Читать книгу Pacific Heat - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7
ОглавлениеDESPITE her decision, Olivia went through all the arguments why she shouldn’t have accepted the commission on the flight from London to Los Angeles. At the very least, she knew her actions were open to all kinds of interpretation, and she preferred not to examine her motives too closely for fear of what she might find.
Her father wasn’t pleased with her. And if he hadn’t been going away himself she knew he’d have done everything in his power to persuade her not to do it. But, happily, Alice had been there to mediate for her, and they’d departed for Auckland on schedule just two weeks before her own flight was arranged.
And, on a purely objective level, she was quite excited at the prospect of spending several weeks in California. Although she’d been to New York before, she’d never travelled to the West Coast, and it was still sufficiently chilly in England to make the idea of a more temperate climate infinitely appealing.
The knowledge that she was probably going to see Richard again gave her mixed feelings. She couldn’t deny that she was apprehensive, but she was also curious. She wanted to know what was happening in his life; whether the rumours about him and Diane were true. But most of all she wanted to know if she still cared about him. Whether her reasons for accepting this commission were as practical as she’d insisted.
She’d spent the month since she’d told Kay she would accept the commission researching Diane’ s background in the East End of London, and she’d been surprised to learn how well thought of Diane still was amongst the people she’d grown up with. Contrary to the image Olivia had gained of a spoilt and selfish woman, the picture neighbours and classmates painted was of a generous, warm hearted individual, who was not averse to helping out her friends in any way she could. Olivia was given dozens of anecdotes of the ways Diane had come through, from lending money when it was needed to offering her support when it was not.
According to the people Olivia had talked to, success had definitely not gone to Diane’s head. She’d always been a little headstrong, they admitted, but she’d never forgotten her friends or her roots.
And her story was fascinating, Olivia had to admit. Fascinating, amazing, harrowing, at times, but always interesting. The eldest of a family of seven children—many of them with different fathers—her childhood had been blighted by poverty and abuse. Her mother, who had been described as both hard-working and ignorant, had had little time for any of her children, and Diane, as the eldest, had been expected to help care for her younger siblings.
From the beginning, Diane’s outstanding physical beauty had caused problems and she’d become sexually aware at a very young age. But, ironically enough, it was because of an older man’s attraction to the fifteen-year-old Diane that she’d become famous. A wealthy man, he’d taken her to dine at a swish London restaurant and she’d caught the eye of a fashion photographer who was looking for a face for the ‘eighties’.
The rest was history, as they say, but Olivia guessed there was more to it than that. The years between could not have been easy, and although she was loath to admit it Olivia couldn’t help seeing her subject in a different light.
Which was just as well for the job she had to do, she acknowledged. This biography had to be objective, and she was glad that the research she’d already done had enabled her to amend her opinion. Why Diane should have wanted her to write her story was something she had yet to find out. Perhaps she really had enjoyed Eileen Cusack’s biography, Olivia reflected ruefully. After the things she’d learned, anything was possible.
But not probable, the small voice inside her argued as the big jet banked to make its approach to LAX. The sprawling mass that was Los Angeles was spread out below her, and there was no turning back. She was here; she was committed; and she had to stop worrying about Richard and concentrate on the job.
The oval-shaped airport buildings gleamed in the afternoon sunlight as the plane taxied along the runway. It was incredible to think that they’d left London at lunchtime and yet it was still only a quarter to four here. The miracle of international time zones, she thought as the aircraft approached its landing bay. She’d worry about the jet lag later.
The passengers were transferred from the plane to an air-conditioned walkway that conducted them to Passport Control. Because the expenses she was being allowed had enabled her to sit in the Club World section of the British Airways jet, Olivia found herself among the first to reach the Arrivals Hall, and like everyone else she spent the time waiting for her luggage by people-spotting.
She recognised a couple of famous faces who had apparently been travelling in the first-class compartment of the plane, and was surprised at the lack of interest shown towards them. It wasn’t until she noticed the bodyguards, tucked discreetly behind a pillar, that she understood her mistake. But still, it was something to tell her parents when she got home.
She had been checking that her luggage tags were still safely attached to her boarding pass when she looked up to find a man watching her. The fact that his clothes looked expensive and he was wearing a Rolex watch should have reassured her, but it didn’t. It just reminded her of how vulnerable she was as a stranger here.
Diane’s secretary had faxed her that she would meet her at the airport, and she hoped she kept her word. Still, she could always take a taxi, she assured herself impatiently. She knew Diane’s address and she wasn’t a child.
Indeed, she thought ruefully, her height would be a deterrent for most men. And although she was slim she knew she was fairly strong. She wasn’t a fitness freak, but she did enjoy swimming and cycling, and she knew from her experiences in New York that in the normal way she had nothing to be afraid of.
Unless her imaginary attacker looked like the man who had been watching her, she conceded, relieved to see that he had apparently lost interest. He was staring towards the carousel that would eventually spill out their luggage, and she found herself observing him with rather more interest than sense.
He was certainly big, she mused, and dark, with a lean, sinewy grace that was nothing like the muscle-bound heroes Hollywood seemed to spawn with such regularity. And although he was good to look at his appeal lay in the roughness of his features rather than their uniformity. Deep-set eyes beneath dark brows, and narrow cheekbones and a thin-lipped mouth; if there were lines on his face, they were lines of experience, and she realised he was probably ten years older than the twenty-five she’d originally judged him to be.
She wondered who he was. Not a film star, she decided, though there was another man hovering close by who could be a minder. If he needed one, she speculated doubtfully, realising she was being far too nosy. Whoever he was, he wasn’t interested in her, and she was unlikely to see him again.
The carousel had begun to turn and suitcases appeared like magic from the chute above it. A black holdall appeared, and the man standing beside the man she had been watching went to rescue it. She noticed he also had a suit carrier looped across his shoulder, and after he’d plucked the holdall from the conveyor he and his companion turned towards the exit.
First class, Olivia informed herself silently, realising the two men must have travelled on the same flight from London. She grimaced. So what? It was nothing to do with her. It was time she started paying attention to her own luggage. She thought she could see one of her suitcases just starting along the metal belt.
‘Would you happen to be Ms Pyatt?’
The unfamiliar voice was amazingly sexy. It conjured up images of hot sultry nights and bare brown limbs tangled in satin sheets. Olivia decided she was in danger of acting out her own fantasies, and, blaming the man who had fired her imagination, she turned to find that he hadn’t left after all but was standing right behind her.
‘I—’ Swallowing to ease the dryness of her throat, she started over. ‘Yes,’ she said, a little reluctantly. ‘I’m Olivia Pyatt.’ She’d reverted to her own surname when she and Richard were divorced. Then, because it was the only thing she could think of, she asked, ‘Did Miss Haran ask you to meet me?’
The man’s lean mouth twitched. ‘Not exactly,’ he said, humour tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘But Diane told me you were travelling on this flight.’
So he did know Diane. Olivia breathed a little more easily, although common sense told her it was the only explanation. ‘Did you travel from London, too?’ she asked, as if she didn’t already know that he had. He was probably a Californian, which would explain his accent and his tan.
‘Yeah.’ He glanced towards his companion, who was waiting patiently for him to finish. ‘B.J. and I make the trip fairly regularly.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s not to be recommended.’
‘Because of the jet lag?’ guessed Olivia, aware that her suitcase was about to start going round again. ‘Excuse me, I must get my luggage. I don’t want to have to carry it any further than I have to.’
‘I’ll get it.’
Leaning past her, the man lifted the heavy bag off the carousel and set it down beside her. In jeans and a light cotton jacket, he moved much easier than she did in her corduroy suit. The suit had seemed reasonably lightweight, too, when she’d left London, but she was already sweating. But that could be because of the present situation, she conceded. She wasn’t used to being accosted by strange men.
‘Is this all?’ he asked, and for a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘Your luggage,’ he prompted, and, glancing up at him, she noticed he had tawny eyes. Like a cat, she thought, realising she was behaving stupidly. For God’s sake, he was being polite. Nothing else.
‘Um—no, there’s one more,’ she said hurriedly, scanning the conveyor. ‘It’s always the way, isn’t it? One comes, and then you’ve got to wait for ever for the other.’ She glanced towards his companion, who was still standing with the holdall in his hand and the suit carrier draped over his shoulder. ‘Please—don’t let me keep you. I’m sure your friend must be getting impatient.’
‘B.J.?’ He, too, glanced the other man’s way, and then turned back to give Olivia a lazy smile. ‘No sweat,’ he said as Olivia’s toes curled inside her Doc Martens. ‘It’s cooler in here than outside.’
‘Oh, but—’ Olivia wanted to ask why he was waiting with her, but she couldn’t. Loosening the tight cuffs of her jacket, she peeled them back over her wrists. ‘Um—do you think Miss Haran’s secretary will be waiting outside? She said she’d come to meet me herself.’
‘Bonnie?’
He had the name right, and Olivia nodded. ‘A Miss Lovelace,’ she agreed, not used to using the woman’s given name.
‘I guess she’ll be waiting in the Arrivals Hall,’ he responded carelessly. ‘I’ll point her out to you when we go through.’
Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I—gather you’re a friend of Miss Haran’s,’ she said awkwardly, and he made a husky sound of disbelief.
‘Hell, yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Joe Castellano. I—guess you could say I have an investment in Diane’s career.’
He held out his hand, and Olivia had no choice but to shake it, hoping he wouldn’t be too put off by her sweaty palm. ‘How do you do, Mr Castellano?’ she said, wondering if he was a frequent visitor to Diane’s Beverly Hills mansion. It would be rather nice, she thought, if he was.
She barely had time to extract her hand before she saw her other suitcase approaching. There were quite a lot of people gathered round the carousel now, and she saw several of the women weighing up the man at her side. And why not? she thought ruefully. He was attractive. Was he married? she wondered, rather foolishly. He was wearing a signet ring on his right hand but that was all.
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.
