Shimmers of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 3) (27 page)

“Come along please,” the small policeman ordered, ushering James and Alexandre out of the bedroom. Alexandre ambled along peacefully but James, disgusted by the Cockney policeman’s hand clamped on his wrist shouted, “Get your hands off me!”

Alexandre knew that things would now get worse.

The Napoleon complex officer stood ‘tall’ and commanded, “On second thoughts, cuff them both. I really don’t want any trouble.” He pointed a fat finger at James and hissed, “You, sir, need to calm right down.”

“He’s upset, sir; his wife’s just died,” the policewoman suggested to her boss.

“Yes, well. I don’t want any monkey business when I’m in charge, thank you very much.”

It felt humiliating to be arrested and cuffed. Alexandre’s mind traced back to the time when he ‘cuffed’ Pearl with the string of Art Deco pearls, and wondered if she had felt the same; humiliated. Christ, he hoped not, he hadn’t meant it that way. Jesus, how embarrassing, his cock started throbbing just thinking about her naked, her hands above her head, her legs splayed open and bound to his brass bed with his blue silk ties – her pussy soaking wet as he licked and sucked her to her first, ever, oral orgasm. Pearl was all his. No other man had given her such pleasure sexually. He loved going down on her – she tasted so sweet. Shit! He felt himself expanding; it was as if his heartbeat was right between his legs. He knew that Pearl nicknamed it his Weapon of Mass Destruction and she was right – it could bring him to ruin if he wasn’t more careful. Thank God he was still wearing his overcoat. Jesus, he had a full hard-on now. How he could possibly have an erection in the middle of being arrested was an enigma to him. Pretty fucked-up to be thinking about sex at a moment like this. He’d heard that when men got hung, they found it erotic. It was known as a ‘death erection’ and ‘angel lust.’ He’d read, somewhere, that Christ was depicted by several Renaissance artists with a post-mortem erection after the crucifixion. Maybe, that was what was happening now – he knew he was about to be hung, drawn and slaughtered, figuratively speaking.

As they exited, the housekeeper, Mrs. Blake, was bustling towards the front door with a bunch of grocery bags. She looked horrified.

“What on earth is going on?” She gazed at James. “Mr. Heimann, what’s happening? I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid you can’t go in there for the now,” the policeman in charge said. “Not until the coroner has finished and forensics have done their bit.”

James told her in a grave tone, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Blake, Mrs. Heimann took a fall. She’s dead.”

Mrs. Bake looked at the handcuffs and began to quiver uncontrollably. “But it was an accident, surely?”

“We don’t know that yet, madam. Please move aside. I’m sure Mr. Heimann will get in touch with you when you’re needed.”

“But Mr. Heimann is innocent!” she screeched. “And this gentleman here, Mr. Chevalier. I know him. They would never have hurt Mrs. Heimann. Never! Handcuffs! You are
arresting
them? This is madness!”

“Please move aside, madam. This is being treated as a crime scene until further notice.”

James stood erect and said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Blake, it’s just a little misunderstanding, that’s all. I’ll ring you very shortly. Meanwhile, consider it paid leave.”

As Alexandre was bundled into the police car and driven away, he thought of Pearl at the George V. He’d had his cell switched off all this time – he thought Pearl calling while he was dealing with Laura would add fuel to the already raging fire. Pearl had probably been trying to call. But now they’d only allow him one phone call and that would have to be to Sophie. In any case, he didn’t want to worry Pearl in her delicate, pregnant state. Sophie could deal with everything. He hoped she’d pull out all the guns. Get him out of this mess.

Jesus. What a fucking nightmare.

D
aisy is now sprawled out on the living room sofa, sozzled from all the pink champagne. I feel responsible, although she doesn’t seem to care at all. I left her lying there with a grin spread across her face like the Cheshire Cat.

Amy was rushing about with excitement earlier. I ordered room service for us all, although Daisy was beyond repair and didn’t seem interested in eating. I left her with a couple of large bottles of Perrier water on the coffee table and a ceramic bowl next to her to vomit in, just in case. The place is far too fancy to have a bucket and I didn’t want to call down. I then gave Amy a sumptuous bubble bath in the grand marbled bathroom and put her to bed.

I return to the living room to check on Daisy and cover her with a blanket. She has miraculously perked up and is in the mood for a chat.

“You’re not feeling sick?” I ask.

“No! I’m feeling simply marvelous. Bloody delicious champers – got anymore?”

“No, we’ve run out,” I lie. “But there’s lots of delicious mineral water.”

“Bore Ring.”

“I put Amy to bed.”

“Good girl. You, not Amy. You’re a good girl for doing that.”

Yes, she’s tipsy alright.
“Okay, I think you’re ready now for the delicious soup I ordered for you. Wait there and I’ll heat it up. Organic chicken noodle soup with Shiitake mushrooms and ginger.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Doesn’t it? Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

I hear Daisy glugging down some water as I go to the kitchen. It really is like an apartment here. I could get used to this easy luxury; gourmet food on tap, flower arrangements changing daily.

Still no word from Alexandre. A frisson of fear runs up my spine as I think of all the possibilities. Why hasn’t he called? It can only mean one thing: bad news. Laura has persuaded him to do the IVF and he’s stalling. He doesn’t want to hear me scream and cry about it. I swore to myself I wouldn’t; that I’d remain cool, calm and collected, and accept whatever decision he made, but the more I think about Laura pregnant, the sicker I feel.

I return with Daisy’s soup on a tray. It smells incredible and I’m tempted to order more, although I had a delicious Club Sandwich, earlier.

As I lay the tray on Daisy’s lap, I feel as if I’m feeding an invalid. Chicken noodle soup can heal anything, even an impending hangover. “Are you sure you’re not going to take a spoonful and vomit everywhere,” I check.

“Ha! You think I’m a wimp, don’t you? I used to drink quite a bit, in my day. You should have seen me down the pub; I could drink any man under the table.” I spread a napkin like a bib about her neck and she slurps down some of the broth. “Oh my God, this soup is out of this world.” She looks as if she’s died and gone to Heaven. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to say. Remember when I slipped out of the restaurant this afternoon to go to the chemist to get some Advil?”

“The chemist?”

“Sorry, I mean ‘pharmacy’ – chemist is English. Anyway, I didn’t have a headache at all. I went to buy us some naughty toys.”

I widen my eyes with mock disapproval. “From that sex shop we passed earlier?”

Daisy giggles. “Yes. I slipped in and got something for each of us.”

“You saucy wench, Daisy.”

“I’ve never used anything like that before in my life, but now that I’m single I thought it was time to experiment.”

“Well, I’ll have to wait to use mine. I still have to be careful.”

“Ah, but I thought of that, Pearl. Yours isn’t,” she lowers her voice to a tiny whisper, “a
dildo
…it doesn’t penetrate, it
vibrates
. It’s called the something deux, for the two of you. It splits in half – you’ll see how it works.” She giggles again. “The ‘hers’ part is convex and the ‘his’ part is concave, apparently. Or is it the other way round? Anyway, the saleswoman told me it was very popular with couples, and a best seller.”

“So when Amy and I were innocently eating our chocolate mousse you were out buying
sex
toys?”

“I know, isn’t it outrageous?”

“Where are they?”

“I left the bags in the closet by the entrance. I hope Amy doesn’t find them.” She slurps another mouthful of soup. “God this is good, you wanna try some?”

“No, it’s okay, thanks.”

Daisy studies me for a minute and suddenly comes out with, “Pearl, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have multiple orgasms?”

I don’t need long to recollect my memories. “Once or twice it has happened. Only with Alexandre, though. But the truth is, I feel so satisfied…so
satiated
after one, I really don’t feel I need another. Why?”

“Oh, just because you’re always reading about them and you feel like a kind of freak, you know, just having one, like all other women are having such fun and you, well, you’re just…I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite dish?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Just hear me out. What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

“Well, I do love a good Sunday roast with Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes”

“Okay, imagine you’ve just eaten a full Sunday roast. And it was absolutely delicious. You are full. Best meal you’ve had for ages. Maybe years. And then you’re offered another plate piled high with more of the same. Would you be able to wolf all that down, too?”

“I see your point.”

“Believe me, you should be happy with one, good orgasm. Very happy. A lot of women - and it was how I was for so many years - are starved and don’t even get the one, so count yourself blessed. Lots of women don’t climax at all during intercourse. Don’t believe all you read about multiple orgasms, anyway.”

She considers what I’ve said. I can see the invisible cogs of her mind turning. I know what she’s wondering – she’s wondering if it’s because Alexandre is a god in bed and that’s why I’ve had multiple orgasms, or if I was born that way.

“So no word from Alexandre?” she asks.

“No.” Uh, oh, the food is sobering her up; I need to change the subject. “So, tell me more about Zac; we hardly discussed it the other day because of Amy being around.”

“Oh my God, Pearl. I mean, when Zac kissed me it made me realize what I’d been missing all these years, you know? He’s so
sexy
…so…buffed up.” She laughs too loudly and covers her mouth. Maybe she isn’t sobering up, after all.

“Funny. You, Natalie and I have all ended up with younger men. Well, that’s if you take Zac up on his offer.”

“You’re right! I hadn’t thought of that!”

“We’re getting our revenge on the world.” I wink at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s always been guys who get the young girls. Now the tables are turning. There’s so much more Girl Power about, have you noticed?”

She sips another large spoonful of soup and sighs at its deliciousness. “Like so many amazing women singers now, and stuff?”

“Exactly. Men need to watch out. Gone are the days when they can sit around getting beer bellies and think their women will be happily waiting for them if they behave like assholes. Women are beginning to call the shots now. I mean, look at
you
. You’re not crying your heart out, feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve moved on. Moved on to a hot, sexy younger model!”

“Don’t ya love it?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I hate that word, ‘cougar’ though, don’t you? I find it offensive”

Daisy nods her head as if weighing up the options. “I don’t know. I quite
like
the idea of being a cougar. It’s a compliment. Cougars are beautiful creatures.”

“That’s exactly what Alexandre says.”

Our girlie chit-chat is interrupted by the phone ringing. Thank God, it’ll finally be him. “Oui, hallo?” I say, giving it my French touch.

“Pearl?”

“
Sophie,
is that you?”

“I’m in ze lobby, I’m coming up.”

“Great-” The line clicks dead before I get a chance to say anything more.

Daisy arches an eyebrow. “
Sophie’s
here? At this hour?”

“I know. A bit odd. Oh, well. We’re friends now so…”

“Maybe she wants to come and hang out.”

“You think?”

“I can’t imagine why. She’s so sophisticated. We’re such…children compared to her.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, too. She’s five years younger than I am but I always feel so… so girly next to her.”

Daisy laughs. “That’s because you
are
girly, Pearl – you’ll never be a real grown-up, not even when you’re eighty. You’re young at heart. You’ll always be that way, no matter what happens.” She starts singing
Young at Heart
in Frank Sinatra’s croon. Actually, she does a pretty good imitation.

“I can hear a knock, that’ll be her. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

When I open the door I can see from the dour expression on Sophie’s face that something
is
wrong. Very wrong. My first fear is that Alexandre has died in a car crash or something.

“Is he okay?” My eyes are already pooling with tears. “He’s not dead?”

Sophie’s lips twitch into a limp smile. “No, he’s fine. I mean not fine, but he’s not dead, not injured, don’t worry.”

My heart starts beating normally again. Well, almost. At least he’s still alive. “Come in.”

She walks in, casts off her sumptuous, cashmere overcoat and slumps herself onto the nearest armchair. “I need a drink.”

“Sure, what would you like?”

“A whiskey. Make it a double.”

“No problem. Is Alexandre okay?”

“Give me a drink and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Sure.”
Crap, the news must be really bad
. “On the rocks?” I ask her.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you like ice with your Scotch?”

“Yes, lots.”

I fix her the drink and gauge her movements from the corner of my eye. I don’t know if she has a cold or if she’s crying. I slip quietly next door to see Daisy. She has her iPod playing
Young at Heart
and she’s spinning about in circles doing a strange sort of ballet. I whisper, “Daisy, I think you’d better stay in here; I have a feeling Sophie’s not in the mood to socialize. Do you mind?”

“Actually, I think I’m off to bed now, anyway.” She stretches her arms in the air and does a gazelle-like leap. “See you in the morning.”