The Golden Locket (Unbreakable Trilogy, Book 2) (41 page)

I can hear footsteps approaching. Rather than drop my camera as if I’m guilty I allow myself another few seconds, long enough to get the shock of my life because the girl in the movie turns slowly as if she knows I’m there. She looks straight down my zoom lens, beckons to the crew. They mooch towards her, a scruffy bunch in combats and baseball hats, obviously asking what she’s seen. Then they all turn to the window, see me over here watching. The voyeur on the High Line. One frowns. One turns his zoom on me. The others wave and make crude fisting gestures. And the dark gypsy girl, still straddling her fictional lover, sends me a huge, dirty smile.

The watcher watched.

Our eyes lock for a few seconds. I’m tight with desire. Everyone is invisible except her. She’s gorgeous. Huge sexy lips. I want that girl, badly.

I waggle my fingers at her, and she waggles back. My God, this girlie fantasy won’t go away. It keeps nipping at my ankles when I’m least expecting it. Mrs Weinmeyer, Emilia Robinson, a sexy film star. Now that life is looking so good, I might run the idea past Gustav.

Time to go. I walk quickly under the Standard Hotel, vaguely aware of someone wearing a scarlet beanie hat leaning on the rail near the staircase that will take me down to street level. I can’t see if the figure is a man or a woman as I fiddle with my glove to check my new Piaget watch. I’m late, and I’ve still got to find the venue where I’m meeting Gustav.

‘You look bloody pleased with yourself, young lady.’

The person blocking my path and dressed all in red is my cousin Polly. I gulp and stare at her for a long, tense moment. Her voice has a kind of deadness to it. I have no idea if she wants to kiss me or kick me. Then she holds her arms out. I drop my bags and walk uncertainly towards her. And pause. I can’t forget the terrible thing she said. And I can’t handle another row.

‘My God, Pol! It’s so good to see you, but how did you find me? Who told you I was here of all places?’

‘I come in peace, Rena. I hope you do, too.’ She pulls me slowly into a hug, and when I don’t resist she tightens her arms around me. ‘You can thank Gustav for this. He found me, not the other way round.’

I rest my face against hers. ‘So What’s been going on? I’ve tried to call you since I got back from Venice. I hoped we could talk. Where have you been since that awful row? It’s been at least six weeks.’

‘I’m so sorry, Rena. I was a total bitch to you. What I said was unforgivable.’

I rest my chin on her shoulder, looking between the buildings out to the river beyond us. ‘You really hurt me, Polly. You know you got it all wrong.’

The tension in her relaxes but she keeps her arms around me. ‘I was directing my angst at the wrong person. You were the soft target, and I’m sorry.’ Her skin is soft against my cheek. Her flowery perfume is achingly familiar. ‘Gustav got my agent’s number out of Pierre. Only useful thing that bastard has ever done. Anyway, my agent told Gustav that I was in London for a while. We had a long chat on the phone. He told me that although Pierre’s ashamed of the way he treated me there was no going back and I was best out of the relationship. Of course he’s right. We’ll have to come to some kind of uneasy truce one day, as we’re going to be linked by the two of you getting married. I don’t know how that’s going to work. I only agreed to come this evening because Gustav told me Pierre is in LA.’

‘Typical Gustav, trying to line up all the ducks in one phone call. But I’m sorry too, for being such a gullible klutz.’ I cling to her even tighter. I can’t tell her, ever, any of them, what that bastard tried to do to me in the gondola. ‘The brothers at least are still talking. Pierre seems to have persuaded Gustav that he’s sorry for any damage he’s caused. But I’m no keener to spend time with him than you are, even though he’s apparently fallen on his sword.’

‘Pity his sword didn’t do him some serious damage. Sorry. Sorry. He’s apologised to Gustav, maybe. But he’s never had the guts to say sorry to me. You and I know he’s a shit-stirrer, Rena. So just steer clear.’

I pull away and look at her. Once I would have told her everything. The ball. The gondola. Pierre’s velvet breeches, opening in the darkness, ready to take me. The scars on his back that gave him away. The woman who looks like Margot appearing yet again. Margot herself on my iPad. The gondola sliding noiselessly away into the fog.

Now? It’s a poisonous secret I have to keep locked away.

Polly unpeels herself and fusses over the bags I’ve dropped on the ground. ‘So. Look at all this. DVF bags. Beautiful leather jacket. New camera. That
ring
. You’ve got it made, hon.’

I decide to keep schtum about the VIP area in the boutique I was invited down to as soon as I mentioned the magic words Gustav Levi. It sounds so trivial. I scrabble to pick up the bags. ‘None of it means a toss without you to share it. Come with me, and we’ll talk on the way.’

She takes a couple of the bags and we clatter down the staircase. ‘I can’t stop long, Rena. I’m leaving New York tonight.’

I get to the bottom of the metal staircase, my heart sinking. ‘So you are still pissed with me.’

‘Serena, it’s not about you. I need help. Therapy, detox, that kind of thing. I’ve burned the candle at both ends for long enough. Taken too many illegal substances. I’ve always been hyper but Pierre Levi was like the worst kind of drug. That’s why I fled back to London. I’m a bit dopey now because of the pills. Anyway, I’m going to a spiritual meditation place in Morocco. Like a retreat.’

‘Just when we’ve found each other again, Polly? Oh, honey, of course you must do whatever it takes to get you feeling better. I want my own Polly back. But really? Another country? Where? When exactly?’

‘Soon. Tonight.’ She hooks her arm through mine and leads me up a wide, apparently deserted street flanked by low-level metal-shuttered warehouses. ‘I’m not doing too well, Rena. I really need you to understand. This isn’t an overnight thing. It’s been brewing since Christmas, maybe even longer. Therapists call what I had with him a toxic relationship. Whatever. Ironic, eh? You’re the one who had such a lousy start in life, and I’m the one falling to pieces. I can’t be on the same continent as Pierre Levi at the moment.’

‘There are things – I still need you.’ I hitch the bags up to look at my map of where to go. ‘Isn’t LA far enough away?’

She shakes her head, gives my arm a playful pinch. I punch her back. Thank God she’s put on a bit of weight.

‘I’ll get over Pierre in time. I hope I’ll just be able to put it down to bad choices. But it’s not easy being around you, either. It’s a kind of role reversal. You’re so darn happy, but I need to be on my own. I’ll be back like a bad penny when the dust settles.’

‘And you’ll be my maid of honour when we get married?’

‘Already arranged! I’m designing your wedding dress and definitely hair and make-up as well!’ She smiles. ‘But you won’t even notice I’m gone. You’ll be far too busy running this place.’

She stops in front of the wide, brightly lit window of an art gallery. Its pale-green painted façade is angled disdainfully away from the wind blasting off the Hudson River and it doesn’t appear to have a name. It is empty, but as I start to walk past I suddenly notice, mounted on the whitewashed wall of the gallery, an enlarged photograph of a green shuttered arched window. A bright red row of geraniums are planted in a box below it, and a thin white hand is reaching into the flowers to pinch off a dead petal.

‘You take that photograph, Rena?’ Polly asks, draping an arm around my neck. ‘Looks just your style.’

‘How did that get there?’ My breath makes steam on the window.

Polly opens the door of the gallery and pushes me inside. Other windows and doors from my travels are hanging on the walls. And walking towards me, tall, dark, gorgeous in an aubergine cashmere sweater and holding out a flute of champagne, is my Gustav.

‘Come in from the cold, my betrothed.’ Gustav kisses me on the mouth. I close my eyes and rest against him, alone in our private bubble for a moment, breathing in his sharp clean scent, rubbing my lips along the very slightly rough surface of the skin on his chin and jaw.

He laughs to see Polly miming a vomit behind us.

‘This gallery is my engagement present to you, Serena. You want to be independent, and so you shall be here. You can show your own work whenever you want, but I think you’re ready to start sniffing out new talent, too. This is your domain. You can commute here every day or if you get wanderlust you can employ trusty assistants to run it for you.’

‘I’ll get Crystal on speed dial now that you’ve forgiven the poor woman for losing me in Venice.’ I pull my beret and jacket off and spin round to take in the photographs that already are bringing back memories. ‘But what are we going to call my new venture?’

‘Ingrid? Ernst?’ Gustav cups his hands round his mouth in a stage whisper. ‘You can come out now!’

Mr and Mrs Weinmeyer come through the door at the back of the gallery holding between them a large square parcel wrapped in brown paper. They are dressed identically in elegant tweed suits and narrow woollen neck ties, their Aryan heads sleek and blond under the spotlights of the gallery.

‘This is a small gift to thank you for the stunning Murano glass you bought for us, Serena, and of course a token of our appreciation for your beautiful portraits and those sizzling Carnevale photographs.’

‘But you’ve already paid me handsomely in filthy lucre!’

‘Always happy to invest more if it’s something worthwhile, and we think this venture is going places!’ Mr Weinmeyer laughs. ‘And we haven’t forgotten the little promise you made us in Venice.’

Mrs Weinmeyer pats her shining helmet of yellow hair with a wink over at Gustav and lays the parcel down on a glass table. She beckons me over, snaking her arm round my waist to pull me closer. ‘You look beautiful in that dress, sugar. You’re turning into one classy dame. Those amazing legs.’

Mr Weinmeyer produces a large pair of scissors and indicates that I should cut the string of the parcel.

‘And of course we hope we can entice you to our humble abode for another, ah, get-together before too long. Our friends are so keen to meet you.’

I glance at Gustav who strokes his chin thoughtfully. I catch a gleam in his eyes as they travel over the short lace dress, the diaphanous sleeves, the deceptively prim neckline.

‘Who are these guys?’ Polly hisses. ‘They look as if they’d like to gobble you up for breakfast. If they haven’t already!’

‘I’ll tell you later, Pol.’

‘Open it!’ cries Mrs Weinmeyer, scratching at the brown paper with her red talons.

I tear off the paper, and inside is a sign painted with the word
Serenissima
.

‘The name of the gallery? I love it. Thank you.’

Everyone claps and clinks glasses. Polly pulls me aside.

‘I have to go, hon. Just remember you are more than my cousin. You’re my sister. I should have known you’d never do anything to hurt me, or to hurt Gustav for that matter.’

I cling to her, stand in front of the door to bar her way. ‘Right now? Don’t go, Polly!’

‘You’re stuck with me, doll. I’m still the only family you’ve got. Me, and your lovely fiancé in there. As for the rest of his family?’ She pushes me gently aside and goes out into the cold night. ‘Just be careful, Rena.’

At last they’ve all departed. The sign is already hanging in the window to announce the new name of my establishment. I walk round switching off the lights. I am the proprietress of a glittering new modern art gallery in Manhattan, and in a minute my fiancé and I are going out to celebrate.

Gustav comes out of the office, holding the phone.

‘Pierre wants to say congratulations on the new gallery!’ he says. ‘He also wants us to go to LA to see what’s happening with this pilot show.’

I take the phone and stare at it, as if a viper’s tongue might flicker out. The absence of Pierre since we returned from Venice has been such a relief. There’s no question ever of telling Gustav what nearly happened in Venice, and Pierre obviously feels the same. For now. Every time he opens his mouth I will always dread what’s going to come out. Relucantly I put the phone to my ear and wait for him to speak.

‘It’s congratulations on your engagement, actually!’ Pierre says quietly at the other end of the phone. ‘Gustav and Polly aren’t the only family you have now, see? I knew that one day I’d be calling you sis.’

‘We will work this out as we go along.’ I turn away from Gustav to hide the fact that I’m trembling. ‘But I will never be your sister, or have anything more to do with you.’

‘We are inextricably linked whether you like it or not, sis. How are you going to explain why you don’t want me around unless, hmm. Unless you leave Gustav? I’ve made sure he and I are solid now.’ Pierre pauses. I can hear him swallowing. ‘Tricking you like that was clumsy and unfair and I’m sorry. But you have only yourself to blame for being so goddamn desirable. Something clicked between us in the Gramercy Hotel bar when we were talking. Don’t deny it. I wanted you, Serena. So I had to come after you, find out if it was real. And it felt real in that gondola, didn’t it?’

Across the room Gustav lifts his mobile to indicate he has to make a call. I blow him a kiss to hide the angry flush in my face, and turn away again. ‘Just one thing, Levi. How did you know it was me at the ball?’

He chuckles. ‘Impersonated my brother. I know, wicked, isn’t it? Found out from the Weinmeyers where you were, asked the hotel to direct you to the correct shop and then told the lady in the shop to hire you the ball gown I had selected from the internet, and deliver to me the men’s version.’

Nausea rises in me. To think I was prancing around in a dress Pierre Levi had chosen. ‘Well, your sick plan didn’t work.’

‘And I got a bruised scrotum for my pains! I’m keeping my distance for now, because I can’t trust myself around you.’ Pierre’s voice descends to a whisper. ‘So now it’s your turn.’

Coldness rushes down through my body and I put my hand up on the wall to steady myself.

‘To do what? Listen to me, Pierre. If you try any more of your tricks, I’ll tell Gustav everything.’