Countess Dracula Read Online Free PDF Page B

– actors knew that easily enough when they heard it (after all, they produced enough of it themselves) – but they let him talk. For all Elizabeth and Nayland’s apparent indifference, the idea that the agent or manager was king was something still bred into them. You got nowhere in this business if the suits took a dislike to you. Hollywood was a puppet show, with people like Fabio holding the strings.
    ‘I’ll see you at the party,’ he called, marching back through the house and towards the front door, a strutting walk that indicated he had things to do, business deals to strike. ‘Let me know the date and time and I’ll help spread the word.’
    His driver, a long-suffering Pole called Teodor, snapped to attention when he saw his boss appear. He dashed around to open the passenger door, managing just in time as Fabio’s pace didn’t slow from doorway to steps to the inside of the big black Daimler: it was all the same world to him.
    He gave one last wave before telling Teodor to take him back into town.
    ‘Look at them,’ he said to himself, watching Elizabeth and Nayland step back inside their house, ‘wanting the whole world on a plate but never willing to put themselves out.’ This wasn’t altogether charitable, of course, especially since they had played host to him for the last hour or so, but if there was one thing managers hated it was their clients: life would go so much easier without them. ‘Fucking vampires,’ he muttered and turned back to watch the road ahead.
    With the enforced conviviality gone from the house, Elizabeth and Nayland were left in the cold silence of the hall. Nayland tried to think of something to say that didn’t have a barb in it but the words wouldn’t come. Eventually Elizabeth just walked back out to the patio and he followed, cursing himself for falling into the role of the faithful hound, trotting along behind her.
    ‘A party, then?’ he asked, phrasing the words as non-judgementally as he could.
    ‘A party,’ she agreed, pouring the last of the fruit punch into her glass. ‘You don’t mind?’
    Nayland shrugged. He
did
mind: he knew what happened at her parties and he had long ago tired of them.
    ‘Oh, don’t be such an old prude,’ Elizabeth sighed, knowing full well – indeed, relishing – the fact that he disapproved. She fixed a venomous smile on her face, having decided that it might amuse her to goad him a little. ‘Why do you always try and get in the way of me enjoying myself?’
    ‘I hardly do that,’ he replied, ‘as you proved earlier.’
    She feigned confusion for a moment. ‘You mean the boys? We were just having a little fun.’
    ‘Is that what you call it?’
    ‘Yes, that
is
what I call it. So would you if you learned to unwind a little rather than walk around with that stiff British stick up your ass.’ She paused. ‘There was a time when you used to enjoy it yourself. Not with me, obviously, but you had friends of your own.’
    ‘I just wish you could be a little more …’ The words failed him.
    ‘A little more what? Discreet? Or virginal? I’ll never be either.’
    ‘That much is clear.’
    ‘Perhaps you would like it if we shared my little adventures.’ Elizabeth leaned back, parting her legs a little, trying intentionally to anger him. ‘Would that make it easier for you to stomach? I don’t mind sharing, you know. I might even let you have a taste of what it is that you’re so hungry for.’
    Nayland’s mouth curled into a scowl and she laughed.
    ‘Perhaps not, then. I don’t think I could sleep with someone who was disgusted with me.’
    He clenched his fists, tired of being toyed with. ‘If that were true, darling,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘I doubt you’d ever find anyone to share your bed.’
    He walked away from the table, reassuring himself that, whatever backbone he might have lacked, he still knew how to make a strong exit.
    ‘You little shit!’ Elizabeth roared, not even for one moment