Part 12 (1/2)

”No way. The only trouble is, you know how I said, a while ago, that I was madly in love with him?”

”With who?” I asked. I couldn't even vaguely keep up with Lauren's s.e.xual schedule anymore.

”With Giles,” she said, clutching my arm. Her expression suddenly became unusually vulnerable and sweet. ”Well, I actually am. Sylvie, I'm madly in love with him. Exactly as I predicted.”

”Already?” I said doubtfully.

”It's hopeless. I'm never gonna see him again. And he's got the pick of the most beautiful girls in Moscow. Why would he want a divorcee?” she sighed. ”He's UnGoogle-able and unmakeout-able. Drat.”

For the first time, I saw a little c.h.i.n.k in Lauren's party girl armor. It was disarming, actually, although she did her best to disguise it, exclaiming, ”I don't care! There's a Make Out Number Three waiting for me somewhere back in New York-”

-Rap-rap-rap.

Someone was banging on the gla.s.s. I pulled back the black curtain. Giles Monterey's wild blue eyes were peering right into mine. The snow was swirling about him, and-I have to say, no disloyalty to Hunter-he was devastatingly handsome. He saw Lauren and gestured for me to open the window. I did so, and he said, ”Lauren, I need to talk to you.”

”Meet my friend Sylvie Mortimer,” said Lauren.

”Sylvie?” said Giles. ”Sylvie Mortimer, you said? You live in New York too?'

”Yes,” I replied.

”Ah...you're Sylvie. Very interesting,” he said, staring at me curiously. Suddenly he snapped out of it and said to Lauren, ”Look, I know you want the cuff links, and I said I'd never part with them, but, well...there is one thing that could cause me to part with them.”

”Do tell,” said Lauren, pointedly not inviting Giles into the stationary car.

”I want the Princess Letizia diamond. If you can get it for me, I'll sell you the cuff links.”

”Are you crazy? That's one of the most priceless gems in the world. Sally Rothenburg has owned that blue diamond heart since 1948. She's refused every offer,” said Lauren, sounding flabbergasted.

”You're a very persuasive girl,” said Giles with a charming smile. He was almost as good a flirt as Lauren.

”So are you, Mr. Monterey. Maybe I'll try. It's a challenge. But tell me something, what would a man like you want with a piece of history like that?”

”Well...,” said Monterey, looking deep into Lauren's eyes. He trailed off, and just gazed at her. Lauren, never shy, gazed right back, flopping her long eyelashes back and forth, back and forth, like a hypnotist. I felt like I was intruding on a very intimate moment.

”Yes?” said Lauren, breaking the spell.

”Let's just say...it would be an engagement present.”

With that he turned and walked briskly away. Lauren looked as deflated as a cold cheese souffle. She leaned over to me and said, dejected, ”He's engaged. Of course he is! Why wouldn't he be? He's perfect. She's probably the next Natalia Vodianova, or something like that. Or maybe she's some incredible eighteen-year-old Bolshoi ballerina. I feel even worse than a hog. Alas.”

The trouble with Moscow is that there's only one way out: Aeroflot. The only thing to recommend it is that it's the one airline that still takes bribes. A hundred dollars slipped to a hostess facilitates an instant upgrade to first cla.s.s, which roughly compares with a coach cla.s.s seat on American.

Our illegal upgrade did little to lift Lauren's spirits. Since Giles Monterey had revealed his engagement, she had taken on the severely disappointed air of a jilted fiancee, who had fully expected to marry the man in question. It was extreme. Lauren had barely removed her sungla.s.ses or her iPod earphones since we'd left the Park Hyatt a few hours earlier. Even coming across a lone issue of New York magazine in the airport hadn't cheered her up. One of the cover lines read ”NYTV: The city's small screen players.” Maybe Hunter's new show would get a mention.

I was just flicking through the magazine to find the story when Lauren took out her earplugs and moaned, ”Engaged! I have never met a more beautiful or hot polo player, and just when I decide I want to...kiss him, he's all taken. Do you think I can get him back?”

”How can you get a man back if you never had him?” I asked.

Reluctantly, Lauren laughed.

”I guess there is that,” she said. ”My one hope is that heart. It's my only chance of seeing him again. I'm convinced he was flirting with me at the polo. But engaged men are always the biggest flirts. Oh! But Sally will never let the heart go. Never. Even if I could get it, how would I find Giles again? I don't even have his email.”

It was true. Giles was beyond Un-Google-able. He wasn't even there in the normal sense. Secretly, I thought it was a good thing he was taken. He would have driven Lauren crazy.

”Look, there's a photo of Hunter,” I said. The New York article included a paragraph about Hunter's show, and there was a photo of Hunter in one corner with the caption Manhattan's Hot TV Guy!!! underneath it.

”How cute,” said Lauren. She took off her dark gla.s.ses and examined the photo closely.

”Mmm...” she said. ”What good taste your husband has. He's coming out of S. J. Phillips on Bond Street. I know it really well, believe me. Best jeweler in London. What did he give you?”

”Oh. Well. Nothing,” I replied, feeling somewhat perturbed. What had Hunter been doing in a jewelry store in London?

Lauren wasn't really listening. She was holding the magazine about an inch from her nose and examining the photograph closely.

”My G.o.d. That operator. I don't believe it. That,” declared Lauren, ”is Sophia D'Arlan's foot.”

I took the magazine from Lauren and looked closely at the picture of Hunter. There was indeed a woman's foot and ankle peeking into the edge of the photograph. The foot was clad in a high-heeled gold shoe with a large cl.u.s.ter of pearls on the toe.

”Lauren, how could you possibly know that is Sophia's foot?” I asked. I tried to sound nonchalant, but I was half-concerned.

”The gold shoes. Couture Bruno Frisoni. I tried to order them, but Sophia got there first. He makes only one pair of each, and he's obsessed with Sophia, so she got first dibs. It made me mad because those are the prettiest shoes ever.”

I looked at the photo again. Was that Sophia's ankle in the gold shoes? The leg did look rather slim and tan, just like hers.

”I'm sure it's not her,” I said, trying to end the conversation. I was tired and wanted to sleep now. I pulled my mask over my eyes.

”What was Hunter doing in London anyway?” asked Lauren. ”Did you ever find out?”

”He said it was some last-minute business meeting,” I said with a yawn.

”A last-minute business meeting at a jewelry store?”

I didn't sleep a wink.

15.

The Power Christening.