Exclusive!: Hollywood Life or Royal Wife? / Marriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby! / Sex, Lies and a Security Tape

‘Mademoiselle Woodward…’

The elegant MC showed her to her place at the central table. Why did she always have to be stuck in the most conspicuous place? she wondered, thanking him. The tables were filling up. The large room was decorated with a sylvan theme: glistening silver leaves and branches were entwined with fairylights under glittering chandeliers. The effect was rather special. A woodland fragrance had been sprayed to give the room more atmosphere. They’d even managed a soundtrack of birds twittering in the background. She sat down, along with the other bejewelled women, and plastered on a plastic smile, her mind wandering. Behind the seated diners hawk-eyed bodyguards hovered, just out of sight of the ever-rolling cameras…

‘Signorina.’ A deep masculine voice to her right made her nearly jump from her reverie. She looked up. Next to her stood a dark, handsome man with the ghost of a smile hovering about his lips.

Victoria blushed. It was as if he’d read her thoughts, knew she’d been off in a world of her own.

‘Good evening, signorina. May I?’ He raised a quizzical brow, then prepared to sit next to her.

‘Oh, please,’ she murmured, realising that she hadn’t checked the place card of her neighbour.

‘Thank you.’ He slid into the chair with a brief smile. ‘Good evening. I am Rodolfo Fragottini,’ he said casually.

‘Hi. I’m Victoria Woodward,’ she replied.

‘Of that I am well aware,’ he said smoothly. ‘In fact the whole world is aware of your presence here tonight, signorina. May I congratulate you on your success? I have not had the pleasure of seeing your movie yet, but I gather that your performance is spellbinding.’

‘Uh, thanks.’ She flashed the ritual demure smile. Why had she not created a formulated reply for these compliments that she was so bad at receiving?

‘You do not feel your performance was that great?’ he queried.

She turned, caught a swift flash of humour in his eyes and lowered hers. ‘Actually, I—Oh, I really don’t know,’ she muttered, embarrassed.

‘You didn’t seem to agree with me, that’s all,’ he said, eyes laughing as she looked up once more.

Despite her nervousness, Victoria smiled back. ‘It’s difficult to judge one’s own performance. People say it was good. I always feel it could have been better.’

‘Ah! You are a perfectionist?’ he teased.

‘No,’ she responded. ‘It’s my job. I want to do my best. I just don’t see what all the fuss is about. Oops.’ She bit her lip, realising she shouldn’t have said that.

‘How refreshing,’ he murmured, glancing at her with new interest. Here was a superstar not obsessed with her own fame and glory. A novelty by any standard. Also, she reminded him of someone. ‘Do I take it that you are not enchanted with having to keep up appearances on a permanent basis, Miss Woodward?’ he asked, placing his white linen napkin on his knee.

‘Well…’ She shrugged, glanced at him sideways and caught the flicker of mischief in his eyes. ‘It does become a bit heavy going after a while.’

‘You amaze me. I thought this was what all actors and actresses dreamed of—fame and recognition. It does not please you?’

‘Of course it does. It’s just that…’ She caught Anne’s eye and quickly stared at her plate, hoping the pill she’d taken beforehand would keep up its effect for long enough to get her through the evening.

‘Just that you don’t feel at ease in this role?’ he asked searchingly. There was something about her that struck a chord.

Their eyes met and her pulse missed a beat. ‘How can you tell?’

It was his turn to shrug. ‘I observe people. Like you, I am often subjected to the stares and curiosity of others. It can become extremely trying,’ he finished dryly.

‘Oh, my goodness, Your Royal Highness!’ An elderly woman decked in diamonds and with several obvious facelifts in her wake cooed across the table at him.

‘Good evening, Madame Jensen.’ He bowed his head in greeting.

Victoria blinked. Royal Highness? He’d said his name was Fragottini and, being her usual distracted self, she hadn’t bothered to glance at the place cards. Now she really had put her foot in it. Anne would have wanted her glittering for royalty, she reflected wryly, eyeing her lobster cocktail with a glint of humour. She looked at it and sighed. She was so sick of all this rich food, of the wining and dining. What she wouldn’t give for a good old steak and kidney pie at the Bells pub in Hetherington.

‘You do not like lobster, signorina?’

Realising Rodolfo Fragottini was politely waiting for her to start, Victoria picked up her fork and smiled briefly. ‘I’m sure it’s delicious,’ she replied, forcing herself to slip a forkful into her mouth.

‘I doubt it. These large dinners rarely are. Would you consider me very pushy if I said I think you are lying?’

Victoria nearly choked. She hastily grabbed her water glass and took a long sip to quell her laughter.

‘Better?’ he enquired solicitously.

‘Fine. Sorry.’ She cast him an apologetic glance tinged with a smile. ‘It’s just I seem to have had so many different cocktails lately I’m a bit saturated.’

‘I can understand that,’ he sympathised, rolling his eyes expressively. ‘Lobster cocktail, foie gras, quenelles. I too have to admit that I’ve had my share of rich food for a while to come.’

‘But surely you eat things like this the whole time? I mean, you’re a prince or a king or something, so I suppose you live in a palace and eat off gold plate?’ she challenged.

‘Not quite. Even we royals have had to adapt to modern times,’ he replied, tongue in cheek, enjoying the banter. ‘Actually, I rather like going to the supermarket, choosing ingredients and cooking myself.’

‘Gosh, in the royal kitchen?’

‘No. I have an apartment in the castle where I live, and I try to prepare my own dishes as much as possible. Nothing like a nice plate of spag bog,’ he added with a wink.

‘Spag bog?’ she exclaimed, spluttering with laughter and trying to remember that he was a royal. She pressed the napkin to her lips to suppress a giggle. ‘Where did someone like you learn to eat spaghetti Bolognese?’

‘At Oxford. I’m really rather good at pasta, though I say it myself. You should come and try it some time. Do you cook? Or does your Hollywood schedule not allow for such personal indulgences?’

‘You’re right,’ she sighed, ‘it doesn’t. But actually I love to cook. Or used to, until all this came down.’ She raised her hand, then let it drop in her lap.

‘And where was that?’ he asked curious about this girl who jogged his memory.

‘Oh, back in Hetherington. That’s the village where my mother lives. I do quite a lot of baking too.’

‘Where is this village?’ he asked, picking up his fork once more.

‘In England—Sussex. It’s very pretty—cottages with thatched roofs and no lighting on the streets at night. We live in a manor house just outside.’

‘It sounds wonderfully quaint. I can understand why you would want to return there.’

‘Can you? I thought people like you were trying to transform their countries into havens for the rich and glitzy.’

‘Really? Is that what you’ve heard?’ She caught the edge to his voice.

‘My agent has some idea that I ought to move to a principality called Malvarina. Apparently they have very attractive tax laws. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’ she responded.

‘Actually, I know it quite well. What have you heard about Malvarina?’ He arched a brow thoughtfully.

‘That it’s another Monte Carlo—filled with rich tycoons flitting about on glitzy yachts. I suppose the local potentate is luring them in by the dozen. Personally I think it’s criminal to spoil somewhere which up until now seems to have been preserved from an invasion by the outside world just for the sake of money. It sounds a bit like a theme park to me.’

‘You don’t say?’ He raised an amused, quizzical brow and leaned back in his gilt dining chair, the better to observe her. Quite the little spitfire, Miss Woodward, if her conversation up until now was anything to go by. ‘Let me get this right. You think that the Prince of Malvarina is some sort of exotic dictator, making a theme park out of what was once a beautiful, unspoiled Mediterranean retreat?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Maybe you should go and take a look at it yourself before forming such a cast-iron opinion. You never know. You might be agreeably surprised.’

‘I suppose you could be right about that, but I doubt it,’ she confided. ‘I heard the Prince himself is here, flogging the place. That doesn’t bode well, does it?’

‘Definitely a bad sign,’ he agreed.

‘In fact, I was meant to be sitting next to him tonight. They must have changed the seating.’

‘Really?’ His laughing dark eyes met hers full on.

All at once Victoria’s stomach lurched. ‘Uh-oh,’ she murmured, turning bright red as she leaned forward and peered beyond his plate at the name card. Her worst expectations were fulfilled. Sitting back, she took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. If I’d known it was you I never would have—Oh, dear, how embarrassing.’

‘Signorina,’ he said, slipping his hand over hers, ‘please don’t be upset. I assure you there is no need to be distressed. I’ve never been described as a potentate before, but it has a certain ring to it. I must remember to tell my PR people to slip it into the next brochure we do for Malvarina. In fact, the only bit I objected to was your certainty that I am trying to create a theme park.’

His hand was still laid over hers, warm and reassuring, and Victoria felt a delicious shiver run up her arm. She looked up at him. Their eyes met and she smiled apologetically. ‘I’m always putting my foot in it. I’m truly sorry.’

He gave her fingers a light squeeze. ‘The only way I shall forgive you is if you personally visit Malvarina and allow me to dispel what I truly believe to be your false image of the island. I certainly intend for it to be very different from what you describe.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, drawing her hand away. ‘I suppose I should be fair and give the place a chance before judging it so arbitrarily. I’m sure it’s lovely. I just don’t want to move anywhere.’

‘I understand. But if you have to move, Malvarina may not be such a bad spot as you think. But then I’m prejudiced.’

AN HOUR LATER, VICTORIA was surprised at how quickly the dinner had gone by. Before she knew it, the guests were being ushered into the ballroom where an orchestra was striking up. The Prince was still at her side, and Victoria realised that she was far more at ease in his presence than she had been while meeting Hollywood moguls and stars. There was something easy and natural about him. Amazingly, he felt like the only real person she’d met here.

‘Would you like to dance?’ Rodolfo smiled down into her eyes, and for a moment Victoria’s pulse missed a beat. There was something very charming about this handsome man, she acknowledged.

She accepted the offer and accompanied him onto the floor. As his arms encircled her she felt a thrill course up her spine. She told herself to stop it immediately. He was just being polite, just trying to get people to go and live on his island—that was why he was being so nice to her. She must not lose sight of that. But it was hard not to feel light-headed as they twirled about the room and the musky scent of his aftershave reached her.

She could see Anne watching approvingly from the sidelines and groaned inwardly. She could imagine all the directives the woman would be giving her shortly. As the music subsided and they walked off the dance floor a flash went off in their faces and Victoria cringed involuntarily. At the same moment Rodolfo’s arm slipped protectively about her and she felt herself being guided quickly out of the ballroom and through the French doors that led onto the terrace.

‘Damn photographers,’ he exclaimed as they stepped outside. ‘They never give one any peace.’

‘No, they don’t,’ she murmured, shuddering.

‘I would have thought you would be used to that by now? Don’t all movie stars crave the limelight?’ He regarded her critically from under dark brows.

‘Not me,’ she replied with a half-smile, crossing her arms and staring out across the Croisette and the twinkling lights of the yachts beyond.

‘Victoria?’ Anne’s voice at the French window made her turn around. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she said apologetically, smiling at the Prince, ‘but that top Paris magazine I told you about wants to interview you.’

‘Now?’ Victoria grimaced.

‘Right away, I’m afraid. It was the only available time.’ Anne flashed a quick smile at Rodolfo.

‘Okay. I guess I don’t have a choice. Goodnight,’ Victoria said, stretching her hand out towards the Prince.

‘Goodnight.’ He raised her fingers to his lips. ‘And, please, don’t forget your promise.’ Their eyes met, his full of laughter and challenge, hers tentative.

‘Right,’ Victoria mumbled, aware of Anne’s interested eyes upon her.

Seconds later the actress and the agent were hurrying down the corridor back to Victoria’s suite for the interview.

‘What was that all about?’ Anne enquired. ‘What did you promise? I hope it wasn’t a press interview, because I gave exclusive rights to the Parisian Magazine. You can’t negotiate these things on your own, you know, and—’

‘Oh, do stop it, Anne. Don’t you ever think of anything but business?’ Victoria complained, exasperated. ‘He only asked me to get in touch with him if I ever went to that wretched island of his. And, since you’re so keen for me to move there, I should have thought you’d be pleased.’

‘Oh. Okay,’ Anne muttered, taken aback. The Prince wanted to see Vic again. That could be great PR. Better not discourage her. On the contrary, the more she thought about it the more the idea appealed. By the time they’d reached the suite door she was forming a plan. ‘Right, you go ahead, and I’ll tell them you’re ready.’

‘Just a sec,’ Victoria said, feeling the capsule in her pocket. ‘I need to go to the loo.’

‘Okay, but don’t be long. They’re waiting, and we’re running late.’

Feeling like a prisoner, Victoria slipped into the marble bathroom. It was empty, and she leaned a moment against the sink and took a deep breath. How long would all this socialising go on? Why couldn’t she just get on with the next film instead of having to go through all this agony?

But there was no way out.

Taking out the pill, she popped it in her mouth and drank a glass of water, then closed her eyes and waited for it to take effect. Ah! There. A minute or two later she raised her head, dragged her fingers through her hair, checked her lipgloss and braced herself. It was show-time once more. Still, as she stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the salon where the interview was to take place, a vision of the Prince flashed before her. She’d felt strangely reassured in his company.

AFTER VICTORIA HAD DEPARTED, Rodolfo stood for a few more minutes on the terrace, contemplating the night. In the background he heard the buzz of the party, the music, the laughter, the exaggerated exclamations and the smooth conversation. He had no desire to return inside. Something about Victoria had left him thoughtful, intrigued. Not just her ethereal beauty, which was without a doubt staggering, but the natural way in which she responded. There was no artifice in her manner, no guile. It was deliciously refreshing.

He must make a point of seeing her movie. Was she as good as was being made out? Perhaps. There was definitely something special about her. He thought of her now, upstairs, answering a battery of questions from journalists, and wished he could have helped prevent it, detained her longer.

Then, all at once, he caught his breath as finally his memory jolted and he remembered who she reminded him of. How could he have forgotten or even hesitated? How had he not caught the likeness at once?

As Giada’s face materialised before him he closed his eyes. When would it ever fade? Seven years had passed, and he’d had so many women since. But Giada’s image and all she’d represented in his life remained firmly imprinted in his mind. And tonight, for the first time, he’d met someone who reminded him of her as never before.

Banishing the memory and turning on his heel, the Prince quickly reminded himself why he was there and returned to the ballroom, where he was immediately accosted by a fat lady who glittered with jewels and who owned a huge fortune in oil. She was interested in learning more about Malvarina.

Rodolfo replied politely, but recalled Victoria’s words. Was he turning the principality into a theme park for the nouveau riche? He had wanted to preserve it as naturally and beautifully as possible. He needed to think about this initiative further.

After being buttonholed for twenty minutes he managed to make his escape and make his way upstairs. For a moment he hesitated, thought of phoning Victoria and seeing if she would like to have a drink with him. Then, realising she was probably exhausted, with a gruelling day ahead of her tomorrow, he decided against it and went to his suite.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE’D WON. BEST ACTRESS.

As she stood on the stage the following evening, receiving the trophy, Victoria was overwhelmed. She had made it, was being given one of the most prestigious prizes in film. Everyone was clapping, encouraging her, and tonight she felt good. This was recognition of her acting skills, not her beauty or her charisma, just her work. And for that she was grateful.

After a short speech she sat down next to Ed, who hugged her, while Anne glowed with pride on her other side. She knew she owed them a lot—everything, in a way. Had it not been for them, their patience and knowing how to get the best out of her as an actress, this would never have happened. But there was still all the press to face—more interviews, more emotion, another exhausting evening of being on show. And tonight she’d left her pills behind in the bathroom, hadn’t slipped one into her pocket as she normally did.

Never mind, she assured herself. Tonight was different. She would make it through the evening without mishap.

As they filed out of the theatre where the award ceremony was taking place, Victoria caught sight of Rodolfo in the distance. Across the crowd their eyes met and he smiled. For a moment she wished she could go to him, spend the rest of the evening in some quiet spot chatting. All at once she remembered his mention that he liked to cook. A vision of him tossing pasta in the kitchen of his own castle surfaced and made her want to laugh. But as she smiled back at him a flash went off in her face, reminding her of exactly where she was.

SHE CERTAINLY HAD tremendous talent, Rodolfo realised, watching Victoria move through the hall surrounded by paparazzi and moguls. He had seen her movie earlier that day and had come out impressed. There was something magical in her performance, something that reminded him of a young Audrey Hepburn in the way she floated across the screen—an ethereal quality coupled with a shining talent. Yet there was a vital and deeply emotional side to her that became apparent in her performance, and that had gripped him, stirred something deep within.

He glanced at his watch. The party would go on for a while yet. He was planning to leave tomorrow and return to Malvarina, but something made him hesitate. Perhaps he would wait and see if an opportunity to lunch with Victoria presented itself. He would really like to see her again before he departed.

SHE KNEW THAT if she was going to make it through the rest of the evening she simply had to disappear upstairs and take another capsule. She seemed to have increased the amount over the last few days. But that was okay. It was just for now. When she got home she would stop taking them completely. She glanced about her. She had to go, even if that meant displeasing Anne and the others.

Slipping away unseen, she dashed to the lift and rode it up to her floor. Then she hastened down the corridor and inserted the key in the lock of her suite. To her amazement the door was open. Had one of the hotel staff been in her room? She shrugged, threw her evening purse on the sofa and headed for the bathroom. The meds were where she’d left them, on the shelf in the bathroom cupboard in a little brown pharmaceutical plastic vial. Reaching thankfully for the bottle, she tipped one out.

She was holding it in her hand when suddenly a figure jumped from behind the curtains. A flash went off, then another, and another. Victoria stood in silent mesmerised horror, like a rabbit caught in headlights, unable to react. It took several minutes for her to take stock of the situation, for the full reality of it to grip her. She had seen the woman quite clearly—a photographer who had dressed up as one of the hotel maids and invaded her privacy.

She’d been caught in the act.

What was she to do? In panic she rushed to the phone and got Reception to page Anne. Minutes later she was pouring out the truth to her agent in person.

‘How could you, Vic? Why didn’t you tell me? It’s all gonna hit the fan.’

‘Can’t you do anything? Try and stop it? Not that there is any harm in me taking these pills—I mean they must be all right since the doctor gave them to me.’

‘Oh, Victoria. Are you really that innocent? Goodness only knows what your Dr Browne has put in this cocktail.’

‘But how did anyone know that I was taking anything at all?’

‘I don’t know. These paparazzi nose out everything. Maybe you were seen visiting the doctor’s office and that tipped one of them off. We’ll never know.’

‘Can’t you stop them publishing the pictures?’

‘I don’t know. This is France, not the US. They have different laws. I’ll have to tell Ed. He’ll be furious, and it’ll be my ass on the line. Oh, Vic. Why did you do it, for heaven’s sake? And if you were going to, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you out.’ Anne paced the room agitatedly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Victoria whispered, slouched on the sofa, her head thrown back against the velvet cushions. Right now she couldn’t think, couldn’t register. Had she mucked up her career? Was this the end? What had she done?

Next morning the answer came loud and clear, as Anne slapped the French newspapers down on the table.

‘Just look at what you’ve achieved,’ she threw. ‘Front-page headlines! Bravo! “Best Actress High On Drugs.” All the details of how you frequented the offices of that sleazy doctor in L.A. They’ve dug up the whole damn story. Wonderful. Ed is so mad, I can’t begin to tell you. He’s talking about dropping you from his next movie. And if you thought the press were on top of you before, babe, you ain’t seen nothing yet. They’re swarming all over the goddamn lobby. I don’t know how we’re going to get you out of here.’

‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry, okay? What else do you expect me to do? I can’t make it un-happen.’ Victoria placed her cup back in the saucer with a snap, all desire for coffee disappearing.

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know,’ Anne said, dragging her fingers through her short spiky hair. ‘But we’ll have to come up with something mighty quick if we’re gonna scotch this thing. Nip it in the bud. That’s the only way. Maybe putting you into rehab is the answer…’ She shook her head and kept on muttering.

‘I am not a drug addict,’ Victoria protested, ‘I just took a few pills to help me through all this hype. I never would have touched them otherwise. I didn’t even know they were drugs in the real sense of the word.’

‘Well, guess what? It’s too late for that now. We’ll just have to see how to repair the damage and hope it isn’t too late.’

Victoria got up and left the room, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

She could bear it no longer.

RODOLFO SAW THE HEADLINES at breakfast and, putting down his glass of orange juice, read them, horrified. Was it possible? He read the details, then stared, eyes narrowed, at the picture of Victoria, one hand in mid-air, a bottle of pills in the other, her face a mask of terrified horror.