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Charles laughed, a delighted, tinkling laugh. ‘Well, I suppose everyone in Manhattan has their own publicist now, don’t they – present company excluded, of course – I’ve really never felt the need given the reliability of the grapevine … I’m only surprised it’s taken the Asgills so long.’
‘I think it’s pragmatism in this case,’ smiled Tess. ‘They can’t have Brooke involved in any scandal that would stop them marrying into all this.’
‘Yes, I can see that … ’ said Charles thoughtfully. ‘The hypocrisy of the rich at work once again, of course.’
Tess frowned, sensing a story. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, of course you’re right; David has a big political future and so Brooke won’t be able to put a foot wrong – that’s why they need someone like you. But it’s a little rich to say it’s all about Brooke’s behaviour. David dated someone five, six years ago, you see. Actress, beautiful girl. Photographed taking cocaine in some nightclub in LA. Terrible business. Six weeks later she moved to France to film some “art–house movie”.’ Charles framed the phrase in quotation marks. ‘She was never heard of in this country again. Then of course there’s Wendell,’ he said, pointing the handle of his cane in the direction of an older man with pewter hair, brushed white at the temples. Tess recognized him as Wendell Billington, David’s father, who had been pointed out to her earlier.
‘In my direct line of vision I see at least four women Wendell has had sex with, one a long–term mistress. Can’t keep his regal cock in his trousers, but of course that’s fine. Joe Kennedy was a terrible philanderer and it didn’t
hurt his son’s presidential ambitions one jot. It’s a question of class, you see. The Billingtons are in a different class to the Asgills. They are more … how shall I put it? More bullet–proof.’
‘Class?’ said Tess. ‘I didn’t think that existed in America.’
Charles chuckled. He swept his hand across the room dramatically, only pausing to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter in one fluid movement.
‘This city is full of money, but what everyone wants is class. Obviously you can acquire class much quicker over here; you only have to look at the Lauders to see that. Old Estée Lauder was a Hungarian immigrant, but she builds a cosmetics dynasty and now they are one of the grand families of New York. But no, the Asgills aren’t the Lauders: they’re not rich enough and their business is not as prestigious. In fact, people still refer to Howard, Meredith’s late husband, as ‘the butcher’s son’. And then there was all that business at his wedding,’ he added, leaning in and dropping his voice. ‘The missing actress,’ he whispered.
‘What missing actress?’
Charles smiled a wicked smile. ‘Oh my dear, I thought you were their publicist? Surely a keeper of secrets has to know what they are.’
‘Hey, I haven’t taken the job yet, remember,’ she smiled. ‘Maybe you can persuade me.’
Charles stood up and gestured for Tess to follow. Glancing around like a stage villain, he led her into a quiet alcove and they sat down in a window seat upholstered in purple velvet.
‘Howard and Meredith got married at Meredith’s parents’ home in Louisiana,’ began Charles with relish. ‘In Nineteen Sixty–four, I think. Her family had money – new money, mind you. Father had bought one of those antebellum plantation houses from an old sugar–caning family that had lost everything, and that was where they got married. Think Gone With the Wind, only right down by the river. Anyway, on the night of the nuptials, one of their wedding guests went missing. An actress called Olivia Martin. A beautiful, vivacious girl. The best ankles in Hollywood,’ he added without a hint of irony.
‘How awful,’ said Tess.
‘It certainly was for poor Meredith and her lovely new husband, Howard, especially with all the allegations that were flying about.’
‘What allegations?’ asked Tess, hoping desperately that Dom would stay searching for coffee. She didn’t want anything to interrupt this story.
‘Olivia was last seen at the party after the ceremony. She was staying in a guest cottage on the estate. When they realized she was missing, police were called and her cottage was found unlocked and empty.’
‘What do they suppose happened to her?’
Charles shrugged. ‘Suicide, perhaps. She was addicted to dolls, what we called barbiturates in those days. Every starlet was on dolls; it was part of the scene. And she was known to be depressed about something. Theory was she walked into the Mississippi – it was yards from the cottage.’
‘That’s horrible, but it’s hardly a scandal, is it?’ said Tess. ‘I mean, no one could blame the Asgills, could they?’
Charles smiled knowingly.
‘There were whispers – and they were only whispers once people had been paid off – that Olivia was murdered, and some people were pointing the finger at Howard Asgill. Apparently he and Olivia had been having an affair.’
‘From what you were saying about Wendell, that doesn’t surprise me,’ said Tess, feeling a sense of intrigue. ‘But it doesn’t mean to say he killed her, does it?’
Charles shook his head. ‘Of course not, and that was why the story went away. There was no body, no proof. No evidence of any kind, in fact. Stories appeared everywhere about the extent of Olivia’s drink and drug problem and how depressed she was. People believed that she had wanted to die.’
Tess let out a long breath. ‘Well, I had no idea.’
‘No, most people haven’t,’ said Charles. ‘After all, it was decades ago. Forgotten. But, bringing us back to the present day and to you, my dear … one dead starlet is enough scandal for the Asgills for one lifetime, especially when their daughter is marrying America’s bright new political hope. No wonder Meredith wants to hire a troubleshooter.’
‘Nothing to do with my abilities, of course,’ smiled Tess.
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll do a marvellous job,’ said Charles thoughtfully. ‘Trouble is, the appointment might well be fifty years too late.’
