Shimmers of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 3) (25 page)

I hate lying to Daisy. She arches her eyebrows and I feel instantly guilty, as if she can read my mind. I need to ply her with more champagne. All I can think about is what Laura is going to say and do, and what Alexandre’s reaction will be. I pour us both another glass.

“Isn’t this delicious?” I say, taking a long sip. “I love pink champagne. So girly.

“Yeah, men aren’t into it, so much, are they? It
is
a very girly thing. Hey, Pearl, put the dress on you bought.”

A little voice pipes up from the carpet. “Yes Auntie Pearl, put that pretty dress on.”

“Oh, by the way,” and Daisy lowers her voice to an almost inaudible whisper, “Zac has been pushing me to move to Kauai. He says he’s falling for me.”

“But he hardly knows you.”

She’s twiddling her red curls between her fingers. When Daisy does that it means she’s excited. “I think he’s very keen.”

I widen my eyes. “Are you going to go for it?”

“I’ve been checking out schools on the internet, and apartments.”

“No?”

“I think I really might go for it.”

“Well, the good thing is, if it’s all a disaster, my father is there as a safety net.”

“I don’t know how safe your dad is, Pearl.” Daisy cackles. She’s pretty tipsy now. Good, it’ll keep her off Alexandre’s tail.

“What d’you mean?”

“It never rains, it pours.”

“He made a move on you, too? What is with my father cherry picking my friends?”

“Not a
move
, exactly, but he did his fair share of flirting. He’s bloody handsome, your dad. Very sexy for an older man.”

“He’s not that old, he’s only fifty-eight.”

“Exactly. His body! Bloody Norah!”

“You are
attracted
to my father?” I suddenly realize I’m talking too loud. Some smart little somebody might prick up her little pixie ears.

“Talk about
sexy
,” hisses Daisy in another hoarse whisper. “Wouldn’t mind giving him one on a cold, rainy night.”

“Daisy!”

“Just feeling a little horny, that’s all. I’m ready for a shag. Not that Johnny and I did it that much but when it’s taken away from you, you miss it.”

“Why are you two whispering?” Amy squeaks. “You told me it was rude to whisper, Mommy.”

Daisy bursts out laughing. “So I did. So I did. You are absolutely right, Amy. I must not whisper!” She’s slurring her words now and I know that they’ll have to spend the night. Fine. This suite has an extra bedroom with en-suite bathroom.

She stretches her legs out on the bed and plumps up a couple of massive cushions behind her head. She lets out a sigh. “This is the life. You’ve really lucked out, Pearl. What a blast to be chilling out in hotels like this for the rest of your life. You’ll never, ever, have to worry about paying a bill, ever again. Never have to do the washing up. Can drink pink champagne every bloody day of the week. What a laugh!”

The hotel phone rings. Thank God. It’ll be Alexandre. I grab it eagerly.

“Alexandre?”

“Hello, Pearl?”

It’s not Alexandre. It’s Elodie.

“Hi Elodie. What’s up?” Poor thing can probably detect disappointment in my voice.

“Why didn’t you come to lunch today with my grandmother?”

“Alexandre couldn’t make it and I didn’t want to go alone.”

“I was there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I missed you.”

“I have so much news. I’ve applied to go to art school in London and I want to tell you about my maid of honor dress. I went to see Zang Toi for a fitting.”

“Great! That’s so exciting about art school, Elodie. And I can’t wait to see you in the gown. What’s it like?”
Ding, dong, it’s my wedding, any second now.
Talk about fittings; I’ll need my gown let out a little.

“It’s so beautiful, oh mon Dieu. It’s a Paris Pink, silk mousseline de soie fitted gown with a low draped back, caught with silk roses.”

“Wow, it sounds amazing.”

“Is the wedding still St. Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes, Elodie. It is.” I say this with confidence but I’m panicking inside. In fact, I have been so caught up in the Laura drama that I haven’t been organizing my own freakin’ wedding. A good wake up call. I need to get moving. “Would you like to come over to the George V and hang out with us? Daisy and Amy are here.”

“I can’t, I have a rendezvous.”

Elodie on a date!
“That’s great, Elodie, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Nobody. Just a video game online with a bunch of people.”

“Oh.”

“Well, bye Pearl. Kisses to my uncle.”

“Bye.” I hang up.

Daisy squeals, “Oh my God! Your wedding! It’s the fourteenth? Really? Still in Lapland?”

“Yes, I need to speak to the wedding planner again, but…yes. But hardly any guests. I woke up the other day and suddenly got a headache thinking about hundreds of people who, in reality, probably don’t give a damn about us and would just be coming for the party. So we have a private jet booked and it’s going to be just family and close friends.”

“Am I a close friend? Am I invited?”

“And me!” Amy looks up from her coloring book.

“Of course you are, you silly fools. My dad, Anthony and Bruce – if he’ll agree to fly. Natalie and her boyfriend-”

“She has a
boyfriend
?”

“A gorgeous hunk; a cross between young versions of Wesley Snipes and Denzel Washington, apparently. A firefighter.”

“Very nice.”

“I know.”

“Who else is coming? Let’s see…well, it’s all a bit short notice so…oh yes, some old school friends, and then Alexandre’s family, his new video game business partner, plus a couple of his old buddies.”

“Not Laura, I hope.”

“No. Certainly not.” I wince. For a few minutes, thinking about my wedding, the dreaded Laura had slipped my mind.

“So I don’t understand -
why
, again, is Alexandre going to her house?”

“He, um, he’s dropping some books by.”

“All those Folio novels she left in Provence?”

“Exactly,” I lie. “Another glass?” Quick, I need to top her up before her brain starts working overtime again.

“What about food?”

“Are you hungry already? Shall we order room service?”

Daisy gulps down some more bubbly. “No, I mean wedding food.”

“Well, it’s Lapland – Finland, so they’ll be a mixture of Scandinavian dishes and-”

“Will Santa Claus be at your wedding?” Amy stands up, rushes over, and leaps onto the bed.

“I think he’ll be taking a well earned vacation, honey,” I reply. “He worked so hard at Christmas; maybe he’s by a beach somewhere drinking a cocktail.”

Amy’s mouth turns into the letter O. “Santa Claus drinks
cocktails
?” Whoops, I wish I hadn’t said that.

“Non-alcoholic cocktails.” A vision of Santa Claus on the beach flashes through my mind and it’s wrong – very wrong. Poor Amy, what have I said? I quickly add. “Actually, no, Santa Claus never goes to the beach; he lives where it’s snowy and cold and never leaves because he has to look after his reindeer.”

Amy looks relieved. “Are you going to borrow Santa’s reindeers for your wedding?”

“Actually, yes – he’s lending them to me. Isn’t that kind of him? And his sleigh.”

“You spoke to
Santa
, himself?”

“Well, no. I don’t think many people get to speak to Santa himself. Just his helpers.” I suddenly feel terrible. I am outright lying. Is this what grown-ups do? Teach children how to lie – then we tell them how they must be honest with us. No wonder we confuse them – deceit starts early. I am about to bring a baby into the world and teach him or her, not only how to lie, but do it without flinching.

“What’s your cake going to be like, Auntie Pearl?”

I gaze at her sweet, heart-shaped face full of innocence and wonder, and my stomach does a little flip. “Well, the traditional French wedding cake is made of chocolate profiteroles piled up into a big cone, like a tower.”

Her eyes become pools of chocolaty desire. “Cool.”

“And maybe we can have
two
wedding cakes, what do you think? One profiterole one, and a beautiful white one? White like my gown and with pink roses to match Elodie’s gown…and you know what?”

“What?” slurs Daisy.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier! Amy should be a bridesmaid. She can match Elodie. I’ll speak to Zang Toi, I’m sure he can come up with something incredible for Amy.”

“So glad you didn’t rope me into being the maid of honor,” Daisy murmurs, now half conked out, sprawled like a starfish across the bed.

“Well I did ask you but you didn’t want to do it.”

“I think a grown woman always looks awkward being a maid of honor. In England, we don’t do the maid of honor thing, we have little girl bridesmaids.”

“That’s what made me suddenly think of Amy – she’d be adorable all in pink. I’ll email Zang, right now, and tell him we have a beautiful little bridesmaid to dress.”

Amy starts bouncing up and down on the bed, and for a moment, I’m envious. I remember doing that – the feeling of freedom and abandon, flying high underneath my light feet. Oh, to be five once more. “What will my dress be like?” she wants to know.

“I don’t know, I’ll ask him.”

I grab my iPad and send Zang an email which will go directly to his BlackBerry. “He’s usually very fast at responding,” I tell my eager audience. “So professional.”

Then I pick up the hotel phone and call Alexandre again. No reply, just the goddam voicemail. He would have had plenty of time, by now, to sort stuff out with Laura – why isn’t he picking up? I leave another message. Five minutes later, a message bleeps in from Zang:

How about a Paris Pink, silk taffeta baby doll, bordered with pleated tulle & organza & grosgrain ruffles and grosgrain ribbon sash?

Wreath ( Hair )and tiny basket of baby ivy and pink roses.

I repeat the message to Amy and Daisy. Amy squeals with delight and gets back to her bed jumping. Daisy rocks about, oblivious in her drunken stupor. I call Alexandre again. Nothing. I mumble to myself…

What the hell is going on?

A
lexandre and James stood there glaring at each other. Then they both, simultaneously, looked down at Laura. There she was at the bottom of the staircase, a pool of blood about her head. The stairs were wooden, all except for the bottom step which was made of old granite.

“She must have careened down the stairs like a sled,” Alexandre suggested. “Her feet forward and her body slanted backwards, bashing it on the bottom step.”

James didn’t reply. He bent down for the third time to feel her pulse, but there was no doubt that she was dead. Laura was wearing a crimson, silk satin robe with a sexy negligee underneath. One pretty heeled slipper - the Fredericks of Hollywood kind - was on one foot; the other had obviously skidded across the floor with the fall. She looked all dressed up with a sly touch of rouge on her cheeks and mascara enhancing her almond-shaped, blue eyes, which were wide open in shock, staring up at the ceiling like shiny marbles. She knew Alexandre was coming over; was this her one last effort to seduce him, he wondered?

He surveyed the gruesome scene. It was hard to see where the silk ended and where the blood began; except the blood resembled gloss paint. He’d seen death before, on many occasions, but not like this. Laura’s exit had been a glamorous one. Stairs again, thought Alexandre – was that Laura’s fate, all along? Maybe she had been destined to die, that time. Maybe that was just a dress rehearsal for this.

“You fucking cunt,” spat James. “You sneaky fucking bastard.” He laid his palm across her heart. “You killed my wife!”

Alexandre raised his hands in the air as if making a surrendering gesture. “James, no! What are you saying? That’s crazy. I
just
got here, at the same time you were coming through the front door. I swear. This is just as much a surprise for me as it is for you.”

James looked up at Alexandre; a sneer set on his angular face. His blond hair was a little longer than usual, and he looked less like a banker and more like a regular guy that mowed the lawn on Sundays. Except, he knew that James wasn’t the lawn-mowing type. He was wearing corduroy pants and a dark green cashmere sweater. Usually, he wore expensive suits. Not today. But he still had that upper class air about him: his clipped accent, his Eton education – a man who had been used to money and privileges his entire life.

“What I don’t understand, is why.
Why,
Alexandre? Did you try to kill her last time, too? When she had that supposed ‘accident’ and she ended up in a bloody wheelchair? I mean, it’s obvious she fell down the stairs. One push; that’s all it must have taken. You fucking bastard.”

A surge of fury gathered in the pit of Alexandre’s stomach. He thought of the evidence in the safety deposit box. Laura dead was all he fucking needed right now. “Okay, James…this is just great. You accusing me of murder? How about I accuse
you
? Where the fuck have you been for the last couple of months? Eh? Suddenly appearing like this. Maybe you
knew
that I was coming over. Laura knew. I called her. Maybe it was really bloody convenient for you to bump her off and then blame me.”

“I’m going to call the police,” James spluttered, his eyes wet with emotion.

Blood was pounding in Alexandre’s ears. He didn’t know what to do. The evidence. Laura’s note stowed with her lawyer revealing everything if she ever had an accident. What a fucking mess.

James pushed a few strands of Laura’s hair from her face. “Laura wouldn’t just fall down her own stairs in her own house now, would she?”

“It is possible, she had those heeled slippers on.”

“How the fuck did you get in, anyway?”

“Through the back, from the garden,” Alexandre replied. “I still have your garage keys.”

“That’s right - your Aston Martin.” James shook his head. “I forgot.”

Oh Christ. Now Alexandre would have to admit that no, his Aston Martin wasn’t there anymore. He had no excuse, whatsoever for coming through the back. He looked really guilty now. Oh fuck. He’d have to tell the truth; James would soon find out. “Actually, I moved my car a while ago. I knocked on the front door but there was no answer, and Laura didn’t pick up the phone. She was expecting me. So I came through the back.”