Divas

by Rebecca Chance

  David rolled his eyes.

  ‘Get over yourself, ’ he said. ‘Your chin’s fine. Who did you tell that story to?’

  Lola sighed.

  ‘Georgia. I didn’t really expect her to keep her mouth shut, though. I mean, she promised, but Georgia’d tell anyone anything when she’s drunk or high. Which she is, seven days a week. Georgia and Madison . . .’ Lola said, sadly. ‘I was hoping that none of the girls would have told anyone what I said to them in confidence. I made them all promise not to tell. They’re supposed to be my friends. And it’s not a normal gossip situation. I’ve been arrested for killing my dad, for God’s sake!’

  ‘I know, honey.’ David reached a hand across the desk and patted Lola’s sympathetically. ‘That’s why we set these girls up, right? You wanted to find out who you could trust.’

  ‘After those photos . . .’ Lola shuddered, thinking of the photos of her doing coke at her hen night that had been blazoned across the tabloids when Jean-Marc overdosed.

  ‘Who do you think took them?’ David asked.

  ‘One of them, ’ Lola said sadly. ‘And I know you’ve got more bad news to give me, don’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You ready?’ he asked.

  Lola lit a cigarette. She was trying to cut down, but the way her life was spinning out of control right now didn’t exactly make it easy for her to stop grabbing at the cancer sticks. Not having any alcohol in the apartment was doing wonders for her liver, but her lungs were suffering instead. Still, she couldn’t think about that right now: she had much bigger problems much closer to her than lung cancer somewhere down the line.

  ‘There’s only one more, ’ David said, clicking on his laptop keyboard.

  ‘Really?’ Lola’s heart lifted. It won’t be Devon, she thought. Devon’s the one who took me in. Devon confided in me about not liking sex with Piers. Devon’s the one I’m always been closest to. Devon’s got all the money in the world – Piers gives her everything she wants, so she’s got no reason to sell me out to the tabs for a pay cheque. And Devon’s got a title and a husband who’s going to be one of the most important peers in England when his dad dies – she’s got no reason to be jealous of me!

  Devon’s my one true friend.

  ‘It’s the one we made up about you having lost a lot of weight because you’re on antidepressants, ’ David said, swivelling the screen of his laptop round so that Lola could see it. ‘It’s on Perez Hilton, and the Mail on Sunday just picked it up too.’

  Lola stared at the picture of her, snapped yesterday, when she was coming back from her meeting with Simon Poluck and George Goldman. It had been a grim couple of hours. They had had time to review the nurse Giovanni’s testimony to the grand jury, and it was utterly damning. If he repeated that in court, they thought Lola would be convicted. There was a watertight case against her: Lola’s fingerprints on the syringe and on the insulin bottle. And the motive was plausible – instead of a long, expensive, highly contested lawsuit, with a lot of money siphoning off to the lawyers, she would inherit half her father’s money as soon as his will was probated. For a girl who was living off an ex-fiancé who had already overdosed, fled rehab, and come out of the closet, having her own millions as soon as possible was hugely tempting.

  Carin’s motive simply didn’t look as strong as Lola’s: she was in possession of everything already, and possession was nine-tenths of the law. All she had to do was instruct her lawyers to fight Lola’s claim, as long as it took, and hope that Jean-Marc would overdose again, or simply get tired of funding a protracted, very costly lawsuit against his ex-fiancée’s stepmother.

  Of course, this wasn’t taking into consideration what Carin had actually done: killed her husband and framed Lola for the murder. If Lola were found guilty of his murder, Carin would inherit everything. It was the ultimate two-for-one deal: get rid of husband and stepdaughter at the same time.

  But it would be impossible to prove.

  No wonder, even after the coup of getting Lawrence to agree to spy for her, that Lola had been deeply depressed by that meeting with her lawyers. The paparazzi shots showed her with head ducked, big Dior sunglasses covering a large part of her face, a beige Burberry trench belted tightly round her waist.

  ‘You do look skinny, ’ David commented. ‘Makes the antidepressant story very plausible.’

  ‘It’s the cut of the coat, ’ Lola said automatically, staring at the picture of her, the words over it blaring: ‘LOLA TURNS TO MEDS FOR COMFORT!’

  ‘Could a reaction to the prescription pills she’s popping like candy these days be the reason for Lola’s breakdown in Maud’s, the hip ’n’ happening burlesque joint du jour?’ asked the writer breathlessly. ‘She caused a huge scene when she ran onstage and attacked a pole dancer – were her antidepressants to blame? Or was it the buckets of champagne she’d been drinking that evening? Got a guilty conscience you need to drown out, Lola?’

  ‘It’s Devon, ’ Lola said in a very small voice. ‘I told her not to tell anyone! I said it would look bad for me.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t look like she cared much, does it?’ David said gently. ‘Anyone who knows what you’re going through – who knows how many stories have been sold about you – would keep their mouth shut tighter than Mother Teresa’s legs.’

  Lola managed a tiny giggle, and realised that she must be on the verge of tears because she was sniffing at the same time.

  ‘Do you want a tissue?’ David asked, reaching into his trouser pocket.

  ‘No, thanks.’ Lola’s voice grew stronger. ‘After all I’ve been through, I’m not going to cry about a few rich bitches who don’t know the meaning of friendship.’

  ‘Attagirl!’ David applauded her. ‘And don’t forget – there’s still one left!’

  Lola had been so cast down by Devon’s betrayal that she had completely forgotten about the fourth. She looked at David over the laptop screen.

  ‘That’s right! You told – ‘ he consulted his list – ‘India that Niels had been trying to get Jean to throw you out of here. And that Niels thought you had turned Jean gay!’ He giggled. ‘Ooh, we had fun coming up with that story. And it’s a juicy one. I can just see the Post now!’ David made a sweeping, theatrical gesture, sketching headlines in the air. ‘YOU TURNED MY BRO INTO A GAY HO! HOT BILLIONAIRE ACCUSES GORGEOUS BLONDE! Niels is hot, ’ David added lustfully. ‘I don’t go for the big butch ones usually, but that man is smoking.’

  ‘India!’ Lola exclaimed, snatching up the name to avoid having any sort of discussion about Niels’s hotness. Niels, altogether, was like some sort of radioactive matter that she had to avoid at all costs: she couldn’t talk about him without blushing, she couldn’t think about him without having the kind of basic, primitive physical reaction that no man had ever given her. And that was just thinking about him, hearing his name. Niels was like her own personal Kryptonite, she realised. He made her go weak at the knees.

  Stubbing out her cigarette, she met David’s eyes.

  ‘India didn’t say anything?’ she asked him.

  ‘Zip. Zilch. Nada, ’ David said gleefully. ‘I’ve looked everywhere. Believe me. The weekly magazines all hit the newsstands yesterday evening and I bought the lot. Plus the newspapers, all the online sites – I’ve done a major search. I even got my intern to spend the afternoon checking in case I’d missed something. He was in heaven.’ He picked up the magazines and papers and stacked them on top of each other. ‘Nothing. She’s a hundred per cent passed the test. The only one.’

  Lola nodded slowly.

  ‘So now I know, ’ she said. ‘And I think I always knew that I could trust India. I mean, I got her to set up Lawrence as Carin’s trainer. I could never have done that if I didn’t believe she’d keep it a secret.’

  ‘Now you know, honey, ’ David confirmed. ‘The truth will set you free. You’d better delete those three other bitches’ numbers from your phone right now.’

  ‘I just don’t understand w
hy they would do this, ’ Lola said sadly.

  ‘Money, for starters, ’ David said, raising his eyebrows. ‘You could get a few grand for juicy info like this, babe. You’re a hot topic right now.’

  ‘Yes, but none of them need the extra cash, ’ Lola protested.

  David rolled his eyes.

  ‘Honey, we all need extra cash. I don’t care how rich you are, everyone likes a bit of extra moolah. Look at how rich people love a bargain! Rich people are the worst for trying to get free stuff!’

  Lola couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth of this.

  ‘Plus, they’re jealous, ’ David added.

  ‘Jealous?’ This elicited a bitter laugh from Lola. ‘I’ve lost everything! I don’t have a home, a fiancé, or a trust fund. I attacked my dad’s mistress and now I look like a psycho in the press. My father’s dead and next month I’m going to stand trial for his murder, for God’s sake!’

  ‘And before that you were a total celebrity, more than any of them, ’ David said accurately, ‘because you and Jean-Marc were such a gorgeous couple. Girl, I used to read about you in magazines and go green with envy! Plus lust after Jean-Marc, of course, ’ he giggled. ‘And now you’re an even bigger celebrity. You’re on every magazine cover, Lola, you know that? Those bitches don’t see the downside, what you’re really going through, because their hearts are tiny cold pieces of lead. All they see is how famous you are and how much everyone writes about “Can Beautiful Tragic Lola Really Be Guilty?”’

  Lola looked at him doubtfully.

  ‘Trust me on this, ’ David said with a little nod.‘You need info on jealousy issues, honey, you come to a gay man. I know what I’m talking about.’

  The doorbell chimed.

  ‘It’s Jean!’ David carolled happily. He checked his watch. ‘Nearly half-past six – that’s later than I thought he’d be! I hope that means he had a good first day at rehab.’ He jumped up and ran out of the office, eager to see his boyfriend.

  Lola followed more slowly. Partly to let David have the chance to greet his boyfriend alone, and partly because she needed to collect her thoughts. The news about Madison, Georgia and Devon had been devastating. The list of people she could trust had shrunk down now to such a small group of names that it was humiliating for her to picture how tiny it was.

  Jean-Marc, who, after his collapse, was in full-time outpatient rehab: he could hardly look after himself, let alone anyone else.

  David, who she’d barely known for a fortnight.

  George Goldman.

  Simon Poluck, because if she didn’t trust her criminal lawyer, she was in the worst trouble imaginable.

  And out of all the girls who’d been at her hen night, just one left: India.

  She wasn’t counting Niels; she couldn’t trust him to do anything but jeer at her and make her come like a train. If she asked him for help, he’d probably laugh in her face.

  And Evie and Lawrence weren’t on that list yet: how could they be? She barely knew them. And yet they were her only hope of finding something – anything – to break a hole in the wall that Carin had so carefully built around Lola, the wall that was going to entomb her alive if she didn’t find a way to save herself. Unless Lawrence’s access to Carin, and her house, could somehow dig up some proof of Carin’s guilt, Lola was going to be convicted of murdering her father.

  It was a very slim chance on which to base her hopes of avoiding a life sentence.

  Strapped to Lola’s slender feet were a pair of dark purple Manolos with ribbon ties that fastened round her ankles and stiletto heels nearly five inches high. But such was her depression, thinking of how few friends she had, and how tiny were her chances of staying out of jail, that she felt as if she were making her way slowly and painfully through a muddy field in a pair of fishing waders.

  And that was why it took her so long to realise that David was sobbing hysterically.

  ‘What is it?’ she exclaimed, emerging into the foyer.

  David was in Jean-Marc’s arms, his head buried in his boyfriend’s shoulder. Jean-Marc’s face was very pale, his arms wrapped tightly around David’s slender, Armani-clad back. And in the background was a third man, a tall, white, bulky, balding man with an impassive expression on his face, wearing nondescript clothes.

  ‘Jean-Marc has decided to go into residential rehab, ’ the third man informed Lola.

  Her eyes widened.

  ‘I really need to go, Lola, ’ Jean-Marc said quietly. ‘I’ve been talking about it with my sponsor all day. He totally thinks I should be in residential care.’

  The balding man nodded.

  ‘This is Frank, my sober buddy, ’ Jean-Marc said. ‘He’s going to escort me to California.’

  ‘Jean-Marc has booked himself into the Cascabel rehab facility, ’ Frank said in a low, rasping voice. ‘They have a room already reserved and waiting for him.’

  ‘It’s so far away!’ David sobbed, still clinging to Jean-Marc.

  ‘I need to do this, sweetie, ’ Jean-Marc said, stroking David’s shoulder. ‘And there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m going to come back stronger.’

  Wow, Lola thought. Jean-Marc suddenly sounds like a grown-up.

  ‘I’m going to miss you so much!’ David wailed.

  And that’s turned David, who was always the more mature one in the relationship, into a baby, Lola observed. Is that how relationships work? You take it in turns to be the grown-up and the baby?

  She’d never really had a relationship, she realised. Not a real, true one. Her engagement to Jean-Marc had been a nonsense, nothing real about it at all. The closest she’d ever been to a man, weirdly enough, was her beloved father. So she didn’t know much about how adult relationships worked.

  ‘Oh baby, I don’t know if I can bear to have you gone—’ David was crying. ‘Don’t go! You can do rehab here as an outpatient! Don’t go! Don’t leave me!’

  Jean-Marc burst into streaming tears.

  ‘I have to!’ he wailed. ‘I have to, David! I don’t think I can do it in New York! There are so many temptations – what if Patricia comes back? I’m so frightened of her! At least in rehab I’ll be able to walk around – talk to people, have a swim in the pool, sit in the fresh air – I can’t just stay trapped in here, terrified every time someone rings, in case it’s Patricia—’

  Lola’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. George Goldman was calling. Oh God, more bad news . . .

  She clicked the phone open, walking into the hallway, as she said: ‘Hi, George, ’ hearing how nervous her voice sounded.

  ‘Lola, honey? I got news. It’s about your dad’s funeral. It’s happening tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Tomorrrow afternoon?’ Lola’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t know they’d even released his body!’

  ‘Yeah, well, ’ George said, ‘that’s why you’re paying a fortune to Simon Poluck, honey. He’s got serious connections in the DA’s office. Carin’s got no obligation to inform you, but she goddamn well can’t keep you away from your dad’s funeral!’

  He paused.

  ‘You got someone to go with? I could come with you. Tell you what, I’ll pick you up at three, OK? And Lola?’ George cleared his throat. ‘You should really call your mom and let her know.’

  Lola hadn’t been expecting this at all. It took her completely by surprise. Ever since her mother had refused to help her financially, Lola had been so resentful that she hadn’t taken any of Suzanne’s phone calls. Her mother had rung many times, but Lola wouldn’t respond. But now, as George made the suggestion, Lola could feel the resentment draining away. Jean-Marc was leaving. She was more alone than ever. And suddenly, she found herself wanting her mother.

  ‘Don’t you think?’ George said. ‘I mean, she was married to the guy for twenty years . . . ‘

  Slowly, Lola nodded her head.

  Chapter 29

  For late spring in Manhattan, it was an unexpectedly cool day.

  Clear
blue New York skies, a bright sun that cast a gentle heat, and a fresh breeze blowing from the Hudson River, which glittered in the sun, beyond the roaring traffic on the wide cement ribbons of Riverside Drive and the West Side Highway. For someone who loved Manhattan as Ben Fitzgerald had done, it was the perfect burial spot: a stunning view across the river to the rich greenery of the Palisades beyond, illuminated at night by the stacks of light on the George Washington bridge. No one knew how many strings Ben had had to pull to secure a crypt here, in Trinity Cemetery, on an island so tightly packed that there was no room for any more live people, let alone dead ones.

  The New York Post that morning had reported that Ben had contacts at the mayor’s office, who knew someone who ran Trinity Church’s real estate division, and that he had paid a hefty sum towards church repairs as well as $50, 000 for the plot. But that could only be the tip of the iceberg. Major bribes must have been taken to ensure that Ben Fitzgerald snagged this ideal burial plot in the highest part of Washington Heights, on a smooth mound of grass sweeping down to Riverside Drive and the Hudson beyond it. Behind the grave were the imposing marble walls of the mausoleum, lined by a row of huge elm trees, their elegant dark-green leaves moving gently in the river breeze, whispering against each other.

  The congregation who had attended Ben Fitzgerald’s funeral service were filing out of the church, following the pallbearers carrying his coffin. Made of mahogany with gold clasps, it was huge, custom-made, like everything Ben had worn for the last ten years of his life, when he really started to pile the weight on. Instead of the customary six pallbearers, Ben Fitzgerald’s enormous coffin needed ten, and even they were struggling a little under the combined bulk of the man they were carrying and the solid weight of fifty pounds of dense mahogany.

  Lola stood at the side of the knoll and watched the procession approach. She had tried to go into the church for the service, but had been barred by Carin’s bodyguard, and though she was pretty sure that no one could actually prevent you from going into a church, she hadn’t wanted to make the kind of scene that would be eagerly snapped up by every single funeral-goer and repeated excitedly to everyone they knew the moment they were back in their waiting limos.