Lovers & Players (35 page)

R
ed Diamond did not take kindly to being dragged into the headlines. Mariska’s murder and the subsequent publicity were nothing but an inconvenience, he was livid that his name was being connected to the killing of the Russian floozy Max had been foolish enough to marry. He’d warned him the first time he’d met Mariska. ‘She’s a Russian prostitute,’ he’d informed his eldest son. ‘She’s marrying you for your money and a green card. That’s what those Russian prostitutes do.’

‘How dare you speak about my future wife like that?’ Max had said. ‘For your information she
has
a green card,
and
she’s a very intelligent and lovely woman with a job. She doesn’t need my money.’

‘You’ll learn,’ Red had muttered. ‘Just like you learned about that little tramp you took to your prom. Remember her? She couldn’t
wait
for a good fucking from her boyfriend’s old man.’

‘You
raped
her,’ Max accused.

‘Is that what you think?’ Red had sneered, cracking a nasty smile. ‘She was begging for it, son.
Begging
for some hard cock you weren’t capable of giving her.’

It was the closest Max had ever come to smashing his father in the face. Instead he’d stopped speaking to him for several months, until Lady Jane Bentley had intervened. She’d needed some support for one of her charities so she’d invited Mariska and Max to dinner. Why he’d allowed Mariska to accept still puzzled him. But, like his brothers, deep down he was hoping the old man would change and they could forge some kind of relationship. How nice it would be to have a father who gave a shit.

Mariska had loved being in the company of such an important billionaire mogul and his titled girlfriend. She had been all over Red. But Red hadn’t changed–he was as appalling as ever, and Max had hated every minute, refusing to socialize with them again, in spite of Mariska’s pleas.

With the headlines informing New York of Mariska’s brutal murder, Red stomped around his house, yelling at anyone who got in his way. He was furious with Lady Jane–the bitch had invaded his safe and read his Will. She’d also snooped through his private papers and found out things nobody knew about. Now she was threatening to make certain things public unless he paid out an exorbitant amount of money.

Her lawyer–no slouch in the working-fast department–was requesting a settlement in the neighbourhood of thirty-five million dollars. Five million a year for the six years they’d lived together. And this was only the beginning.

‘Considering how much you’re worth, you’re getting off easy,’ she’d informed him.

Bitch. Whore
. They were all whores. They all had a price. And he should know, he’d married enough of them.

Max drove erratically, jamming on the brakes at every red light causing his Mercedes to jolt to an abrupt stop. He’d dismissed his driver so that he and Chris could talk privately.

‘What’s going on?’ Chris asked, making sure his seatbelt was tightly fastened. ‘Did you go over to Mariska’s apartment last night?’

Max nodded.

‘You got in?’

‘No problem.’

‘And?’

‘Mariska had plenty of secrets. I found the box she kept them locked up in,’ Max said, swerving to avoid a jay-walking pedestrian.

‘You took the box out of the apartment?’

‘I did.’

‘Which means you removed property that does not belong to you from a crime scene. That’s not smart, Max.’

‘I did it for my daughter. I have to protect Lulu.’

‘What did you find?’

‘Try half a million bucks in cash.’

‘
Cash
. From you?’

‘Not from me. Mariska received a very large divorce settlement, plus the apartment. The only money I pay her is child support, and that goes directly into her bank account.’

‘Then where’s this cash from?’ Chris asked.

‘Who the fuck knows? And not only cash, but several loose gemstones in plastic holders. Diamonds and emeralds, large ones, probably worth a couple of mill. It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Anything else?’

‘This is a good one. Her original birth certificate. She was ten years older than she claimed, which would make her forty-nine instead of thirty-nine. And a copy of her marriage certificate to Vladimir,’ he said, almost rear-ending a cab. ‘She certainly took me for a ride. What a lying
bitch
!’

‘She’s dead, Max,’ Chris reminded him. ‘There’s nothing you can do now.’

‘I know,’ Max said bitterly. ‘But how could she do this to Lulu?
Everything
about her was fraudulent.’

‘I’m sure she never imagined it would end this way.’

‘There was also a phone book filled with names I never heard her mention, mostly Russian.’

‘Could be from when she lived in Moscow?’

‘No. These names are attached to American phone numbers. Mariska had a secret life nobody knew about.
I
certainly didn’t.’

‘Have you thought of handing everything over to the detectives and letting
them
get into it?’

‘It’s not an option,’ Max said, blasting his horn at a blonde in a Volvo, who was intent on cutting him up.

‘It’s not, huh?’ Chris said, bracing his feet against the floor in front of his seat.

‘No, Chris. I’m protecting my daughter.’

‘I don’t know what to say, Max. Are you planning on hunting Vladimir down? ’Cause I never figured you as the vigilante Bruce Willis type.’

‘I have no idea
what
I’m going to do. I’m sure if I wait, Vladimir will come back with more blackmail threats, and
that’
s the time I’ll call in the police or the FBI.’

‘Y’ know,’ Chris said thoughtfully. ‘I’m kind of not getting this. Maybe you can help me out.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘You can’t tell them what you know
now,
but if he comes back asking for more money, you can tell them then.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What’s the difference? The headlines will read the same.’

‘I know. But I need a couple of days to clear my head.’

Chris shrugged. Max was playing a dangerous game, and he didn’t want any part of it. ‘As long as you know what you’re doing,’ he said, thinking how much he didn’t want to be here. He’d prefer to be back in L.A. dealing with his house and all his other problems.

‘I don’t,’ Max said, ‘but I’ll figure it out.’

Antonio was a legend among photographers. He was up there with Richard Avedon, David Bailey and Helmut Newton. Seventy-five years old, Italian and crotchety, he greeted Gianna like a long-lost lover, plying her with compliments, words of praise and suggestive remarks. A diminutive man, small and neat, groomed to perfection, he was very demanding of his many assistants. He only worked when the feeling took him, his early photographs were gallery treasures and sold for thousands of dollars.

Ignoring Jett, he escorted Gianna into the make-up room, raving in Italian about how her beauty blossomed more each year.

Naturally Gianna was in compliment heaven.

‘Did you fuck him?’ Jett asked, as they sat near each other, having their make-up applied.

Gianna gave a secret smile, which signalled a big fat yes.

‘You
gotta
be shittin’ me,’ Jett said, throwing her a disgusted look. ‘He’s old enough to be your freakin’
grandfather
.’

‘I was fifteen,’ Gianna said coyly. ‘My first cover for Italian
Vogue
. Antonio was
so
famous and
so
adorable, I couldn’t resist.’

‘Adorable, my ass,’ Jett muttered.

‘He is brilliant,
carino.
You will see.’

‘Yeah, well, all
I
’m gonna see is the two of you creamin’ all over each other. Great way to spend the day.’

‘Jealous?’ Gianna inquired, enjoying every minute.

‘Are you nuts? Of
that
old creep?’

‘I love it when you get possessive,
carino
,’ Gianna purred, her hand reaching over to touch his thigh. ‘You are
so
sexy,
sì
?’

He didn’t feel sexy, he felt edgy and unsettled. All he could think about was Amy, and here he was having a conversation with Gianna about being jealous. If she only knew! What a joke.

‘Daddy!’ Lulu shrieked, flinging herself at Max. ‘My
daddy
!’

‘What about
me
?’ Chris asked ruefully. ‘Don’t
I
get a hug too?’

The little girl squealed with laughter, delighted to be the centre of attention once more. ‘Okay, Lulu give you hug,’ she said, with a shy smile.

‘Have you been a good girl?’ Max asked.

‘She’s been very good,’ Amy assured him.

‘Wanna go home,’ Lulu said, pulling on his sleeve. ‘Wanna go home
now,
Daddy.’

‘We’re on our way,’ Max said, mouthing a silent
thank you
to Amy, as she escorted them to the door.

‘Did Jett behave himself?’ Chris asked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted it, for Amy blushed a deep red and he was aware that she had immediately guessed he
knew.
Shit! He’d made a big mistake.

‘I’ll call you later,’ Max said, unaware of Amy’s discomfort.

Lulu skipped out of the apartment without so much as ‘Thank you.’ Not that Amy minded, she was happy to see them leave.

Since when had everything become so complicated?

Oh, yes, since she’d slept with Jett, and, oh, God–Chris obviously knew all about it. The way he’d looked at her after he’d said, ‘Did Jett behave himself?’ It was a dead give-away. How sad was
that?
Even worse–what if he told Max?

Unthinkable.

Or was it?

Now she had something else to worry about.

Lady Jane Bentley sat in her bedroom contemplating her future. Her lawyer had acted swiftly and that was good. What
wasn’t
good was the information she was burdened with. She knew one too many secrets about Red Diamond, and she’d
told
him she knew, which she should never have done until she was out of the house.

But–Catch 22 situation–if she left, Red would
never
settle the money on her that she deserved. And after living with Red Diamond for six years, she’d earned every cent.

Of course, thirty-five million was a lot of money. But Red Diamond was worth
billions.
She was entitled to a worthy pay-out–she’d put in her time.

Her lawyer had told her not to worry. ‘There’s nothing he can do to you,’ he’d said. ‘He can’t throw you out, so stay where you are, and do
not
leave the house.’

Her lawyer didn’t have to put up with Red invading her room every so often, and screaming abuse. She’d tried locking the door, but that had only made things worse. He’d hammered on it with his steel-tipped cane, roaring obscenities.

Diahann, Mae, the cook, and a couple of the maids had come running to see what was going on. Angrily he’d waved his stick at them, and they’d fled.

Finally Lady Jane had unlocked her door and endured even more verbal abuse.

As long as it was only verbal, she could take it. If it went any further she was calling the police, and Red would not appreciate
that
. Especially with all the dreadful publicity about the murder of Max’s ex-wife–a woman to whom Lady Jane had never warmed.

Mariska Diamond had been a conniving social-climber, and Russian too. She was classless and, in Lady Jane’s book, there was nothing worse than a classless over-achiever.

Running into the photo session late, Amy was greeted by an ecstatic Nigel standing outside the studio puffing on a cigarette. ‘
Wait
until you see them together,’ he raved, blowing perfect little smoke-rings. ‘Our clothes have never looked so brilliant! The men’s line is
divine
. Chic and simple and
very
Italian. And as for Jett–
oh, my God
!’ He paused to take a breath. ‘Oh dear,
sorry,
here I am carrying on about
fashion,
while
you,
poor girl—’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Amy said, holding up her hand. ‘Except to say that we’re postponing the wedding, so pass the word.’

‘No!’ Nigel exclaimed in a shocked tone. ‘How can you?’

‘In view of what’s happened, it’s necessary, Nigel. Think about it.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the ground. ‘But it’s such a
shame
.’

‘Is the journalist from
People
here?’ she asked briskly, determined to get back to work.

‘Yolanda’s dealing with him. We didn’t think you’d be in today, let alone come to the photo shoot.’

‘There’s nothing
I
can do,’ Amy said. ‘I looked after Lulu last night, but now she’s back with Max.’

‘But surely Max—’

‘I told you, he’s with his daughter,’ she said, walking into the studio. ‘He’s fine, Nigel. You don’t have to worry about him.’

Then she spotted Jett. He was standing in front of the camera, looking sensational in a lightweight cream-coloured sports jacket, a blue striped shirt and faded jeans. His hair was slightly messed up, his intense blue eyes mesmerizing.

Gianna was draped all over him in an almost transparent white shirt tied under her magnificent breasts, tight white pants and high-heeled, jewelled sandals. Her auburn hair, piled on top of her head, was a jumble of sexy curls.