The A-List Collection: Hollywood Sinners / Wicked Ambition / Temptation Island. Victoria Fox

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      ‘Are you happy?’ asked Rita.

      Lana took a moment to consider this, before saying without a hint of bitterness, ‘I don’t know if that has anything to do with it.’

      It was a five-year marriage contract–that was all. Before signing on the dotted line she’d remembered the hellish years she’d spent growing up in Ohio. Marrying a man she didn’t love was nothing compared with that. It had been goodbye, poor little Laura and hello, blockbusting movie star Lana Falcon. Cole was king of this town: as his queen she would be untouchable.

      So what if she didn’t love him? Since when did that matter? She had given her heart only once before, given everything, and look where that had got her.

      ‘Lana?’ Rita looked concerned and reached out to touch her friend’s arm. ‘Are you OK?’

      ‘Sure.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t sleep great last night. I’m just tired.’

      Rita winced. ‘Talking of the whole sleeping thing …’ Her expression was sympathetic.

      The women’s eyes met and after a moment they both burst out laughing.

      ‘Don’t,’ cried Lana, ‘it’s not funny!’

      ‘Sorry,’ Rita managed, wiping her eyes, ‘I can’t help it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know it’s not funny, I know it’s not.’

      ‘It’s a small price to pay,’ Lana nodded.

      ‘I expect it is,’ agreed Rita, and they fell about again.

      Lana suspected some kind of impotence was at the root of the no-sex clause, but it was impossible to be sure. Cole expressed no sexual desire whatsoever, about anything–she guessed he was just programmed that way. When she had first moved into his mansion she had expected him to visit her rooms at night–she wasn’t stupid enough to think that a couple of lines in a contract would get in the way of a red-blooded male. But Cole had been steadfast to his word. Her first thought was that he must be getting it somewhere else–as long as he was discreet, she would turn a blind eye; after all they were nothing to each other–but that didn’t seem to be the case. For some time she had assumed he was gay, but men didn’t appear to do it for him either.

      ‘You must be so …’ Rita searched for the word, before whispering it. ‘Frustrated.’

      Lana shifted in her seat. If only she could tell her friend about Parker Troy, but there was no way. It was an appalling breach of her contract and as her agent Rita would be outraged.

      ‘It’s worth it,’ she said, dodging the question. And it was: Lana’s abstinence was reflected handsomely in the financial terms of the contract.

      Rita narrowed her eyes. ‘Hmm,’ she said, tapping a long red fingernail on the table.

      ‘I suppose it’s more that I sometimes feel … I don’t know, caged,’ said Lana quickly, trying to move the subject on.

      ‘Well,’ said her agent, sipping her drink, ‘that’s because you are. For another two years.’

      ‘But Cole keeps tabs on everything. I’m forever having to lie about filming running on.’

      ‘Lie?’

      Lana met her gaze. ‘You know, if I need more time on set.’ She bristled. ‘We’re all entitled to a little freedom, aren’t we?’

      Rita’s face broke into a smile. ‘Sure, sure.’ She pulled out her purse. ‘I’m just saying, Cole has eyes all over Hollywood. I just don’t think you can hide anything from him.’

      ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Lana evenly. ‘It’s precisely my point.’ Did Rita know something? No way–she couldn’t.

      But Cole’s controlling ways were becoming more extreme with each day that passed. Just two weeks back she hadn’t been able to sleep and so had ventured out into the mansion’s grounds to have a walk and clear her head–and to think, to her shame, about Robert St Louis.

      The night had been dark and quiet, with just the sparkle of the Hills glittering in the distance. Then, stepping beyond the perimeter, the security lamps had surged to life and flooded her in white light. The dogs had sprung up from their stations, barking furiously, their chains rattling. She had felt like a fugitive about to be arrested, especially when she had looked up to see Cole silhouetted against a window in his dressing gown, arms folded, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

      ‘How’s the movie?’ asked Rita briskly, signing off the check.

      Lana forced herself back to the real world. ‘Good.’ She smiled. ‘It’s great to have a role I can really sink my teeth into. It’s a fabulous part–so much depth.’ She knew she had been lucky securing the Eastern Sky gig, and that, too, was down to Cole and the arrangement. Within weeks of entering the contract she and Rita had been approached by Sam Lucas. At the time Cole had informed her in a meaningful way that the right performance could gain her an Award nomination.

      ‘That’s excellent,’ said Rita, meaning it. ‘Oh, that reminds me: they’re bringing in new blood for the part of Sophie, the English girl.’

      Lana nodded.

      ‘They’ve already found someone they want.’ Rita pulled on her jacket. ‘She’s a model in London, apparently, wants to get into acting.’

      ‘Poor girl,’ said Lana wryly.

      ‘Well, Sam Lucas thinks she’s the soul of virtue. I heard he took one look at her shot and knew’–Rita raised her hands in a grand gesture–‘"It’s Sophie."’

      ‘Ah, the immortal accolade every actress wants to hear.’

      ‘She’ll be over in a few weeks. Bet she can’t wait to meet you.’

      As Lana grabbed her things she remembered when she’d first started out herself. Ten years she’d been in LA. Ten years since she’d last seen Robbie Lewis. Ten years trying to forget.

      She’d kept it brief when Rita had asked about Belleville: she was from a broken family; she didn’t wish to discuss it but she was happy to agree to the right story for press purposes. They had settled on a smart bio, a family tragedy not far from the truth, and Rita sent out clear messages to the industry that Lana Falcon did not like to talk about her upbringing as an orphan–who would? Even Cole hadn’t been so unkind as to ask her too many questions when the contract was finalised. If anything it made her more promotable–in an industry where reality TV exposed an individual’s every private sanctum, Lana Falcon was that rare thing: an enigma.

      ‘New York, right?’ asked Rita as the women made their way out to the car.

      One of Cole’s drivers was waiting.

      ‘Hmm?’ Lana asked as he opened the door.

      ‘Whoa, you really are a million miles away today, huh?’ said Rita, exasperated. ‘You’re going with Cole to NYC?’

      ‘Oh, yes, yes, of course,’ said Lana, distracted, as she rummaged in СКАЧАТЬ