Read Online The St. Tropez Lonely Hearts Club by Joan Collins - Free Book Online
Authors: Joan Collins
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social world, which she soon did. Sophie had never forgiven her because – over the next fifteen years – young and beautiful Lara had become one of the top hostesses on the charity circuit in New York, while Sophie’s star as an actress waned. Eventually, when the phone stopped ringing she decided to exile herself back to France again, where she was still an icon.
Sophie was a cunning creature who cared little for her fellow man, and she didn’t particularly like women either. She lavished all her love and attention on the thirty cats and dogs that shared her grand dilapidated villa, high in the hills above Saint-Tropez. They slept on her bed and left trails of droppings all over the house. Consequently, although Sophie managed to pull herself together in the glamour department when she went out, she never quite managed to erase the faint feline aroma that clung to her costumes. She had never married or had children, and had been famed for a constant stream of lovers, usually of the out-of-work musician, magician or bodybuilder variety. But recently there had been no young lovers and she relied on Frick and Adolpho to escort her to events like tonight’s party.
‘She’s amazing for her age, isn’t she?’ Mina announced to her assembled admirers, but loud enough for Sophie to hear. Diplomacy was not the singer’s forte, and she seemed unaware that being more than five decades younger than the actress, this was a terrible faux pas.
‘Yes, amazing,’ agreed Fabrizio, who had managed to ooze himself past Mina’s hangers-on and admirers. Using his most seductive Italian stallion technique, he clasped both her hands in his and gazed into her big brown eyes. ‘But
you
are so amazing. Incredible, you are incredible. No wonder they call you the most beautiful singer in the world.’
Mina accepted the compliment as her due, dismissing Fabrizio with a cursory smile. Yes, he was handsome, but handsome studs were a dime-a-dozen in LA, and she certainly had her plate full right now. She politely removed his hands and drifted over to Khris Kane, who was busily knocking back the vintage Cristal with property wunderkind Roberto LoBianco.
Roberto was enthralling Khris and a few other guests with the merits of the new luxury resort he was developing on an island 70 kilometres across the water from Saint-Tropez. ‘Saint-Sébastien will make Saint-Tropez look like Bognor Beach,’ he enthused. ‘It has everything Saint-Tropez has but much more, and it’s totally exclusive. You can only get there by boat so there won’t be all that tourist riff-raff. I know we’re going to get a lot of the rich folk who live here to buy there. It’s hot, it’s new and it’s absolutely glamorous – it’s really happening.’
‘No one will give up Saint-Tropez,’ said Khris Kane. ‘It’s an institution – it’s legendary. There will never be a place to rival its uniqueness, its glamorous reputation and fame.’
‘Ah, but remember the shit weather last season,’ said Roberto. ‘How many people upped sticks and went to Greece or Ibiza?’
‘That is true,’ agreed Charlie Chalk sadly.
‘You could hardly get your yachts out of port,’ scoffed Roberto. ‘There was one mistral after another – it was tragic.’
‘My God, but what will happen to the season in Saint-Tropez if people leave?’ asked Charlie. ‘So many locals depend on it for their living. We need the tourists and the high rollers to live here in their villas and give their dinners and parties here. Thousands of people rely on them.’
Roberto shrugged. ‘Not my problem, Charlie,’ he grinned, clapping the comedian on the back, ‘and not yours either, dear boy. Just enjoy it while it lasts.’
At 10.30 p.m. the thirty guests sat down to a dinner of oysters on the half-shell, followed by bouillabaisse, the classic Côte d’Azur dish prepared by the owner of a small beach shack commonly regarded as making the most authentic example of this delectable
Sophie was a cunning creature who cared little for her fellow man, and she didn’t particularly like women either. She lavished all her love and attention on the thirty cats and dogs that shared her grand dilapidated villa, high in the hills above Saint-Tropez. They slept on her bed and left trails of droppings all over the house. Consequently, although Sophie managed to pull herself together in the glamour department when she went out, she never quite managed to erase the faint feline aroma that clung to her costumes. She had never married or had children, and had been famed for a constant stream of lovers, usually of the out-of-work musician, magician or bodybuilder variety. But recently there had been no young lovers and she relied on Frick and Adolpho to escort her to events like tonight’s party.
‘She’s amazing for her age, isn’t she?’ Mina announced to her assembled admirers, but loud enough for Sophie to hear. Diplomacy was not the singer’s forte, and she seemed unaware that being more than five decades younger than the actress, this was a terrible faux pas.
‘Yes, amazing,’ agreed Fabrizio, who had managed to ooze himself past Mina’s hangers-on and admirers. Using his most seductive Italian stallion technique, he clasped both her hands in his and gazed into her big brown eyes. ‘But
you
are so amazing. Incredible, you are incredible. No wonder they call you the most beautiful singer in the world.’
Mina accepted the compliment as her due, dismissing Fabrizio with a cursory smile. Yes, he was handsome, but handsome studs were a dime-a-dozen in LA, and she certainly had her plate full right now. She politely removed his hands and drifted over to Khris Kane, who was busily knocking back the vintage Cristal with property wunderkind Roberto LoBianco.
Roberto was enthralling Khris and a few other guests with the merits of the new luxury resort he was developing on an island 70 kilometres across the water from Saint-Tropez. ‘Saint-Sébastien will make Saint-Tropez look like Bognor Beach,’ he enthused. ‘It has everything Saint-Tropez has but much more, and it’s totally exclusive. You can only get there by boat so there won’t be all that tourist riff-raff. I know we’re going to get a lot of the rich folk who live here to buy there. It’s hot, it’s new and it’s absolutely glamorous – it’s really happening.’
‘No one will give up Saint-Tropez,’ said Khris Kane. ‘It’s an institution – it’s legendary. There will never be a place to rival its uniqueness, its glamorous reputation and fame.’
‘Ah, but remember the shit weather last season,’ said Roberto. ‘How many people upped sticks and went to Greece or Ibiza?’
‘That is true,’ agreed Charlie Chalk sadly.
‘You could hardly get your yachts out of port,’ scoffed Roberto. ‘There was one mistral after another – it was tragic.’
‘My God, but what will happen to the season in Saint-Tropez if people leave?’ asked Charlie. ‘So many locals depend on it for their living. We need the tourists and the high rollers to live here in their villas and give their dinners and parties here. Thousands of people rely on them.’
Roberto shrugged. ‘Not my problem, Charlie,’ he grinned, clapping the comedian on the back, ‘and not yours either, dear boy. Just enjoy it while it lasts.’
At 10.30 p.m. the thirty guests sat down to a dinner of oysters on the half-shell, followed by bouillabaisse, the classic Côte d’Azur dish prepared by the owner of a small beach shack commonly regarded as making the most authentic example of this delectable
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