‘Exactly. You tell me and then I’ll break it to JM in the best possible way.’ He produced a little smile. ‘You should be pleased. I’m volunteering to be the messenger. I get shot instead of you if it all goes belly up.’
‘And you think it will?’
Again he shrugged. ‘Who knows? Richard’s not a bad boy. I’ve worked for his father for twenty years now and I’ve watched Richard grow up. He was a pretty naughty kid, but it was only when he went off to college that it all fell apart for him. I think his problem was that he came from a family background where everything was done for him, where he could have whatever he asked for, but ultimately, it was always his father who called the shots. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no doubt both his parents thought and still think the world of him but, whatever the reason, he went AWOL. On the face of it, he had everything, but in the end he just rebelled and the results were ugly. He disappeared so effectively that everybody thought he was dead at one point.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Europe, apparently, and some very unsavoury parts of it from what I hear. Ironically, the very fact of having so much money made it all too easy for him to afford the drugs that have had such a devastating effect on him. In the end it was by following the money stream that his parents finally managed to locate him again. He was found in some squalid slum in the suburbs of Berlin, I believe.’
‘Wow, what a mess!’ Emma nodded in sympathy. The poor little rich boy syndrome was all too common in this glitzy world of excessive wealth. ‘And what about after-effects? Has he done himself any permanent harm?’
‘I don’t think so. I hope not. I haven’t spoken to him much since he came back home a few weeks ago. He seems pretty much his old self again now, but just a whole lot less bubbly, more introspective – quieter. You heard what his mother said. He hates crowds and finds even the most superficial conversations challenging. He used to be the absolute opposite – always going to parties, having parties, and wanting to be the life and soul of them. But not any more.’ He swilled the last of his champagne around in his glass before swallowing it. ‘You needed to know that before you met him.’
‘Thanks, Dexter. I owe you. Tell me, does his father know you’re telling me this?’
Dexter nodded. ‘He’s the one who asked me to tell you. To be honest, I would have said something to you anyway, but he took me to one side this evening and made me promise to tell you the whole story.’
Jan Miros went up in Emma’s esteem. ‘If I don’t get a chance to talk to JM alone, please will you thank him? You’re right. It’s much better for Richard, and for me, that I know.’ She finished her drink and set the glass down alongside his on top of the piano, hoping they wouldn’t mark the pristine surface. She slipped the card with his phone number into her purse and gave him a big smile. ‘Thanks, Dexter.’
‘You’re welcome. Now, if you’re ready, let’s go and find Richard.’
Mrs Miros was right. Richard had indeed chosen to hide. As they walked down to the enormous pool, hidden from the view of the other guests by a high hedge and a bank of sweet-scented lavender, Dexter caught her by the arm and pointed. ‘That’s him there. Want me to introduce you?’
At the far end of the pool, sitting on a springboard at the water’s edge, was a figure dressed in a dark tuxedo. Emma made a quick decision.
‘No, that’s fine, Dexter. Thanks a lot. I’ll take it from here.’
He nodded and turned on his heels, while Emma set off down the side of the pool to the far end. As she reached the springboard, the figure stirred and looked up. Emma took a good look at him as she approached. He was a good-looking man with thick, dark hair like his father’s, but he had inherited his mother’s fine facial features. Yes, he was handsome all right, and with his wealth she had no doubt he could have had the pick of any available girl in Hollywood – and there was no shortage of them. His face was only marred by dark rings below his eyes. As he saw her, an expression of recognition crossed his face.
‘You must be Emma.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘Dead right. What gave me away?’
He managed a half-smile in return, not dissimilar to the attempts his father also made in that department. ‘Dexter told me you were tall, blonde and drop-dead gorgeous.’ Then he let his eyes fall once more to the water below.
She did her best to control her blushes, still amazed at being described in such glowing terms by the pilot fish. She had never really thought of Dexter as possessing any kind of aesthetic sense. In fairness, she hadn’t really thought of him up to now as anything more than an appendage forever linked to the big boss. Her opinion of him rose as a result.
‘Well, you can see he was exaggerating, but surely that description could apply to any number of the women here tonight?’
He looked up again and she noticed for the first time that he had the same piercing blue eyes as his father. The difference was that his were much bleaker, prematurely aged. ‘Maybe it’s because you look different from the others.’
‘Is that a polite way of saying I look a mess?’ She was determined to keep it light.
He shook his head. ‘Not at all. You just look a bit more serious than the average Hollywood blonde.’ He gave that same dismissive gesture of the hand as his father did. ‘Anyway, my father said you were coming tonight and you’re about the first person to speak to me so it wasn’t that hard to join the dots.’
‘Mind if I sit down?’
He shifted across the warm wood of the diving board to make room and she sat down beside him. As she did so, her ‘sensible’ shoes suddenly hove into view.
‘Cool shoes. Is this the new fashion?’
She wasn’t sure if he was serious or if he was poking fun at her; she could feel herself blushing again. She thought about trying to hide the shoes, but the cat was out of the bag now so she did her best to bluff it out. ‘Maybe I’m setting the trend. Anyway, Richard, I thought I’d come and talk to you about Italy.’
He nodded but made no reply. His eyes had dropped once more, maybe to the water or maybe to her sandals. She did her best to dismiss thoughts of her bloody shoes and concentrate on work.
‘Have you read Dreaming of Italy?’
He shook his head.
‘Then I think that’s the first thing you should do. Will you do that for me? I’ll ask Dexter to get you a copy of the screenplay.’
‘My father already gave me a copy, but I just haven’t got round to reading it.’ He glanced up. ‘But I will.’ His eyes made contact with hers once again. ‘Is it good?’
‘I’ll leave that for you to judge. For my money, I think it’s very good. Certainly your father’s hoping it’ll turn into a blockbuster.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘It’s a love story set immediately before the First World War, around the same period as A Room with a View. Seen that?’
‘No, but I’ve heard the name. That was set in Florence, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Well, this is sort of similar but it strays all over Italy, or rather northern Italy, from the Alps to Tuscany and back up to Venice. It’s the story of a young Englishwoman who’s been packed off on a tour of Italy by her father, accompanied by her governess who’s a bit of an old battleaxe. The girl had got herself involved with the suffragette movement back in the UK and he didn’t approve.’