The Golden Locket (Unbreakable Trilogy, Book 2) (6 page)

‘He’s getting rid of it. Crystal and I have finally persuaded him. It’s an albatross. But there’s been some kind of hold-up with the marketing, or the agents, that’s all.’

Pierre rests his hand on the curve of Polly’s haunch where it pushes up against his leg. Runs his fingers up under her skirt, just like he did at the Halloween party the very first time I met him and had no idea who he was.

Just then his mobile phone gives a series of insistent bleeps. Pierre glances at it, texts something, then gives me a long, slow wink. ‘Don’t tell the missus I’m getting mysterious calls.’

Above us, the twig-like silver hands on the huge white blank face of the clock show twenty to midnight.

‘Go on, you can tell me.’ I lean close again, trying to see a name or number on his phone. ‘A bit on the side?’

‘That would be telling!’ Pierre hesitates, then transforms his expression into a sly grin. ‘No. It’s work. There was a show tonight. I made sure the wardrobe was ready, complete with extra costumes and seamstresses, and I told them I was on important family business, but they insisted on keeping tabs on me and now they’re telling me what a great night I missed. So. Baker Street. What kind of price is he asking? I suppose there are plenty of perverts out there interested in buying that sort of debauched, twisted crap.’

‘Gustav is not proud of his past. He hates it. I hate it. God knows, my own story is pretty grim. But you can’t turn me against him. I don’t care about any of that. I love Gustav.’

‘I can tell.’ Pierre mirrors my actions, leaning towards me across the coffee table. ‘You’ve got it real bad.’

I grab his collar before I can stop myself, pull his face right up to mine. ‘We all know who caused this mess between you two. When Gustav ended it your cougar Margot needed easy meat to pay him back.’

‘Easy meat, eh? What do you know about any of this?’ Pierre flicks my hand off his shirt, his nails grazing my skin. He picks up a bowl of savouries, stirs them with the forefinger that has just been tickling Polly. ‘You’ve known him five minutes.’

‘That’s all it took.’

‘The old Levi charm. We both have it, you know. Just different shades.’ Pierre unnerves me yet again with his smile. ‘You’ll soon be in a dilemma, wondering which one of us to pick!’

The sour taste of uncertainty taints me. Gustav has thrust me into this scenario, but he’s also made me strong enough to withstand whatever history throws at us. And if Gustav has the urge to confess and make this right, then surely, somewhere behind that surly exterior, so does his baby brother?

I pick a nut out of the bowl, toss it neatly between my teeth. ‘There will be no dilemma. I’ll always be on his side. So grow up, and talk to him. Otherwise this will eat you up.’

Polly stretches, all white fur and blue eyes, like a Siamese cat.

‘Message received, Fräulein Rottweiler. He has you well trained, I can see.’ Pierre cocks his fingers in a duelling-pistol gesture and narrows his eyes as if taking aim. Then he sits back, pulls Polly roughly over his knee. ‘My big brother is a lucky man. Even if he is a cradle-snatcher.’

I realise another difference between Gustav and Pierre. While Gustav is like an Easter Island statue, shadows and sunlight alternating over his hewn features, sometimes changing his stance and aspect but always rooted, Pierre is a shape-shifter. A series of masks, different voices, different gestures.

‘You have a wonderful knack of putting your finger on it! Hmm, that sounded a bit naughty, didn’t it?’ he murmurs quietly so that I have to lean closer across the table. ‘But you know what? It’s not eating me up so much. Facing Gustav in London was a huge hurdle, but it wasn’t as horrific as I thought it would be. And I’m no longer that scandalised spoilt brat, either. There’s not much that would shock me now. Who knows? I may have seen and done far worse since then!’

I gape at him, fumbling for a reply. Now he’s testing me in a different way. He’s moved from taunting to teasing. Before I can think of a suitable retort he starts running his hands up Polly’s slender thighs again, right in front of me, right there on Gustav’s sofa.

Polly’s long white legs are bare despite the season. Thick snow covers the streets outside and buries any carelessly parked vehicles. Sub-zero temperatures have New Yorkers swathed in long coats and fur hats, pushing their way aggressively along treacherous sidewalks, no matter who else is trying to get a foothold. Everyone is glued to their mobile phones even when waiting to cross busy intersections or refusing to make way for oncoming walkers.

‘Making you horny, eh? Don’t you wish my brother was here running those clever hands of his over you to calm you down?’

They both chuckle. Polly’s pale-blue eyes, as he gropes her, don’t shine with embarrassment but are glassy with a wild kind of triumph. She’s always enjoyed a drink, but she’s more out of control than I’ve ever seen her. Maybe she’s just crazy, in the true sense of the word, about this guy.

‘You bet. He won’t know what’s hit him when he gets home.’ I smile coolly. I stand to replenish the now melted ice in the bucket, aware of a hot stickiness between my legs. I try not to stare where Pierre’s fingers are wandering, but a gremlin inside is imagining him fingering me.

‘Gustav has you exactly where he wants you.’ Pierre sits back, pulling Polly hard against his groin. Above us the clock is saying five to midnight.

‘Wrong way round. He’s where I want
him
.’

Pierre nods, the surliness finally lifting into straightforward youthful amusement. He lays his hands on Polly’s legs and pulls her thighs open. She starts to grind against him. As I retreat to the kitchen for more ice I see her trying to keep a straight face. I can tell she is counting the minutes till she gets him into bed. I’ve never seen her so distracted. So giddy about a guy.

In the kitchen I lean against the massive fridge. Feel the cool flank of it hum and buzz quietly against my spine. This whole evening has been bizarre. Of all the men in all the world Polly ends up with Pierre Levi. I didn’t expect to spend my New Year’s Eve playing gooseberry with my cousin and Gustav’s bellicose
doppelgänger
, but although he’s tricky and difficult to work out I think I’ve laid some friendly ground. I hope Gustav will be pleased. But I’ve had enough now. I want to be with Gustav again, playing with him as he lies back in the bubbling Jacuzzi, taking him in my hands and then riding him like a cowgirl.

The little golden locket he gave me for Christmas taps at my clavicle as I take deep breaths. I touch its smooth oval shape, trace the tiny bumps made by the trim of seed pearls for comfort. It’s already my talisman. The underside is engraved with an ‘S’ and is permanently heated by my skin.

‘For the urchin who had no jewellery to her name when I met her, a second piece for her collection,’ he murmured on Christmas morning as I took it out of its velvet box. ‘Made by the same French craftsman. You’ll see the tiny silver clasp that closes this has the same design as your bracelet.’

‘So you could tether me by the neck as well as by the wrists. Then I’d never be able to escape.’ We both shivered at the promise of kinkiness. How well I knew how to light his fire. Any minute now he’d be prowling round the apartment, choosing the place where he would next attach the silver chain.

I turned the locket and something weighted inside tipped and rattled. ‘It looks like an heirloom.’

‘I don’t have any of those left, thanks to Pierre. So it’s brand new. Yours and only yours.’ He threaded the chain round my throat. ‘And when people see it resting on your beautiful breast they will know that you are mine, and only mine.’

‘Monsieur Gustav you are really spoiling me!’ His fingers tickled my neck, my hair, as I sensed rather than heard the tiny click-lock of attachment. The chain was just too short for me to lift the locket over my head, even if I had wanted to. ‘But what’s that tapping inside?’

‘My darling, another priceless symbol locked away, which you have yet to earn.’

I giggled and twisted myself quickly so that I was straddling his lap where he sat beneath the Christmas tree. I ran my tongue suggestively over my lips before biting his ear lobe, hard. ‘Show me how to earn it, then, lover. Tie me and take me.’

A tinny ringtone from the other room pierces my reverie and the sudden quiet space between music tracks. Pierre answers his phone and Polly makes some high-pitched complaint.

I curse under my breath and wrench open the huge fridge.

Now it’s my mobile phone as well clamouring for attention. I clutch a bag of ice and a new bottle of champagne and charge back out of the kitchen. Pierre has apparently finished his call and to my surprise he has risen from the sofa and is over by the windowsill, watching my phone singing and dancing with skittish energy on the ledge.

Pierre glances at the caller name and presses the decline button on my mobile, looking at me with an odd expression on his face. ‘Big brother’s too late. We’re outta here.’

‘I’ll check my own phone, thanks!’ I thump the ice bucket and the bottle down on the table. ‘Let me call him back. You have to give him a chance, Pierre.’

‘He could be calling from Switzerland! Who knows when he’ll arrive! He gave me ten minutes back in London, and now he can’t even be here on time. Oh, you’ve tried your best, girl. You’re a real Trojan. Everything Polly has told me about you is true. But Gustav? He doesn’t deserve you.’

Polly tugs at her skirt and sits on the edge of the seat. ‘Pierre? What’s got into you? You were perfectly chilled all evening. Something happened? Who was that calling you just now?’

He doesn’t reply, but rudely starts texting. I pick up my mobile, but my fingers are trembling too much to press the recall button.

‘Everything is Gustav’s fault according to you. You’ll never meet him halfway, will you? Just remember you were way out of order five years ago, too!’ I stammer the words, trying to work out what has shifted in the air. What has changed. ‘He has said how sorry he is that you had to witness him whipping his ex-wife. He has told you he only ever wanted to keep you safe, and he’s even admitted that he failed in that one simple task. But Margot wasn’t innocent. She wasn’t even unwilling. She was a professional dominatrix who punished people for money. It was all part of life’s game to her, and you were the next prize.’

Pierre sends the text, taps the phone on his smiling mouth. ‘And what a prize, eh? The young blood, snatched from the older brother.’

I lean back against the window. ‘Don’t you think you should at least apologise for that instead of crowing over it? Fucking his wife and running off with her?’

‘If he hated her so much surely I was doing him a favour!’

My face heats up, throwing me off balance. ‘If you won’t back down, either of you, then let’s hope focusing on the future will work. A light flicked on inside Gustav when you walked back into his life. Don’t snuff it out.’

Pierre chuckles. ‘It’s you who has flicked his switch, I reckon.’

My grip on the windowsill tightens. My mobile starts vibrating. I don’t recall putting it on silent. I grab the phone, but the voicemail has clicked in.

‘We all want this resolved. But something’s not right. You hinted at something back in London? “One more tiny fact”, you said.’

I wait for Gustav’s voice on the phone, have a fierce longing to hear him speaking, but there’s only a kind of creaking and whirring as if he’s walking round with me in his pocket. ‘Is there more?’

Pierre Levi is so close that I notice his glowing black eyes don’t have the unique crackle of gold round the iris that Gustav has. I can see the pulse above his collar, notice for the first time a curious white bumpy scar winding up round his ear. The dark shadow of beard is coming through on the slightly thicker chin and cheeks.

He’s the rough, uncut chip off the fine, faceted block of his brother.

‘Very observant, Miss Folkes. Not that he picked up on it. Yes. There’s more. Gustav asked me if I wanted blood. Remember?’ Pierre starts to unbutton his shirt. ‘This bloody enough, do you think?’

Polly and I gape at each other. ‘Pierre, don’t do this,’ she mumbles, trying to stand. Her thin legs buckle under her and she falls back into the sofa.

‘I know you can’t bear the sight of me naked, Polly, but your cousin has to know what her boyfriend did to me.’ Pierre undoes the final button, pulls his shirt open. ‘I warned Gustav that Margot had the final word the night I left. And as he’s not here to explain it, I’ll just go ahead and throw my final grenade into the proceedings.’

He yanks his shirt off, tosses it at Polly and spreads his arms out like a martyr.

There, distorting his chest, carving ridges in his upper arms, slicing across his back, is a cobwebbing network of burns, puckering the red, raw, shiny skin. Polly crumples the shirt against her mouth.

I keep my eyes on Pierre’s, reading the curious mixture of accusation and appeal burning there. I refuse to stare at the welts and grafts. I’m trying to find words that will comfort, spreading my fingers towards his scarred, burnt torso.

‘This is how Gustav Levi protects his loved ones. This is the “tiny fact” that Margot told me when she saw me naked for the first time. How easy do you think it was to leave Baker Street after hearing – I’ll phrase it in that gorgeous Germanic accent of hers – “Gustav Levi sets fire to your house, and then he lets you burn.”’

We all stand there rigid, breathless. The silver hands on the clock join as if in prayer to mark midnight, and that is when Gustav opens the huge white door to the apartment with such force that it crashes back against the wall.

I swivel desperately round to stop him crying out in hearty greeting. I wonder what he sees, what terrible story this web of scars tells him. Somehow I fear that I’ve cocked up, that somehow I’m to blame for this unpeeling of yet another onion layer.

‘What’s going on?

Gustav clutches the back of the third sofa, the one where he always sits. The one with the best view over Central Park. The one I call the shagging seat, because – no. I can’t think about the two of us entwined there. Not right now.

‘I’m showing her what you did when I was a baby, Gustav. You started the fire in our house and you let us all burn. You were smoking in your room, and you dropped the cigarette carelessly and climbed out through the window to meet some girl. You kept this tiny fact from me all my life, too gutless to confess. So Gustav is the one who betrayed
me
, Serena. Not the other way round.’ Pierre’s use of my name for the first time is almost as shocking as the ruined state of his flesh. ‘He’s the one who disfigured me. Who robbed me of my parents. He’s the reason I still have nightmares.’