Pearl Trilogy: Shimmers Of Pearl Part 23

"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." c.r.a.p, 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."

"Don't fall over."

I get extra ice from the kitchen, put some in a bowl and finish fixing Sophie's Scotch. I have no idea how strong a double should be.

I come back into the room and she's still sniffling, biting her lip as if to suppress full-blown sobs. I'm getting frightened now. "Here we go," I say, handing her the drink, my hands trembling. "It might be a little strong." She has been crying. Her dark eyes are like black coal, smudged by mascara. She still looks beautiful and put together, despite it all. "Tell me what happened," I ask, dreading the answer.

"Alexandre has been arrested."

Laura immediately comes to mind. "Oh my G.o.d. Why?"

"Don't worry, he's got a hotshot team of lawyers wiz him. Zey have nuzzing on him. I'm sure he'll be released soon."

"But what is he being accused of?"

"In England zey are very quick to arrest, you know? It means nuzzing. They'll let him go soon."

"But what-?

"Laura is dead."

My heart feels as if it's about to leap out of my chest. My first reaction is relief how wicked is that? But then panic engulfs me as I wonder if Alexandre killed her. Sophie wipes her eyes and relays the story; tells me how Laura either fell down the stairs, or was pushed. How Alexandre slipped in from the back door. And that he and James practically collided into one another, seemingly spotting Laura at the same time, dead at the foot of the stairs; each accusing the other of murder or manslaughter.' That James called the police, and because of his finger pointing at Alexandre, they both ended up being suspects.

Sophie begins to weep out loud and I feel awkward. I hardly know her and her tears come as a shock because I have always had her in my mind's eye as a tough-nut. But she looks so tiny and vulnerable, like a fragile bird; and my heart is heavy with sympathy and surprisingly (given our history together), a sort of sisterly love.

"I love Alexandre so much, you know? He is everyzing to me. My bruzzer, my best friend. He is everyzing, Pearl."

I walk over and sit on the arm of the chair and rest my hand on her shoulder. I stroke her soft, dark hair, pulling a few salty strands from her tear-stained face. "It will be alright, I'm sure, Sophie. At least the attorneys are there." I say this calmly but I also have tears in my eyes. I picture the evidence in the safe deposit box, the note to Laura's lawyer if anything should befall her - a life sentence for their mother, even if Alexandre gets let off. Should I tell Sophie? No, I've been sworn to secrecy. "What can I do to help?" I ask in a quiet voice. "Should we go to London now? Get on a plane?"

She takes a gulp of Scotch. "Let's wait until tomorrow morning. If zey haven't let him free, zen we'll be in trouble. Ze lawyers will tell me more. We're waiting for ze forensic report."

I think of CSI and Dexter and am aware that we are now dealing with real life, not genius, fictional super-sleuths with state-of-the-art equipment that can solve cases within minutes and hours. This could drag on forever.

"What do you think happened?" I ask her.

"I don't care what happened. I don't care if he killed ze beach. I just want him home." She sc.r.a.pes her slim fingers through her hair agitatedly.

I nod. She wouldn't care, either, if their mother went to jail, by the sound of it. She was her step-mother, anyway, not her own flesh and blood, and had betrayed them both when they were minors. From what Alexandre has said, Sophie has never quite forgiven her. I'm itching to tell Sophie about the IVF saga but worry that if I do, I could put my big wooden spoon in a broth with far too many cooks. I bite my tongue. I can do nothing more than comfort her. I wish I knew what Alexandre had told his attorney. Or rather, attorneys, plural. Let's hope his money and power will work miracles. How much, I wonder, do they know? How much of this crazy story has Alexandre revealed to them?

"So Laura's husband James suddenly reappeared, then?" I think of how, in my mind, I'd accused Laura of poisoning him. "Where's he been all this time?"

"Apparently, he went to rehab. He was a heroin addict."

"Heroin? But I thought he was an upper-crust banker!"

"You'd be surprised how people wiz lots of money and connections are ze biggest junkies of all."

What she says makes me remember what her old job was. She used to be a high cla.s.s call girl, once upon a time, who mixed with the rich, famous and powerful. I guess she would know. "Do you think James pushed Laura down the stairs?"

"I wouldn't blame him if he did."

I don't know what else to say, so I offer, "Are you hungry, Sophie? The food's delicious here."

She gets up. "No. I'm leaving now, zank you. I just wanted to come by to see you in person. I'll call you when I have news. Meanwhile, here are ze numbers and emails of ze lawyers." She hands me a business card with extra, hand-written numbers scrawled on them in pen. "My driver's waiting outside. You know, Pearl, you could stay at my house next time. No need to get a hotel."

"I'd love that." Next time. Will there be a next time? Or is Alexandre going to spend the rest of his life locked up in British jail?

Chapter Eighteen.

I can't sleep. The purple s.e.x toy is lying next to me on my pillow. I thought it would be a good distraction but I wasn't able to bring myself to play with it. I need Alexandre, himself nothing else can even come close. I need his flesh on mine, the scent of his skin, the taste of his sweet breath. The idea of spending my life without him is horrifying. It has taken me forty years to find true love and now it's being s.n.a.t.c.hed away from me.

Did he kill Laura? Did he push her down the stairs in a rage? It's not his style but he does have a dark side to him; traits about his personality that I will never really know. He kept secrets from me. His Taekwondo, the fact he was in the Foreign Legion. He likes to keep the dark side in the shadows. Yes, he's capable of killing, but if he did kill Laura, I feel like Sophie. I don't care; I just want him safely home.

I mull over James. Not that I have ever met him, but he sounded like a stalwart citizen. Maybe he's the killer; the nervous junkie who just couldn't take anymore of Laura's antics. He must have gotten wind of the IVF stuff. Maybe that's what drove him to use drugs in the first place. Yes, James could have been her killer. Or was it a simple accident? What are the odds, though, of falling down stairs twice in your life?

Finally, I drift off into a delirious sleep. I know I'm dreaming when I smell Alexandre on me, when I feel him part my thighs and run his hands along my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I know I'm dreaming when I feel his lips on mine, pressing sweet kisses along my neck and my jaw-line, and when I hear his deep, s.e.xy voice whisper in my ear, "I love you, Pearl. You are my life, my love, my rare, precious pearl."

I open my eyes but wonder if I am still in my dream. He's there, leaning over me, his dark hair flopping in front of his face, his five o'clock shadow framing the beauty of his even features, his peridot-green eyes twinkling with humor. "You look so serious, baby," he tells me and smiles; his dimple on one cheek furrowed with amus.e.m.e.nt. Serioose.

"I'm dreaming," I reply to the s.e.xy phantom who has tricked me before. Who has given me o.r.g.a.s.ms in my sleep and even fooled me into believing he spanks me. This ghost is not the real Alexandre. He looks a little thinner in the face, a touch less hungry for s.e.x.

"You're not dreaming, cherie. I swear."

"I know your tricks," I murmur. "Because I'm feeling it between my legs and my heart's racing. You're just a s.e.xy spirit in my dream," I drift back to my other dream, the one about Rex. Rex is swimming in the sea, his doggie-paddle legs, wild with excitement. I have to spin him around and swim behind him so I don't get scratched.

The phantom crawls into bed beside me and trails kisses along my bare arms. His lips press my hand like a knight in s.h.i.+ning armor. He is a knight; his name is Chevalier. Alexandre Chevalier. "Alexandre?"

"Yes, baby. I'm here. I'm back from London."

"But you were in jail," I mutter.

"Not jail, cherie, just at the police station giving a statement. They let me go."

I stir from my hazy slumber and sit up. "You're real? This is true?"

He laughs. "Yes, I'm real. This isn't one of your crazy dreams." He lays the back of his hand on my cheek. "Everything's been sorted out."

"But what about Laura?"

He exhales as if all that pent up fear of spending time behind bars is expelled in one long breath. "Someone made a confession."

"James? James killed her?"

"No, not James. He was telling the truth; he'd just got back from rehab, from The Priory."

"Who then? Who killed Laura?"

"The stairs killed Laura. Aided by lots of very slippery furniture polish."

I jolt up and lean back against a pile of soft pillows. I'm well awake now.

Alexandre goes on, "Mrs. Blake, the housekeeper, came to the station to make her statement. She'd polished the stairs that day. Laura was tottering about in kitten-heeled slippers. She fell down the stairs; slid down on her back, ending by cras.h.i.+ng her head on the bottom, stone step. It was confirmed by forensics that there was polish all over the soles of her shoes."

"Who polishes stairs? Wasn't that a bit stupid?"

"Stupid or clever, depending which way you look at it."

"Mrs. Blake did it on purpose?"

"She told the police that Laura had asked her to polish the staircase but as you say, who polishes stairs?"

"But hadn't she been working for James and Laura for years?"

"Exactly. She hated Laura's guts. Secretly. But stayed because of her loyalty to James. She'd been working for his mother before. Years ago, when I was over there once, I heard Mrs. Blake complaining to the cook. After she made her statement, she asked the police if I could stop by the house. They'd given the case the all clear by that point and somebody had been sent over to clear up the blood. When I stopped by, she told me she had something that belonged to me. At first, I thought she must mean something to do with the Aston Martin. But no, it was the t.i.tanium hip parts and teeth."

"But Laura said it was in the safe deposit box."

"She was bluffing."

"But how did Mrs. Blake know that they were yours? How did she know that?"

"She said to me, Mr. Chevalier, I don't know why this stuff is important to you, or what it all means, but what I do know is that Mrs. Heimann was blackmailing you.' Household staff usually know what's going on where they work. She would have heard Laura make phone calls, probably eavesdropped here and there. The ironic thing is that it was stored in the garage, all along. I even had the key."

"The last place anyone would suspect? Especially you."

"Exactly."

"Mrs. Blake told me that she had been planning on calling me and letting me know. When she saw that James and I had been arrested, she was horrified and came down to the police station, straight away, to set the record straight."

"So in the end, you didn't need all those sw.a.n.ky attorneys?"

"The second they realized I was the owner of HookedUp they were putty in my hands. One moment, I was a frog', and the next their best mate. Two of them had met their girlfriends through HookedUp. Even if I had killed Laura, they were so impressed with me, I think they might have let me go," he jokes.

"What have you done with the evidence?"

"Oh, don't worry, I got rid of it."

My heart's palpitations have steadied now to a more even rhythm. My poor baby, with all the adrenaline swirling about my body, has sure been on a rollercoaster ride tonight. "Does James know about the IVF malarkey?"

"No, luckily Laura hadn't spoken to him about that, although she had told him that I was still in love with her and wanted to get back together."

"So he hates you?"

Alexandre's lips tilt up on one side into his signature crooked smile. "I showed him all the photos of you on my iPhone and shared with him the fact that you were pregnant. He calmed down."

"So you threw the teeth and hip parts away?"

"Too b.l.o.o.d.y right I did."

"Where?" I ask, fearing they could come back and haunt us like in one of those psychological thrillers. My stomach churns again...oops my baby's getting another ride on the Big Dipper.

"Hopefully, it's all sitting at the bottom of the deepest part of the English Channel. I came back by helicopter."

"Ah, so that's how you got back so quickly. What about Sophie? Did you let her in on the details?"