All That Glitters

by Danielle Steel

  Knowing he was getting married in June, Sam felt as though he had five months left to live and breathe without the responsibilities of marriage. But he had the consolation of knowing he was doing the right thing to honor his family and future wife. It broke Coco’s heart to think of it. He wasn’t happy for Coco either, after all that had happened to her, and now she had to face motherhood alone, if she went forward with the pregnancy.

  “We’re in a fine mess, both of us,” Coco said to him, and he laughed. She used to say that to him in school, as children, when they got in trouble together.

  “I guess so. Hopefully, it will turn out right in the end. Don’t let that bastard get a penny out of you. He doesn’t deserve even the property in Sussex. It’s amazing how guys like that always get some benefit from their misdeeds.”

  “I believe their karma gets them in the end,” Coco said philosophically. But for the moment, it was getting both of them.

  Chapter 12

  The exchanges between Coco’s attorney and Nigel’s got increasingly heated as they tried to come to some agreement. Nigel’s aspirations were completely unrealistic, but he wasn’t giving an inch. He was resting on the argument that he didn’t have legal representation for their marriage contract, and didn’t know what he’d signed. She wondered if that was why he hadn’t shown it to an attorney, and knew he could use it as a loophole to try and invalidate the contract later. Anything was possible with him. She realized now how calculating he was. The only part of their exchange he had agreed to so far was the transfer of the Sussex property to him, for relinquishing the parental rights he didn’t want anyway. It was no sacrifice for him. He acted as though Coco were pregnant by someone else, which they both knew she wasn’t. He had no feelings whatsoever for their baby, and seemed to view it as some kind of encumbrance he couldn’t wait to get rid of now that they would no longer be married. The prospect of sharing custody or the responsibilities of visitation held no allure for him at all. The baby he had claimed he wanted was of no interest to him, only Coco’s money. She’d had several conversations with Ed about the proceedings, and he was satisfied with her lawyer. He was willing to fight hard to protect her inheritance from Nigel. Ed was standing by to assist in any way he could. He was a worm of a human being, but was finally proving to be a decent trustee.

  Nigel’s callousness finally tipped the scale for Coco. She had had doting parents until they’d died. The fact that her baby’s father cared nothing about it seemed so shocking and unfair to her that it created a stronger bond to the baby on her part. She wanted to protect it, and decided to continue the pregnancy. The baby was due in August, and so far everything was fine, and when it was born, it would be as though its father had died or never existed. Coco would be the only parent her baby had, which made her decide to redouble her efforts to love it, and welcome it into her life.

  For the time being, she was staying in the new house. It would be a good place to come home to, big enough for a baby nurse at first, and eventually a nanny to live there with her and help her, and take care of the baby when she went to work.

  As she passed the three-month mark in her pregnancy, and the exchanges about the divorce settled down to a dull roar, she began to feel physically better, and was able to work harder again and longer hours. She loved her job, working with Leslie in the business they had created. They had to face new challenges with every client, be creative and innovative, find them the right location which suited them, and their family, in their new city, near schools in some cases, with and without gardens, big enough or small enough. In most cases, Coco and Leslie got to do the decorating, or staging if furniture and art had to be rented. Each client’s needs and requirements were different, and they had to reinvent what they created every time. Coco loved it, and she and Leslie were thriving, with a constant flow of new clients, each satisfied person recommending them to someone else.

  Leslie was swamped in February, when she walked over to Coco’s desk with a new file.

  “I hate to do this to you, Coco. I know you don’t have a minute to breathe as it is, but can you take this one on for me? New client, personal recommendation from a previous client. VIP, famous American author. He’s coming to London to work on the movie of one of his books. He wants the place for a year, and isn’t bringing a stick of furniture. Hates contemporary art, seems to hate people, and loves dogs. You’ll love this. He has a hundred-and-eighty-pound bull mastiff. Landlords are going to love that.”

  “Oh, an easy one.” Coco laughed, as she took the file from her. “Who is he? Have I heard of him?”

  “Only if you’ve ever read a book. Ian Kingston.”

  Coco’s eyes opened wide. “Wow! The big guns.”

  “The good news is that he doesn’t care how much he spends, the producers are paying for it. Any price. An apartment or house. But it has to be quiet. He wants to do some writing while he’s here. He’s working on a new book.”

  “Any other particulars?”

  “I would say something comfortable, male, quiet obviously, maybe near a park for the dog. They didn’t say it, but he sounds difficult. The producers called me. Kingston doesn’t want to be involved, but he expects us to get it right without even talking to him beforehand.”

  “Christ, we have to be psychic with clients like that.”

  “That’s your forte,” Leslie complimented her, “you always seem to know what they really want and aren’t telling us. Oh, and he wants a good kitchen. He likes to cook.”

  “He sounds interesting.”

  “And difficult. Spoiled, I suspect. He also wants a gym somewhere in the neighborhood. He’s forty-one.”

  “Married? Girlfriend? Gay? Kids?” Coco knew all the right questions to ask now.

  “They didn’t say. He sounds like something of a loner.” Leslie looked at the profile again, and another item caught her eye. “No kids in the building. Too noisy. He claims his dog never barks and sleeps all the time.” Coco nodded, and had jotted down some notes. The first thing she had to do was call realtors and find a location. A year would be easier than a few months. And house or apartment was good too. He didn’t seem to care how many rooms, as long as there was a good room for him to write, and a bedroom for him. The fancy kitchen might be harder.

  After a week of endless calls to all her contacts, Coco had six places to see on a Friday. She had the authority to rent a place at her own discretion, which was an awesome responsibility.

  She was meeting with three different realtors, one of whom she preferred. She had never lied to her, which many did, claiming attributes the apartment didn’t have and hiding flaws.

  None of the places she saw felt right, until the last one. It was in a quiet residential street near a park. The house was owned, as an investment, by a Swiss couple who almost never came to London, and had kept the two top floors for themselves, and occasionally lent it to their son, who was a banker. They rented out the two lower floors, if they liked the tenant. The house was relatively small and well maintained. They had people who came regularly to check on it. There was a two-car garage no one used, and the entire apartment was sunny and faced south. On the main floor were a living and dining room of modest proportions, and a sizeable kitchen with state-of-the-art equipment.

  “Their current tenant is a chef from Rome. He’s the star chef at Harry’s Bar. His father died, and he went home to run the family restaurant for a year for his mother. The kitchen equipment and all the furniture belong to him. He’s not letting the place go, but they’re allowing him to sublet it.” The kitchen definitely checked out for an amateur chef. There was a large dining table in it, so the tenant could use the dining room or kitchen to entertain. The dining room was wood-paneled and more formal, and both the living room and dining room had fireplaces.

  On the second floor were a big bedroom, a small guest room, and a den which could be used as an office. It looked li
ke the perfect lair for a writer. It had a warm, inviting feeling, with a fireplace and wood paneling. The décor was masculine, with big comfortable leather chairs and dark Persian rugs. There was a big well-appointed bathroom with shower and bath, another one with only a shower in the guest room, and a powder room downstairs for guests.

  “Wow,” Coco said, looking at her, “it’s perfect. I’ll take it. I haven’t met the client, but it matches his profile perfectly.”

  “It helps that the subletting tenant is a guy. Everything is the right proportion for a man to feel comfortable here and not confined.” She had done her job well, and Coco was thrilled.

  “Is there a gym nearby?”

  “Two blocks away. It’s expensive and fairly exclusive, but if the production company is paying, as you said, they may not care.”

  “Perfect,” Coco said again. “I’ll take it.”

  “First month’s rent, one-year lease, security deposit. They want five thousand in security because of the dog, in case he does any damage.” The rent wasn’t even too high considering how nice the space was. “And the chef who lives here wants any of the pans replaced if the tenant damages them.”

  “We can take care of that when he leaves,” Coco said, and for once she didn’t need to have the place painted, carpeted, curtains made, or find decent not-too-expensive art to put on the walls. It was all there. “When can he move in?”

  “Immediately. The Roman chef left a week ago. They already had the place thoroughly cleaned. And china and linens are included of course, since it’s a furnished rental. I checked and they have very nice sheets.”

  Coco signed the check for the rent and deposit on the office account, as Leslie allowed her to do. The production company was going to sign the lease, and she looked delighted when she got back to the office.

  “We really lucked out on this one. It’s everything he wanted and more, including the fancy kitchen. A Roman chef lives there and went back to Rome for a year. Ian Kingston is going to love it. If he doesn’t move in, I will, and he can have my house. It’s really a great setup, and there’s a wonderful den where he can write. I can’t wait till he sees it.”

  “We may never hear from him,” Leslie said, “since the production company is the client. But they’ll be happy too.”

  “Do you know when he’s arriving?”

  “They said April first, but they said he might arrive in March if we had something for him by then.”

  “He can come tomorrow if he wants. It’s all his.”

  She handed the file back to Leslie with all her notes, and went back to the file of another client they hadn’t found a place for yet, an American family arriving with six kids under the age of ten. They needed a big house, and landlords weren’t thrilled to have a lot of children. Leslie had suggested a house to them, rather than an apartment where the neighbors would be complaining about noise all the time. And they had a black Lab. Their work was teaching them both a lot about people, relationships, and how some people wanted to live.

  * * *

  —

  In March, Coco went to court for the divorce for the first time. It was a preliminary hearing, to hear what each party wanted. They got a female judge, which Coco’s attorney said could go either way. Some women judges were tougher than men, others seemed more sympathetic to their own sex. The one they were assigned had already reviewed the case.

  The judge, in her navy blue robe, looked directly at Coco when it was her turn. “Are you comfortable with this arrangement, trading a country property for your ex-husband’s parental rights? I gather he doesn’t want to be involved with the child,” she said with a look of disapproval.

  “Apparently not, Your Honor,” Coco said politely.

  “Who owns the house? In other words, who paid for it?”

  “I did, Your Honor.”

  “It’s free and clear?”

  “Completely.”

  “It’s a very unusual request, but I’m going to grant it. You’re sure you can manage alone?” She had noticed Coco’s age, but she looked mature and sensible when she appeared in court. She wasn’t some wild thing with piercings all over her face. She looked like a grown-up, with her hair pulled back, in a dark gray suit and high heels.

  “I believe I can manage, Your Honor.”

  “Are your parents going to help you? Are they here?” She could hear that Coco was American.

  “No, they’re deceased. They died almost three years ago. But I’ll be fine.” Coco looked calm and capable when she spoke.

  “You’re employed?” The judge looked over her glasses at her, observing her keenly.

  “Yes, I work in the relocation business, finding and setting up homes for executives and families moving here, usually from other countries, for determinate stays. Corporate executives, some diplomats, researchers, writers, movie producers.” She smiled at Coco’s description and thought she looked like an enterprising girl, despite her age. Her parents being deceased also explained the kind of numbers her ex-husband was bandying around, if she had inherited money from them.

  “I’m going to confirm the relinquishment of parental rights, and make it official. You’ll have to transfer the deed of the property to your ex-husband’s name. And I am restoring your maiden name, as you requested. As for the rest of this…” she said, picking up the file with a frown and glancing at both attorneys. Nigel had opted not to come to court, and let his attorney represent him. He looked like what Coco’s father would have called a shyster lawyer, in a shiny too-blue suit. “Gentlemen,” she said to the attorneys, “are we talking about pounds or dollars here, or yen, or some currency I don’t know of? The couple in question were married for eleven months. Mr. Halsey-Smythe was employed until eight months ago, and he’s an able-bodied man of thirty-four with a university degree. I’m sure he’ll be employed again shortly. I see that we’re referring to both dollars and pounds here. And that there is a premarital contract in force that Mr. Halsey-Smythe signed and is contesting now,” she said with a frown and a sour look.

  “Miss Martin’s inheritance is invested in the United States, Your Honor. From her deceased parents,” her attorney stressed, hoping to arouse the judge’s sympathy.

  “She should leave it there. Three million dollars a year in spousal support for a healthy man in his thirties for ten years, after an eleven-month marriage, is beyond excessive. And I see no reason to award him a million dollars in damages for losing a job that was paying him sixty thousand a year. As for the five million he wants for pain and suffering, since Miss Martin is being left pregnant and abandoned, whatever her resources, I think the five million for pain and suffering should go to her.” Nigel’s lawyer in the shiny suit looked instantly panicked, stood up without permission to do so, and addressed the judge.

  “Mr. Halsey-Smythe doesn’t have the funds to pay her damages, Your Honor.”

  “Thank you for the information. Please sit down. I am therefore throwing out Mr. Halsey-Smythe’s petition for a million dollars in damages and five million for his pain and suffering. And I would like to know what one does on a million-dollar vacation? That would be fascinating. I believe he can manage without that too. In the separate agreement he is being given a very fine, newly remodeled country estate, with extensive grounds and four usable houses on it, according to the documents submitted to the court. That is more than adequate compensation. And I am reducing his request for ten years of spousal support at three million dollars a year, to eleven months, the length of the marriage, at five thousand dollars a month, which is the salary he was making, which comes to fifty-five thousand dollars. I think he should be very pleased with his new house. I will confirm these orders, sign them, and return them to both parties. If there are further matters to be resolved, you may address them to me for a future hearing. I see that Mr. Halsey-Smythe is not contesting the grounds of adultery, so I am granting bo
th parties a decree nisi today, because the court sees no reason why you can’t divorce. Six weeks and one day from today, which will be May first, you may apply for a decree absolute. When both parties receive the decree absolute, probably in July, you are divorced, no longer married, and are free to marry again if you wish.” She rapped her gavel then, and Coco and her attorney left the courtroom smiling broadly, after thanking the judge. Nigel’s attorney scurried out of the courtroom, presumably to call him. It had been a major victory for her. She had lost a house, but she had traded it willingly for freedom for her child, to be rid of a father like Nigel, who probably would have ultimately attempted to bilk money from his child. And the judge was right. He should have been very grateful for the Sussex house, which he didn’t deserve. He was walking away with a prize, and Coco with a baby. She felt more and more protective toward it every day.

  And at the next doctor’s visit, after the court hearing, they told her it was a girl. She was going to name her Bethanie, after her mother. The baby had some reality to her, now that Coco knew her sex. She was genuinely excited about it. She was four months pregnant, and it was beginning to show, though only slightly.

  She had called Sam to tell him about the results in court, and he was extremely pleased for her. Justice had been served, although it still irked him that Nigel was getting a beautiful country property Coco had paid for, and he didn’t deserve. But she had bought her baby’s freedom from a bad man. She was better off without a father, as the judge apparently concurred.

  Leslie and Coco had been told that Ian Kingston had moved into his new London home in mid-March. They heard no complaints and no compliments, and assumed that meant he was satisfied. So they were surprised to hear from him in the first week of April. He called and asked if he could drop by and Leslie agreed. She forgot to tell Coco, and two days later he showed up. He was tall, slim, had hair as dark as Coco’s, dark smoldering eyes, was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, a black leather jacket, and motorcycle boots. He had just bought a vintage Ducati motorcycle in Italy and had ridden it back to London. He looked like the perfect bad boy, with a warm, slightly crooked smile and perfect teeth. Coco didn’t know who he was when he walked in, but Leslie recognized him immediately and got up to greet him. He thanked her for the perfect home, and said he wanted a ten-year extension. She laughed and introduced him to Coco, who had been trying not to stare at him. He was fatally handsome. Leslie credited Coco with finding the place for him.