He smiled as he did so. “It appears I’ve selected a strong personality as well. What does that say about me, I wonder?”
“Please,” she added, and remembering the cookies walked over to take one. “I’ll have a face-to-face with Julietta Gates tomorrow. Meanwhile, let’s move on to Fortney, Leo.”
Fortney was thirty-eight, and had two marriages, two divorces, no offspring. With Roarke’s quick work, and his understanding of what she wanted, she read that his first wife had been a minor vid star, in the porn category. The marriage had lasted just over a year. The second was a successful theatrical agent.
“There’s some buzz here,” Roarke added. “The juicy gossip sort from media reports. You want them up, or do you want the highlights?”
“Start with the highlights.”
“It appears Leo was a very bad boy.” Roarke sipped coffee as he read from his own screen. “Got caught with his pants down, literally, in a hotel suite in New L.A., entertaining a pair of well-endowed starlets. Besides the two naked nubile starlets—that’s a quote, by the way—there were rumors that considerable chemical enhancements and appliances of a sexual nature were also involved. Obviously, suspecting something of the sort, his wife had a P.I. on him. He was skinned to the bone in the divorce, and endured considerable snickering publicity as several other women were happy to talk to the media about their experiences with the hapless Leo. One is quoted as saying: ‘He’s a walking hard-on, always coming on and usually petering out at the sticking point.’ Ouch.”
“Sexually promiscuous, unable to maintain, and embarrassed publicly by a woman. Got a sheet with a couple of sexual assaults and an indecent exposure. I like it. And look at his financials. No way he can maintain the lifestyle he wants on what he pulls in. He needs a woman—currently Pepper Franklin—to keep him.”
“I don’t like him,” Roarke muttered, continuing to read. “She deserves better.”
“He hit on Peabody.”
He looked up now, a dark gleam in his eye. “I really don’t like him. Did he move on you?”
“Nah. He’s scared of me.”
“At least he isn’t completely brainless then.”
“What he is, is an ego-soaked liar who likes to take bimbos to bed—Peabody played up the bimbo angle on him—and use stronger women to take care of him, then cheat on them. He’s educated, knows how to put on a polished front. Likes the good life, including high-dollar writing paper, is theatrical enough to enjoy the imitation route, and has the necessary freedom to troll and hunt. What have we got on his parents, family background?”
“On screen. You can see his mother’s an actress. Largely supporting roles, character parts. I actually know some of her work. She’s good, stays busy.”
“Had Leo with husband number two out of five. I’ll say she stays busy. So he’s got a number of step- and half-sibs. Father’s a theatrical broker. Same as Leo. Somebody who puts projects together, right?”
“Mmm. There you go. There are snippets of gossip here, too.” He was scanning quickly on this first pass, looking for buzz words. “Our man would’ve been six when his parents divorced, both having very public affairs during the marriage, and afterward. His mother also claimed the father was physically abusive. Then again, he claimed the same about her. Reading bits and pieces here, it sounds as if the household was a war zone.”
“So add a violent childhood and potential parental neglect. Mom’s a public figure, which makes her powerful. They probably had household staff, right? Maids, gardeners, full-time child care. You could see what you could dig up on who looked after little Leo while you display the Renquists for me.”
“Then I’m having another cookie.”
She glanced back as he spoke, ready to make some sarcastic comment. But the look of him, just the look of him sitting there at her desk, his hair shining from the shower, his eyes vivid and focused on the screen, had her heart tripping.
Ridiculous, it was ridiculous. She knew what he looked like, and he could still turn her inside out without even trying.
He must have sensed her stare as he shifted his eyes, met hers. An absurdly handsome man with a cookie in his hand. “I think I deserve it.”
Her mind blanked. “What?”
“The cookie,” he said and took a bite. Then he cocked his head. “What?”
“Nothing.” Vaguely embarrassed, she turned around again and ordered her heart to settle back down. Time, she told herself, to move to the next.
Renquist, Niles, she thought. Self-important, snotty bastard. But that was just personal opinion. Time for facts.
He’d been born in London, to a society deb who was half Brit, half Yank. Fourth cousin to the king on her mother’s side and tons of money on her father’s. His father was Lord Renquist, a member of Parliament and a staunch conservative. One younger sister who’d settled in Australia with husband number two.
Renquist had the full British educational package. The Stonebridge School to Eton, Eton to Edinburg University. Served two years in the RAF, as commissioned officer, rank of captain. Fluent in Italian and French and joined the diplomatic corps at age thirty, the same year as his marriage to Pamela Elizabeth Dysert.
She had a similar background and education. Well-placed parents, high-class education, which had included six years at a boarding school in Switzerland. She was an only child, and had considerable money of her own.
They were, Eve supposed, what people of that class would call a good match.
Eve remembered the little girl who’d come to the steps while she’d been questioning Pamela Renquist. The little pink-and-gold doll, Rose, who’d given the nanny’s hand one impatient tug before falling in.