Hooked Up: Book 3 (29 page)

I set off around to the back, toward the mews. I unlocked the side door to the garage. It was empty and seemed sad without my DB5, as if crying out for companionship. If it were true what Laura said about James losing all his money, they’d be selling up soon. Who knew? Maybe the bank already owned the house.

The door to the garden was unlocked.

The grass was long and hadn’t been mowed for a while; a sure sign that things with James and Laura had gone downhill. They’d always had a gardener. That meant she’d really want to take me to the cleaners, big time. That was, if I was able get this crazy baby idea out of her head, and pay her off instead.

I opened the kitchen door and thought how easy it would have been for somebody to break in. It was eerily quiet.

I shouted out. “Laura? Hello? Is anyone home?”

Nothing. Almost silent. Except the tick, tock of an old grandfather clock.

“Hell . . . o . . . ooo? Anyone in? Mrs. Blake?”

Just then, I heard a noise and nearly jumped out of my skin.

“T
O ERR IS HUMAN, to loaf is Parisian,” Daisy told me with a rebellious look in her eye. We were lounging on my king-size bed, in the Presidential Suite of the George V. Amy was sprawled out on the floor, busy with one of her coloring books. We ladies were drinking champagne (I allowed myself two sips), and reclining like Marie Antoinette, in the lap of luxury.

“To err is human, to loaf is Parisian,” I repeated with amusement. “Who said that?”

Daisy sipped her champagne. “Victor Hugo.”

“The one who wrote
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
?”

“That’s the one. What did you think of Notre Dame, Pearl?”

“I didn’t have time to go in, just stood there, mesmerized by its grandeur, gazing at those crazy gargoyles.”

“Well, I have to say, I know it’s wicked, and I’m only telling you this because I know you’ll keep it a secret, but I preferred just hanging out with you this afternoon. There’s only so much sightseeing you can do in one day. So glad I escaped. Call me a heathen, I am.” She took another swig of champagne. “Let’s have a butcher’s then?” she asked, grabbing one of my shopping bags.

“What did you say?”

“Let’s have a look inside that bag.”

“No, what was that word you used?”

“Butchers. Butcher’s hook. A look. Let’s have a butchers. It’s Cockney rhyming slang.”

“What else can you say?”

“I can hail a sherbet.”

“What’s that?”

“A sherbet’s a cab.”

“How does that make sense?”

“Sherbert dab. Cab. Are you going to use the dog, then and call Alexandre?”

“The dog?”

“You’re so slow, Pearl. Dog and bone. Phone.”

“So you use the first word, but not the second?”

“Exactly, or it’s too obvious. It was invented, or evolved, rather, to confuse people. Like a private language so nobody knew what they were talking about.”

“So Cockneys are Londoners?”

“All Cockneys are Londoners but not all Londoners are Cockneys. I mean, I’m a Londoner but I’m hardly Cockney. I speak the Queen’s English.”

“So what makes someone a true Cockney, apart from their accent?”

“You have to be born within the sound of the Bow Bells; a church called St. Mary-le-Bow in the East End of London. So pick up the dog, then, Pearl. The dog and bone, pick up the phone. You’ve been itching to call him all day.”

“You’re right, I have.”

This was so awkward. I was dying to divulge all to Daisy, but of course, I couldn’t. If I told her about Laura’s blackmail she’d want to know the whole story, and I was sworn to secrecy. She knew Alexandre was in London, but I’d told her he was on business and just had to drop by Laura’s to pick something up. Even that had gotten her suspicious. I realized that it wasn’t the best plan, after all, to have her over that evening, although I loved hanging out with her. I leaned over, took a deep breath and grabbed the receiver of the hotel phone. I dialed Alexandre’s cell. It rang and rang until his voicemail picked up.

“Why isn’t he answering?” I grumbled under my breath. I left a message. “Hey honey, just calling from the hotel. We had a lovely long day, had lunch in the Marais, hanging out and shopping. Call me, I’m worried about you.” I slowly hung up and looked at Daisy. “Just . . . you know, he had an important business meeting with some new clients.”

I hated lying to Daisy. She arched her eyebrows, and I felt instantly guilty, as if she could read my mind. I needed to ply her with more champagne to dumb her own. All I could think about was what Laura was going to say and do, and what Alexandre’s reaction would be. I poured us both another glass, although I knew I’d only take a tiny sip.

“Isn’t this delicious?” I said. “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 piped up from the carpet. “Yes Auntie Pearl, put that pretty dress on.”

“Oh, by the way,” and Daisy lowered 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 twiddled her red curls between her fingers. When Daisy did that it meant she was excited. “I think he’s very keen.”

I widened 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’s there as a safety net.”

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

“What do 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 realized I was talking too loud. Some smart little somebody might prick up her little pixie ears.

“Talk about
sexy
,” hissed 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 squeaked. “You told me it was rude to whisper, Mommy.”

Daisy burst out laughing. “So I did. So I did. You are absolutely right, Amy. I must not whisper!” She was slurring her words and I knew she and Amy would have to spend the night. Fine. This suite had an extra bedroom with en-suite bathroom.

Daisy stretched her legs out on the bed and plumped up a couple of massive cushions behind her head. She let 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 rang. Thank God. It would be Alexandre. I grabbed it eagerly.

“Alexandre?”

“Hello, Pearl?”

It wasn’t Alexandre. It was Elodie.

“Hi Elodie. What’s up?” Poor thing could 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 was my wedding, any second now. Talk about fittings; I’d 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 Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes, it is.” I said this with confidence but I was panicking inside. In fact, I’d been so caught up in the Laura drama I hadn’t been organizing my own freaking wedding. A good wake up call. I needed 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 hung up.

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

“Yeah, 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 looked 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 winced. 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 lied. “Another glass?” Quick, I needed to top her up before her brain started working overtime again.

“What about food?”

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

Daisy gulped 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 stood up, rushed over, and leaped onto the bed.

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

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

“Non-alcoholic cocktails,” I amended quickly. A vision of Santa Claus on the beach flashed through my mind and it was wrong—very wrong. Poor Amy, what had I said? I added. “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 looked 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 felt terrible. I was outright lying. Is this, I mused, 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 was 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 gazed at her sweet, heart-shaped face, full of innocence and wonder, and my stomach did 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 became 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?” slurred 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 murmured, 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 bounced up and down on the bed, and for a moment, I was envious. I remembered doing that; the feeling of freedom and abandon, flying high, my light feet beneath. I looked forward to seeing my own child turn five.

“What will my dress be like?” Amy wanted to know.

“I don’t know, I’ll ask him.”

I grabbed my iPad and sent Zang an email, which would go directly to his BlackBerry. “He’s usually very fast at responding,” I told my eager audience. “So professional.”

Then I picked up the hotel phone and called Alexandre again. No reply, just the goddam voicemail. He would have had plenty of time, by now, to sort stuff out with Laura, so why wasn’t he picking up? I left another message. Five minutes later, a message bleeped in from Zang: