Flawless (41 page)

“Oh, look, you know what I mean. Not a mistake, an accident. It was an accident, all right?”

But Diana was far from all right.

“No child on this earth has ever been more wanted. By me, anyway. But it’s great to know how
you
feel so early in the pregnancy. A mistake. That’s just terrific, Danny.”

By the time he’d calmed her down, it was past eleven and they retired wearily to bed. Diana longed to make love, but Danny had been drinking all day—no one could accuse the Meyers of stinting on the wine at Christmas—and was far too mentally and physically exhausted to get it up. After a quick peck on the cheek he’d fallen immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep, snoring like a happy pig beside her as she tossed and turned with frustration. Then this morning he’d disappeared with his wretched mother at the crack of dawn—Diana had point-blank refused to join Minty’s sister for her annual post-holiday brunch—promising to meet her in the park by ten.

Standing up slowly, rubbing the minuscule bulge in her belly as she pulled her cardigan more tightly around her, she set off toward the zoo. She might as well walk by herself as sit here dying of hypothermia. Dr. Brennan, her gynecologist back in New York, was big on the importance of gentle exercise during pregnancy—that and lowering one’s stress levels. If only!

Just as she began crunching her way along the gravel path, she felt her phone buzzing to life in her jeans pocket.

“About time,” she muttered crossly, assuming it was Danny calling to apologize for standing her up. How she hated the way he jumped every time Minty said jump. Stabbing the answer button with a gloved finger, she did her best to sound nonchalant.

“What happened?” she said. “Where have you been?”

“Diana?”

She stopped walking, clutching the new life inside her even more tightly.

“Brogan? Is that you?” To her surprise she found her knees were shaking. Without thinking, she reached out a hand and leaned against an ancient oak tree for support.

“Yeah.” He sounded hesitant, as if he were on the point of hanging up. “How…er…how are you?”

“Fine,” Diana lied. She’d received a total of three calls from Brogan since she left, all of them rage-filled and threatening.
At the time his anger had greatly upset her. But now she thought she preferred it to this strained civility. Her heart was pounding like a woodpecker on speed, whether from fear or guilt or surprise, she didn’t know. And yet was there a tiny, hidden part of her that was happy to hear his voice? “You?”

“Er, well…” Brogan laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle she hadn’t heard in a long time. “I’ve been better, I gotta tell you. They just told me I have cancer.”

Diana’s whole body weight sank into the tree.

“Oh my God, honey,” she whispered. After fifteen years, the endearments were a hard habit to break. “I’m so sorry. What—”

“What species?” Brogan interrupted. “Lung. So there’s karma for you.”

Diana was silent for a moment, unsure what to say.

“Have they talked to you about treatment options?” she stammered eventually.

“I literally just saw Doc Franks,” said Brogan. “Ten minutes ago. I’m still trying to take it in myself. He was talking about an operation to remove the tumor, then maybe chemo. I don’t know. I see the specialist tomorrow morning.”

Diana closed her eyes. She could hear the honking of New York traffic in the background, a sound that transported her instantly back home. So he’d only known for a matter of minutes? She must have been his first call.

“Have you talked to Natalia about this?” she heard herself asking. Not that she cared, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say. After all, they had been a couple for nearly a year now.

“No,” said Brogan gruffly. “It’s over with me and Natalia.”

“Oh,” said Diana, uselessly. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

Another long, painful silence fell. This time it was Brogan who broke it.

“I miss you.”

Diana’s head was spinning. She’d heard nothing but hate from Brogan for so long she’d forgotten he was ever capable of tenderness.

“Come home, Diana. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Please, Brogan, don’t. I can’t…” she began, her voice breaking.

“You can. Of course you can,” he pushed her. “Just get on a plane. I need you now, baby, more than ever. Whatever’s happened this past year, we can work it out. That son of a bitch can’t possibly love you as much as I do. He can’t; it’s not possible.”

“I’m pregnant.” The words were out of her mouth before she even knew she’d thought them. She could hear Brogan’s intake of breath on the other end of the line. Shit, how could she have told him now, like this? After he’d just phoned to tell her he had cancer, for God’s sake. Talk about kicking a man when he’s down.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you,” she babbled. “It’s not important. I want to hear more about what Doctor Franks said.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Brogan gently. “I’m happy for you. How could I not be, after all we went through together? You’re going to make a fantastic, fantastic mother.”

She was so taken aback by this unexpected kindness, she burst into tears.

“What?” said Brogan. “What’s the matter? If one of us should be crying right now, I’m pretty sure it ain’t you.”

“I know,” Diana sniffed. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you being so sweet about it. I don’t know, maybe it’s my hormones. And London. Turns out I hate London. Who knew?”

Brogan laughed. “Me too! Most overrated fucking city in the world. Listen, honey.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. Suddenly he felt so close he could almost touch her. “I meant what I said about coming home, pregnant or not. Please. Just think about it.”

“Brogan,” she began. But the line had already gone dead.

Ten seconds later, the phone rang again. She picked it up instantly, but it was only Danny, sounding typically harassed.

“Please don’t have a go at me,” he began, inauspiciously. “I’ve had it up to here today already. The whole family’s been giving me grief about leaving Auntie Bella’s early, even bloody Jake. I couldn’t get away any sooner.”

“Brogan’s got lung cancer,” said Diana, breaking his flow.

“Has he? Well, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke,” said Danny. After spending twenty of the last twenty-four hours being harangued by various of his loved ones, he wasn’t in the most compassionate of moods, especially toward the man who’d cut his business off at the knees and who was dragging his heels on the world’s most expensive divorce.

“Danny!” Diana sounded shocked. “That’s a terrible thing to say. He sounded so different on the phone. Really vulnerable and—”

“He called you?” The earlier irritation in his voice had been replaced by suspicion.

“Yes. Just now,” said Diana. “He was on his way home from the doctor’s office.”

“Look, I’m not being funny,” said Danny, “but I really don’t give a fuck where he was, or what he’s got. He shouldn’t be calling you. This is the man who rearranged your face last Christmas, remember? The man who’s done everything in his power to make our lives a misery. He didn’t care when those poor sods who work for him in Yakutia started dying like a warren full of myxie rabbits. But now he wants
us
to feel sorry for
him
?”

“I’m just telling you he called,” said Diana coolly. Of course she couldn’t expect Danny to be thrilled about it. But a little human sympathy didn’t seem that much to ask, under the circumstances. They had each other, and the baby. Brogan had nothing but a pile of money and his own loneliness and fear to go home to.

“Did you tell him about the baby?” asked Danny, still wary.

“I did, actually, yes,” said Diana.

“And?”

“And he was sweet about it. He said he thought I’d make a wonderful mother, which was big of him.”

“Oh yeah, huge,” said Danny snidely. “What is this, the Brogan O’Donnell fucking fan club?”

Diana bit back her irritation. All this fighting was bad for the baby. But surely Danny should be the one apologizing to her for his no-show, instead of trying to make
her
feel bad for taking a call from a man she’d been married to for half her life, and who might very well be about to die?

“Where are you now?” he asked, softening slightly. He hated fighting with her as much as she did. They seemed to have gotten into a horrible rut on this vacation.

“Still in the park,” she sighed. “It’s getting kinda cold, though.”

“Go to the nearest gate and I’ll pick you up in the car,” he said. “I’ll be there in five minutes, all right?”

“All right,” she nodded. “Danny?”

“What?”

“You do love me, don’t you? I mean, despite your mother and everything. You do still want me and the baby?”

“Of course I do,” he answered briskly. “What sort of a silly question is that?”

But somehow, as she made her slow, pensive way toward the park gates, Diana wasn’t certain she believed him.

W
ITH THE
O
SCARS
just around the corner, January was the busiest month of the year for jewelers in Los Angeles, and from the moment she arrived back at Flawless, Scarlett’s feet barely touched the ground. All her grand plans for reviving Trade Fair were put on hold as she joined the last-minute scramble for celebrity endorsements, churning out exotic necklaces, bracelets, and earrings like a one-woman sweatshop.

“I’m not sure what part of this you aren’t getting,” Rachel Bilson’s agent, a toad of a man with a voice like Jack from
Will & Grace
, only minus all the charm, sneered at her down the phone. “Rachel’s dress
was
gonna be red. But
now
it’s gonna be green. So we need to see the exact same pendant with emeralds instead of the rubies. It’s not rocket science, sweetie.”

Scarlett tried to explain that, while not rocket science, it would necessitate crafting a second pendant entirely from scratch, a process that with the best will in the world could not be completed before the end of the week, never mind by the end of the afternoon, as the agent was demanding.

“It’s not like clicking a different color on Microsoft Paint,” she said patiently. “I don’t even have that many cut emeralds in stock. I’m afraid she’ll have to wait, at least for a few days.”

“No, honey,” snapped the toad. “She won’t
have
to do anything. Forget about it. We’ll try Neil Lane.”

In the end, thankfully, Rachel had called personally to tell Scarlett she’d be happy to wait and that she was still interested in buying the original ruby piece too. Like many young actresses, she was actually very sweet once you managed to pry her out of the grasping talons of her management. But close calls like these were enough to keep Scarlett in a permanent state of nervous tension.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Nancy, dressed for dancing in her new pair of red seventies flares and a silver top that tied above her midriff, poked her head around the corner of Scarlett’s room as she slaved over the finishing touches on a charm bracelet, dangling with scores of miniature Oscar statuettes. “At least have a bagel. You shouldn’t work so late on an empty stomach.”

“I’m fine,” said Scarlett, barely looking up. “I ate a big lunch. And it’s not late. It’s not even five thirty.”

“Whatever,” mumbled Nancy under her breath. “Six cups of black coffee is not lunch.”

Disappearing into the kitchen, she returned five minutes later with a bagel spread thickly with peanut butter and jelly, a banana, and a large glass of OJ. Placing these offerings in front of Scarlett, she stood over her like a prison guard, arms folded. “Eat it,” she said firmly. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

Giving in to the inevitable, Scarlett put aside her work and took a bite of the bagel. She was surprised to find she was ravenous, and in a few minutes had devoured the entire plate, crumbs and all.

“Thanks,” she said, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she gulped down the last of the juice. “I needed that.”

“I know,” said Nancy. It was amazing how maternal and stern she could look, even while dressed as an extra from
Saturday Night Fever
. “I’m telling you, Scar, I’m this close to reporting you
to Anorexics Anonymous. I’m surprised Jake hasn’t sliced off his dick on those razor-sharp hip bones of yours.”

Scarlett laughed. It was a relief to hear her finally saying the J-word without launching into a stream of (admittedly well-meant) invective. To say Nancy had been horrified by Scarlett and Jake’s romance would be an epic understatement.

“J
AKE
M
EYER?
J
AKE FUCKING
M
EYER?
” she’d roared, the night Scarlett arrived back in LA and filled her in on what had happened. “Are you on drugs? Are you completely and utterly out of your mind? You can’t be fucking Jake Meyer. You hate Jake Meyer!”

“I thought I did,” said Scarlett, shrugging meekly. “But it turns out I hate him less than I thought.”

“Boxford!” said Nancy, startling the sleepy spaniel from his comfortable doze on the porch. “Tell your mistress she’s lost her mind. Tell her Jake the Snake is bad news.”