Shimmers of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 3) (24 page)

Alexandre had seen enough shallow graves for a lifetime; bodies blown to smithereens. La Légion was tougher than any army, any professional fighting force. It was no fucking picnic. If he’d stayed, he would probably be dead by now.

He remembered the march of La Légion
; Le Boudin
. Eighty- eight steps a minute. 88, the magic number, the number of pearls on the Art Deco necklace he gave Pearl. He seemed to be wedded to that lucky number. Eighty-eight.

He now gazed out of the car window, humming the first verse of the marching song to himself:

Nous sommes des dégourdis,

Nous sommes des lascars

Des types pas ordinaires.

Nous avons souvent notre cafard,

Nous sommes des légionnaires.

Translated into English was:

We are crafty.

We are rogues.

We are no ordinary guys.

We’ve often got our black moods,

For we are Legionnaires.

Their motto was -
Legio Patria Nostra
- The Legion is our home. Thank God he had a real home, now, with Pearl. He had been searching all this time and knew he’d finally found what he was looking for.

An unwelcome image of Laura being pregnant flashed before him. He groaned and felt tension clamp at his jaw. He cursed the day she opened her bee-sting lips and asked him the time. He should have just kept her as a friend, not started fucking her. The truth was, that she was pretty unsexy in bed, anyway; all angles and bones - never letting go – too uptight, too neurotic. He felt bad judging someone like that but fuck, he felt no remorse now, in ripping Laura’s personality to pieces – she was proving to be a bitch of the first order. But the worst thing was that she didn’t even seem to be aware of what a monster she was being. As if all her demands were ‘by the by’ – the sort of, ‘oh by the way, I need a baby and it has to be yours.’ As if her actions wouldn’t have consequences for all involved. Had she thought of the child, itself? He doubted it. Doubted Laura would have thought far outside the little box that was her own selfish head.

He’d told Pearl that Laura had become ‘doolally’ because of the accident, but he was now aware that that wasn’t quite true. She had always been self-absorbed - it just didn’t seem to matter when he was younger. Telling Pearl that – excusing Laura’s behavior - somehow justified having been with Laura in the first place. Modeling hadn’t helped her, one bit. Take an egotistical person and shove them into the modeling world, and all it does is magnify the problem. And all that money she’d grown accustomed to with James. She’d become a spoiled brat, used to getting her way.

What a fuck-up! He still didn’t know what he was going to say to her. He’d come up with a solution – he’d have to. As much as he had goals and wrote lists, he always played things by instinct. It drove Sophie nuts. Sometimes, he’d go in the opposite direction than planned just before an important business meeting. If he instinctively trusted someone… or the reverse; had a suspicion that someone would double-cross him, a gut feeling, then he might change his course altogether. It had made him a rich man and he wasn’t going to change tactics now.

He’d play it by ear. Read Laura by looking into her eyes. Maybe it was all about money and she could be bought off.

He couldn’t imagine her as a mother, anyway – surely it was some crazy fantasy of hers? The idea seemed preposterous - the woman could hardly boil an egg. Changing diapers? Forget it – she’d want a 24/7 nanny. Two nannies, in fact, a team of cleaners and God knows what else. He’d talk her out of it. Woo her with cash. Anybody could be bought at a price. Anybody.

Except Pearl, funnily enough. She was the one person he knew who really wasn’t motivated by money. He believed that if he lost his whole portfolio, overnight, she wouldn’t give a damn. Maybe, she’d even feel relieved.

Oh yes, you could add Elodie to the list. She was even embarrassed by being wealthy; a reaction, no doubt, against her mother – well, Sophie was her step-mother, but it amounted to the same thing. Poor Elodie – such a loner; he wondered if she had ever gone on a real date with a boy. Probably not. She was a nerd, like him, and preferred to stay in and play video games.

Alexandre looked out of the window at Trafalgar Square, home to the landmark, Nelson’s Column, proud as ever, guarded by the four, famous lion statues and ridiculous amounts of pigeons. It was erected to celebrate the Battle of Trafalgar, a British naval victory during the Napoleonic wars over France.

It was a pain in the neck being French sometimes; especially in England; he wondered if the two countries would have a love/hate relationship forever. The French had a reputation for being cocky and arrogant and he suspected people saw him that way. Alexandre was fond of London; it was a beautiful city, so he’d asked his driver to take him the scenic route. If it weren’t for his impending meeting with Laura he would be enjoying the ride.

His mind shifted to Pearl. His rare pearl. His gem. He missed her already, and it had only been a few hours. It felt great opening up to her the way he had the day before. But it had unlocked so many emotions, and not in a good way. He had never realized the anger he’d silently, and unwittingly, harbored for his mother. It was true – she had abandoned him, her own son at so young an age. But still, he couldn’t let her down now, and wouldn’t. It was strange the way children could sometimes feel responsibility for their parents. It was common with children of alcoholics, too. His mom had never been a drinker but she had an addictive personality. His father had been her drug and now she relied on Alexandre for emotional support. Not the healthiest of relationships, yet he felt responsible for her happiness, somehow.

Large raindrops, like tears, slid down the glass of the windows as the car crawled along in the traffic. The streets were slick with wet, as usual. When did it not rain in London? The double-decker buses were stopping and starting as people piled in and out of them. It wasn’t long ago that Alexandre had been hopping on and off buses; a taxi was a rare treat in those days. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been with HookedUp - an American Dream if ever there was one – even if he wasn’t American.

The Daimler was now cruising through Admiral Arch and along The Mall towards Buckingham Palace where the road was paved in red. He’d like to take Pearl there one day – so many plans, so many things for them to do together. And now there was a baby on the way; it would be fun to watch the Changing of the Guard – children loved that.

Everything was perfect, except for this fucking Laura fiasco.

His buzzing cell jolted him from his rumination and he fished it out of his coat pocket.

“Oui, hallo?” For a moment there, he was in Parisian mode.

The voice was excitable and he recognized it immediately – Anthony.

“Oh Alexandre, I am going crazy with this no cell phone ban thing. I never get to speak to my sister, anymore!”

“She’s worried about radiation vibes damaging the fetus.”

“So like our hippie parents. Must be the genes. But, of course she’s worried, I can totally understand - she’s carrying what is going to be the most beautiful baby in the world inside that little stomach of hers. No wonder. I mean, pur-lease. Is she there, by the way?”

“No, she’s in Paris and I’m in London.”

“Oh my God! No! Alexandre what has she done now – please don’t tell me she’s leapt out of another bathroom window? What have
you
done? I can’t stand the agony of it! Please tell me you two guys are not on some stupid separation thing again.”

Alexandre chuckled. “No, not at all. I’m just here on business. Briefly. Pearl’s at the hotel. At the George V if you want to call her there this evening. In the Presidential Suite.”

“Well, excuse
me
your royal highness, Mr. President.”

Alexandre’s lips tipped upwards. Anthony always brought a smile to his face, especially recently, since he had changed his tune with Pearl and was being so sweet to her.

Anthony blabbered on, “I’m glad I got you, anyway, because I want to be reassured that your wedding is going ahead as planned and that my sister is not behaving like Lucille Ball or Rachel Green from
Friends
. Is she acting like a grown-up or is she-”

“She’s being extremely grown-up,” Alexandre interrupted. “Don’t worry, everything’s going very smoothly with us.”
If it weren’t for goddam Laura, that would be true
. Alexandre added, “In fact, we’re crazy in love with each other, more than ever, so don’t worry, Anthony.”

Anthony sighed in a sort of sing-song. “Aah, so cute. Well, I’ll call her later at the hotel, then. Good luck with your business, Michael.”

Did he just say Michael?
“Excuse me?”

“I said good luck, Mr. Corleone, with your business meeting.”

Alexandre chuckled. “Thanks. I need it.”

“Make, whoever it is, an offer they can’t refuse.”

Anthony’s comment made Alexandre freeze for a second.
Make Laura an offer she couldn’t refuse
? Tempting.

Very bloody tempting.

***

The car drew up at James’s and Laura’s house.

James…where the fuck was he? He hadn’t returned one single call.

Alexandre rarely felt nervous but a foreboding feeling suddenly clenched his gut. Laura could be dealt with; why he felt so jumpy, he couldn’t explain.

His long fingers gripped the brass door knocker and he rapped at her black front door. He’d heard, once, that lions for door knockers were a good idea; it kept the burglars at bay – a subliminal message – ‘don’t fuck with me’. Laura did have a way of alienating people. She never had been much of a girls’ girl. Not like Pearl, who everyone warmed to, straight away.

He waited. No reply. Rain suddenly shot down like cold needles and he’d left his umbrella in the car and told his driver to come back later. He knocked again. Nothing. Where was Mrs. Blake? Fuck Laura. Making him wait like some lackey. Typical. He remembered that he still had his key to the garage; he’d forgotten to give it back.

He set off around to the back towards the mews. He unlocked the side door to the garage. It was empty and seemed sad without his DB5, as if crying out for companionship. If it was true what Laura said about James losing all his money, they’d be selling up soon. Who knew? Maybe the bank already owned the house.

The door to the garden was unlocked.

The grass was long and hadn’t been mowed for a while; a sure sign that things with James and Laura had gone downhill. They’d always had a gardener. That meant she’d really want to take Alexandre to the cleaners, big time. That was, if he was able get this crazy baby idea out of her head, and pay her off instead.

He opened the kitchen door and thought how easy it would have been for somebody to break in. It was eerily quiet.

He shouted out. “Laura? Hello? Is anyone home?”

Nothing. Almost silent. Except the tick, tock of an old grandfather clock.

“Hell…o…ooo? Anyone in? Mrs. Blake?”

Just then, Alexandre heard a noise and nearly jumped out of his skin.

“T
o err is human, to loaf is Parisian,” Daisy tells me with a rebellious look in her eye. We’re lounging on my king-size bed in the Presidential Suite of the George V. Amy is sprawled out on the floor, busy with one of her coloring books. We ladies are drinking champagne and reclining like Marie Antoinette in the lap of luxury.

“To err is human, to loaf is Parisian,” I repeat with amusement. “Who said that?”

Daisy sips her champagne. “Victor Hugo.”

“The one who wrote
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
?”

“That’s the one. What did you think of Notre Dame, Pearl?”

“I didn’t have time to go in, just stood there mesmerized by its grandeur, gazing at those crazy gargoyles.”

“Well, I have to say, I know it’s wicked, and I’m only telling you this, because I know you’ll keep it a secret, but I preferred just hanging out with you this afternoon. There’s only so much sight-seeing you can do in one day. So glad I escaped.” She takes another swig of champagne. “Let’s have a butcher’s then?” she asks, grabbing one of my shopping bags.

“What did you say?”

“Let’s have a look inside that bag.”

“No, what was that word you used?”

“Butchers. Butcher’s hook. A look. Let’s have a butchers. It’s Cockney rhyming slang.”

“What else can you say?”

“I can hail a sherbet.”

“What’s that?”

“A sherbet is a cab.”

“How does that make sense?”

“Sherbert dab. Cab. Are you going to use the dog, then and call Alexandre?”

“The dog?”

“You’re so slow, Pearl. Dog and bone. Phone.”

“So you use the first word, but not the second?”

“Exactly, or it’s too obvious. It was invented, or evolved, rather, to confuse people. Like a private language so nobody knew what they were talking about.”

“So Cockneys are Londoners?”

“All Cockneys are Londoners but not all Londoners are Cockneys. I mean, I’m a Londoner but I’m hardly Cockney. I speak the Queen’s English.”

“So what makes someone a true Cockney, apart from their accent?”

“You have to be have been born within the sound of the Bow Bells; a church called St. Mary-le
-
Bow in the East End of London. So pick up the dog, then, Pearl. The dog and bone – pick up the phone.” You’ve been itching to call him all day.”

“You’re right, I have.”

This is so awkward. I’m dying to divulge all to Daisy but of course, I can’t. If I tell her about Laura’s blackmail she’ll want to know the whole story, and I’m sworn to secrecy. She knows Alexandre is in London but I’ve told her he’s on business and just had to drop by Laura’s to pick something up. Even that got her suspicious. I realize that it wasn’t the best plan, after all, to have her over this evening, although I love hanging out with her. I lean over take a deep breath and grab the receiver of the hotel phone. I dial Alexandre’s cell. It rings and rings until his voicemail picks up.

“Why isn’t he answering?” I grumble under my breath. I leave a message. “Hey honey, just calling from the hotel. We had a lovely long day having lunch in the Marais, hanging out and shopping. Call me, I’m worried about you.” I slowly hang up and look at Daisy. “Just…you know, he had an important business meeting with some new clients.”