by Polly Carter
Chapter 2
Marcus
Marcie carried the small gift bag containing Marcus’s purchases as she escorted him to the door and out onto the street.
“Call me, Marcus,” she whispered as he took the bag from her and she leaned up to kiss him.
“It’s not going to happen, Marcie,” he replied firmly. “I’ve told you that a dozen times. Friends we’ve been and friends we’ll stay.”
“We have been more than friends though,” Marcie wheedled petulantly.
“It was a long time ago, and it was a one off,” Marcus stated matter-of-factly. “We both agreed that at the time. Now I must go. I don’t want to upset Mother.” And with a quick nod of his head, he strode down the street towards his car. Marcie’s eyes followed him, narrowing with annoyance and bitter determination. She wasn’t ready to give up on all that money, especially when it came attached to such an attractive man. As she re-entered the shop, she caught sight of Pearl inside. She’d definitely have to do something about her.
Striding towards his Jaguar F-type sports car, a thirtieth birthday present from his mother two years previously, Marcus’s thoughts were not on Marcie. She was an attractive woman and they’d had one night of hot sex together. Apart from that, though, the chemistry wasn’t there for him, and he suspected she would also be far less keen were it not for his considerable wealth, or at least his mother’s considerable wealth, some of which would likely be his one day.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, he put his bag on the passenger seat and took his phone from his pocket. “Hey,” he called to it. “Send Mother a text. I’m on my way,” he dictated when the phone had responded.
As he manoeuvred his car through the city streets and onto the freeway, he was tingling with excitement. He loved his car and driving it, but that wasn’t the only reason for his present feeling of exhilaration, which was translating into a semi-erection. He was consumed by a heady feeling of discovery and anticipation such as an explorer, preparing to open the door to a hidden treasure trove, might feel.
Pearl. How that name suited her. Small. Perfect. Milky-white translucent skin, pale blonde hair, and such a sweet face with its big, soft, brown doe-eyes, dinky button nose and full lips. And she clearly was completely unaware of how beautiful she was; she had not an ounce of artifice.
Marcus was a man on a quest. He had enjoyed being single and playing around. Attractive and rich as he was, he had had no trouble finding women willing to keep him company and act out whatever sexual fantasy he asked of them, but always behind their willingness to submit to his sexual desires was the agenda of his money. He’d yet to find a woman who genuinely complemented him, or a woman who would be as interested in him were he a poor man instead of a fabulously wealthy one.
Pearl, though… Efficient and professional, she had a mature confidence when showing off the shop’s wares that he was sure would put any customer at ease, and yet there was something else about her: a genuine child-like innocence and joy that suggested vulnerability and playfulness at the same time. It had instantly aroused his protective instincts. He grinned to himself thinking how he’d half expected her to skip about the shop, and he couldn’t help but picture her in short skirts, tiny tops, frilly socks and laced-up shoes, and pigtails.
Then his eyelids lowered slightly and his mouth pursed as he lingeringly recalled how she’d lowered her gaze so demurely, and then raised it when he’d asked her to. She wasn’t being flirtatiously coy; it was so natural he doubted she was even aware of the effect it had on him. He wondered what else she would do if he asked, and the thought of exploring how far she would go hardened his erection further. His face broke into a broad grin as he pressed down on the accelerator, the additional surge of power causing a rush of adrenaline. He banged his fist gently on the steering wheel and laughed aloud.
“Goodness! You have excelled yourself, my darling,” Linda Holding purred a short time later as she took the earrings out of their box with a perfectly manicured hand. “Don’t tell me these were Marcie’s idea? I must have misjudged her. I thought her much too dull for something as exotic and wicked as these. I love them.”
Her son leaned back in his chair and took a mouthful of the wine his mother had ordered before his arrival. “You’re right in thinking it wasn’t Marcie’s idea. Her assistant showed me around today.”
“Oh?” Linda flashed Marcus a questioning look, her maternal antennae suddenly on high alert. “Her assistant?” she probed. “You mean Leah?”
Marcus shrugged as casually as possible, but he was aware the battle was on. Somehow, and it was a complete mystery to him how she did it, his mother had picked up on some nebulous thing in his apparently unimportant observation.
“Leah’s gone,” he answered. “There’s a new girl. Who apparently did a good job. I’m pleased you like them, Mother. I thought they were perfect for you the moment I saw them. Why don’t you try them on? They will go perfectly with your black top. Come on.”
For a brief second, Linda hesitated. Then she removed the earrings she was wearing and replaced them with her new ones.
“What do you think, darling?” she asked.
“They look good off but you absolutely bring them to life,” he answered flatteringly. “Don’t be surprised if every woman in here is eyeing you enviously and every man lustfully.”
“Oh, stop it.” She waved her hand dismissively, but he could see she was pleased. “Well, like I said, they were an inspired choice. Perhaps I should go and thank this new assistant myself. What did you say her name was?”
Marcus grinned and shook his head. “I don’t think I did. I believe it is Miss Sinclair.”
“Miss? Exactly how old is this Miss Sinclair?”
“Really, Mother?” Marcus rolled his eyes and exhaled sarcastically. “I clean forgot to ask her that, what with the buying of the earrings and her being the shop assistant and all. I’m going to order.” He nodded to a nearby waiter who came over.
Unfortunately, true to form, his mother was not yet ready to give up on her quest for information. Once the waiter had been dispatched, she brought the bone out for another chew.
“Young? Old? Pretty? Plain? This Miss Sinclair.”
“I have no idea.” Marcus saw no way out of this but to stick to his story no matter what sort of barrage his mother threw at him. “My eyes and attention were on the jewellery.” And she was the most stunning jewel of all. “I was choosing something for you, after all, but let’s say she is young and passably pretty. I mean Marcie must have hired her and she likes to have attractive women as her assistants so they can seduce their rich male clients into spending pots of money.” She certainly did that, albeit quite innocently. The choker he had impulsively bought was waiting for him in the glove box of his car. He pictured it, and how those sparkling golden-brown, champagne diamonds would be set off by her blonde hair and brown eyes. It was a struggle to control an impulse to rush back to the shop and demand she put it on this instant. And it was reckless of him to leave such an expensive trinket in his car, but this bewitching, pocket-sized blonde had made him feel quite reckless. He mustn’t frighten her, though. He had plans for her. Big plans. And it would require patience and care to bring them to fruition.
“Have you organised a date with this young, passably pretty shop assistant then?” his mother asked, cutting through his thoughts as if she could read them.
“No, of course not,” he was able to answer truthfully and emphatically. “Our dealings were purely a commercial transaction.” This time. “And now we have fully exhausted the topic of the shop assistant, shall we talk about other things? What are your plans for tonight?”
“Alan is taking me to dinner,” she replied brusquely, not yet finished with her bone. “You’re thirty-three, Marcus. Don’t you think it’s time you thought about settling down and finding a wife? I’d like some grandchildren before I’m too old to enjoy them.”
“I’m thirty-two,” he corrected her. “And I have no objection to sett
ling down with one woman, when I find the right one but I have to find her first, no?” And maybe I have.
“I worry that you might fall for someone entirely unsuitable.” Her eyes narrowed and she wagged a finger at him. “Like a passably pretty, young shop assistant.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Ah, thank goodness, here’s your lunch. How about we eat and I promise I shan’t run off and get married on your birthday.”
“You can joke about it,” Linda replied, shaking out her napkin and laying it in her lap, “but I am deadly serious. You are nearly thirty-three, and you have a responsibility, not only to yourself and your own selfish wants, but to the family and the business. I shan’t be letting any pretty, young, gold-digger lead you by the dick to the altar so she can get her conniving hands on your money.”
“No? How charming of you, Mother,” Marcus answered calmly as he speared a roast potato with his fork. He’d heard it too many times before to be in the least shocked.
Linda finished chewing and swallowed the small morsel of carrot she had in her mouth. “There are perfectly suitable girls amongst our friends you could marry. Some are bright and not ugly. All are wealthy and will bring their own money to a marriage. What about Tina Fielding? I’ve always thought she would be an eminently satisfactory daughter-in-law. She’s not ugly and has wide-enough hips to produce healthy children. And she’s been trying to marry you for years.”
Marcus fixed the most exasperated expression he could on his face. “Enough! When I marry, if I marry, it will be to a woman I have chosen, who may or may not have wide, childbearing hips. Either way, that won’t be a deal-breaker.”
“I’ve warned you, Marcus.” Linda’s voice had an ominous tone. “I shall not stand by and watch any gold-digging madam get her hands on our family fortune or our family business. Have you thought about Alan’s daughter? Eileen?” The question was presented casually, but the underlying tension would have required a steak knife to saw through it. “All right,” she said, holding her hand up before Marcus could speak, “She’s a couple of years older than you and maybe has some past…”
“Some past? She’s got more history than the British Empire.”
“That’s rather unkind, Marcus,” Linda replied calmly. “Although she does have almost as much money as the British Empire.”
“Ha!” Marcus snorted. “And that’s a rather bigger exaggeration, but even if she was that loaded, it would make no difference. I have no interest in Eileen.”
“You’re an inverted snob.”
“Call me what you like; the reality is I’m not marrying for money, and if and when I marry it will be to a woman I love and respect. And even her past won’t matter. It’s not who Eileen was in the past that turns me off; it’s who she is now, and that’s not anyone I am interested in spending any time with. She’s…”
But Linda cut him off. “All right, all right. There’s no need to go on about it.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’m planning for her to be your step-sister one day so perhaps it would be tacky for you to be married to her. Unless you two got married before Alan and I. I think that would be acceptable.”
“It’s not happening, Mother. Ever. And I shan’t allow you to brow-beat me or meddle in my affairs,” Marcus said calmly but firmly. “Truce. Let’s not spoil your birthday by arguing. This conversation is closed.”
Linda glared at him and opened her mouth, but realising he was in no mood to hear any more, changed the subject.
And, no matter how he tried, Marcus was unable to get the image of a petite blonde raising her eyes from the floor to meet his at his command, only in his mind’s eye, she was naked and around her neck she wore a diamond-encrusted collar made of hearts.
Chapter 3
Pearl
What was that? Something. Just beyond reach. A feeling. A memory. Rising up from the veil of sleep, Pearl’s mind groped for the thing, that thing, that niggling thing. She could feel it, but not yet identify it. All she had to do was open her eyes, but this was a lovely warm, safe feeling. She couldn’t quite think where it came from and it might vanish like a dream if she didn’t stay absolutely motionless, but her eyelids flickered. Sleep wouldn’t stay.
Oh! There it was. There he was: Marcus Holding. Marcus Holding. Marcus Holding. She looped the music of his name over and over, stalling visualising the man himself, savouring the anticipation, like waiting for a lover to come around the corner. Exerting all her control, she forced her memory into linear mode, starting with the tinkle of the shop’s bell. It was strange to think that, at that moment yesterday when the bell rang, she was utterly oblivious to even the existence of Marcus Holding. She was simply preparing to serve one of the usually nice and generally wealthy people who patronised Mon Addi as she had many times since starting there.
She relived in detail the first glimpse she had of him. He was dressed in business clothes, tall, well-built, older than her but not substantially, and with short, expensively-cut dark hair. It was only a glimpse and not quite enough information for her to fully appreciate the presence that was Marcus Holding. All that changed when he had looked past Marcie and seen her. Seen her. Her! The instant their eyes met, everything changed. If it had been a movie, her eyes would have become thumping cartoon hearts and invisible musicians would have played a serenade. It wasn’t a movie, though, and he wasn’t a movie star, which was a shame because, as it was, she couldn’t be sure she’d ever see him again, whereas if he were in movies, she’d be able to see him there.
Wait! She sat bolt upright and grabbed her phone. So mesmerised by him had she been yesterday that she’d only relived the precious moments she’d actually spent in his company. His voice, his smile, his eyes, the way he treated her kindly, the way he’d praised her, the way he’d been firm with her. “Look at me, Pearl,” he’d said, and she had raised her eyes to his. He’d said it kindly, but she couldn’t imagine not obeying him, no matter what his command; he seemed so confident, so in control, so big and safe.
Desperate to see his face, she typed his name into her internet search bar. And there he was. Clutching her phone to her breast, she breathed a blissful sigh. He would be her secret pretend-celebrity crush. She picked a photo to have on her screen, then dressed for work. She wouldn’t research him any further at the moment. It would give her something exciting to do this evening, but she wasn’t going to be greedy; she would ration out photos and mentions. And then there was social media to explore as well. She picked up her phone and hugged it to her as though it were Marcus himself.
And he might return to Mon Addi one day. He did say he was a regular client. That was something to hope for as she made her way to work.
“Good morning, Miss Jones,” she greeted her boss as she arrived the usual ten minutes before her official start time.
“Pearl.” Marcie nodded perfunctorily. Pearl felt a chill as she put her bag away and prepared to start work. Marcie had never been particularly friendly but she seemed even less so this morning. Ignoring the chill in the air, she quickly fetched the vacuum cleaner and started running it over the carpet. The front door would not be unlocked for another fifteen minutes giving her time to ensure that, when it did open to the public, the shop would be as clean and sparkling as the treasures it housed. Determined to give Marcie no reason to find fault, she worked hard all morning without resting: attending to clients, and cleaning, tidying, and rearranging the displays whenever the shop was empty.
“Can you run these down to the post office,” Marcie said around midday, handing her two letters. “It should only take you about twenty minutes and then I’ll go to lunch.”
On her own in the shop later, while Marcie was out, Pearl noticed the brooch she’d shown Marcus the day before was no longer in its place. She’d seen it earlier, so the only explanation was that it must have sold while she was posting Marcie’s letters.
She was pleased. She wanted the shop to do well, and this week’s takings had already been excellent with Marcus’s shopping spree and th
e other pieces they’d sold, and now the beautiful, quite expensive brooch as well. Maybe it would even be a record week. The owners would surely be very pleased with their work.
She was totally unprepared then when Marcie, having returned from lunch, called her over to the display cabinet.
“Did you sell the pearl and gold brooch?” she asked. “I didn’t see it on the sales record.”
“No, I didn’t sell it,” a confused Pearl answered. “I noticed it was gone and assumed you had sold it when I went to the post office.”
“Well, I didn’t, and it was definitely here when I went to lunch. I checked all the cabinets before I left and it was there then. Did anyone come in while I was away?”
“Yes. A few people. I sold two gold chains, which I entered in the book, and a young couple paid a deposit on an engagement ring that I’ve locked in the safe. No one asked about the brooch. I didn’t go near that cabinet for any reason the entire time you were at lunch.”
“Well, if you didn’t sell it, it must have been stolen, although I can’t see how anyone could have stolen it without a key to the cabinet. Are you sure no one asked to see anything from in here? You had no reason to open it? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes. I’m quite sure none of the clients asked to see anything in here.”
“You do realise what sort of position that places you in, don’t you, Pearl?” Marcie said grimly.
“Why?” Pearl asked, genuinely puzzled. Then she understood. “No! You can’t think I stole it.”
“Well, you certainly had plenty of opportunity, and you did like it. I’ve often seen you admiring it, and it was one of the pieces you chose to show Marcus yesterday. Perhaps you were hoping to pretend that he’d slipped it into his pocket.”
“No!” Pearl’s already fair skin paled further to a ghastly shade of white. “He wouldn’t steal. I wouldn’t do that. That’s awful!”
“Well, the brooch is clearly not here, is it? And I can’t think of any other explanation. Can you?”