Pearl Trilogy: Shimmers Of Pearl Part 19
Susan, a lanky woman with gla.s.ses and a Trilby hat (who reminds me of Diane Keaton in Annie Hall) replies, "Throwing in the towel already, you lightweight?"
"Yes I am, because I know what's next and I think Amy's a little young for it."
"What have you all got planned?" I ask.
"A bicycle tour around the city with a company called Fat Tire."
"Tire being the operative word," I joke.
"We saw them this morning by the Eiffel Tower, it looked really fun," Susan tells me. "Perfect for the girls."
"Wow, you lot are going to know Paris like the back of your hands by the end of this trip. It puts me to shame."
"Shall we get going, then?" Daisy asks eagerly. "Come on Amy, we're going with Pearl back to her hotel."
"Mommy, I want to stay."
Daisy hesitates but then tells her, "No, sweetie, you're still too young. But you'll be back with the big girls tomorrow, all day."
"I hate my age," Amy grumbles to her mother with a pout. "It sucks being five."
"Rubbish. Five is the best age ever. Now come on, or we'll be late for lunch."
Mary, the other teacher on this trip, bustles up to me and says, "Thank you Pearl, you have no idea what this means to the girls - and to us, too. This is an experience of a lifetime." She is the ant.i.thesis to Susan and they look like a comic duo. Mary is so round and podgy, all you want to do is squeeze her; next to Susan's towering skinny frame, they could be a female version of Laurel and Hardy.
I smile and reply, "It's not me, but my fiance. It was his idea. He's the one who organized everything."
"He's so incredibly generous! I mean, our apartment is divine. The spending money he gave us is way too much...I feel...I mean...I don't know how to repay that level of kindness, I don't-"
"Just knowing how much fun you're having in France will be payment enough, believe me. He's the kind of person who gets a real kick out of helping people and seeing he can make a small difference."
"I mean, these kids haven't even been out of the Bronx and now one of them is saying she wants to be a pilot, to fly a private jet, one day."
"You see, that's what seeing another slice of life can do," I tell her.
I can tell that Vanessa is Amy's crush. She's an elegant black girl with soulful, sparkling eyes. She bounds up to us and exclaims, "And I'm going to live here in Paris when I grow up, and learn to speak French."
Amy tugs on her mom's coat and asks, "Where are we going for lunch?"
"To the Marais. I'm treating you and Pearl."
"What's the Marais?"
"It's a neighborhood, darling. Marais means swamp in French that's what it was hundreds of years ago. Now it has itty bitty winding streets and lots of galleries, beautiful medieval buildings and amazing boutiques. I'll buy you a present, if you're a good girl."
"I'm always good." Amy looks up at me with her large brown eyes as if to gain an ally and I laugh.
"I'll buy you a gift, too," I whisper, "and maybe you can choose something for each and every one of the girls."
"Cool!"
"See you guys later," Daisy says, linking arms with me and Amy, and pulling us off in the direction of Le Marais.
I wave the group goodbye and I feel relieved that I have a distraction from straying thoughts of Laura and the damage that she's sure to be planning. Let's hope Alexandre can stop her.
How, I don't know, but I'm sure he'll come up with something.
Chapter Fourteen.
Alexandre forced himself to relax against the soft leather of the back seat of the Daimler; anything to ease the tension gathering like sailor's knots in his shoulders. He had Laura on his mind; He was now being driven to her house in Chelsea - she was expecting him.
He and Sophie always used this chauffeur when they came to London; it was so much easier than messing about with diesel-belching taxis with chatty c.o.c.kney drivers who wanted to talk about the weather. Not that he was knocking them, no they were the most knowledgeable taxi drivers of probably any city in the world. They had to pa.s.s an exam called The Knowledge, could take you to any tiny corner of London by memory but still, having a private chauffeur was one of the perks of having money to burn. And it was one of his secret pleasures.
It still felt at odds, that...being so b.l.o.o.d.y wealthy, yet it was something Alexandre never took for granted. It seemed only yesterday when he was rummaging through his jeans' pockets or picking coins off the floor to sc.r.a.pe up enough money to buy a sandwich or a cup of coffee. Being poor stank, but being rich and not appreciating what you had was worse. That's why he needed to justify that private jet it made him feel too guilty to swan about the globe in jets without good reason. He felt it was only fair to spread the wealth a bit and share his good fortune. He hoped those Bronx girls were having fun and didn't see it as charity,' though. He hated that, being the magnanimous do-gooder'. No, it was simply a question of dividing things out, like buying a round of drinks at the pub a British tradition that he liked. If you had the money, it was your round' and if you didn't have enough from your paycheck that week, never mind you'd do it another day your mate would pay instead.
Your mate. The pub. That's where he'd met Laura. She was there with a group of friends and they'd started up a conversation. Strange that as beautiful as Laura was, Alexandre never did have that love at first sight' thing with her, the way he did with Pearl. It was more a case of feeling lonely in a new city, a need for companionship. They got talking and then soon started going out to movies together, or art exhibitions. It was a nice change from hanging out with Sophie all the time, and Sophie was in Paris, anyway. He didn't like male company so much, either it reminded him of La Legion and all its madness. When he arrived in London all those years ago, he felt lonely, screwed-up; he needed a friend, wanted some female company, and Laura was right there.
La Legion...a part of his life he'd rather forget. He'd joined up at fifteen, an underage romantic idealist. Death seemed glamorous at the time even welcome. The French Foreign Legion was infamous for having one of the highest fatality rates of any modern military. He wanted to be one of the chosen ones' - feel that he could stand amongst the world's hardest and not even blink.
There were three types of people who joined La Legion. The men who needed to be there, because they had nothing else, the fly-by-night dreamers, and the complete, f.u.c.king lunatics.
He never had been sure which category he fit into best perhaps a mixture of all three.
Alexandre remembered the eerie words of one guy, an Australian, who said, I'll get a second chance at achieving something real, anything, even if it's just a shallow grave.'
Alexandre had seen enough shallow graves for a lifetime; bodies blown to smithereens. La Legion was tougher than any army, any professional fighting force. It was no f.u.c.king picnic. If he'd stayed, he would probably be dead by now.
He remembered the march of La Legion; Le Boudin. Eighty- eight steps a minute. 88, the magic number, the number of pearls on the Art Deco necklace he gave Pearl. He seemed to be wedded to that lucky number. Eighty-eight.
He now gazed out of the car window, humming the first verse of the marching song to himself: Nous sommes des degourdis, Nous sommes des lascars Des types pas ordinaires.
Nous avons souvent notre cafard, Nous sommes des legionnaires.
Translated into English was: We are crafty.
We are rogues.
We are no ordinary guys.
We've often got our black moods, For we are Legionnaires.
Their motto was - Legio Patria Nostra - The Legion is our home. Thank G.o.d he had a real home, now, with Pearl. He had been searching all this time and knew he'd finally found what he was looking for.
An unwelcome image of Laura being pregnant flashed before him. He groaned and felt tension clamp at his jaw. He cursed the day she opened her bee-sting lips and asked him the time. He should have just kept her as a friend, not started f.u.c.king her. The truth was, that she was pretty uns.e.xy in bed, anyway; all angles and bones - never letting go too uptight, too neurotic. He felt bad judging someone like that but f.u.c.k, he felt no remorse now, in ripping Laura's personality to pieces she was proving to be a b.i.t.c.h of the first order. But the worst thing was that she didn't even seem to be aware of what a monster she was being. As if all her demands were by the by' the sort of, oh by the way, I need a baby and it has to be yours.' As if her actions wouldn't have consequences for all involved. Had she thought of the child, itself? He doubted it. Doubted Laura would have thought far outside the little box that was her own selfish head.
He'd told Pearl that Laura had become doolally' because of the accident, but he was now aware that that wasn't quite true. She had always been self-absorbed - it just didn't seem to matter when he was younger. Telling Pearl that excusing Laura's behavior - somehow justified having been with Laura in the first place. Modeling hadn't helped her, one bit. Take an egotistical person and shove them into the modeling world, and all it does is magnify the problem. And all that money she'd grown accustomed to with James. She'd become a spoiled brat, used to getting her way.
What a f.u.c.k-up! He still didn't know what he was going to say to her. He'd come up with a solution he'd have to. As much as he had goals and wrote lists, he always played things by instinct. It drove Sophie nuts. Sometimes, he'd go in the opposite direction than planned just before an important business meeting. If he instinctively trusted someone... or the reverse; had a suspicion that someone would double-cross him, a gut feeling, then he might change his course altogether. It had made him a rich man and he wasn't going to change tactics now.
He'd play it by ear. Read Laura by looking into her eyes. Maybe it was all about money and she could be bought off.
He couldn't imagine her as a mother, anyway surely it was some crazy fantasy of hers? The idea seemed preposterous - the woman could hardly boil an egg. Changing diapers? Forget it she'd want a 24/7 nanny. Two nannies, in fact, a team of cleaners and G.o.d knows what else. He'd talk her out of it. Woo her with cash. Anybody could be bought at a price. Anybody.
Except Pearl, funnily enough. She was the one person he knew who really wasn't motivated by money. He believed that if he lost his whole portfolio, overnight, she wouldn't give a d.a.m.n. Maybe, she'd even feel relieved.
Oh yes, you could add Elodie to the list. She was even embarra.s.sed by being wealthy; a reaction, no doubt, against her mother well, Sophie was her step-mother, but it amounted to the same thing. Poor Elodie such a loner; he wondered if she had ever gone on a real date with a boy. Probably not. She was a nerd, like him, and preferred to stay in and play video games.
Alexandre looked out of the window at Trafalgar Square, home to the landmark, Nelson's Column, proud as ever, guarded by the four, famous lion statues and ridiculous amounts of pigeons. It was erected to celebrate the Battle of Trafalgar, a British naval victory during the Napoleonic wars over France.
It was a pain in the neck being French sometimes; especially in England; he wondered if the two countries would have a love/hate relationship forever. The French had a reputation for being c.o.c.ky and arrogant and he suspected people saw him that way. Alexandre was fond of London; it was a beautiful city, so he'd asked his driver to take him the scenic route. If it weren't for his impending meeting with Laura he would be enjoying the ride.
His mind shifted to Pearl. His rare pearl. His gem. He missed her already, and it had only been a few hours. It felt great opening up to her the way he had the day before. But it had unlocked so many emotions, and not in a good way. He had never realized the anger he'd silently, and unwittingly, harbored for his mother. It was true she had abandoned him, her own son at so young an age. But still, he couldn't let her down now, and wouldn't. It was strange the way children could sometimes feel responsibility for their parents. It was common with children of alcoholics, too. His mom had never been a drinker but she had an addictive personality. His father had been her drug and now she relied on Alexandre for emotional support. Not the healthiest of relationships, yet he felt responsible for her happiness, somehow.
Large raindrops, like tears, slid down the gla.s.s of the windows as the car crawled along in the traffic. The streets were slick with wet, as usual. When did it not rain in London? The double-decker buses were stopping and starting as people piled in and out of them. It wasn't long ago that Alexandre had been hopping on and off buses; a taxi was a rare treat in those days. He couldn't believe how lucky he'd been with HookedUp - an American Dream if ever there was one even if he wasn't American.
The Daimler was now cruising through Admiral Arch and along The Mall towards Buckingham Palace where the road was paved in red. He'd like to take Pearl there one day so many plans, so many things for them to do together. And now there was a baby on the way; it would be fun to watch the Changing of the Guard children loved that.
Everything was perfect, except for this f.u.c.king Laura fiasco.
His buzzing cell jolted him from his rumination and he fished it out of his coat pocket.
"Oui, hallo?" For a moment there, he was in Parisian mode.
The voice was excitable and he recognized it immediately Anthony.
"Oh Alexandre, I am going crazy with this no cell phone ban thing. I never get to speak to my sister, anymore!"
"She's worried about radiation vibes damaging the fetus."
"So like our hippie parents. Must be the genes. But, of course she's worried, I can totally understand - she's carrying what is going to be the most beautiful baby in the world inside that little stomach of hers. No wonder. I mean, pur-lease. Is she there, by the way?"
"No, she's in Paris and I'm in London."
"Oh my G.o.d! No! Alexandre what has she done now please don't tell me she's leapt out of another bathroom window? What have you done? I can't stand the agony of it! Please tell me you two guys are not on some stupid separation thing again."
Alexandre chuckled. "No, not at all. I'm just here on business. Briefly. Pearl's at the hotel. At the George V if you want to call her there this evening. In the Presidential Suite."
"Well, excuse me your royal highness, Mr. President."
Alexandre's lips tipped upwards. Anthony always brought a smile to his face, especially recently, since he had changed his tune with Pearl and was being so sweet to her.
Anthony blabbered on, "I'm glad I got you, anyway, because I want to be rea.s.sured that your wedding is going ahead as planned and that my sister is not behaving like Lucille Ball or Rachel Green from Friends. Is she acting like a grown-up or is she-"
"She's being extremely grown-up," Alexandre interrupted. "Don't worry, everything's going very smoothly with us." If it weren't for G.o.ddam Laura, that would be true. Alexandre added, "In fact, we're crazy in love with each other, more than ever, so don't worry, Anthony."
Anthony sighed in a sort of sing-song. "Aah, so cute. Well, I'll call her later at the hotel, then. Good luck with your business, Michael."
Did he just say Michael? "Excuse me?"
"I said good luck, Mr. Corleone, with your business meeting."
Alexandre chuckled. "Thanks. I need it."
"Make, whoever it is, an offer they can't refuse."
Anthony's comment made Alexandre freeze for a second. Make Laura an offer she couldn't refuse? Tempting.
Very b.l.o.o.d.y tempting.
The car drew up at James's and Laura's house.
James...where the f.u.c.k was he? He hadn't returned one single call.
Alexandre rarely felt nervous but a foreboding feeling suddenly clenched his gut. Laura could be dealt with; why he felt so jumpy, he couldn't explain.
His long fingers gripped the bra.s.s door knocker and he rapped at her black front door. He'd heard, once, that lions for door knockers were a good idea; it kept the burglars at bay a subliminal message don't f.u.c.k with me'. Laura did have a way of alienating people. She never had been much of a girls' girl. Not like Pearl, who everyone warmed to, straight away.
He waited. No reply. Rain suddenly shot down like cold needles and he'd left his umbrella in the car and told his driver to come back later. He knocked again. Nothing. Where was Mrs. Blake? f.u.c.k Laura. Making him wait like some lackey. Typical. He remembered that he still had his key to the garage; he'd forgotten to give it back.
He set off around to the back towards the mews. He unlocked the side door to the garage. It was empty and seemed sad without his DB5, as if crying out for companionship. If it was 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 gra.s.s 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 Alexandre to the cleaners, big time. That was, if he was able get this crazy baby idea out of her head, and pay her off instead.
He opened the kitchen door and thought how easy it would have been for somebody to break in. It was eerily quiet.
He shouted out. "Laura? h.e.l.lo? Is anyone home?"
Nothing. Almost silent. Except the tick, tock of an old grandfather clock.
"h.e.l.l...o...ooo? Anyone in? Mrs. Blake?"
Just then, Alexandre heard a noise and nearly jumped out of his skin.