laughter, ‘My dear, just you wait to see what Lara will be wearing, and that old crone Sophie will pull out all the stops for this party – mark my words.’
‘Oh, I don’t think Sophie’s a crone. She’s beautiful and actually very nice, and has been sweet to me.’
Max snorted again but decided not to bad-mouth Sophie to Carlotta. He had made a couple of attempts to get Fabrizio and Carlotta together, but each time his plans had been thwarted by Lara, who could immediately smell a rat if it came anywhere near what she perceived to be her property. And her property was Fabrizio, even though he was out of her sight in the early mornings and late at night. But when they were home or in public, he belonged to her and her only.
When Carlotta entered Monty Goldman’s villa on the proud arm of Maximus Gobbi, the blasé crowd stared slightly longer than the usual millisecond. Her dress made her look like a modern-day ‘Cinderella at the Ball’, and with her jet-black hair framing her oval face in cascading ringlets, and a stunning seventy-carat diamond necklace from the Di Ponti estate around her neck, she was as beautiful, if not more so, than any of the models and starlets in the room.
Everyone looked up as the model
du jour
Zarina Jacobs arrived with her pop-star girlfriend Sin in tow. They called each other ‘wifey’, although Zarina claimed in publicity to still be a virgin. Nineteen-year-old Zarina was chatty and full of coke. She demanded ‘cuddlezzz!’ in a high-pitched shriek from all who came into her orbit or, if she didn’t like them, stuck her tongue in their ears. She threw her arms around Monty Goldman, almost losing her beaded halterneck-top in the process.
‘Uncle Monty!’ she screamed. ‘Can I borrow your heli to get to the airport tomorrow?’
‘Of course, sweetie,’ said Monty smoothly. ‘Anything for you, babes.’ Then he bent down to whisper in her ear, ‘Tell me, sweetie – she’s your latest girlfriend, right?’
Zarina nodded enthusiastically, then wrapped her lips around Sin’s half-exposed breast, her tongue darting like a small adder.
Even Monty was staggered by this show of affection. He recovered and asked, ‘So what are you? Bisexual? Homosexual?’
‘No, babes, I’m trisexual . . .’ She paused a moment, letting it sink in. ‘I’ll
try
anything! Maybe even you one day, Uncle Monty!’ She bit his earlobe and he blushed while she screamed with laughter.
Monty could never resist a celebrity, and Zarina was the hottest cover girl in the world right now. Who cared if she had a little cocaine problem and preferred girls? She was young – she’d get over it.
One who had got over it was Chloe Kensington, the supermodel of yesterday. Still on top form in spite of the young upstarts trying to kick her off her throne, at thirty-eight she still had the cheekbones and the cheeky charm that had been entrancing snappers since she was discovered in a supermarket at age fourteen. Although she’d been nicknamed Chloe Cokehead, she was now clean and happily married to a plastic surgeon. It was rumoured that it was he who kept those famous cheekbones looking razor sharp and the full, kissable lips plumped to perfection, but Chloe always denied ever having any ‘work’ done.
‘I eat whatever I want, whenever I want!’ both Zarina and Chloe told the press, although in truth their basic diet was cigarettes, champagne and coke, with the occasional low-carb, gluten-free organic rice and prawn dish, or a large kale or mâche salad without dressing.
Suddenly there was a fanfare of trumpets and the MC for the night – beloved Charlie Chalk – called for the guests to make their way to their tables. Charlie attempted to shush the throng, who were too busy talking to sit down.
‘Ladies and gentlemen –
mesdames et messieurs
– as the opening act for tonight I have the greatest pleasure in introducing to you a new young singer who I know you will take to your hearts and
‘Oh, I don’t think Sophie’s a crone. She’s beautiful and actually very nice, and has been sweet to me.’
Max snorted again but decided not to bad-mouth Sophie to Carlotta. He had made a couple of attempts to get Fabrizio and Carlotta together, but each time his plans had been thwarted by Lara, who could immediately smell a rat if it came anywhere near what she perceived to be her property. And her property was Fabrizio, even though he was out of her sight in the early mornings and late at night. But when they were home or in public, he belonged to her and her only.
When Carlotta entered Monty Goldman’s villa on the proud arm of Maximus Gobbi, the blasé crowd stared slightly longer than the usual millisecond. Her dress made her look like a modern-day ‘Cinderella at the Ball’, and with her jet-black hair framing her oval face in cascading ringlets, and a stunning seventy-carat diamond necklace from the Di Ponti estate around her neck, she was as beautiful, if not more so, than any of the models and starlets in the room.
Everyone looked up as the model
du jour
Zarina Jacobs arrived with her pop-star girlfriend Sin in tow. They called each other ‘wifey’, although Zarina claimed in publicity to still be a virgin. Nineteen-year-old Zarina was chatty and full of coke. She demanded ‘cuddlezzz!’ in a high-pitched shriek from all who came into her orbit or, if she didn’t like them, stuck her tongue in their ears. She threw her arms around Monty Goldman, almost losing her beaded halterneck-top in the process.
‘Uncle Monty!’ she screamed. ‘Can I borrow your heli to get to the airport tomorrow?’
‘Of course, sweetie,’ said Monty smoothly. ‘Anything for you, babes.’ Then he bent down to whisper in her ear, ‘Tell me, sweetie – she’s your latest girlfriend, right?’
Zarina nodded enthusiastically, then wrapped her lips around Sin’s half-exposed breast, her tongue darting like a small adder.
Even Monty was staggered by this show of affection. He recovered and asked, ‘So what are you? Bisexual? Homosexual?’
‘No, babes, I’m trisexual . . .’ She paused a moment, letting it sink in. ‘I’ll
try
anything! Maybe even you one day, Uncle Monty!’ She bit his earlobe and he blushed while she screamed with laughter.
Monty could never resist a celebrity, and Zarina was the hottest cover girl in the world right now. Who cared if she had a little cocaine problem and preferred girls? She was young – she’d get over it.
One who had got over it was Chloe Kensington, the supermodel of yesterday. Still on top form in spite of the young upstarts trying to kick her off her throne, at thirty-eight she still had the cheekbones and the cheeky charm that had been entrancing snappers since she was discovered in a supermarket at age fourteen. Although she’d been nicknamed Chloe Cokehead, she was now clean and happily married to a plastic surgeon. It was rumoured that it was he who kept those famous cheekbones looking razor sharp and the full, kissable lips plumped to perfection, but Chloe always denied ever having any ‘work’ done.
‘I eat whatever I want, whenever I want!’ both Zarina and Chloe told the press, although in truth their basic diet was cigarettes, champagne and coke, with the occasional low-carb, gluten-free organic rice and prawn dish, or a large kale or mâche salad without dressing.
Suddenly there was a fanfare of trumpets and the MC for the night – beloved Charlie Chalk – called for the guests to make their way to their tables. Charlie attempted to shush the throng, who were too busy talking to sit down.
‘Ladies and gentlemen –
mesdames et messieurs
– as the opening act for tonight I have the greatest pleasure in introducing to you a new young singer who I know you will take to your hearts and
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