Hooked Up: Book 2 (57 page)

“No, surely not?”

My voice hitched and heaved: “You called me, Laura, and told me not to go to Vegas, that Sophie could ‘top me off,’ that she had politicians and police in her pocket and . . . and . . . ”

“Oh, poor Pearl, so gullible. I just didn’t want Alexandre to marry you. I had to stop him somehow.”

“So it was all a lie about Sophie?”

She laid her cane down and smoothed her slim hand over her luscious blonde locks. “Sophie’s a pussycat at heart. Okay, she can be a bit frosty sometimes but it’s just her manner. In fact, if she says mean things it’s her way of communicating. It’s when she’s silent you have to watch out. I can’t believe you thought she was out to kill you.” She laughed raucously. “Alexandre told me as much . . . that you were suffering from delusions about Sophie. Tut-tut, Pearl, not the best way to warm him up, you know how close they are. You couldn’t have picked a better way to alienate yourself from him. Oh, and bossing him around the way you did. Not the best of moves.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Sweet, charity-giving Laura is a total bitch!

She widened her huge, blue eyes and talked on. “Ironically, Sophie actually rather likes you, likes your quirkiness. It took me
years
for her to warm up to me, yet you . . . well, you two could have been friends if you’d given her more of a chance. She’s had a shit life so she’s a bit tough on the outside, but actually, she’s really sweet when you get to know her.”

I was silent. The sound of my tears had been taken over by my heartbeat, which felt as if it was about to explode in my chest.

“So how did your accident happen? Nothing to do with Sophie, then?” I asked.

“Of course not! It was bad luck, that’s all. A load of children’s toys had been left on the steps. I was tipsy. I tripped. I fell. End of story.”

“But it’s not the end of the story! You split Alexandre and me up! You told me a lie!” I screeched at her.

“Far better that you broke up before that silly marriage of yours took place. Alexandre would have come back to me no matter what, even if it meant divorce. He’s been desperately in love with me Pearl, from the day we met. And I with him.”

“Then why did you marry your husband James?”

“Because I was a cripple, for fuck’s sake. You think I wanted Alexandre to look after me, to shackle him like a slave to a disabled person? I loved him too much for that. Besides, he had no money then. He was just starting up his company, he didn’t have a bean. I needed stability, someone who could look after me properly.”

“You
used
your husband?”

“James wanted to be with me. It wasn’t ‘using’ him. But the moment I was really better, able to lead a normal life, well, it seemed right that Alexandre and I should get back together. I mean literally, all I had to do was click my fingers and he was waiting for me. He’d been hoping all along, that’s why he’s always been in touch and remained friends just in case . . . in case I changed my mind. All this physical slog I’ve put my body through—the physiotherapy I’ve been slaving away at—has been so we can be a normal, functional couple again.”

She used her husband as a means to an end.
I wanted to shout at her, but all I could do was start blubbering again like a child who’d fallen off a bicycle she realized was too big for her to manage.

“Now, now, Pearl, don’t cry. You’ve come away with all sorts of goodies—he’s been more than generous when he didn’t need to be. Two fuck-off apartments, two fuck-off cars, a ready-made business, all sorts of gorgeous jewelry, oh, and let’s not forget that Birkin bag I see you carrying. Obviously you could never afford to buy that for yourself. Alexandre offered me a Birkin, but I thought it was too passé—preferred a Kelly myself. But still, do you have any idea how much that’s worth? That color’s unusual, looks like a one-off. That handbag must have cost a bloody fortune, not to mention the fact that there’s a queue as long as my arm to even get one in the first place. Alexandre must have pulled some serious strings. That pretty bag probably cost him . . . ooh, I don’t know, upwards of forty grand. Fitting, really, that it should cost forty grand when you’re forty. Beyond generous, I’d say. So why, Pearl, are you feeling so sorry for yourself?”

The way she used “fuck-off” as an adjective to describe something fabulous was typically British—I’d heard it before—yet it rang in my ears as if I’d been punched in the head. “Fuck off” –that was basically what Alexandre had done . . . told me to fuck off, yet sweetened it with all his amazing gifts. But nothing was sweet, just sour and bitter. And this was the sourest news of all.

I managed to get out in a rasp, “I don’t
care
about material stuff, it’s Alexandre I want.”

Laura tossed her head. “Well, you’re too late. And anyway, he was fond of you, it’s true, but he thinks you’re a total loony. All that lesbian bondage nonsense—oh and your slutty past. So not his style.”

No! He would never share that—it’s my personal life! “
He told you?” I asked incredulously.

“Of course he did, we don’t hold any secrets from each other.”

“But that’s not like him, he would never do that.”

“I’m his best friend, Pearl, as well as his true love—he tells me everything, he confides in me. He can’t believe he took you so seriously. Look, I have to be cruel to be kind here . . . ” she lowered her voice almost to a whisper . . . “he
doesn’t
love you. He never really has. You had a laugh, that’s all. You had some steamy sex, maybe, but it’s
me
he loves. And besides, you couldn’t even give him a child. He wants a family. You and he were all wrong, right from the word go. Do yourself a favor, Pearl, get over him, find yourself a nice American boy with whom you have something in common.”

“Alexandre and I had so much in common!”

“Bollocks. You Americans don’t get our acerbic sense of humor. You’re all so earnest and, ‘have a nice day.’ We’re different from you lot. You need someone more your own age, too. Ah, look the tea’s arrived. Do you take milk?”

Mrs. Blake waddled in with a tray. I got up, unsteady on my feet. I felt as if I was going to faint. “No thank you, I need to go.”

“Please yourself. I’ll tell Alexandre you dropped by.”

I turned around. I needed to know one last thing. “What about Rex?”

She threw up her hands. “Rex? Well, we’ll have him shipped over here of course. I hate New York, wouldn’t dream of living in that shithole, so we’ll be in London full time. That’s when we’re not wintering in the Caribbean. I’m not big on dogs, but you know, he’s Alex’s pride and joy so I suppose I’ll have to deal with the creature.”

The
creature
?
Alex?
I wanted to slap her face, but she would have probably beaten me with her witch’s cane.

I slowly began to slink out of the house, feeling like the most worthless human being alive.

Laura remained cheery and nauseatingly jolly, waving as I left. But just as I reached the door, she called after me, “Shame about your divine Zang Toi wedding dress—what a waste.”

I pretended I didn’t hear. It was as if she had sucked out all my energy with her painful words. I had no gumption, no force or ammunition left inside me to defend myself. There I was talking with Daisy about women needing armor, and I had none. I felt shamed. My head slung low like a beaten dog, I padded out of the house, my misery trailing me like a murky shadow.

I was so crushed and weak I decided to sit on a park bench, by the square that faced her grand house, to regroup my fragmented dignity. I got out my iPod and put on the first song I found: the Blues, Billie Holiday,
Foolin’ Myself.
How apt. I stayed there for a good few minutes, mulling over all the cruel but probably truthful things Laura had told me, or rather, fired at me like a relentless machine gun. I agreed with Billie Holiday,
I
am
through with love and I’ll have nothing more to do with love.
What was the point ever opening myself up again? Even if I had gone through with the marriage in Vegas with Alexandre, it would have, at some point, come to an abrupt end. Alexandre was still in love with Laura. As she said, I’d been just a “detour.” The “rebound.”

I thought of my beautiful wedding gown, probably being worked on that moment. Crystals hand-sewn on the train, the exquisite silk smoothed and pressed, a myriad of tiny, feminine fingers working on all the details. I’d noticed Zang Toi had mostly women in his atelier, busy as dedicated bees, their keen eyes supervising every fine stitch, every delicate fold. What was I going to do about that dress, that work of art? Give it to a museum?

And just when I was about to dial Alexandre’s number—to talk to him and hear the truth from his lips, praying that there may have been some mistake, some misunderstanding, or that it could all be a fantasy on Laura’s part—reality slapped me in the face. I saw the thing I was dreading most in the world: Alexandre approach Laura’s front door.

I observed the scene, wishing I could look away, but I was transfixed. He was holding what looked like a gift-wrapped box. She opened the door, tossed her golden mane and threw her loving arms around his broad shoulders. Meanwhile, his cell went straight to voicemail. Why bother even leaving a message? I’d seen all there was to see, proof that Laura wasn’t lying.

Then the glossy black door, with its brass lion’s head, shut with a bang, and I felt as if it had slammed right in my face.

It wasn’t Sophie who was my enemy. No.

It was Laura all along.

To continue with the next book, click on the cover or the links below:

AMAZON US

AMAZON UK

Pearl and Alexandre have small cameo roles in both the Glass Trilogy books (
Shards of Glass
,
Broken Glass
, and
Hearts of Glass
) and
The Star Trilogy
. Elodie has a cameo role in the psychological suspense novel
Stolen Grace.
Click on any of the book covers for more details.