Hooked Up: Book 3 (3 page)

“How lovely, Alex—you brought me a present; how sweet of you.”

Once inside the house I shouted, “Pearl? Are you here?”

Laura started laughing. “She just left.”

I dropped the box on the marble floor; it landed with a thud. “Damn! How long ago?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Damn,” I cursed again.

“She doesn’t want to see you, Alex, so I wouldn’t get your knickers in a twist.”

I wanted to ignore her quip but heard myself ask, “She said that?”

“Yes. She came to England, especially to see me.”

“Bullshit, Laura.”

“It’s not bullshit. She told me you’d split up, and that she’d had enough and was going to start dating other men. That she’d had time to mull things over in Hawaii. She said she didn’t have time for silly games and that she understood that you were too immature for her—she wants to go out with someone her own age.”

I wanted to believe Laura was lying, but she knew about Pearl being in Hawaii—her conversation with Elodie had been before Pearl had even decided to go to Hawaii. Laura’s words stung like little poison darts. Perhaps there was an element of truth to them. I
had
been acting immaturely and it wasn’t a surprise Pearl wanted to date a more mature man. Fuck! I now regretted leaving her in tears in the backyard at her brother’s. Begging me to give her another chance, I pretended her words were empty. I’d behaved like a total, coldblooded bastard. In that moment—in Anthony’s garden—it hadn’t occurred to me that Pearl had choices; she could simply dump me. Dump me at the drop of a hat. She was gorgeous—she could get any man she wanted. What the fuck had I been thinking?

I stood there, remembering how it was
Laura
that had intensified Pearl’s fear of Sophie, with that crazy phone call getting us into this mess. My eyes were pools of ice as they locked with hers. “I’ve brought your books back, Laura. The hotel gift-wrapped the box by mistake so don’t get any grand ideas. I’m leaving now, I’m going to get my car.” I strode down the hall, towards the garden that led to the garage.

“Alex, wait!” Laura limped after me with her cane. “Why are you so pissed off? I thought we could have some tea and have a heart-to-heart.”

“Yeah, right, Laura. I’m really going to drink your tea, laced with some bloody drug. You behaved like a fucking psycho last time we met, and what you did to Pearl was unforgiveable. Un-fucking-forgivable. You should go and get professional help—I’d offer to pay for a shrink but I don’t want to be involved with you in
any way, whatsoever
. Is the garage locked?”

“It’s unlocked,” she said sulkily, as if what I told her was a surprise. “You know where the buzzer is for the garage door and you still have your own keys, I suppose. Alex, don’t be a spoilsport—
come
on.”

I suddenly thought of something. “You didn’t give
Pearl
a cup of tea, did you?”

Laura smirked.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and found myself shaking her. I’d never hurt a woman in my life.
Jesus!
But the temptation to slap her was overwhelming. My heart was pounding, my breath unsteady. I stepped back, sucked in a calming lungful of air, let go of her, and said in a quiet voice, my teeth clenched, “Did you offer Pearl a cup of tea?” If I had been like Michael Corleone—as Pearl so often described me—I would have felt no qualms about having Laura eliminated. But I wasn’t. I respected a person’s life too much—God knows, I’d been responsible for enough deaths to see me well into the depths of Hell—I didn’t want another on my conscience. And however crazy Laura had become, we had shared something once. You can’t wipe away your past.

“Yes, I offered her tea,” but she quickly added, “she didn’t want any, though.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief, marched off, swung open the back door, and raced towards the garage. My beautiful 1964 DB5 Aston Martin was under a tarpaulin, and when I peeled it back, I was both surprised and delighted to see that it was unblemished. What a beauty! No wonder this model had starred in two Bond films. I got into the front seat, humming
Skyfall
to myself, and inhaled the wonderful aroma of Classic Car (
they really should learn to bottle this
). For a second or two, the wonder of my car soothed away the fury I felt with Laura. But then I turned the key. Dead. Bloody nothing. My blood rose again. The battery was fucking dead! I got out and saw Laura standing there, her lips quirked into another victorious smile. Had she done this on purpose?

“James is away so hasn’t been here to start the engine.
Poor
Alexandre,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her languid, snooty tongue. “Anyway, the delay will be perfect—I’ll change into something more comfortable while you recharge the battery, then while we wait for it to juice-up, we can have a heart-to-heart.”

“No, Laura. I’m off.
Now.
Suresh can come and pick up the car at some point; I don’t have time for this nonsense, and the last thing I want right now is a cozy chat with you.” I slammed the car door shut, sheathed my pride and joy with its cover then stormed over to the red button on the wall, which I pressed with vigor. The garage door buzzed open. I shot out under the narrow space, as Laura shouted after me, but I legged the hell out of there.

I didn’t want to see Laura’s brazen face ever again.

T
HE LIMOUSINE WAS waiting for Sophie around the back of Harrods like a panther on the prowl. Or rather, a Jaguar, because that’s what make of car it was. The uniformed chauffeur opened the door for us and we slid onto the sumptuous seats, and then he drove us off into the London traffic. I tried to peel my gaze away from Sophie as she called her friend, so I fixed my eyes on the beautiful shop-front window displays along Sloane Street (especially Harvey Nichols) as we glided through the shimmering wet streets: the traffic lights reflecting globes of color in the windows of passing cars and on the road. There was a thin haze of drizzle—bad for depression, good for skin, I thought, having noticed the peaches and cream complexions of so many young British girls.

Sophie arranged an assortment of shopping bags and feasted on her Jelly Belly beans. She offered me a handful, and I chewed the mixture of flavors thoughtfully together, too afraid to speak because I really didn’t know where to begin. It seemed she thought that Alexandre and I were still together. How could that be?

Finally, she broke the silence. “I haven’t spoken to Alexandre for days. So you came to London all alone, Pearl?”

I swallowed. A mélange of root beer and cinnamon swirled about my mouth. It tasted of America and I felt momentarily soothed. Homesick. “Yes, I’m alone.”
Is she testing me?

“How is your wedding gown coming along? Is it finished yet?”

Oh God, what do I say?
“I’m not sure,” I hedged. And then I blurted out, “Do you know Laura?”

“Laura?”

“Alexandre’s—”

“I don’t see her anymore,” Sophie interrupted.

But when I was at Laura’s house, Sophie had telephoned her and said that she was coming over!
“Do you phone her from time to time?” I asked, the conversation fresh in my mind; Laura chitchatting in perfect French and telling me it was Sophie who’d phoned.

“No, not for ages.”

Oh. Strange. Someone’s hiding something. Laura? Sophie? Laura, probably.

I asked, “Do you like her?”

“No, but she was in a wheelchair so I had to be nice.”

“I see.”

“She’s been calling my bruzzer again?”

“They are seeing each other . . . a lot,” I muttered. I wanted to tell her about Laura, what she’d said. I wanted to spill all the beans, but stopped myself. I suddenly thought of Alessandra’s warning once again . . . that carving knife. If I tattletaled on Laura she would retaliate by telling Sophie about Alessandra and me.
Actually, she might tell Sophie anyway . . . I’ll be in trouble, no matter what.

Then Sophie said with her mouth full, “You and me got off on wrong foot, Pearl. I’m sorry. We need to talk.”

My heart began to race but I replied, “Yes we really do need to talk. I’m sorry too, if I’ve been . . . ” I trailed off. I didn’t know how to express myself—how much I should tell her.

“Zee last time I spoke to my bruzzer he tell me you know about me and
Stone Trooper
.”

Uh, oh, here we go.
“I guess you know why I got involved?” she asked, narrowing her eyes (the way her brother sometimes did).

“Not completely,” I said, giving her an opening. I needed to see which direction she would take with this conversation.

“Alessandra.”

“Yes.”

This was beginning to sound like some enigmatic scene in a Harold Pinter play. How much longer could I beat around the bush?

“Alessandra is my girlfriend.”

I looked down at my sneakers. “Yes, I know.”

“She tried to seduce you?”

I could feel my face burn like glowing coals, although people had told me I didn’t go red. But I felt like I was on fire. “Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s her nature . . . Italian. Flirt. I have a husband, you know. I can’t blame her for a little extracurricular activity.”

The carving knife came to mind, yet again. “You don’t get jealous?”

“Yes, but I cannot have my cake and eat it too, you know?” Sophie looked at me and threw some more candy into her mouth. “Sorry, very rude, I eat zee whole packet. I get very greedy with this Jelly Belly. So if she flirts I’m not cross. I know you both spent a lot of time togezzer on zee script.”

“Alessandra thinks you’re very jealous,” I ventured, my heart still hammering inside my chest.

“She loves drama. She likes zee idea zat I scream and shout, you know?”

“So if she did something with another woman you wouldn’t come after the other woman with a carving knife?”
Oops, I didn’t mean to be so blunt. Blunt about something so sharp.

Sophie burst out laughing. “She tell you zat? No, Pearl. Only one time in my life did I come after someone wiz a carving knife and zat was my fazzer.”

I seized this rare opportunity to find out more, my Sherlock instinct piqued. “What happened to your father?”

“He’s around. He lives in Rio, I sink.”

“He’s
alive?
I thought he disappeared.”

“Yes, he disappeared—to Rio.” She starred out the car window—I couldn’t judge the expression on her face.

“How do you know he went to Rio?”

“A friend of Alexandre say she see him zaire one time.”

Interesting.
I changed the subject. “So how long are you in London for, Sophie? How come you haven’t spoken to Alexandre? I thought you two spoke every day.”

“Not since I bought him out.”

“He sold you his shares of HookedUp?”

“You didn’t know zat? I buy but I cannot pay for it all in one go. HookedUp is worz so much money, you know? Even I cannot afford to buy in one go.”

We sat there in silence, both licking our lips after our Jelly Belly binge. Then I exclaimed, “Sophie, I may as well tell you . . . Alexandre has left me. He’s gone back to Laura. We haven’t seen each other for over two weeks.”

She stopped chewing and her jaw dropped open. I saw a mélange of blues and yellows of the candy stuck on her perfect white teeth. Her usually flawless composure slumped into disbelief. Her eyes widened. She was genuinely shocked, this was not an act.

“I knew zat fucking beach was up to no good.”

It took a beat for me to realize that “beach” meant bitch.

“I went to Laura’s house today. The reason I went was because . . . because she told me that you caused her accident, Sophie, that you wanted me dead . . . that you would have me killed . . . ‘topped off’—”

“
Merdre! Poutain!
You believe I would do zat?”

I dropped my head in shame and a smart of pain shot through me. I realized, too late, I had nipped my lower lip. Tears spilled from my eyes, “I’m sorry, Sophie. I thought you hated me. Yes, I believed her—she was very convincing. I was going through a rough patch and, well . . . I was vulnerable.”

Sophie, to my surprise, folded me in her arms and drew me close to her slim frame, hugging me like a long lost friend. Her gesture made me shake with unbidden emotion.

I’d made Alexandre sell his share of HookedUp to her, and I’d caused him, through my nagging and suspicion, to run back to Laura. I’d dug my own grave. I had nobody to blame but myself.

I spilled out my woes and told Sophie the whole story, omitting only the kinky stuff with Alessandra. I came clean about everything else. She apologized, too, telling me she was sorry for having slipped into the
Stone Trooper
deal without warning me.

Finally she cried out in anger, “Anyway, I don’t believe Laura for a second. Alexandre is crazy about you. Zaire is no way he start fucking zat skinny gold-digger beach again. No, Pearl, he loves you too much—why would he go for stringy steak when he has juicy hamburger at home?”

Getting the expression wrong on purpose? I tried to smile at her, but I felt so raw inside. Raw like the hamburger or steak I was supposedly meant to be. Funny, when I didn’t even eat red meat in the first place. I told Sophie, “Laura says they’re getting married.”

“You know sumsing about that skinny, asparagus beach? She’s a good liar.”

I wiped my face with my coat sleeve. I understood asparagus must be the French equivalent to beanpole. Normally I would have laughed, but none of this was funny. I replied, “Laura had me fooled, that’s for sure. But she could be telling the truth. Alexandre was there at her house, I saw him. It looks as if he’s moved in with her.”

“You spoke to him?”

“No, I just missed him. And whenever I’ve called his cell, his voicemail always picks up.”

“You leave zis to me, Pearl. Sumzing is not right. He loves you . . . he is crazy about you. I know my bruzzer, believe me.”

I burst out crying again. Something about having Sophie on my side when I thought she was my archenemy stirred my deepest sentiments.

She took her arms away from my shoulders and said, “We have arrived.”

I looked up from my blurry-eyed vision and saw that we were in the heart of Hampstead Village, crawling along a beautiful tree-lined street, where houses were like country mansions. Sophie fished her cell phone from her purse and called her friend.