It All Began in Monte Carlo (13 page)

“It's your wedding dress,” he said softly.

“I never really liked it,” she said.

He caught her hand, turned it palm up, kissed it.

“Oh God.” Sunny shook her head. “You know me too well, Mac Reilly.”

And she crossed that chasm between them and stepped into his arms.

Their kiss was “a thousand kisses deep,” as Leonard Cohen had sung, so often, about the emotion they now felt. A thousand kisses deep, a thousand touches, a thousand words of love were between them as their lips met.

Sunny felt that kissing Mac was a line to the real life she had envisioned for them, the life they had enjoyed so much; being together; always laughing; keeping Tesoro from fighting with Pirate; dinner on the deck of his tiny Malibu cottage in a bikini, or wrapped
up against the wind or the summer fog, she playing Lady Detective to his Private Eye.

She pulled away, ran her hand down his rough cheek, looked sadly at him.

“What is it?” he asked.

Sunny was remembering the “bride” storming into the bar and demanding a martini. Had that bride been stood up too? Not once, but twice? Sunny could never put herself in that position. She knew Mac's life's work would always come first. She understood, but this time she was determined to do something about it.

“We need to start all over again,” she said. “Love isn't all it's about. We need to really talk, to really see each other, to evaluate our love.”

“Evaluate our love,” Mac repeated, uncomprehendingly. “But I told you, Sunny,
you
are the love of my life.”

She shrugged off the leather jacket, pushed it back at him. “It all depends, Mac Reilly,” she said. And she turned and walked quickly back across the square.

“Sunny.” Clutching the jacket, Mac yelled after her.

“I'll speak to you tomorrow.”

Her voice floated toward him under the rustle of the wind in the trees, and the wail of the police cars and ambulances.

The Inspector's car stopped next to him with a squeal of tires.

“Get in,” the Inspector said. “I'll take you back to your hotel.”

Mac shrugged. “Thanks, but no need, it's just across the road.”

The Inspector gestured to the activity behind him. “One woman killed,” he said. “It's not a good scene, my friend. Call me tomorrow, perhaps you can be of help.”

“I'll think about it,” Mac said, as he began to walk back to the hotel.

 

 

Maha Mondragon's friends were looking a little wilted. They were in her suite and had eaten a little, drunk a lot, though Maha herself was always careful and anyhow only ever drank champagne. Besides, they were here on business.

The windows were open but now there were only the normal sounds of city silence: cars, voices, laughter and the faint hiss of the sea.

Maha had summoned the room service waiters and two of them were clearing the table. Sharon was smoking out on the terrace because Maha could not stand the smell of cigarettes in her room. The brown-haired woman was sitting quietly, eyes half-rolled in her head as though about to fall asleep. A plain woman, Maha thought, watching her, with her round face and too-short chin, but when she tried she could look expensive, which was always a plus.

Giorgio, the older of the two men, always looked good: tall, narrow-hipped, extremely well-dressed; a man who could go anywhere. Italian, of course. Only Italians looked like that. And then there was Ferdie. Argentinean, an ex–polo player fallen on hard times. No more polo ponies for Ferdie, no more royal invitations; no more blondes lining up, champagne glass in one hand, the other held out for the Cartier baubles, the black American Express card, anything they could get.

Maha felt quite sorry for Ferdie, who was a man used to the best and who had now to settle for a lot less. He was useful, though. Men in his position always were. They were willing to do anything for instant rewards.

The waiters bowed a polite good night and Maha walked into the bedroom, picked up a large canvas travel bag trimmed with tan leather, returned and put it on the dining table.

She unzipped the bottom section of the bag, which was about twenty-inches-by-twenty, the correct size for a carry-on when flying, detached it, then began to take out most of its velvet-wrapped contents.

She unwrapped them and put them on the table. There were a dozen gold bejeweled necklaces fashioned in the famous Kundan style from Rajasthan, where instead of “claws” or “prongs” the gold was wrapped thickly around precious stones, so they appeared to be embedded. Earrings, bracelets, brooches, all gleamed under the chandelier, like a display in a store window. One necklace featured large rubies of a color that used to be called “pigeon's blood,” though Maha thought they were more the rosy-red of a fading sunset. There were emeralds too, for which Rajasthan was famous, more precious even than the rubies. And of course, there were sapphires, blue as Maha's sari; as blue as the summer Mediterranean in the deep of the evening and bluer than the eyes of the man she remembered had come into the bar and taken Sunny Alvarez away, as though no one else existed.

With a pang of alarm, Maha suddenly realized who that man was. She had seen him on television. His was not the type of docudrama program she usually watched; she was more into romance, society romances where everyone was well dressed and the fights were “civilized.” Unlike real life, of course, but what mattered was that they took her mind temporarily off reality, and that was all she asked. What worried her was that Mac Reilly was concerned with real life, and with death, and that he was very good at what he did.

“My God, Maha,” Sharon exclaimed, coming back in from the
terrace, where she had carelessly stubbed out her cigarette. To the Sharons of this world, every surface, be it beach, terrace, or street, was an ashtray. “Do you mean to tell me you lug all that pricey jewelry around in that
bag
? It should be in the safe!”

“I have no faith in ‘safes.' ” Maha said. “Out in open view is much better. Besides, nobody is going to steal anything in this hotel except maybe iPods and cell phones, and anyhow my designs are too identifiable for a petty crook to dispose of. No, I think a bag, zipped and locked, of course, is much the best way to keep anything really valuable.”

She arranged the jewelry on the polished tabletop and her employees grouped round as she produced a set of drawings.

She looked at the four, assessing them, wondering about their worth to her now.

“Congratulations,” she said. “This was the most important night of your lives. You are already winners. Now we must get to work. This jewelry is the key to your future. Without it you do not exist.”

Sharon had caught Maha's hard assessing look and she fixed it in her memory to be brought out later. Much later, when things needed to be finally sorted out between them. Now, though, like the others, she paid full attention to what Maha had to say.

 

 

In her Sun King suite, Allie was waiting patiently for Pru to emerge from the bathroom. She glanced at her watch one more time, pacing back and forth, mentally thanking the management for the suite because the two of them together in a double room might have been hard to take. The fact that the suite had two bathrooms might be its biggest asset because Pru had been in hers for at least an hour, splashing around in the tub, and buzzing the hair dryer, over which Allie had heard her alternately sniveling and cursing the husband. Whose name, she had been informed, was Byron.

“Like the lord,” Pru told Allie.

“You mean the Lord
God
?” Allie asked, astonished.

“
Lord Byron,
the poet, silly.” Despite her woes Pru had laughed which instantly changed her face to the merry imp Allie remembered from school. “Forgot all those poetry classes, didn't you?” Pru added. “The Romantics. Hah! Little did we know!”

Allie guessed she meant little did they know what effect “the Romantics” would have on their lives.

“I've come to believe in romance,” she told Pru, who'd said “Hah!” once again before she'd disappeared into the bathroom. And that was over an hour ago.

Allie was worried about Pru, but she was more worried about
Sunny. All she wanted to do now was get Pru into bed with an Ambien, hope she'd get a good night's rest, then she'd call Sunny. She needed to know her friend was all right and exactly what had happened between her and Mac tonight. To say nothing of what had gone down earlier to make Sunny take the drastic step of leaving him.

She had too much on her mind even to think about Ron until her BlackBerry rang.

“Oh, it's you,” she said when Ron said, “Hi, what's goin' on.”

“Well, excuse
me,
” Ron said. “I thought at least I'd get a ‘Hi, hon, I miss you.' ”

“Hi, hon, I miss you.”

Allie had a giggle in her voice that Ron loved. “I should fuckin' think so,” he said, with a laugh in his own voice.

“Don't curse at me, please,” Allie said coldly.

“Hey, I seem to remember you are the same woman who likes my cursing. At other ‘special' times, of course.”

Allie laughed and said, “Oh, shut up, Ron, I'm in trouble here. Nothing's going the way I want it.”

“Hmm, that's my spoiled little movie star,” Ron said affectionately.

“Pru's been in the bathroom forever. I know she hasn't drowned because I can hear her. I can also hear her cursing but since it's the husband she's cursing that's okay.”

“I must remember to watch my step,” Ron Perrin said, sounding thoughtful.

“Plus I saw Sunny take off outside the hotel with Mac. In fact I saw him arrive, saw a scene so hot between them in that hotel bar, you would not have believed it. Sunny was with another guy, and when Mac walked in and held out his hand, she just got right up and took it and walked out with him, without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“Jesus,” Ron said.

“I thought they were getting into the elevator, going to her room—or his—then all of a sudden she ups and walks out the door.”

“He followed her, of course.”

“Of course he did. And I haven't seen them since, but I know if she's still out there she'll be freezing her butt off. December nights are a touch chilly here in Monte Carlo.”

“You want me to come there?”

“What?”

“You want me to come join you, help out with all the dud romances et cetera.”

“I think you've done enough damage.” Allie laughed, “Oh, Ronnie Perrin, the knight in shining armor, coming to the rescue of the fair damsels. Now I know why I love you, jailbird though you are.”

“Now, honey, you know that was all a mistake.”

Allie shook her head. “Liar.”

“Well, almost a mistake. It could have happened to anyone. A mere slip of the accountant's pen. Tax evasion is always the accountant's fault.”

“You bet,” Allie said, smiling. “And the big shots always get to pay the price.”

Ron's sigh made her laugh. She said, “No, you need not come here, at least not yet. And I must go because, finally, believe it or not, one of the damsels in distress is emerging from the bathroom, pink as a peony in full bloom.”

“You'd better take care of that tomorrow,” Ron said. “It's unbecoming.”

“Trust me, I intend to. Meanwhile, I have work to do. Talk to you tomorrow, Ronnie Perrin.”

“Talk to you tomorrow,” he said. “And Lovely sends a big kiss.” Lovely was like their child.

“Kiss her back for me.” Allie switched off her phone and turned to look at Pru who was wearing madras plaid pajamas that might
have belonged in a boys' boarding school. Her stringy hair was pulled back in a rubber band and her face was shiny as Snow White's apple. Allie knew she had a job on her hands if she was to turn this woman from Snow White into Eve, with a much tastier and unpoisoned apple.

Pru plumped on the edge of her queen-size bed and automatically reached for the chocolate on the pillow.

“Oh, Pru, when will you ever learn. Just because it's there does not mean you have to eat it.” Allie snatched away the chocolate, and the one on her own bed, then went to the minibar and removed all the packets of nuts and candy and sweet drinks.

“Only water,” she said, ringing for room service to come and remove temptation.

Pru swung her legs into the bed and pulled up the sheet. “I'm sorry,” she said meekly. “It's just habit, I suppose.”

“That's okay. We'll talk about it tomorrow. And by the way, tomorrow, we're going to buy you some shoes.”

She handed Pru a glass of water and watched her swallow the white pill that hopefully promised a good night's sleep, with no thoughts of her husband with the “other woman.”

“Why shoes?”

“Because you have great legs and pretty feet. A woman must always emphasize her best points.”

“I wish it were my tits.” Pru gazed gloomily down at her spilling bosom.

“Shapelier tits can be achieved with weight loss and exercise. Most of what you have there is fat, Pru Hilson. I remember you in school, you had very nice breasts.
Cute,
I think the word was.”

“Did Teddy Masters tell you that?”

Teddy Masters was the high school heartthrob and of course champion football player, with all the privileges and access to pretty girls that led to.

“Darn right, Teddy did.” Allie crossed her fingers behind her
back. Encouragement was the name of her game and she hoped God would forgive the lie.

“Imagine that. Teddy Masters.” Pru slid down in bed. Her eyes were already closing from exhaustion, emotion and the sleeping pill.

Allie saw her face relax, freed from the tightness of stress and pain and anger. Somewhere in there was a lost little girl, a woman in need. Somewhere, Allie would find her. But now it was time for Sunny.