Lovers & Players

by Jackie Collins

  Orchids stun my senses.

  So do you, LL.

  Damon

  ‘LL?’

  It was Damon. Nobody else called her LL.

  She experienced a shiver of excitement. As if the orchids weren’t enough, five minutes later he was on the phone.

  ‘Thanks for the beautiful orchids,’ she said. ‘How am I supposed to get them back to New York?’

  ‘On the plane,’ he said casually.

  ‘I won’t be able to carry them–there’re too many. Besides, I don’t think airlines allow—’

  ‘My plane,’ he interrupted.

  ‘Your plane,’ she said disbelievingly.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’ve got a plane?’

  ‘The company does. I call it mine ’cause I own the company.’

  ‘Damon—’

  ‘I like it when you use my name. You got a sexy voice, LL. You know that?’

  ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘No, you’re the crazy one,’ he insisted. ‘Runnin’ out on me when I was all set to hook you up with the right producer. Weren’t you the girl who was raggin’ on me to get her a singin’ career?’

  ‘I still want it,’ she said, delighted to hear his voice. ‘It was just that this modelling thing came along, and I really need the money, so I couldn’t say no.’

  ‘Hey, I was under the impression you were an expert at saying no.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You’ve managed to say it to me a few times.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘It is? ’Splain to me how.’

  ‘If I have to mention that you’re married one more time—’

  ‘Are you dressed?’ he interrupted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dressed? Clothes on?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cause there’s someone at your door.’

  ‘No, there’s not.’

  And, sure enough, there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called out.

  ‘Room Service.’

  ‘Hang on,’ she said to Damon, thinking, What now?

  She opened the door expecting more orchids, because over-the-top seemed to be Damon’s style.

  What she didn’t expect was Damon himself. Handsome, cool, killer grin, black pants and a black shirt. Diamond studs in his ears, extravagant diamond watch, cellphone in hand.

  Behind him stood another man, bigger and blacker, dressed in a casual maroon outfit.

  ‘LL,’ Damon said. ‘Meet Parker J. Jones, he’s gonna be your producer.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Sometime in the middle of a break during the Courtenelli photo shoot, Jett managed to corner Amy and insist they got together later to talk things through. ‘Tonight,’ he said, sounding like he meant business.

  ‘I can’t,’ she demurred, wishing she could stop dissolving into a shivering wreck every time he was close to her.

  ‘Why not?’ he demanded.

  ‘Because we’ve, uh, had to postpone the wedding. My mother wants me over at her house to check through lists, make sure everyone is covered.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, fixing her with his laser-like blue eyes, ‘isn’t you and I talking more important than that?’

  ‘And then I might have to see Max,’ she added, although she already knew she wasn’t seeing him that night.

  ‘Amy, Amy,’ Jett said, shaking his head. ‘Stop fighting the inevitable. I’ll come to your apartment. It’s the only place we can be private. Just tell me what time, and I’ll be there.’

  ‘No, not my apartment,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, glancing around to make sure Gianna wasn’t nearby.

  Why not? Good question. Could it be because she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him?

  No. Absolutely not. He was a one-night fling, her future brother-in-law, and nothing like that would ever happen again.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, agreeing reluctantly. ‘Seven o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Where will you be, carino?’ Gianna asked sweetly, appearing out of nowhere, flinging an arm round Jett’s shoulders.

  He didn’t take a beat. ‘Amy’s arranging a surprise for Max. I’m helping her out.’

  ‘Che cosa surprise?’ Gianna cooed, stroking his cheek.

  ‘It wouldn’t be a surprise if we told everyone, would it?’ he said, edging away from her.

  Amy remembered his words from the day before–Gianna and I, we’re not a couple.

  Well, they sure looked like a couple. And Gianna was living in his apartment. So what did that make them?

  Oh, yes. A couple!

  Not that she cared. Why should she?

  And yet, somehow, she did.

  As each day passed she was becoming more and more confused. If only Jett hadn’t reappeared in her life she would probably have been able to forget all about him. But no, that hadn’t happened, he was everywhere.

  Later, as the photo shoot wound down, Nigel cornered her. ‘Feel like going for a drink?’ he asked. ‘An apple martini would slide down very nicely.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Amy responded. ‘I’m meeting my mother–we’re going over cancellation lists and stuff.’

  ‘Poor you,’ Nigel commiserated. ‘Nancy must be driving you insane. I know how anal she can be.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Amy answered, thinking what an astute liar she was becoming.

  ‘I stole a couple of Polaroids,’ Nigel confessed, lowering his voice like a naughty schoolboy. ‘Aren’t I the bad one?’

  ‘You did?’ she murmured, her mind elsewhere.

  ‘Antonio does not allow his Polaroids to leave his studio, but I fail to see why we shouldn’t have some. Here,’ he said, handing her a photo, ‘one for you.’

  She glanced at the Polaroid. Naturally it was of Jett looking unbelievably handsome, with Gianna behind him, her arms draped lovingly round his neck.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with it?’ she asked blankly.

  ‘I thought you’d like to have it,’ Nigel said. ‘Stick it on your screen saver and enjoy the view.’

  ‘I’m sure Max would be pleased about that,’ she said tartly.

  ‘Isn’t it a coincidence,’ Nigel mused, ‘that this hot male model should turn out to be your fiancé’s brother? He’s your family too, or at least he soon will be. Can you imagine Christmas and Thanksgiving and all the holidays you’ll spend together? He and Gianna will have beautiful babies. You and Max will too. You’ll be such a gorgeous family, straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad.’

  ‘Stop thinking ahead, Nigel,’ she said, wishing he’d shut up.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Nigel said apologetically. ‘I keep on forgetting what you’re going through. Postponing the wedding must be getting you down.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ Nigel said, giving her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. ‘Please give Max my best regards and tell him I’m so sorry about everything.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ she said, heading out of the door.

  She had no intention of seeing her mother or Max. Her plan was to rush home, take a shower, get herself together, and be ready for Jett at seven o’clock.

  Suddenly she was radiating excitement.

  Across the studio Jett watched as Amy left. This had been one of the most uncomfortable days he could remember. Standing in front of the camera attempting to look edgy and macho, with Amy somewhere behind the lights watching him while Gianna draped herself all over him. It was pure torture.

  And, to make it even worse, he couldn’t stand Antonio. The fussy little photographer was getting on his nerves the way he was constantly kissing up to Gianna.

  Half-way through the afternoon, Sofia Courtenelli had appeared, dragging with her a young Italian guy who had done nothing but lounge around throwing Jett disgusted looks.

  ‘Did I happen to take his job?’ Jett asked Gianna, between set-ups.

  ‘No,
carino,’ she purred. ‘It’s simply that Sofia is so competitive. She thinks if you can be a model, why can’t Carlo? She doesn’t understand you are a professional.’

  ‘Great,’ Jett said.

  ‘They pay us lot of money. You no worry.’

  ‘Who’s worried?’ he said irritably.

  ‘Bene, because tonight we have dinner with them.’

  ‘Can’t do that, I have to see Max,’ he said quickly, thinking of his meeting with Amy. Besides, there was nothing he’d like less than dinner with Sofia Courtenelli and her jealous boyfriend.

  ‘Prego,’ Gianna said unconcernedly. ‘Then you join us later.’

  ‘Sure,’ he agreed, with no intention of doing so.

  It occurred to him that it was about time he told Gianna they were over, that he wasn’t coming back to Italy, that he didn’t want to live with her anymore, that she wasn’t his girlfriend and she should go ahead and find some other guy.

  But what if Amy didn’t want anything more to do with him? What if she was in love with Max, and he’d been no more than a casual one-nighter? Did he really want to leave himself with no options?

  Man, it was some situation. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and it wasn’t because Amy belonged to someone else. It was because he genuinely cared about her.

  The bitter truth was that he’d fallen in love with Amy long before he’d realized she was taken.

  After a busy day finalizing things with the Japanese bankers, meeting with his executives, visiting the building site and making sure Lulu was happy with Mrs Conner–who had agreed to stay over for the rest of the week until he hired a new nanny–Max had an early steak dinner with Chris, then met with Detective Rodriguez who had requested another meeting.

  Before he’d got together with the detective, Max had checked with his lawyer, Elliott Minor, who’d assured him it was just as well to co-operate.

  ‘Why?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Because if you don’t,’ Elliott had answered patiently, ‘it looks as if you’ve got something to hide.’

  ‘Well, I don’t.’

  ‘I know that. So do they.’

  ‘Then why, Elliott?’

  ‘Because it’s not about you, Max. It’s about them finding out more about Mariska.’

  ‘What’s to find out?’ he’d asked guardedly.

  ‘How should I know? Friends, family, you might have answers they haven’t come up with. Did she have a boyfriend for instance? They’re investigating a murder, Max, and a very high-profile one at that. Look, if it makes you more comfortable, I can be there.’

  ‘That’s not necessary,’ he said, thinking if he couldn’t handle Detective Rodriguez, he was certainly in a sorry state. Besides, he had nothing to hide. Only the fact that he’d taken Mariska’s box from her apartment, which contained more than a few things she obviously hadn’t wanted anybody to know about.

  Detective Rodriguez turned up on time. As far as Max was concerned, the man was as annoying as ever, with his cheap aftershave and joke of a moustache.

  ‘Mr Diamond,’ Detective Rodriguez said, proffering his clammy hand. ‘I’m sorry to bother you again. Is it all right if my colleague and I come in and I ask you a few more questions?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Max said, leading them into the living room.

  Detective Rodriguez’s colleague was a broad-faced, overly tall woman, with stringy brown hair and an incongruous vampy red lipstick dominating her rather large mouth. She was the same detective who’d spoken to Lulu the day before.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Diamond,’ she said, in a barely-there voice. ‘Excuse the way I sound, but I think I’m coming down with something.’

  Nice! A detective breathing germs all over him.

  ‘Can I fix you a drink, Detectives?’ Max asked, pouring himself a brandy.

  ‘Not allowed to drink on duty,’ Detective Rodriguez said, sitting down on the couch. ‘But I wouldn’t say no to a Seven-Up.’

  ‘Let me see,’ Max said, checking out the small fridge behind the bar, ‘how about Diet Coke?’

  ‘Too sweet for me,’ Detective Rodriguez responded. ‘I’ll take a bottle of water if you’ve got it.’

  ‘Anything for you?’ Max asked the female detective.

  She shook her head.

  Max handed Detective Rodriguez a bottle of Evian, and sat down on the other couch, facing them.

  ‘I expect you’re wondering what we’ve found out,’ Detective Rodriguez said, rolling the Evian bottle between his large hands. ‘I would’ve thought we might’ve heard from you.’

  ‘Why would you hear from me?’ Max asked.

  ‘Usually when there’s a murder in the family the relatives are anxious to get an update on any information they can.’

  ‘It’s been less than forty-eight hours,’ Max pointed out. ‘I presume that when you discover who did this, you’ll let me know.’

  ‘That’s if you don’t read about it first,’ Detective Rodriguez said, stroking his moustache. ‘I see the press are all over this. I didn’t realize your family was so powerful and important.’

  Was the detective being sarcastic? Max couldn’t tell. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘How can I help you?’ he said, hoping to make this a short meeting.

  ‘Were you by any chance in your wife’s apartment last night?’ Detective Rodriguez asked, producing his weathered notebook and the usual stubby pencil.

  This was a tricky one, and quite unexpected. Max couldn’t decide whether to lie or tell the truth. Since lying didn’t seem like such a clever idea, he answered truthfully. ‘As a matter of fact I was,’ he said casually. ‘I stopped by to pick up some clothes and a few toys for my little girl. She was very upset, as you can imagine, a child of her age discovering her mother’s body. She doesn’t realize her mommy’s dead. We’ve told her she’s in the hospital. But it’s still very traumatic and I felt that Lulu needed her things around her.’

  ‘You crossed a police line,’ Detective Rodriguez said, pursing his lips disapprovingly.

  ‘I didn’t think it would matter,’ Max replied. ‘It was my home once, you know. I lived there.’

  ‘That was when you were married to Mrs Diamond, I presume,’ Detective Rodriguez said, jotting something in his notebook. ‘However, it’s not your residence now, is it?’

  ‘I own the building,’ Max couldn’t help saying.

  ‘Yes, Mr Diamond, only I’m sure you understand that there are rules, strict reasons why we secure a crime scene. It’s so that people can’t go in and tamper with evidence.’

  ‘I didn’t touch anything,’ Max said, trying not to stare at the detective’s crooked front teeth. ‘I went straight to my daughter’s room, collected her things and left.’

  ‘I see,’ Detective Rodriguez said, putting down his notebook and undoing the cap on the bottle of water he’d been hanging on to. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that your alibi checks out.’

  ‘My alibi?’

  ‘The rehearsal dinner.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it?’ Max said, his temper rising.

  The female detective began to cough.

  ‘You were where you said you were,’ Detective Rodriguez continued, ignoring both Max’s obvious irritation and his colleague’s coughing fit. ‘But Irena, who we just found out is Mrs Diamond’s mother—’

  Max almost choked on his drink. ‘Excuse me?’ he said. ‘Irena, Mariska’s personal maid?’

  ‘Yes, we checked things out, and it’s clear she is Mrs Diamond’s mother, although for some obscure reason she’s not exactly admitting it.’

  The female detective, still coughing, stood up and requested the bathroom. ‘By the front door,’ Max said, more interested in finding out what else Detective Rodriguez had to say. ‘What do you mean, she’s not admitting it?’

  ‘It always strikes me as strange the way people act when there’s been a murder,’ Detective Rodriguez mused. ‘It’s almost as though everyone has something to hide, an
d sometimes they do.’

  ‘Surely you can’t suspect Irena of murdering Mariska?’

  ‘No, not at all. In fact, it was Irena who informed us that Mrs Diamond had many friends in the Russian community. Did you know that, Mr Diamond?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ he said, thinking of the book he’d found filled with names he’d never heard of.

  ‘Irena seems to think there’s a phone book missing,’ Detective Rodriguez said.

  Max stared at the man. Was he by chance a thought-reader in his spare time?

  ‘It contains the names and numbers of Mrs Diamond’s Russian acquaintances,’ Detective Rodriguez continued. ‘Problem is, I can’t seem to find it in the apartment. You didn’t happen to notice it when you broke in, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t break in,’ Max said, resenting the detective’s attitude. ‘I thought I explained it to you. I own the building. I lived in the apartment. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with collecting some of my child’s personal possessions.’

  ‘Right.’ A long, silent beat. ‘Please make sure it doesn’t happen again, Mr Diamond.’

  ‘What else can I do for you?’ Max asked, standing up in the hope it would indicate their meeting was over.

  ‘I was wondering if you’ve thought of anything at all that might help us.’

  ‘Regarding what?’

  ‘Mrs Diamond’s Russian connections.’

  ‘I just told you. I know nothing about them.’

  ‘I have a strong hunch it’s an inside job,’ Detective Rodriguez said, peering intently at Max. ‘No sign of forced entry, and the robbery was slap-dash, almost as though the perpetrator murdered the woman, then decided he or she better make it look like a robbery. This crime was committed by someone she knew.’

  ‘Really?’ Max said, refilling his brandy glass.

  ‘Yes. I’m almost positive she knew her killer.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Max said, returning to the couch.

  ‘I’m wondering if you have any ideas?’

  ‘No,’ Max said brusquely, anxious to be rid of the man. ‘We’ve been divorced for over a year. Mariska had her own life. I do know she had many acquaintances in New York society, but if she was close to anybody in particular, I didn’t know about it.’