‘To hell with my career!’ she said hoarsely, and he almost flinched in shock. ‘I haven’t been able to think about it properly since I got here and met you again! I can’t believe my whole life could have changed this much, in such a short time, but it has! I knew before I came here that I was ready for marriage, children, settling down, giving up the race, but…’ She drew an unsteady breath, shaking her blonde head, staring at him. ‘My God, I didn’t expect all this to happen!
‘I’ve lived my whole life under the pressure of needing fame. I always knew that once I’d achieved it, I’d be able to relax, lie back and live; just live. Get married, have children, stop running in the rat race…’ She looked up suddenly into his eyes. ‘And you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? It’s what you wanted, when we first met. My God, Jared… you’d already reached the point in your life that I’m reaching now.’
‘I…’ He broke off abruptly, angrily, snarling, ‘Why the hell am I listening to all of this!’
‘That’s why you were ready to get married and have children.’ She felt her eyes sting without warning as tears welled up and she began to understand what was really happening to her. ‘But I wasn’t ready, Jared, because I wasn’t famous, and I just couldn’t relax until I was.’
‘I don’t want to hear any—’
‘But I’m ready now.’ The tears spilled out over her lashes.
‘Oh, God—’
‘Jared, you must believe me!’
‘I don’t want to hear this!’ he said roughly. ‘And I don’t want to see your tears, damn it!’ He stared, then grabbed her shoulders, saying fiercely, ‘Stop crying! Stop it!’
‘I can’t!’ The tears were streaming down her face: ‘You’ve been so vile to me, so full of hate and hard- ness—’
‘What the hell do you want from me?’ he bit out thickly. ‘I mean—what do you want me to say?’
‘You must still feel something for me!’ she whispered. ‘I’ve told you what Simon means to me! I need to know what Nessa means to you!’
‘She’s an old friend. Don’t ask for any more than that, because I damned well won’t tell you!’
‘And me? Who am I to you?’
He stared down into her eyes, emotion blazing be- tween them as she gripped his chest. He held her shoulders, and the tears streamed down her face.
‘I feel a lot of things for you,’ he said roughly. ‘Mostly hatred and contempt. But they’re mingled with admiration and respect—which only makes me want to hurt you more. I hate knowing you’ve made it on your own like this. I hate knowing you’re better off not being a perfect wife and mother. And I hate knowing that I re- spect you for it.’
Her heart was skipping wildly. ‘Jared, I—’
‘How can I feel respect for a woman like you?’ he bit out savagely. ‘You’re dangerous to any man fool enough to care about you! All right, you’re talented, beautiful, clever and sexy as hell—but you’re not a real woman. If and when you ever show love or tenderness, it’s only as a means to an end. You manipulate, lie, cheat and scheme the way most women just plain love and under- stand their men. And don’t give me that devastated look! It won’t work any more than your phoney tears! I’ve watched you on screen, remember, as well as in real life, and I know you’re just using your talent to make me feel sorry for you!’ His mouth twisted with fury. ‘Well, it won’t work, Chris! I’ve told you the score—I hate your guts, I want revenge, and I’m going to use your talent against you! Now have you got that? Is that plain enough for you? Or shall I write it on a billboard ten miles high so the whole of Hollywood can see it?’
Struck dumb by the force of his hatred, and the re- ality of her abject failure to get through to him, she could only stand and stare at him, white with pain, as the tears flowed silently over her cheeks.
‘Good,’ Jared said thickly, releasing her. ‘Maybe now you’ll come to terms with what you’re going to have to do to placate my very justifiable anger.’ Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away from her.
She wanted to reach out and call him back, but of course she knew she would be humiliated if she did. He wasn’t going to change his mind. He wasn’t going to believe her. Not if he lived to be a hundred, he would never, never allow himself to believe that he could have been wrong about her and that they could have a love worth saving.
At least I tried, she told herself. At least I came down here, told him the truth, tried to get the truth out of him, and stopped trying to hide how much I loved him.
Yes, and just look where it got me. Tears stung her eyes again. She couldn’t cope any more. Endless crying, endless pain, endless battles. Sinking down on the hot stone patio, she kicked off her sandals, rolled up her jeans and let her feet slide into the cool water of the pool.
Here, at least, she could cry in private. So long as she just sat here and did nothing, no one would notice that tears were still slipping down her golden cheeks.
She felt as though this weekend had taken her and smashed her repeatedly against a brick wall until she was only just able to stand, but no longer knew how or why or where, because every fixed point on the map was obliterated.
Her engagement was off, her career in jeopardy, and her heart in little tiny pieces on the floor.
A shadow fell over her beside the pool.
‘Hi.’ Simon’s eyes were gentle. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Not really,’ she confessed huskily. ‘You’d better sit down, though. I’m afraid I just told Jared that we were only friends, nothing more passionate or long-lasting than that.’
Simon sighed and sank down beside her on the edge of the hot pool. ‘Don’t worry. I told Nessa the same thing about you.’
She laughed, and they sat together in companionable silence for a few calm, tranquil minutes.
‘Simon,’ she said eventually, ‘is there any way we can just leave this wretched place? Just pack our bags and go back to Beverly Hills?’
‘I wish to God there were,’ he said, just as miserable. ‘But it would ruin our relationship with Camarra Pictures.’
She sighed heavily. ‘You’re right. I just feel right now that there’s no way I can stand to stay…’
‘Don’t worry—’ he gave a pained smile ‘—there’s only another twenty-four hours of hell to get through. This time tomorrow we’ll all be packing our cases and getting ready to leave.’
A curious mixture of pain and disappointment touched her heart. ‘Yes…’
‘And Millie will keep us busy until then,’ he pointed out. ‘She’s organised a treasure hunt through the grounds this afternoon, and then there’s the Camarra Ball to- night. So by the time we’ve got through all that lot, it’ll be almost time to leave.’
‘Almost time to leave…’ she murmured huskily, and felt like crying her eyes out again. Would she ever see Jared again? Or would he try to hunt her down, deter- mined to get his revenge. No matter what he said, she knew she wouldn’t give it to him, so he would have no choice but to eventually give up the quest.
That made her want to cry again. How could she be such a fool? It was as though she’d rather see Jared, be with him, argue with him—than simply go away and start a new life somewhere else.
Because I know I’ll never fall in love with anyone else again, she realised with a dull shock. There is no other man I could love. No one else has his qualities, his powerful attraction, or his talent.
The tears were welling up again behind her dark glasses.
All this crying—she must surely have cleansed her heart of love by now?
CHAPTER NINE
MILLIE’S treasure hunt was an excellent way to spend the afternoon. They were all given question sheets with clues, and the first team to get all the answers had to go to the hallway to collect the prize—a little marble model of Casa Camarra itself, with the date of their visit en- graved in jade. Very few people had these little models of Casa Camarra, and although both Christie and Simon were deeply preoccupied with their
own love-lives, they both wanted to win, and it did help take their minds off their problems, just a little.
‘Jared and Nessa have teamed up, too,’ Simon said thickly, as they all collected their question sheets from Millie. ‘I hope they don’t win, or Nessa will really rub my nose in it. She’s already got a Casa Camarra model for winning seven years ago.’
Christie was still amazed by how long he and Nessa had known each other. Her eyes jealously stared at Nessa standing with Jared, and it occurred to her suddenly that they were more equals than she and Jared. That made her jealousy run riot like an injection of pure poison.
‘Come on.’ Simon nudged her. ‘We’ll get left behind if we don’t start off now…’
The treasure hunt took them through the grounds with questions like: Where might Cecil B. DeMille and Hieronymous Bosch find a love of epics in common? They found a little walled garden with a brass plaque on the gates saying, ‘Earthly Delights’. Simon scribbled the answer down while Christie stared through the gates at the beautiful sunlit garden, and felt shut out from paradise because Jared did not love her.
When they got back to the house, it was deserted.
The sun beat down on the bleached stone balconies, terrace and palm trees. Music was playing from an up- stairs window, a lively modern love song that was last year’s number one on the billboard charts.
Suddenly, Jared stepped out on to a balcony on the east wing.
‘Oh, my God!’ Simon went white, his voice pained as he stopped dead, staring up at the sun-drenched balcony. ‘That’s her room! He’s with Nessa, in her bed—’
Nessa wafted out on to the balcony then, beautiful in a white towelling robe and obviously naked beneath it, leaning on the stone railing next to Jared, both their backs to the gardens, their laughter lilting softly above the music.
They kissed briefly, gently, tenderly.
‘I can’t stand it!’ Christie said in a hoarse whisper, turning to Simon, groping blindly for his arms. ‘Get me out of here, get me away from this place!’
His arms shot around her, holding her close as he gave a rough groan of despair. ‘We can’t leave, Christie! We’ll have to put on a brave face and—’
‘I haven’t got a brave face any more!’ She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him. ‘Not after this! They’ve been making love—haven’t they? Look at her! She’s ob- viously naked under that—’
‘Don’t, don’t!’ Simon bit out shakingly, burying his face in her hair. ‘Don’t say it, I don’t want to hear it, don’t want to think about it!’
She drew back, tears in her eyes. ‘You’re right! There’s no point in torturing ourselves.’ Blindly, she groped for his hand. ‘Come on—let’s go and report to Millie with our answers. There’s only a short while left of this nightmare, and then we can go home.’
In the hall, Mike and Millie lounged on the red- carpeted stairs, drinking piña coladas while Valentino watched them with brooding black-rimmed eyes, looking as though he was dying of thirst in the desert and could just do with a sip of their drinks.
‘Are we the last to arrive?’ Simon clipped out with a bright, false smile that hid his pain over Nessa.
‘No, you’re the first,’ Mike drawled, beckoning with a stubby hand. ‘Here—let’s see the quiz sheets, make sure you’ve done it properly.’
Christie watched Simon take him the piece of paper, and felt the bitter irony burn into her heart. She had lost everything. Her faith, her love, her dreams, her role in the film. It had all happened here in Casa Camarra on one brief weekend. And now, in a final act of mockery, she had won a coveted marble model of the wretched white palace by the sea complete with finely sculpted jade palm trees, to commemmorate the whole affair.
‘Yep.’ Mike clicked his pen. ‘You’re the winners. Who wants the model?’
‘Give it to Christie,’ Simon said thickly.
Mike got to his feet and strode with his arrogant swagger to her. ‘Here you are, Miss McCall!’ He handed her the beautiful model and kissed her with lips that tasted of cigars and sweet coconut alcohol. ‘Casa Camarra. Congratulations. That’ll be worth some money in a few years’ time.’
‘I heard,’ said Millie, ‘that a 1927 model sold for almost a million dollars last month.’
‘This is where you have your name inscribed.’ Mike pointed to a small twenty-four-carat gold plaque to the right of the tiny front doors.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Christie said unsteadily, trying to smile. ‘I’ll take great care of it. It will always remind me of this weekend.’
Simon winced and ran an elegant hand through his hair. ‘Is there anything else on the agenda for this afternoon? Or just cruising to the party tonight?’
‘No, you’ve got the afternoon free from now.’ Millie sighed. ‘It’s four-thirty already, so you can’t do much with it. Don’t forget to wear your most glamorous clothes for the Ball, though.’
‘Yes, we’ve got a lot of people coming,’ Mike agreed, grey brows lifting. ‘Two hundred of the most important people in Hollywood. So do Camarra Pictures proud, honey.’ He patted Christie’s shoulder and winked at her. ‘Look like our brightest young star…’
Later, in her room, she sat staring at the beautiful model of Casa Camarra, wondering how she would feel in twenty years’ time when she saw it on her mantel- piece, gathering dust. What would her life be like then? She probably wouldn’t be married, or have any children. She would probably be a great star, world famous and completely alone.
Suddenly, none of it seemed worth it. What point was there in being famous and successful and unloved? Oh, there would always be other men who would attract her, maybe even propose to her. But she knew she would be lucky to find another man she could love as much as she had loved Jared Buchanan.
And I must stop loving him immediately, she thought in despair, because he clearly doesn’t love me. How could he have gone to bed with Nessa this afternoon, almost straight after hearing Christie’s emotional plea? It was worse than a betrayal; it was actually distasteful, and she knew she could never forgive him for it, nor for drawing her into this emotional nightmare she had been subjected to this weekend.
They could just have had a civilised, if painful, working relationship on Tigresse. But no, Jared wouldn’t let that be, he had to make those despicable demands about the casting couch, and force her to reject the role.
But what was the point of thinking about it? She was only destroying herself by sitting here, staring at that beautiful, delicate model of Casa Camarra and dwelling on the emotional traumas that her weekend here had inflicted on her.
It was five-thirty now, and time she started getting ready for the Camarra Ball. All of Hollywood would be there, and their glamour would be out in force for this, the most spectacular of occasions. Christie would go up a dozen notches in everybody’s estimation once they discovered that she was one of the lucky dozen people to be a weekend guest at the biannual Camarra Ball.
She had drawn a strike against herself by rejecting the role of Tigresse. Tonight was a chance to try and make up for that in Mike’s eyes, by looking as glamorous as possible.
Going in the bathroom, she ran a bath, poured a little Obsession oil into it, and undressed amid the scented steam. Then she lolled in it broodingly, thinking of Jared, until the scented water was lukewarm. She washed her long blonde hair, conditioned it, then rinsed it until it was squeaky clean, performing mundane beauty rituals as though in a trance.
She wondered what Nessa Vale was doing to make herself beautiful. Was she making love with Jared again? Her heart skidded away from the thought in desper- ation, but it was no use, it crashed into the reality of their love affair because the memory of that moment on the balcony was forever burnt into her mind. No telling herself it might be a platonic relationship any more, or telling herself Jared couldn’t be in love with Nessa be- cause he spent so much time with Christie.
The plain truth had been revealed this afternoon as they laughed and kissed on the
balcony, lovers for all the world to see while that breathy, catchy love song played in the hot afternoon warmth.
It was easy to choose the right dress for tonight.
The white-blue satin full-length dress had a plunging sweetheart neckline, tiny shoulder straps, a tight, fitted waist and even more tightly fitted hips, sliding down to the floor with a long slit up the front of one thigh.
It looked breathtakingly sexy and elegant at the same time. The diamond choker sparkled around her slender throat as she pulled long evening gloves on, and her blonde hair cascaded around her beautiful face like spun silk.
What a movie-star, she thought bitterly.
What a life’s work.
It was seven-thirty, and the house was filled with music and activity as the band began playing in the ballroom, servants put the finishing touches to the vast buffet and waiters began popping champagne corks on vintage Bollinger to pour into cascading pyramids of glasses.
Cars were arriving, great fleets of Cadillacs, Rolls- Royces, Ferraris and limousine after limousine, sweeping up that hot, dusty drive to Casa Camarra as everyone came to the white palace by the sea, eager to be part of the glittering, glamorous elite.
The knock on her door made her heart soar with hope, foolish hope, that it might be Jared come to tell her something, anything, that would explain what she had seen this afternoon, what he had said this morning, and tell her that he loved her truly…
‘Christie…?’ Simon opened the door. Her hope died.
‘Hi.’ She managed a smile.
He smiled. ‘You look like the cat’s miaow in that dress, darling! I’ve never seen you so stunning!’
‘Thanks.’ Pain shone in her eyes as they moved over his elegant grey Ralph Lauren suit. ‘You look very handsome yourself.’
He smiled and held out his hand, because they had to arrive together, of course. They were the only pro- tection they had against the nightmare of facing Jared and Nessa after seeing that there was no longer any doubt: they really were lovers.
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