Hooked Up: Book 3 (32 page)

“No, it’s okay, thanks.”

Daisy studied me for a minute and suddenly came out with, “Pearl, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have multiple orgasms?”

I hesitated before I answered but didn’t need long to recollect my memories. “Once or twice it has happened. Only with Alexandre though. But the truth is, I feel so satisfied . . . so
satiated
after one, I really don’t need another. Why?”

“Oh, just because you’re always reading about them and you feel like a kind of freak, you know, just having
one
, like all other women are having such fun and you, well, you’re just . . . I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite dish?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Just hear me out. What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

“Well, I do love a good Sunday roast with Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes”

“Okay, imagine you’ve just eaten a full Sunday roast. And it was absolutely delicious. You are full. Best meal you’ve had for ages. Maybe years. And then you’re offered another plate piled high with more of the same. Would you be able to wolf all that down, too?”

“I see your point.”

“Believe me, you should be happy with one good orgasm. Very happy. A lot of women—and it was how I was for so many years—are starved and don’t even get the one, so count yourself blessed. Lots of women don’t climax at all during intercourse. Don’t believe all you read about multiple orgasms, anyway.”

She considered what I’d said. I could see the invisible cogs of her mind turning. I knew what she was wondering—wondering if it was because Alexandre was a god in bed and that was why I’d had multiple orgasms, or if I was born that way.

“So no word from Alexandre?” she asked.

“No.” Uh, oh, the food was sobering her up; I needed to change the subject. “So, tell me more about Zac; we hardly discussed it the other day because of Amy being around.”

“Oh my God, Pearl. I mean, when Zac kissed me it made me realize what I’d been missing all these years, you know? He’s so
sexy
 . . . so . . . buffed up.” She laughed too loudly and covered her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t sobering up, after all.

“Funny. You, Natalie, and I have all ended up with younger men. Well, that’s if you take Zac up on his offer.”

“You’re right! I hadn’t thought of that!”

“We’re getting our revenge on the world.” I winked at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s always been guys who get the young girls. Now the tables are turning. There’s so much more Girl Power about, have you noticed?”

She sipped another large spoonful of soup and sighed at its deliciousness. “Like so many amazing women singers now, and stuff?”

“Exactly. Men need to watch out. Gone are the days when they can sit around getting beer bellies and think their women will be happily waiting for them if they behave like assholes. Women are beginning to call the shots now. I mean, look at
you
. You’re not crying your heart out feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve moved on. Moved on to a hot, sexy, younger model!”

“Don’t ya love it?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I hate that word, ‘cougar’ though, don’t you? I find it offensive.”

Daisy nodded her head as if weighing up the options. “I don’t know. I quite
like
the idea of being a cougar. It’s a compliment. Cougars are beautiful creatures.”

“That’s exactly what Alexandre says.”

Our girlie chitchat was interrupted by the phone ringing. Thank God, it would finally be him. “Oui, hallo?” I said, giving it my French touch.

“Pearl?”

“
Sophie,
is that you?”

“I’m in ze lobby, I’m coming up.”

“Great, I—” The line clicked dead before I got a chance to say anything more.

Daisy arched an eyebrow. “
Sophie’s
here? At this hour?”

“I know. A bit odd. Oh, well. We’re friends now so—”

“Maybe she wants to come and hang out.”

“You think?”

“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 laughed. “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 started singing
Young at Heart
in a Frank Sinatra croon. Actually, she did a pretty good imitation.

“I can hear a knock, that’ll be her. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

When I opened the door I could see from the dour expression on Sophie’s face that something
was
wrong. Very wrong. My first fear was that Alexandre had died in a car crash or something.

“Is he okay?” My eyes were already pooling with tears. “He’s not dead?”

Sophie’s lips twitched into a limp smile. “No, he’s fine. I mean not fine, but he’s not dead, not injured, don’t worry.”

My heart beat normally again. Well, almost. At least he was still alive. “Come in.”

She swished into the room, cast off her sumptuous, cashmere overcoat, and slumped 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.”
Crap, the news must be really bad
. “On the rocks?” I asked her.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you like ice with your Scotch?”

“Yes, lots.”

I fixed her the drink and gauged her movements from the corner of my eye. I didn’t know if she had a cold or if she was crying. I slipped quietly next door to see Daisy. She had her iPod playing
Young at Heart
and she was spinning around in circles, doing a strange sort of ballet. I whispered, “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 stretched her arms in the air and did a gazelle-like leap. “See you in the morning.”

“Don’t fall over.”

I got extra ice from the kitchen, put some in a bowl, and finished fixing Sophie’s Scotch. I had no idea how strong a double should be.

I came back into the room and she was still sniffling, biting her lip as if to suppress full-blown sobs. It frightened me. “Here we go,” I said, handing her the drink, my hands trembling. “It might be a little strong.” She had been crying. Her dark eyes were like black coal, smudged by mascara. She still looked beautiful and put together, despite it all. “Tell me what happened,” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Alexandre has been arrested.”

Laura immediately came to mind. She’d spilled the beans, obviously. “Oh my God. Why?” I said, as if I knew nothing.

“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’s dead.”

My heart felt as if it was about to leap out of my chest. My first reaction was relief . . . how wicked was that? But then panic engulfed me, wondering if Alexandre had killed her and that was why he’d been arrested. Sophie wiped her eyes and relayed the story; told 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 wept out loud, and I felt awkward. I hardly knew her and her tears came as a shock because I’d had her pegged as a tough-nut. But she looked so tiny and vulnerable, like a fragile bird; and my heart was 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 walked over and sat on the arm of the chair and rested my hand on her shoulder. I stroked her soft, dark hair, pulling a few salty strands from her tear-stained face. “It’ll be alright, I’m sure, Sophie. At least the attorneys are there.” I said this calmly but I also had tears in my eyes. I pictured 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 got let off.
Should I tell Sophie?
No, I’d been sworn to secrecy. “What can I do to help?” I asked in a quiet voice. “Should we go to London now? Get on a plane?”

She took 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 thought of
CSI
and
Dexter
and was aware that we were now dealing with real life, not genius, fictional super-sleuths with state-of-the-art equipment that could solve cases within minutes and hours.
This could drag on forever.

“What do you think happened?” I asked.

“I don’t care what happened. I don’t care if he killed ze beach. I just want him home.” She scraped her slim fingers through her hair agitatedly.

I nodded. She wouldn’t care, either, if their mother went to jail, I thought. She was her stepmother, anyway, not her own flesh and blood, and had betrayed them both when they were minors. From what Alexandre had said, Sophie had never quite forgiven her. I was itching to tell Sophie about the IVF saga but worried that if I did, I could put my big wooden spoon in a broth with far too many cooks. I bit my tongue. I could do nothing more than comfort her. I wished I knew what Alexandre had told his attorney. Or rather, attorneys, plural. I hoped his money and power would work miracles. How much, I wondered, did they know? How much of this crazy story had Alexandre revealed to them?

“So Laura’s husband James suddenly reappeared, then?” I thought 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 said made me remember what her old job was: a high-class call girl, once upon a time, who mixed with the rich, famous and powerful. I guessed she would know. “Do you think
James
pushed Laura down the stairs?”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”

I didn’t know what else to say, so I offered, “Are you hungry, Sophie? The food’s delicious here.”

She got 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 handed 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.
Would there
be
a next time? Or was Alexandre going to spend the rest of his life locked up in a British jail? Because Laura—even from her
chaise longue
in Hell (she was probably having cocktails and flirting with the Devil himself)—had other plans for our future.

I
COULDN’T SLEEP. The purple sex toy was 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 needed Alexandre himself—nothing else could even come close. I needed his flesh on mine, the scent of his skin, the taste of his sweet breath. The idea of spending my life without him was horrifying. It had taken me forty years to find true love, and now it was being snatched away from me.

Had he killed Laura? Had he pushed her down the stairs in a rage? It was not his style but he did have a dark side to him; traits about his personality that I would never really know. He’d kept secrets from me. His Taekwondo, the fact he was in the Foreign Legion. He liked to hide the dark side in the shadows. Yes, he was capable of killing, but if he had killed Laura, I felt like Sophie: I didn’t care; I just wanted him safely home.

I mulled over James. Not that I had ever met him, but I’d always assumed he was a stalwart citizen. Maybe he was 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 were the odds, though, of falling down stairs twice in your life?

Finally I drifted off into a delirious sleep. I knew I was dreaming when I smelled Alexandre on me, when I felt him part my thighs and run his hands along my breasts. I knew I was dreaming when I felt his lips on mine, pressing sweet kisses along my neck and my jawline, and when I heard his deep, sexy voice whisper in my ear, “I love you, Pearl. You’re my life, my love, my rare, precious pearl.”

I opened my eyes but wondered if I was still in my dream. He was 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 told me, and smiled; his dimple on one cheek furrowed with amusement.
Serioose.

“I’m dreaming,” I replied to the sexy phantom who had tricked me before. Who had given me orgasms in my sleep and even fooled me into believing he spanked me. This ghost was not the real Alexandre. He looked a little thinner in the face, a touch less hungry for sex.

“You’re not dreaming, chérie. I swear.”

“I know your tricks,” I murmured. “Because I’m feeling it between my legs and my heart’s racing. You’re just a sexy spirit in my dream,” I drifted back to my other dream, the one about Rex. Rex was swimming in the sea, his doggie-paddle legs wild with excitement. I had to spin him around and swim behind him so I didn’t get scratched.