalked off. ‘What are you, the King and Queen of England?’

Elisabeth reached the bow and looked over. Glittering blue water sliced apart below her; above a matching sky and the rugged hills of the Azure coastline. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling the wind whip through her Thomas Wylde silk kaftan.

But Jessica was right. Robert had been acting funny, and it was ever since that damn film premiere had been announced. Despite his assurances he still got defensive whenever she mentioned it, and even more so when she brought up Lana Falcon. What was going on?

And why hadn’t they settled on a date for the wedding?

They’d been engaged for months now. She hoped he wasn’t getting cold feet.

‘Get over it!’ shouted Jessica. ‘Desperation is so unattractive, you’re probably putting him off.’

Elisabeth turned, unable to bite back her catty response. ‘Put some more sun cream on, Jessica–you’re looking horribly pink.’ She reminded herself that Jessica was only bitter–she’d give anything for a man like Robert.

Resuming her seat under the parasol, she watched her sister apply yet more Sun Perfect to an already perfectly bronzed, and not at all burned, body.

‘He’s just got a lot on his mind at the moment,’ she said with a decisive nod.

‘Sure.’

‘Don’t be jealous,’ she mimicked, ‘it’s so unattractive.’

Jessica made a face. ‘Hardly.’ She rubbed the cream into her feet. ‘Well, if Robert doesn’t make sure he gets you down that aisle soon, Daddy will.’