Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [54]
‘Mrs Dunn,’ Fouad said, always polite and proper. ‘It is so nice to see you again. I feel that it’s been too long.’
Armand shot him a disgusted look. How dare Fouad encourage her, make her feel welcome. She was not welcome at all.
‘Nice to see you too, Fouad. Tell me – how is your lovely family?’ Peggy inquired, always gracious.
‘Very fine, thank you for asking,’ Fouad replied.
‘I only wish Armand would find a nice girl and settle down,’ Peggy sighed. ‘You are a shining example, Fouad. I admire you.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Dunn.’
‘Why this sudden interest in coming to Vegas?’ Armand asked, his tone brusque.
‘Why not?’ Peggy said, delighted she’d made the decision to accompany her only child to Vegas. ‘It was once my home, you know,’ she added, looking forward to revisiting the city she’d been plucked from as an eighteen-year-old girl.
Forty-two years had passed, but Peggy had never forgotten her life back then. As a dancer in one of the most popular shows in town she’d received more than her share of attention. With her red hair and delicate white skin she’d been quite the stand out; men could not get enough of her. And then King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan had swooped into town and claimed her for himself. He’d plied her with gifts and jewellery, and she’d allowed herself to be swept up in the dazzle. It was mysterious and exciting, like a fairytale. Without much thought she’d accepted the King’s proposal, and gone with him to his country, leaving behind her pit boss boyfriend, Joe Piscarelli, whom she’d always suspected was mob connected. After telling Joe she was leaving, he’d flown into a vile rage, called her a gold-digging cunt, and warned her to never set foot in Vegas again.
She hadn’t until now.
Where was Joe Piscarelli forty-two years later?
Probably dead, Peggy thought with a frisson of satisfaction. Buried in a ditch somewhere in the desert. That would teach him to call her names.
Back in the day Vegas was quite the place to be if you were a girl with big dreams. Her dreams had certainly materialized – marriage to a King, an enormously rich second husband, and a billionaire son. Not too shabby for a girl who’d come from nothing.
* * *
The landing in Vegas was quite turbulent. Armand was never bothered by things like that, but ever since becoming a father to his two children, Fouad hated turbulence. He white-knuckled his way to landing, then set about organizing the luggage to the stretch limousine waiting on the tarmac alongside the plane.
Armand was annoyed that Peggy had brought so many suitcases with her. He sat in the back of the limo and fumed. ‘We’re only here for a day or so,’ he muttered. ‘Why did you feel the need to bring so much?’
‘You never know,’ she answered, with a vague wave of her hand. ‘I might stay a while.’
Her statement alarmed Armand, for when he purchased The Keys, the last person he wished to have hanging around was Peggy. His mother belonged in New York, and that’s exactly where he expected her to stay.
‘What meetings do you have here, Armand?’ she asked, as the limousine sped away from the airport.
None of your damn business, he would say if Peggy was a normal woman.
But she wasn’t normal.
She was his mother.
The only woman he had ever feared.
* * *
Armand was situated in the Presidential Suite at The Keys. Four bedrooms, two living rooms, a sauna, a steam shower, five bathrooms, a fully equipped bar, a pool table, a game room, and a private rooftop swimming pool and Jacuzzi. It was more luxurious than his New York apartment, and he decided that when he bought the place, he would use this suite as his own pied-à-terre while he built himself a magnificent mansion on the property.
There was no doubt in his mind that The Keys would be his. No doubt at all.
‘Make certain Peggy stays elsewhere,’ he’d instructed Fouad before arrival. ‘Book her into another hotel. Tell her The Keys is full.’
‘Are you sure?’ Fouad had asked.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ Armand had replied, annoyed that Fouad would question him.
Fouad had managed