They were in a room which was decorated entirely in gold—to echo the colour of the Festival’s most prestigious award, the Palme d’ Or. The walls were lined with heavy golden silk, like the inside of a Bedouin tent, and there were vases of gold-sprayed twigs laced with thousands of tiny glimmering lights. Beautiful young women dressed in belly-dancer outfits swayed around the room, carrying trayfuls of champagne.
But once she had accepted a drink Jennifer deliberately walked away from Matteo. She didn’t need him, and she was here to show him and the rest of the world just that. She was an independent woman—why would she need anyone? That was what her mother had always told her, and it seemed that her words had been scarily prophetic.
The party might have had a budget to rival that of a small republic, but it was a crush—and less hospitable than some of the student get-togethers Jennifer had gone to in her youth.
An aging but legendary agent was holding court. A nubile starlet was not only falling out of her dress but also falling over from too much wine, by the look of her. A raddled-looking rock star was looking around the room with a stupid grin on his well-known face and suspiciously bright eyes. And from out of the corner of her eye she saw Matteo being surrounded by a gaggle of glamorous women.
Welcome to the world of showbiz, thought Jennifer wryly. But inside she was hurting more than she could have imagined it was possible to hurt.
She dodged passes, questions, and having her glass refilled—managing instead to find a very famous and very gay British actor who was standing in the corner surveying the goings-on with the bemused expression of a spectator at the zoo. Jennifer had played Regan to his King Lear, and she walked up to him with a sigh of relief.
‘Thank heavens,’ she breathed. ‘A friendly face with no agenda!’
‘Hiding from the vultures?’ he questioned wryly. ‘Sort of. Congratulations on your knighthood by the way. What are you doing here?’
‘Same as you, I imagine. I may be an old queen—and a knight now, to boot—but I have to please my publicist like a good boy.’
‘Don’t we all?’
He surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘I see you arrived with that adorable man you married—does that mean you’re back together?’
In spite of the room’s heat, Jennifer trembled—but she was a good enough actress to inject just the right amount of lightness into her voice. ‘No. We’re just playing games with the press. The marriage is over.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ he said carelessly. ‘Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. You’ll get over it, duckie—you’re young and you’re beautiful.’ He sighed, his eyes drifting to Matteo once more. ‘Mind you—so is he!’
Jennifer grimaced a smile. ‘Yes.’
‘Go home and forget him,’ he said gently. ‘And stay away from actors—they’re feckless and unfaithful and I should know! Marry a businessman next time.’
‘I’m not even divorced yet,’ she said solidly. ‘And even if I were, this thing has scarred me for life—I’m through with marriage. Anyway—better run. Lovely to see you, Charles.’
They exchanged two butterfly air-kisses and then Jennifer resolutely made her way towards the door and slipped away—not noticing that she was being followed by a Hollywood icon who had just gone through divorce number four.
Not until she was in a quiet corridor and he moved right up close behind her.
Jennifer jumped and turned round. ‘Oh, it’s you, Jack!’ she exclaimed nervously. ‘You startled me!’
He flashed his trademark smile. ‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled softly. ‘Maybe my luck has changed for the better. You look damned gorgeous.’ He crinkled his blue eyes and directed his gaze at her chest. ‘So, how’s life, Jennifer?’
Jennifer knew that his fame meant he got away with stuff that other men would be prosecuted for, and she should have been used to the predatory way that such men feasted their eyes on her breasts, but the truth was that she didn’t think she’d ever get used to it. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said blandly.
‘Well, since we’re in the same boat, maritally speaking…’ His voice dipped suggestively and his swimming pool eyes gleamed. ‘It can get a little lonely in bed at night—what say we keep each other company?’ And then his eyes narrowed as a shadow fell over him and he looked up into a pair of black, glittering eyes. ‘Well, well, well,’ he blustered. ‘If it isn’t the Italian Stallion!’
Matteo wasn’t bothered by the star’s slurred insult, but he felt a shimmering of intense irritation as he saw the fraught expression on his wife’s face. That and the blunt hit of jealousy.
‘Are you okay, Jenny?’ he demanded.
She wanted to tell him that it was none of his business, but instead she looked straight into his eyes. And, in one of those silent looks between two people who have lived together which speak volumes, her eyes told him that, no, she wasn’t okay. ‘I was just leaving.’
‘What a coincidence,’ Matteo murmured. ‘So was I.’
The sex symbol frowned in confusion, looking from Matteo to Jennifer like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘But I thought—’
‘Well, don’t,’ Matteo interjected silkily. ‘You’re not paid to think—you’re paid to act…pretty badly, as it happens, which is why your career is on the way down.’
And he took Jennifer’s hand in a proprietary way which made her momentarily long for the past and loathe herself for doing so as he led her down a corridor.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, shaking him off once they were out of sight.
‘You wanted to get away from that strisciamento?’
‘Well, yes. But not with you!’
‘Are you certain?’ His eyes glittered. ‘I’ve discovered a service lift which bypasses all the press—if you’re interested?’ He arched his dark eyebrows as they came to a discreet-looking steel door at the end of the corridor which was light-years away from the luxury of the guest lift they’d ridden up in.
‘Aren’t you the clever one?’ she questioned sarcastically.
‘But of course I am—we both know that. Coming?’
Jennifer hesitated.
‘Unless you’re secretly hot for the bastardo?’ he suggested silkily. ‘And want to stick around?’
Jennifer glanced back along the corridor and then stepped into the lift beside Matteo, pointedly moving as far away from him as possible as the doors slid shut on them.
‘You’re going to have to watch your step, Jenny,’ Matteo said softly as the lift began to whirr into action. ‘Men like that eat women for breakfast.’
Jennifer stared at him in disbelief. ‘How dare you?’ she questioned. ‘In view of what’s happened how dare you take a holier-than-thou opinion on another man’s behaviour? Have you tried looking at your own lately?’ She clenched her hands into two tight fists, her breath coming hot and fast as the words came spilling out of her mouth. ‘How’s your girlfriend, Matteo?’
Matteo’s eyes narrowed. ‘Jenny, don’t—’
‘Don’t you dare tell me “Jenny, don’t”! Remind me of her name again.’ Jennifer faked a frown. ‘Oh, yes—Sophia! Not exactly a household name at the moment, but I guess that’ll soon change with the magic of the d’ Arezzo influence.’
‘You didn’t knock it when you used it yourself,’ he challenged softly.
‘You bastard! At least I was known for being a good actress before I met you—and not for pouting and lounging around half-naked in some over-hyped perfume