Hollywood Sinners. Victoria Fox

reached the bow and looked over. Glittering blue water sliced apart below her; above a matching sky and the rugged hills of the Azure coastline. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling the wind whip through her Thomas Wylde silk kaftan.

      But Jessica was right. Robert had been acting funny, and it was ever since that damn film premiere had been announced. Despite his assurances he still got defensive whenever she mentioned it, and even more so when she brought up Lana Falcon. What was going on?

      And why hadn’t they settled on a date for the wedding?

      They’d been engaged for months now. She hoped he wasn’t getting cold feet.

      ‘Get over it!’ shouted Jessica. ‘Desperation is so unattractive, you’re probably putting him off.’

      Elisabeth turned, unable to bite back her catty response. ‘Put some more sun cream on, Jessica–you’re looking horribly pink.’ She reminded herself that Jessica was only bitter–she’d give anything for a man like Robert.

      Resuming her seat under the parasol, she watched her sister apply yet more Sun Perfect to an already perfectly bronzed, and not at all burned, body.

      ‘He’s just got a lot on his mind at the moment,’ she said with a decisive nod.

      ‘Sure.’

      ‘Don’t be jealous,’ she mimicked, ‘it’s so unattractive.’

      Jessica made a face. ‘Hardly.’ She rubbed the cream into her feet. ‘Well, if Robert doesn’t make sure he gets you down that aisle soon, Daddy will.’

      Elisabeth closed her eyes, suddenly tired. ‘He can do all he wants, it’s Robert’s and my day and it’s our decision.’

      ‘Why is he so set on getting you two married?’

      She opened her eyes a crack. The question sounded genuine.

      ‘Beats me.’

      ‘Robert thinks it’s to do with Chicago.’

      ‘Yeah, might be. Bernstein’s living in a dream world if he thinks either one of us wants in on that.’

      ‘I think it’s something else,’ Jessica said, adopting the tone she used when gossiping with her girlfriends. ‘Something Daddy’s not telling us.’

      Elisabeth stretched out her toes. ‘Whatever.’

      ‘Aren’t you curious?’

      ‘Not really.’ She yawned. ‘As far as I’m concerned he’s an interfering old man. He just wants a grandson or some such crap. It doesn’t take a genius to work that out.’

      Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘Think what you like. My money’s on something way juicier.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

      ‘You’re just bored. It comes from sitting around all day doing nothing.’

      Jessica shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll try not to say “I told you so".’

      ‘Fine. Shut up about it now.’

      ‘Why should I?’ Jessica raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m your sister, it’s my job.’

      ‘I’m tuning out.’ Elisabeth slid on a huge pair of sunglasses and lay back. ‘Save your gossip for someone who actually cares.’

      Hours later, laden with bags, the two sisters collapsed into a café on the lively market square. St Tropez was boutique heaven.

      Jessica ordered two champagne cocktails to celebrate.

      ‘I don’t want to get drunk,’ said Elisabeth.

      ‘I don’t want to get bored.’ But they ordered two bottles of La Croix all the same.

      ‘Delicious!’ Jessica clapped her hands together like a seal as the drinks arrived. Taking a sip, she extracted a pair of pink Rondini sandals from a huge paper bag and held them out. It was amazing how seriously she took the pursuit of shopping–of spending money in any capacity, really. Elisabeth had spent, too–mostly on her weakness, jewellery, in Gas Bijoux–but nowhere in the same league as her sister. For Jessica retail therapy was a full-time occupation: clearly it filled a gap where something else was missing.

      Elisabeth checked her cell. Still nothing from Robert. She suspected they’d be leaving Monaco on Bernstein’s boat by now. Why hadn’t he been in touch? She had to stop worrying–there was nothing wrong with her fiancé; everything would be just fine.

      ‘I love France,’ Jessica mused, sitting back and running a hand through her hair. She gazed round at the architecture. ‘There’s so much American influence here.’

      Elisabeth snorted.

      ‘Maybe I’ll move to Europe one day,’ her sister went on. ‘Marry a count.’

      ‘As if.’

      ‘Oh, I’m very well practised in the European ways. And by “European ways", of course I mean “European men".’

      Elisabeth couldn’t help but laugh. It had been ages since she and Jessica had enjoyed each other’s company–much as her sister got under her skin, Elisabeth had to admit she was fun. Plus Jessica’s bravado on the subject of men, she knew, only concealed her desire for a meaningful relationship. The more insecure Jessica was definitely easier to love.

      ‘You’ve never had a French guy, admit it.’

      Jessica shrugged. ‘I’ve had an English.’

      ‘Not the same thing.’

      ‘A sexy English.’

      Elisabeth looked disgusted. ‘Not that hideous London one with the long hair. Wasn’t he in a rock band? Not that I’ve heard of them.’

      ‘Nate Reid,’ Jessica nodded, ‘is an incredibly hot guy. Seriously. I can get myself off just thinking about him.’

      ‘Jessica!’

      Then she added, ‘I’ve got a feeling he’ll be big. I know that already, but musically speaking.’

      Elisabeth raised an eyebrow. ‘Whatever you say.’

      ‘And anyway,’ Jessica fiddled with her earlobe, ‘he practically is a count. Or something. His family’s major-rich. I think we’re well-suited.’

      ‘Good for you.’ She stirred the sugar at the bottom of the cocktail.

      ‘It’s the Italians who really know what they’re doing …’

      ‘Not if Alberto Bellini’s anything to go by,’ muttered Elisabeth, wondering why the old man had sprung to mind. It must be the champagne.

      ‘What do you mean?’ Jessica leaned forward, keeping her voice hushed. ‘Has he tried it on with you?’

      Champagne bubbles fizzed down Elisabeth’s throat. ‘He’s forever trying it on, you must know that.’ She added without a trace of arrogance, ‘It’s no secret he’s in love with me.’

      ‘But I mean, has he ever tried it on … physically?’

      ‘God, no!’ Elisabeth giggled. ‘He’s ancient.’

      ‘The old ones are the worst,’ Jessica said sagely.

      ‘Maybe.’

      Elisabeth looked out at the bustling square. Against her will she felt a stir at the mention of Alberto; the memory of what he’d said about her dear mother; his unconcealed adoration such a far cry from Robert’s recent behaviour. It was the cocktails, that was all.

      ‘Let’s get another,’ she said on impulse. Jessica beamed. ‘I’m feeling reckless.’