Hollywood Sinners

73



It wasn’t hard to find Laura’s house. If you could call it that, Lester thought bitterly as he pulled up outside the palatial mansion in his muddy-brown Saab. All he’d had to do was go on one of those crappy celebrities’ homes tours, sit in a minivan with a freak show of squealing tourists for an hour and he had what he needed. Cole Steel’s place was the hugest of them all. Let his sister try to burn this one down.

His shoulders hurt. Since arriving in LA he’d been sleeping in the back seat of his car, unable to afford a proper bed for the night. It wasn’t worth finding work; he wouldn’t be here long. Besides, the wheels were more important. After scoping out his first target they would take him straight to Vegas for the main event. A star-studded premiere: the scene of his resurrection. He would arrive just in time to see his beloved sister take to the red carpet. A good brother never let his family down.

It was frustrating that despite his patience he hadn’t seen her yet. Camping outside the Steel mansion was a risk–they employed guys to look out for this sort of thing and one wrong move could jeopardise years of preparation. But he was always careful to keep his distance. A lifetime of living in the shadows had taught him that. When he needed to be, Lester Fallon was a ghost.

Sucking chilli meat from his fingers, Lester screwed up the greasy dog wrapper and tossed it into the back seat. He lifted a pair of binoculars and squinted into them, scanning the part of the house visible from the road. The view from here was limited–he needed to get past the perimeter. For all he knew he could be missing a bedroom window, even better a bathroom. It had been too long.

Several times he had followed a car. Once Cole Steel had emerged in a silver Ferrari, but the others had been blacked-out limousines. He’d trailed them all but had eventually lost them in traffic. She could have been in one, he wasn’t sure, but a sixth sense informed him she wasn’t. Somehow he felt certain she wasn’t here. Over the years he had learned to trust his instincts: he would know when Laura was close.

So where the hell was she?

Lester narrowed his eyes over the top of the binoculars. She liked to hide, it was in her nature. But his dear sweet sister was forgetting he knew everything. He knew her better than she knew herself.

She needn’t worry. He’d wait.

He’d be waiting right here when she came home.





74



Chloe and Nate bumped into each other outside a tapas restaurant on Santa Monica, on a sunny morning at the beginning of May.

Flanked by a giant entourage, Nate spotted her on the way in, looking every inch the budding star as she lunched al fresco with Brock Wilde. Chloe looked better than ever in a white sundress that showed off her brown, smooth legs. But he knew better: she was a nasty piece of work dead set on ruining reputations. He wasn’t reeled in by any of it. He knew different.

‘I’ll catch you up,’ he told the company, ambling over.

Brock clocked him straight away and sat to attention, bristling on the opposite side of the table like a possessive Chihuahua. He was drinking tomato juice through a straw.

‘Hey, Chloe,’ said Nate, keeping it light. Brock frowned, waiting to be acknowledged. What is he, her new f*ck toy? Nate thought bitterly. Oh, no, that was somebody else.

At the sound of his voice Chloe glanced up and removed her oversized sunglasses.

‘Hello, Nate.’ She stood to give him a kiss on both cheeks. It took him aback. They hadn’t seen each other since the episode at New Year and he’d expected at least a frisson of animosity. ‘Brock, you remember Nate Reid.’

‘How could I forget?’ Brock muttered, giving Nate’s hand a brief shake.

‘I was passing,’ said Nate unnecessarily.

‘How’s the band?’ Chloe asked, sitting back down. He could detect an unnatural Californian twang in her accent. ‘Can’t go anywhere these days without hearing you guys.’

You guys? How The Goonies. How long again since she’d been over here?

‘Yup,’ he said curtly. What was with all this let’s-be-friends shit? He was supposed to be the bigger man here.

‘Melissa mentioned you’ve been in London.’ She put her shades back on.

‘Yeah. Place has gone crazy for the new stuff.’

‘I’m glad.’

Nate shifted his weight on to the other foot. ‘It was very … educational.’

There was a protracted silence and Brock, sensing an atmosphere, excused himself to go to the bathroom. He gave Chloe a potent stare before he departed.

When they were alone she said, ‘Look, Nate, we don’t have to do this.’

‘What?’

‘Be uptight with each other. Things ended badly. Fine. But it’s over, OK? You treated me like crap and I embarrassed you back—’

‘Embarrassed me?!’ He snorted. ‘Hardly. I’m better than I’ve ever been. I’ve got people wanting to eat their own shit for an interview with me.’

Chloe made a face. ‘That’s nice.’

‘It is.’

‘No hard feelings, then?’

His green eyes were cold and still. ‘No big deal to me. I’m over it.’

She noticed a photographer snapping at them on the opposite side of the road. Word about the doomed romance had made its way over the Atlantic and a shot of the reunited couple would command a handsome fee.

Nate couldn’t help himself. ‘Things are taking off for you, too?’

‘Yes, actually,’ Chloe said, pleased. She tried to ignore the bitterness in his voice. ‘I’ve got a casting next week for the new Cole Steel. I’m pretty excited, sort of a Bond-girl role.’

‘Sounds great,’ Nate said flatly. He thought how pretty she was, much prettier than he remembered. He wondered if she’d have to audition for this Cole Steel part at all or if she could just suck off the director like last time.

‘Excited about Eastern Sky premiering?’ he asked.

‘Yes, madly. How did you know?’

‘Read it somewhere. In Vegas, right?’

She nodded, wishing Brock would come back. Nate was making her uneasy.

‘I guess you’ll be going with your new boyfriend,’ he added.

Chloe did a good job of disguising it. ‘What boyfriend?’ she challenged.

He shrugged innocently. ‘Sorry, my mistake. Must have misunderstood.’

A flicker of unease. ‘Misunderstood what?’

Nate shook his head as if it didn’t matter, then consulted his watch. ‘Forget it, babe, I’m running late, got people need feeding. Catch you later, yeah?’

Brock returned to the table, pulling out his chair with an almighty squeal.

‘Good to see you, Chlo,’ Nate said. He nodded to Brock. ‘You, too, man.’

He made his way into the restaurant, pleased to have sown the seeds of his revenge. It was enough–for now.

‘What’s wrong?’ Brock gestured to Chloe’s virtually untouched pumpkin ravioli.

Chloe pushed the pasta round with her fork. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She crumpled her napkin and threw it on the plate.

‘Well, you’d better find it again, honey,’ said Brock, digging into his own food. ‘If you get the Cole Steel you’re gonna need all the energy you can get.’ He winked at her. ‘He’s an animal on set, or so I’ve heard.’

Chloe nodded, clearly distracted. Normally she’d have jumped at the chance to talk about Cole Steel.

‘OK,’ said Brock, putting his cutlery down. ‘It’s Nate, isn’t it?’

She shook her head briskly. ‘I just didn’t expect to see him.’

‘Hmm,’ said Brock, sipping his water. ‘You haven’t still got a thing for him, have you? I mean, of course it’s none of my business, but just for the record you could do a hell of a lot better.’

‘Believe me, I haven’t.’

‘He’s got a thing for you, then.’

Chloe frowned. ‘I’m not sure what he’s playing at.’

‘Oh?’ Brock caught the whiff of scandal with a trained nose.

‘Forget it.’ She lifted her knife and carved soupy lines in the pumpkin sauce. ‘I’m just being paranoid.’

Brock smacked her hand. ‘Stop playing with your food.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why would you be paranoid?’

‘No reason,’ she said hastily.

‘Good. Now, eat this up before I finish it.’ He stabbed one of her cold ravioli and popped it in his mouth.

Instead Chloe stood, flipping open her cell. ‘I’ve got to make a phone call. Back in a sec.’ She hurried inside, leaving Brock about to say something, and locked herself in the loo.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

A sharp voice came on the line. ‘Hello?’

Not the usual greeting. Either Kate was there or he was pissed off.

‘Jimmy, it’s me.’

His wife had been back two days. Chloe hadn’t seen or heard from Jimmy since, suspected he wanted to end it cleanly. Fine by her, but it didn’t mean he had to be rude.

There was a scuffle on the other end, before he hissed, ‘What are you doing? I always call you, remember?’

‘It’s important,’ she said, wondering why he had to be so unpleasant about it.

‘What is?’

She kept her voice to a whisper. ‘Jimmy … is there any chance Kate knows about us?’

‘What?’ The sound of a door closing. ‘Of course not. Why?’

She closed her eyes in relief. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Why are you asking? Has someone said something?’

‘No, just—’

‘Good. Don’t put the shits up me like that.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Look, I can’t talk now. Kate’s here, we’re about to go out. Trust me, she hasn’t got a clue. You know me, right?’ A note of pride. ‘I’m careful.’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ll … er … call you some time.’

‘Whatever.’

He clicked off.

Chloe put her head back and exhaled through her mouth. She realised she’d been shaking.

Shit! She needed to relax. Kate knew nothing. If Jimmy said so, she had to trust him. Right?

Trust. There was a joke of a word.

Chloe stuffed the phone in her pocket. Nate Reid was being a dick, there was nothing new there. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the cubicle and went back outside to meet Brock.





75



Jimmy Hart was finding it difficult to take his eyes off his wife’s knees. They were very square and neat, just visible under the line of her pencil skirt. He’d never had a thing for knees before. Now he was finding them desperately erotic.

Husband and wife were in the back of a limousine heading for Geisha, an exclusive Chinese restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard. It was their first time out as a couple in months and Jimmy was experiencing first-date jitters. It was crazy.

The moment Kate had returned from London, it was like a new woman had walked back into the marriage. She was confident, poised, attractive–she was sexy again. Jimmy noticed a lift in her tits; a new shape to her ass; a glint in her eye. Her hair was glossy and she wore it loose. Her face had expression–what’s more, she was smiling. There must have been something in Thames water.

Everyone said that absence made the heart grow fonder. Despite the fact he’d been sleeping with Chloe French for most of Kate’s, that could be it. But, no, it was more. London must have agreed with her. Kate was a changed woman.

Tonight they were meeting Danielle and George Roman. Danielle was helping Kate design her new fashion range.

‘I’m starving,’ said Jimmy, thinking about pork balls. He spread his arm across the back of the seat, hoping Kate would nuzzle in. There was a lot of ground to make up.

Kate flashed him a brilliant smile. Wow, not since the start of their marriage had he seen one of those. But she stayed where she was, her impressive body turned to the window, the elegant line of her neck sweeping up from the collar of her silk blouse. Christ, thought Jimmy, she even sat different.

Damn it! It was one thing her resisting his advances before, but now …

He knew Chloe would be on tap for sex even if his wife wasn’t. Normally the thought would have comforted him, but now he wasn’t sure. What the hell had Chloe been thinking, calling him at home? Young girls were always such a liability.

The couple emerged outside Geisha, smiling and clasping hands to greet the waiting paparazzi. As Jimmy hooked an arm round his wife and pulled her close, they even shared a kiss. He couldn’t remember the last time.

The friendly patron came out to greet them, did a series of shallow bows before taking them through to their customary window table, festooned with glowing lanterns. The others were already there.

‘Darling!’ gushed Danielle, standing to greet her. Kate thought she looked outdated in pearls and chiffon. Fleetingly she wondered if Danielle was best placed to back the KL range.

‘You look sensational,’ she fibbed, leaning in for the obligatory air affair.

George took her shoulders and planted matter-of-fact kisses on both her cheeks. Kate had always harboured a bit of a thing for George, in the way women can be attracted to bastards.

Jimmy hung back like the awkward teenager at a party of grown-ups. He hadn’t done a decent film in years–the sting of his fat-suit effort still smarted–and the role Brock had been working to secure had fallen through at the last minute. As they took their seats he realised that Kate had the status here, not him.

Suddenly he felt depressed. Kate’s fortunes were changing and if he wasn’t careful he’d get left behind. Without his wife, what was he? A washed-up alcoholic, that’s what. It was a sobering thought.

The women were babbling on about fabrics.

Danielle gestured dramatically. ‘You won’t believe what I’ve been working on!’

George rolled his eyes in an indulgent way, looking at Jimmy for affirmation. Jimmy smiled back faintly and examined the wine list. George’s hand had disappeared under the table and, if he wasn’t mistaken, was tending to Danielle’s lap. He doubted she needed help rearranging her napkin.

By the time the hors d’oeuvres arrived, Jimmy was developing a wine headache. The chatter was incessant. He wanted to take Kate home, get some time to themselves, rectify things.

‘How’re the kids?’ George asked through shards of prawn cracker.

‘They’re doing great,’ said Jimmy, not honestly knowing how they were. It seemed he and Kate had achieved something exceptional by having children in Hollywood–and by staying a family. Despite the fat suit and the mess of his affairs, this was something he could say he had achieved. Without it, he was no one.

At the mention of her children, Kate tuned into the men’s conversation. She watched Jimmy out the side of her eye as Danielle, who had already polished off several glasses of champagne, confided that she and George had been trying for kids of their own.

‘Shh, darling,’ hushed George, gesturing for her to be quiet.

As Danielle meekly obeyed, Kate felt thankful that she was wearing the trousers in her own relationship–and never more so than now. She’d seen the way Jimmy had looked at her when she’d swept back into the Bel Air mansion, fresh from her trans-atlantic trip.

The meal passed as anticipated, with Danielle getting slowly more drunk, George cosseting her as one would a child and, most pleasing of all to Kate, Jimmy attempting a couple of times to run a hand up her leg. She chose not to respond–this was a delicate campaign and she wasn’t blowing it before the time was right.

They all headed home around one, with Jimmy’s attentions undiminished in the limo. Kate remained demure, almost bashful as he tried to kiss her, shying away then taking care to ensure he got an eyeful at every opportunity. On the surface she was being a prick tease–nothing her husband didn’t deserve–but deep down she wasn’t sure she’d be able to put out quite yet. They had left it so long, was there any spark to kindle?

Back at the mansion Jimmy poured them both a brandy. Amazingly he hadn’t drunk very much this evening and she suspected he was about to make up for it.

As soon as he was out of the room Kate pounced on his jacket, fumbling for his cell. Nothing in his left pocket–it was possible he still had it on him–but then she felt a reassuring weight in his right. Diving her hand in, she grasped the phone. The screen lit up and she saw he had a missed call. Well, well, well. Two initials and a number.

CF.

She smiled to herself. She didn’t even have to scroll through his contacts to find the dirty little bitch.

Hastily she punched the number into her own phone, slipping Jimmy’s back into his jacket a sliver before he re-entered. She arranged herself on the couch, long legs crossed.

‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the drink. ‘Nothing like a bit of the hard stuff before bed.’

He raised an eyebrow. Had his wife remembered innuendo?

‘Let’s take it upstairs,’ he said throatily, unable to peel his eyes from her body.

Kate sipped her drink, stringing out the moment. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said finally, but not with the usual bite. Instead she stood, put her arms round his neck and kissed him gently.

It felt strange, intimate without the cameras. There was a look in his eyes she hadn’t seen in too long.

She threw back her drink. It stung. With a lingering gaze she added, ‘You, my darling, will just have to wait.’





76



Chloe had kept busy all afternoon. After her lunch with Brock she’d had Bonnie round for a work-out, which had succeeded in knackering her out so much that she couldn’t think about anything except getting through the next repetition.

‘You OK with this?’ Bonnie had asked as she’d powered through the next series.

‘I’m fine,’ she’d panted, taking it to the brink.

Bonnie looked pleased. ‘Seems like you’ve got something to burn.’

But now she was alone, anxiety crept back in.

Chloe soaked for a long time in the bath, unable to shake the knot of dread that had plagued her since her run-in with Nate.

I’ve been having an affair with Kate diLaurentis’s husband.

Part of her didn’t care–this was the game, it was how the rules went. But the other part of her, the part she’d wanted to lose, recoiled as the gravity of it hit home. Chloe sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. Famous or not, she’d had revenge sex with a married man, a father, while his wife was away on business. It was just like her mother had done, just like Nate, just like every other hurtful person who’d torn a family apart. She shivered.

Yesterday she’d spoken to her father. She’d felt ashamed, like she’d betrayed him.

‘I’ll be home soon,’ she’d told him, not knowing when soon was.

‘You don’t want to come back here,’ he’d teased, ‘you’re having far too much fun. I’m fine, sweetheart, really. Me and Janet are happy.’

I’m not happy, she’d wanted to scream. I’m not fine.

‘Take care, darling.’

But she wasn’t taking care. She wasn’t being careful at all.

There was her career to consider, too. Kate diLaurentis was a powerful force in Hollywood; she and Jimmy were a powerful couple. Chloe was just starting out, working to maintain her sweet image, the English rose that Sam Lucas had wanted for Eastern Sky. With the premiere a matter of weeks away, nerves jangled.

She would end it. Completely, and for good. That’s what she would do. Right this minute. This wasn’t her; it’d all been a huge mistake.

Clambering out of the bath, Chloe wrapped a towel round her and squeezed out her hair. A web of dark strands got caught on her palm and she washed them off, picking them out from between her fingers.

She slipped into some tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt then, settling on the sofa, punched a number into her phone and waited. Jimmy would get mad if she called again, but f*ck it. It would be the last time.

Frustratingly he didn’t answer. She considered leaving a message but decided not to–she didn’t want something so important to get swallowed up on an answer phone. She tossed the mobile down, hoping he’d ring back and knowing he wouldn’t.





77

Las Vegas



Elisabeth swept across the Poseidon Terrace, stopping by one of the marble plinths. All around her the flanks of the Parthenon rose into the scorching blue sky.

‘What the hell are you talkin’ about?’ came Bernstein’s voice from behind. He was sprawled on a shallow bench, watching his daughter. ‘You brought me out of a meeting to tell me this bullcrap?’ He chewed on his cigar. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Elisabeth whipped round. ‘I told you, I don’t want a joint wedding.’

‘I do. Get used to it.’

‘Robert doesn’t either,’ she announced, looking at the ground. ‘In fact, I think we’ll … Well, we might put back the date.’

‘What?’ Bernstein bellowed, sitting up. He jabbed a finger at her. ‘To hell with that idea. This has got to be the longest engagement in history. What’s the problem with you kids?’

Elisabeth closed her eyes. She hadn’t actually spoken to Robert about it but, damn it, she needed more time.

‘It’s got nothing to do with you,’ she said, meeting her father’s gaze.

Against the backdrop of marble, smooth sculptures and rounded pillars, Bernstein was an imposing figure. He stood, his shadow spilling around him.

‘It’s got everything to do with me.’ His voice was grim. ‘You’re not letting me down.’

‘This is between Robert and me. Back off.’

‘There’s more to this than you realise, Elisabeth. The plan’s goin’ ahead whether you like it or not.’

She laughed. ‘You can’t threaten me, I’m not a kid any more.’

Bernstein eyeballed her.

‘I mean it.’ She matched him. ‘What is it about you and this stupid wedding anyway?’

‘There’s things you don’t know,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh, yeah?’ she challenged. ‘Like what?’

He squinted. There was a protracted pause.

‘You steal somethin’ from my office?’ he said eventually.

Elisabeth thought of her mother’s note, clean and unopened, untainted by her father and his machinations. She felt a surge of gratification. He couldn’t prove a thing.

‘No.’

He observed her.

‘Why?’ she pushed it. ‘Have you lost something?’

Seconds passed.

Bernstein changed tack. ‘This is down to that damn broad showing up, ain’t it?’

Elisabeth was bemused. ‘What do you mean?’

He slotted the cigar back between his lips. ‘A piece like Lana Falcon don’t just roll up at the Orient expecting a free lunch. What’s her husband got to say?’ He chewed on the end.

‘Robert and I discussed it.’

‘And?’

‘It’s a private matter.’

‘A private matter, huh?’ Bernstein narrowed his eyes. ‘Maybe I should straighten that out with St Louis myself.’

‘He’ll only tell you the same. Besides, she’s gone. She went this morning.’

Elisabeth had gone to see Lana the night before her departure. She’d largely been keeping away from the Orient since Lana had arrived–she’d had enough other distractions–but it was an encounter she’d felt had to happen.

At the door to the Pagoda Suite Elisabeth had knocked confidently. Lana had answered almost straight away. The younger woman was prettier than she’d remembered and she’d cursed her decision to overdress in a sequin vest and heels–Lana had looked like a fresh-faced teenager in her plain jeans and top.

‘Elisabeth!’ She’d seemed wary at first, kissing her hello and standing back to let her in.

Elisabeth figured she must be worried about going back to LA. No wonder she was tense. Cole Steel was not a man she’d like to get on the wrong side of.

‘Thanks,’ she’d said as Lana closed the door. ‘How are you feeling?’

The other woman had seemed to relax a bit. ‘Good. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for letting me stay.’ A pause. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘Can I get you a drink?’

Elisabeth shook her head. ‘I can’t stay.’ Then she added, ‘Robert’s very fond of you, you know.’ She scanned Lana for a reaction and, sure enough, it came: a slight blush to the cheeks. It was enough.

‘He’s been kind.’

‘He’s a kind man.’

In the ensuing silence Elisabeth understood that she didn’t know half of Lana’s and Robert’s shared story, despite what he had said. In fact, she realised, in all the time they’d been engaged they hadn’t really talked about their pasts in that respect. God knew how many skeletons he had in his closet. She tried not to think about her own skeletons swinging in the dark, their bones knocking together like wind chimes.

‘Have you spoken to Cole?’ It was a sensitive question.

Lana was honest. ‘Not yet. I’m afraid.’

Elisabeth sat down. ‘It’s not easy to admit when you’ve done something wrong.’

‘No.’ She put a hand to her stomach. ‘But I don’t have a choice now.’

Their eyes met. ‘And if you did?’

Lana took a seat. ‘If I did,’ she frowned, ‘I think I’d stay married. I don’t think I’d have the strength to break away.’

Elisabeth nodded. ‘It’s easier to walk, I guess,’ she said softly. ‘Just leave, not face things, hide away.’

‘That’s what I’ve done. I’m not proud of it.’

‘But it’s worked out.’ Elisabeth crossed her legs. ‘You’ve got people on your side.’

Lana bowed her head. ‘People can surprise you.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Elisabeth, a little sadly. She got up and walked to the window. It was dark outside and she could see her own reflection in the glass.

‘Funny, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘What is?’

‘The premiere.’ She touched the glass pane with a fingertip. It left a foggy print. ‘You’ll be back here in a few weeks, no one any the wiser. You’ll pull off a great performance.’

Lana came to stand next to her. Two women, side by side, on the brink of the world and scared to death of the fall.

‘And you will,’ said Lana, avoiding the undercurrent.

‘Perhaps.’

‘It’s not easy to be in the spotlight,’ Lana conceded. ‘Secrets get difficult to ignore.’

‘Secrets?’ Elisabeth had looked at her sideways. ‘I suppose it depends on what you’re trying to hide.’

‘Yes,’ said Lana. ‘I suppose it does.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Bernstein now, dragging her back to the present. ‘Enough crap about putting things off. Spend some time with Jessica, she’ll give it to you straight.’

Elisabeth approached him. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

Smoke curled from his lips. ‘What?’

‘About the wedding. About me.’

He took her hands, for the first time since she was a little girl.

‘There’s things I got to tell you an’ all,’ he growled. ‘But now ain’t the time—’

‘I can’t go ahead with it.’

‘What?’

‘The wedding. I can’t go ahead with it.’

He shook his head. ‘Sure you can. You’ll get used to the idea.’

‘That’s not what I mean. I don’t give a crap about you and Christie.’

Bernstein pulled away, extinguishing the cigar. ‘I know damn well that’s how you feel. I might be old but I’m not as dumb as you think.’

‘You’re missing the point.’

‘So tell me.’

Elisabeth searched her father’s eyes. She felt overcome with shame. What would he say when she told him? Alberto Bellini was like a brother to him, an uncle to her. The words stuck.

She stalled. ‘You first,’ she said softly. ‘Please. You said you wanted to …’

Bernstein took a deep breath. He looked down at his shoes, a humble gesture she’d never seen before.

Suddenly his pager went. He seemed puzzled, patted his pockets, before drawing it smoothly from his suit.

The moment was lost.

‘I’m out of time, puss.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘See you tonight?’

Elisabeth and Robert were due at a restaurant opening, she’d nearly forgotten. She put a hand to her head. ‘Yes, of course.’

Bernstein turned on his heel. ‘Put a smile on it, Elisabeth,’ he threw back over his shoulder. ‘Nobody’s died.’