Frank Bernstein had already fired two people and it was barely past lunch. They were just kids, new on the job, but he wasn’t in the mood for fuck-ups.
In the Parthenon’s ground-floor bar he ordered himself a stiff drink. His nerves were shot to shit. He swore he was on the verge of a goddamn heart attack.
She’d have read Linda’s note by now, surely she would–and she’d come to him when she was ready. Oh, he knew Elisabeth had taken it that day in his office: it couldn’t have been anyone else. On reflection he’d decided it could work out better that way, if she heard it from her own mother–Linda would have found the words he couldn’t. His plan had been to tell her once she was married, felt a bit more secure, but if she wanted to find out the truth sooner then that was her decision. For once he wasn’t going to interfere, just as Elisabeth always said she wanted.
He’d assumed she’d read it straight away–obvioulsy she hadn’t. And now it was too late.
What the hell have I done?
He couldn’t face either of them. Shame, guilt and revulsion writhed like a pit of snakes.
His concierge appeared. ‘Boss, you’re needed out front.’
Bernstein knocked back the thick poison in one and headed into the foyer. Sam Lucas’s new muse Chloe French had just arrived with her rock-star boyfriend, some long-haired kid with black-clad legs like an insect. They were both posing for photographs, a beefy blond guy hovering close by.
He braced himself.
Elisabeth felt weak. She had been drinking nothing but liquorice tea and eating almonds for what seemed like for ever–as Donatella kept telling her, the voice was an instrument that needed maintenance. To her horror she had woken yesterday with a scratch in her throat. Alberto had rushed to her bedside, full of concern. He looked so romantic with a bandage over his broken nose, if a little pathetic.
All morning she had been at the Orient’s function space, aware she was getting in the way of the organisers but deciding not to care. She had to focus on tomorrow night–it was what was keeping her going.
Back at the mansion she had a quick sleep, a shower and tried not to think about her father. She knew her relationship with Bellini was difficult to come to terms with, but she couldn’t imagine he hadn’t faced worse in his time. Now he was making her feel like an outcast, refusing to speak to her, look at her, nothing. She was surprised by how much it upset her. Her father’s meddling had once been what caused her pain, now it was his neglect.
She looked round the bedroom. Robert had moved out to one of the other suites until after the premiere and the split was announced. She closed her eyes, thinking how irrevocably things had changed.
And then she remembered.
Springing to her feet, Elisabeth crossed to her dressing table. With all the drama of the past few weeks, she’d almost forgotten about her mother’s note. Glad, in the end, that she’d saved it–with her father’s lack of support she needed it now more than ever–she slid open the top drawer and reached in.
There it was. The crisp, clean lines of its edges. An envelope untouched since her mother had sealed it thirty years before.
Elisabeth
She ran her nail along its seal and opened it.
Jessica Bernstein threw down a beautiful AW dress on her bed in disgust.
‘I can’t wear this!’ she squealed at a pitch only dogs could hear. Her stylist recoiled, frantically fumbling for something that might tick all of Jessica’s impossible boxes.
‘Christie, hair up or down?’ She stood in just her underwear, gathering up her thin hair in an alarmingly tight knot before letting it loose again.
Christie Carmen looked up from picking her fingernails. ‘Up,’ she said, as enthusiastically as she could. ‘Up looks hot.’
Jessica turned round. ‘Good, that’s what I thought.’ She enjoyed having a faithful, adoring puppy trailing after her all day.
Christie got up to visit the bathroom.
‘Where are you going?’ Jessica demanded, eyes flashing as her stylist attempted something different. ‘I need you here.’
‘I just wanted to—’
‘Sit!’ Jessica ordered, and Christie did as she was told.
88
Las Vegas
Lana and Cole arrived at the Orient through the back entrance and under tight security.
They were met by their management and shown to the Pagoda Suite. Inside was a luxury hamper packed with champagne and caviar, smoked salmon, wines and cheeses, as well as a hot feast of filet beef