by Liz Fielding
She waited until the door had closed behind him and then quickly checked a number in her book and taking a deep breath, she reached for the ‘phone.
‘Julian? It’s Fizz. I need to sell some quite valuable jewellery quickly,’ she rushed on, before he could say anything. ‘Will you help me?’
Rather to her surprise he said yes.
*****
Just over an hour later Julian met her at Victoria, standing at the end of the platform, waiting while she walked down the platform, his expression guarded.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quite simply. ‘I didn’t know who else to ask.’
‘I guessed that. Although I can’t say I’m flattered by your assumption that I would know where to pop the family jewels.’
‘Pop?’
‘Pop, pledge, pawn.’ He turned her away from the station leading her to where his car was parked. ‘Don’t look so shocked. Even the best people do it. And it’s tricky to get a good price for jewellery unless you can wait for the right buyer.’ This is your mother’s stuff right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’d recommend an auction. She still has an army of adoring fans, you know, middle-aged men who would fork out a mint just to possess a necklace that had adorned the neck of the great Elaine French.’ He looked at her, slightly baffled. ‘I’m still not sure why you feel you have to do this. If Devlin has agreed to sponsor you?’
‘I’d rather be in charge of my own destiny.’
He shrugged. ‘In that case pawning it will cover your immediate problems.’
‘Will it?’ She was horrified by the idea. ‘But could just one pawn broker handle something like this?’ Fizz had a sudden terrible vision of trailing around the back streets of London hocking a necklace here, a bracelet there in dingy little shops.
‘Don’t worry about that, just tell me where we have to go to pick the stuff up.’
Fizz gave him the address of the depository where, at the insistence of the insurance company, her mother’s jewels were kept in a safety deposit box. They were stored in London for Claudia’s convenience. Her sister wore hers frequently but Fizz scarcely ever took hers out except to wear at one of her father’s rare first nights, or to one of the media award dinners. She certainly wouldn’t miss them. The fact that it had taken her so long to come up with such a simple solution to her problem was ample evidence of how rarely she even thought of them.
She showed her identification to the guard, went through a complicated checking procedure with the clerk and then she and Julian were taken to a small room and the safety deposit box was brought to them. She opened it.
‘Good grief.’ Julian’s expression said it all.
‘There is rather a lot isn’t there? My mother liked beautiful things. Of course it isn’t all mine, half of it belongs to Claudia. Mother made a list of who was to get what so we shouldn’t quarrel.’ She had never quite been able to shake off the feeling that if her mother had known she wasn’t going to make it on the stage she would have left all of it to Claudia.
Julian opened one of the boxes to reveal a diamond pendant and earrings. ‘I can’t think of another girl I know who would part with this without throwing hysterics. Are you really so certain that it’s necessary? Devlin can’t possibly want to take Pavilion Radio from you.’
‘I keep telling myself that. Then I keep asking myself what he does want.’
‘Tell me about it.’ She told him and afterwards he sat back, deep in thought.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly.’
‘I think you’ve got yourself worked up over nothing. But ...’ He hesitated and she looked at him. ‘Well, sometimes when I’m negotiating a loan, when everything seems perfect and common sense tells you that nothing could go wrong, you know?’ She nodded. ‘For no reason at all you get this feeling. A gut instinct suddenly tells you that you’re being had.’ Fizz waited. ‘I suppose what I’m saying is, if your gut instinct is telling you that Devlin is up to something and if this stuff really doesn’t matter to you...’
‘It doesn’t.’ He shrugged and Fizz produced a plastic carrier bag from her handbag, loading in the leather covered boxes that belonged to her, double checking the contents as she went, with about as much interest as she loaded her shopping each week at the supermarket. ‘Right. Where now?’
London traffic was chaotic with road works, and late shoppers adding to the rush hour bedlam. And with every foot of ground covered Fizz wound herself up just a little tighter for the coming ordeal.
It was nearly half an hour before Julian parked in front of a surprisingly modern, brightly lit building. It was a far cry from Charles Dickens, although the traditional three balls of the pawn broker were plainly visible.
‘Is this it?’ Fizz demanded.
Julian grinned. ‘What did you expect? Some dark back alley and a pawnbroker in fingerless gloves and a greasy hat?’
‘You know I did. I was dreading...’ She laughed as the tension flowed from her. ‘You’re a rat, Julian.’ She looked up at the building. ‘This doesn’t look so bad, more like a bank.’
‘The most basic kind. You hand over your jewels and they hand over some money in exchange and when you want your jewels back they ask for their money, plus interest.’
‘And if you don’t come back?’
‘They keep the jewels.’
‘I see. Well, I never wear them anyway.’
‘This is only a short term solution,’ he warned. ‘They won’t give you anything like the full market value and the interest rate will be high.’ He looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t have brought you here, but you sounded so desperate when you phoned. It’s still not too late to change your mind.’
‘I know, but if I can raise the money to pay off the loan, I shall never have to go to anyone cap in hand again.’
‘And you can tell Luke Devlin what to do with his sponsorship.’
‘I wouldn’t be that rude. I’m hoping that Melanie will still join “Holiday Bay”.’
‘In other words you want to have your cake and eat it.’
‘It would be nice just for once, but I don’t want to be greedy. To be honest if I can just get my life and my radio station back under control it’ll be enough.’
‘Go for the cake, Fizz,’ he advised her, gravely. ‘You might just end up with the crumbs, but always go for the cake.’ He climbed out of the car and opened her door. ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
‘Would you mind?’
A quarter of an hour later they were both sitting in a small office, the glittering collection of Elaine French’s jewellery laid out before them on a desk. The broker picked up each piece in turn and examined it carefully, looking at the stones through a jeweller’s eyeglass. Finally he sat back and looked at Fizz. ‘How much do you hope to raise on these pieces?’ he asked.
‘Well, I’m not sure-’
‘As much as possible,’ Julian intervened.
‘Well, they’re very nice sets. A bit old-fashioned perhaps. If they were genuine stones of course they could be re-set, but it would hardly be worth it for paste.’
‘Paste? They’re genuine!’ She threw an anguished glance at Julian. ‘They were my mother’s... She was Elaine French and I can assure you that she wouldn’t have been seen dead in fake anything!’
‘Elaine French?’ The man’s face lit up. ‘Good lord, I saw her in Private Lives with Edward Beaumont the year before she retired. What a wonderful actress. She illuminated the theatre.’ He came back from his memories and looked at Fizz. ‘I’m really very sorry, but I imagine the insurance company insisted on copies. They wouldn’t be keen to cover them when she was travelling. Even the copies have a value of course, especially because of their connection with your mother...’
He continued talking. Fizz was aware of his voice a long way off, but it didn’t matter. She just had to get out of that claustrophobic little office before she fainted. She was vaguely awar
e of Julian packing the jewellers boxes into the carrier bag as she began to rise.
She made it to the pavement before she sank down onto the cold, concrete step and she flopped forward, her head between her knees. Then Julian came and helped her back to the car.
‘Oh, lord. What an idiot. What a fool. I’m just so sorry to have involved you, Julian.’
‘Oh, my dear Fizz. Don’t you know that I’d rather make a fool of myself over you than anyone else?’ And he gathered her into his arms and let her cry.
It felt so comfortable to be held like that, to feel her cheek against the soft, dark wool of his overcoat, for once not to have to pretend that everything was all right. But to hang on too long would be self-indulgent and after a while she pulled away and took the handkerchief Julian offered without a word.
‘Sorry. I’m making rather a habit of this. Shock, I suppose.’
‘You’ve had a bad week.’
She sniffed, tried a smile, found it wasn’t so difficult provided she concentrated very hard. ‘I’ll survive. I always have.’ He looked doubtful. She tried even harder. ‘But no cake this week. Not even crumbs.’
‘What do you suppose happened to the original jewels, Fizz? Could they have been switched by someone? You know, stolen?’
‘Oh, no.’ She shrugged. ‘They were probably sold when my mother was so ill.’
‘Ill?’
‘She didn’t just retire. She had a bad car accident but she wanted everyone to remember her as she had been. Dad looked after her. He couldn’t work for a long time.’ She shrugged. ‘He sold the house in London quite soon after the accident and took her home to Broomhill. I always assumed he had lived on that money, but my mother was an expensive woman. If I’d thought about it I suppose it was obvious that the jewels would have to go too. He probably didn’t even tell her.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he would have known how upset she’d be.’ And if he had told her, everyone within a half mile radius would have known it too.
‘I’m sorry. Really sorry.’
‘Oh, well. It was just a thought. Nothing’s changed after all.’
‘That’s very philosophical of you. I don’t think I’d be quite so calm under the circumstances.’
Calm? She wasn’t calm. Not because she didn’t have her bagful of precious jewels. They were just the same. She could still wear them and no one would ever know the difference. The only difference was that she wouldn’t bother putting them back in the vault. She could at least save herself that expense. She wondered briefly if Claudia knew. What her reaction would be when she discovered her beloved sparklies were fake.
But it would have been wonderful not to worry any more. To be back in control.
‘Oh, Julian, I’m sure you’re right about Devlin. I’ve just got an overactive imagination. Everything will be just fine.’
‘Of course it will. Come on, I’ll take you home.’
‘You’ve done more than enough already. I can get a taxi back to Victoria.’
But Julian was insistent. ‘You’re not going back to Broomhill tonight, Fizz.’
‘I can’t stay-’
‘You can, my dear. In fact, I insist. You’re being very brave but you’ve had a shock and you need looking after. So I’m going to take you back to my place and cook you supper.’
‘But-’
‘If I can’t be anything else, I’m happy to be your friend, Fizz. I think you could do with one right now.’
She subsided. ‘I really don’t deserve you.’
‘Probably not.’ She giggled. ‘That’s better. Now settle down and be quiet while I concentrate on getting through this traffic.’
It was a blessed relief to have someone else making decisions for her, just for a while. So she did as she was told and said very little at all until Julian placed her supper on the table. She stared at it.
‘Baked beans on toast!’
‘Comfort food. There’s nothing to beat it.’ Julian grinned. ‘And when you’ve eaten all that, I’ll make you some cocoa. Then you can have a warm bath, borrow a pair of my pyjamas and fall into bed.’ He intercepted her look. ‘I’ll take the sofa.’
*****
Friday arrived with unnecessary haste it seemed to Fizz. And yet it was just as well. After the nightmare of the jewellery fiasco, Thursday had offered no comfort.
She had spent the day contacting advertising agencies, hoping that when they heard about Melanie they would buy some extra time. She had high hopes after the good result on the phone-in programme, but this time the reaction had been disappointing.
Worse, she had received confirmation that one of the station’s regular advertisers would not be renewing their contract.
So, there were no other options open to her. And once the agreement with Luke Devlin was signed it would be over and she could stop worrying about some totally imaginary threat. What could he do, after all?
Her gut-reaction was probably due entirely to her out-of-control hormones racketing about like an electron in a particle accelerator. She was getting her knickers in a twist over nothing. Nothing.
As she parked her car in front of Harries impressive headquarters building she glanced at her watch. Two minutes to twelve. She had started out in plenty of time, but her unwillingness to arrive had apparently communicated itself to her right foot resting lightly, very lightly, on the accelerator.
But it wouldn’t do to be late, so Fizz locked the car and throwing the hood of her teal blue coat over her hair against the sleet-laced rain, hurried into the building and upstairs to Luke Devlin’s office.
The outer office was unexpectedly empty and for just a moment she wondered if he meant her to cool her heels there as she had done on the previous occasion.
A test for her temper, perhaps, after the way she had so unceremoniously upbraided Phillip Devlin on her last visit. It would probably serve her right, she thought.
She bent to pick up a sheet of paper that had blown onto the floor as she had walked in and when she straightened Luke was standing in the doorway watching her. The shock didn’t seem to lessen. Even when she was prepared for him, expecting to see him, the pulse jolting reaction that racketed through her like an out-of-control express still knocked the breath from her.
‘Shall I take that?’
She glanced down at the letter she was holding, absently registering the familiar logo.
‘It fell on the floor,’ she said, lamely, as he took it from her and replaced it on his secretary’s desk. ‘When I opened the door.’
She stopped. She had done nothing to apologise for, but he had a disconcerting habit of not answering, knowing that if he waited she would keep talking, make a fool of herself. Anything rather than listen to the deepening silence that loomed between them full of questions that would one day have to be answered.
‘Come along in, Fizz. This won’t take long.’
He ushered her into his office and took her coat, shaking off the raindrops before hanging it on his coat stand. Then he joined her by the window, staring out of the window at the grey, rain-lashed town spread out below them.
‘There were days,’ he said, ‘in Australia and later in California, when I longed for just this kind of weather. I must have been mad.’
‘Without a doubt,’ she agreed. Then turned to offer him a bright smile, her pulse very nearly under control. ‘But it’ll soon be spring.’
One corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles and her steady pulse missed a beat, skittering dangerously off on some wild adventure of its own. ‘Remind me, Fizz, will that make it stop raining?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But it will be warmer, the woods will be scented with violets and the fields will be full of new lambs.’
‘Ah, yes. I remember.’
And for a moment he remained very still as he regarded the softly draped jersey dress she was wearing in the same blue as her coat.
She hadn’t forgotten his scathing comments about the
suit she had worn on her previous visit to his offices and she had dressed to please herself, rather than to impress. It seemed to have worked because he made no comment. Instead his glance flickered back to her face.
‘But I’ve a good mind to make the sun a part of the contract.’
‘But it’s always there, Luke. It’s just sometimes you can’t see it for the clouds.’ Fizz was being mesmerised by the disturbing impact of his eyes, drawn towards him. Abruptly she shifted her glance, turning to his desk and the document that lay upon it. ‘Is that the agreement?’ He nodded. ‘You’re very confident that I’m going to sign it.’
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ He walked across the room and held out a chair for her. ‘Sit down. Read it very carefully, then if you’ve no questions, I’ll get Liz to witness your signature.’
He retired to the sofa leaving her in solitary grandeur behind the broad expanse of his desk on which lay a single document.
She was aware that it would have been wise to have the radio station’s solicitor look over the document. But she instinctively knew that this was a take it or leave it situation and if they said it would be unwise to sign what would she do?
She had done her homework, spending hours going over other sponsorship documents her father had signed on behalf of the station during the last five years, letters from solicitors pointing out problem areas, familiarising herself with the language, the get-out clauses, the traps for the unwary.
They seemed to be fairly standard documents and she was confident that she would spot anything odd that had been slipped in. She began to read.
But it was his powerful figure relaxed against the soft leather that drew her eyes. He was far away, lost deep in thought. Wherever, he was, she was certain it was not a happy place and despite her determination to be calm and businesslike there was, deep within her, an urgent and unfamiliar longing to go to him. Comfort him.
He looked up and caught her staring at him.
‘Can you manage, Fizz, or do you want me go through it with you clause by clause?’ His voice was gently seductive as if he could read the weakness that was invading her bones.