The A-List Collection. Victoria FoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
worker came to visit the week after Lester died, and it was decided that Robbie and his family would look after Laura until she came of age. But they had to get out of Belleville. The compulsion to start afresh was greater than ever.
Two months later Laura and Robbie left for Columbus, where within weeks Robbie began working at an accountancy firm while studying for his business course in the evenings. They moved into a tiny one-room apartment and Laura took a job waiting tables in Harry’s Burger Bar. While it wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, it was a start.
One busy afternoon a young man came into Harry’s, ordered a double cheeseburger, introduced himself as a talent scout and asked Laura if she’d ever considered acting. She wasn’t tall enough to model but she had a classic beauty that would look great on screen. It wasn’t the first time a customer had commented on her looks, so she didn’t think much of it. When she told Robbie that evening she expected him to find it funny, but instead he encouraged her.
‘Why not?’ he asked, glancing up from his papers. ‘You’ve got nothing to lose.’
‘An actress?’ She laughed. ‘Come on, Robbie, get real.’
He shrugged. ‘You can do anything you want. You’re certainly not flipping burgers the rest of your life.’
Laura had kept the man’s card, but didn’t feel ready to pursue it just yet. With the crime they had run from, it hadn’t occurred to her to dream of a future much beyond the next couple of weeks. The fear was still there that if she pushed her luck even a fraction too far, it would all come crashing down.
They never spoke about that night. She had sworn to Robbie that she wouldn’t let it affect them–no regrets–and that meant burying it deep. What she wanted to do was thank him for saving her life. She might not have died at Lester’s hands on the trailer floor, but he would have killed a part of her she could never get back.
For the first six months things were good. They were happy, in love and the future was there for the taking. Robbie was excelling in his course and was already in touch with his father about the move to Vegas.
But not long after, things started to change. The rot set in. For Laura, it began with the nightmares: her brother pinning her down, pushing his way inside, attacking her body. The look on his face when the deadly blow had struck; the gash on his skull that ran so deep. But worse, the way she had so ruthlessly destroyed the evidence, dousing the place in gasoline and lighting the match. It wasn’t what Robbie had wanted: he’d wanted to do the honest thing. She was the poison, damaging everything and everyone she touched, ruining it, killing it. It was only a matter of time before the same happened to him.
She found she was unable to explain these horrors to Robbie, the dark images that flashed across her mind in the dead of night in that lonely, terrible way. The only certainty was that if she stayed with Robbie, she would endanger him.
Robbie tried everything, desperate to find a way to reach across that space and comfort her. His worst fears had come true: guilt was a persistent beast, and it refused to relinquish the woman he loved. There was nothing he could do. When he reached for her body, she pulled away. When he told her he loved her, she pretended not to hear. There had always been fight in him, but he didn’t know if he could fight for both of them.
Close to a year after they had first arrived in Columbus, Robbie awoke on a grey, still morning to find she was gone.
There was a note. Some crap about sparing him; some meaningless martyr bullshit.
For weeks he was angry. He half expected her to come back, to say their love was worth more than this and that they’d try to make it work. When she didn’t he called her again and again, left countless messages, all saying things he didn’t really mean and not one that said what he really meant. No reply. He guessed she’d changed her number. He tried a couple of leads, sat in Harry’s for days on end, hoping for a clue–maybe she’d mentioned something to someone, anyone. Nothing. She had gone, vanished like a ghost into the night.
He drank for a while. Slept with women without knowing their names. Every morning he woke and looked in the mirror, hating what he saw.
Murderer.
Dark shadows round his eyes. Black stubble he couldn’t be bothered to shave. But most of all the intense sadness that clung to his shoulders like fog.
He scraped a pass on his course, though Christ knew how.
Then, in the New Year, he called his father.
‘I’m coming to town,’ he declared. ‘I need to start over. Vegas is it. ‘
Los Angeles
Harriet Foley’s mansion sat in the heart of Beverly Hills, a magnificent white building set in a cluster of palms and furnished with a staggeringly expensive collection of contemporary art. Guests milled poolside under a violet sky pierced with stars. The evening smelled sweet, like money and sex and the December sun bleeding out of the day.
Chloe hadn’t felt like coming. Since her afternoon with Nate a few days ago, she’d felt dreadful–she hadn’t seen him since. All her instincts told her to run back to London, back to the house in Hampstead and curl up in bed, shutting the curtains and forgetting the world. But she couldn’t. And anyway, the UK was the worst place she could be right now.
She couldn’t find the courage to break up with him. She didn’t know if she could do it by herself. And what if she’d misunderstood? What if she’d misread the situation? But, despite these brief intervals of hope, she always reached the same conclusion: whichever way she looked at it, Nate was guilty as sin. It killed her.
‘Hey,’ said Brock, taking her arm as they were ushered inside to take their seats, ‘everything all right?’
She nodded. She had to pull herself together–this was an important evening.
Harriet’s dining room was more like a greenhouse, with lush jade foliage hanging down each side. An absurdly long table, as it would need to be to cater for this number of diners, was decorated with lavish flower arrangements and spotted with baskets of multi-seeded bread. A small, tastefully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner, as if to show willing.
‘You know,’ Brock nudged her, ‘Harriet’s been looking at you all night. She likes what she sees.’
Chloe had dressed carefully in an all-black trouser suit, Louboutin heels and bold silver jewellery. With her glossy black hair and cat-like grey eyes, the effect was simple but striking. She knew she ought to feel more excited, but couldn’t get rid of this lead weight in her stomach. The thought of Nate with all those other women or, arguably worse, with just one …
‘I’m glad.’ She forced herself to smile.
‘Good.’ Brock reached into an ornate Japanese bowl for an edamame bean pod. ‘Stop looking so glum.’
A starter of tempura prawns arrived–only two, resting self-consciously on a tiny nest of watercress. While Brock turned to an agent friend of his, Chloe searched for someone with whom to start a conversation. She found the women difficult to approach, had been especially sensitive to it since the reception she’d had from Kate diLaurentis. Apart from a kid actor opposite who she vaguely recognised, she was probably the youngest person here–and guessed that didn’t do her any favours. She wondered where Lana Falcon was tonight. Probably with Cole, enjoying a dreamy romantic evening.
Chloe clenched her fists in her lap. She couldn’t bring herself to think where Nate was tonight. Or with whom.
‘Excellent,’ said