Sinners by Jackie Collins

whimpered. ‘Lorna was never any good for you. I always felt something between us – something special, didn’t you?’
    The phone rang, and with relief he untangled himself and went to answer it.
    It was George, phoning from the lobby. ‘I thought if you didn’t need me for an hour I’d pop round to Hayward’s and pick up your suits.’
    ‘What, now? Charlie said loudly in an annoyed voice.
    ‘I don’t have to, I just thought—’
    ‘Oh, God. All right. I suppose I’ll have to. I’ll be right down.’
    He hung up on an amazed George.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ Natalie asked.
    ‘Business. Some bloody appointment I clean forgot about. Sorry, love, what a drag.’
    ‘Shall I wait?’
    ‘God knows how long it will take, you’d better not.’
    She sighed. ‘Whoever invented phones should be shot.’
    ‘You’re right.’ He helped her on with her jacket and hustled her to the door.
    ‘About us,’ Natalie said. ‘What’s going to happen?’
    ‘We’ll figure something out,’ he replied, making a mental note never to be caught with Natalie Allen alone again.
    ‘Goodbye, darling.’ She kissed him. ‘Don’t forget, we’ll be in Hollywood two weeks after you. Wait for me.’
    He nodded. Charming! Clay wasn’t so lucky after all.
    *    *    *
    At the airport Charlie was stoned. He was petrified of flying and could only board a plane completely out of his mind. Before leaving for the airport he had smoked two joints, and the plane now looked like a beautiful big bird ready to receive him. He smiled benignly at the photographers, pantomiming funny faces for them, and waving his horn-rimmed glasses in the air.
    George hissed at him. ‘You know you don’t like photos without your glasses on.’
    ‘Oh, yes, very very factual,’ Charlie replied in his best Indian imitation.
    ‘Bye, Charlie – good luck,’ one of the photographers called.
    A pretty air hostess arrived to escort them to the V.I.P. lounge.
    ‘The flight will be boarding in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
    He nodded. ‘A double scotch, my dear.’ He needed it.
    Once airborne he fell into a deep sleep.

 

Chapter Nine
    Jack Milan’s house stood in acres of grounds, surrounded by electrified fences. At the entrance there was a small guardhouse. Nobody had access to the main house unless the guard said so. This was due to the fact that Jack had five children, and in the past there had been several kidnapping threats. Although the kids were all grown up now, he was taking no chances.
    Sunday sat nervously in her car while the chauffeur thrust her invitation at the guard. Then the car swept up a long drive to a big white colonial mansion.
    Sunday felt nervous. First she had decided Carey was right, and she should have brought an escort. Second she was sure she wouldn’t know anyone. And third, since Paulo’s death, she hated to be among lots of people. In fact, she dreaded the whole evening.
    She looked quite fantastic in a long black sequin outfit that she had had made for a film in Italy. She wore nothing underneath, and her body was shown off to great advantage.
    A butler greeted her, and led her through the house and out onto the sloping floodlit terraces at the back.
    ‘Miss Sunday Simmons,’ he announced through a loudspeaker system, and left her standing there.
    The many people drinking on the terraces all turned to stare. Her name was already known.
    A plump fortyish woman came over extending her hand. ‘Hi, Sunday dear, I’m Jack’s wife, Ellie. It’s lovely to see you. Come along, and I’ll introduce you around.’
    Sunday immediately liked the warm plump Ellie. She followed her to a group of people and soon found herself mingling easily into the small talk.
    It wasn’t going to be too bad. After dinner she could slip quietly away. She would have done her duty.
    She was chatting to a bleached-blond actor, a well-known queen and an elderly red-headed woman who kept one protective hand on