House of Diamonds

by Amber Jakeman

  “Going well, young James?”

  “Well, that’s what I’m here to find out.”

  “Of course, of course,” Ron laughed at their usual greeting, knocking gently then opening the door to his son’s office.

  “On your own today?” Ron Scott the second, known by all as Scottie, rose from behind his grey desk, as he extended his hand.

  “Scottie! Mate! Expecting someone else, are you?”

  “Maybe that no-good brother of yours, or ...?”

  “Nicole’s busy, mate.” James did a quick scan of his old friend’s office. Yep. The wedding picture was nowhere to be seen. A couple of years ago it had occupied pride of place. Now it was a distinct absence, but there was a new abstract painting on the wall behind Scottie, complementing a pot plant in the corner.

  “So, how is Beck?” James asked outright.

  “Queensland.” Scottie stared out the window and drew in a long breath. “Divorce papers’ve come through.”

  “Sorry, Scottie.”

  “Nothing to do with you, mate. Nothing I could do either, as it turns out.”

  “’cept look after yourself.” Scottie had hit the spirits hard for a while there. James had had to refuse his invitations to meet him at various pubs, reasoning that the liquid companionship was doing both of them more harm than good.

  “Yeah. The rest’s history, I guess. Moving on, now. So, how’s Nicole then?”

  “Angry,” James muttered as he takes a seat. “Hoping you’ve got some good news for us, no doubt. Well, anyway, your office refit’s looking good. Your business is powering, anyway.”

  “Yeah. Almost always does for accountants. People don’t realize that when they run us down. Business good or business bad, there’s always work for accountants. That’s what my father says and he’s right. Too bad it was all too boring for Beck.”

  “Not your fault, mate. She’ll regret it.”

  “Nup. She’s hooked up with some fancy builder from what I see on Facebook, building ritzy estates for retirees up north of Brizzie. Shows herself off next to his racy landcruiser and fancy speedboat pretty regularly. She’ll never look back.”

  “Need to block that quick smart, mate.”

  Scottie knew James spoke from experience, but he shook his head.

  “Nah. Good for me to see her and feel nothing. Lucky escape, I call it. Wouldn’t want her back, anyway. Not now. Been too long. Moving on.”

  “Good to hear. Scottie. Nicole’s around. You go for it. But I’m not your wing man. Look where that led last time. You wanna see Nicole, you call her okay?”

  Scottie sat a little straighter opposite him.

  “So she’s free at the moment?”

  “I’m not getting involved in this, Scottie. Not even a wink. This is for you to work out, mate.”

  Scottie definitely seemed happier.

  “So what about your own love life, James? No wedding bells?”

  “No news there. Gotta get the business back in the black.” James tapped the top of the desk. Scottie shook his head and smiled. Since James’s fiancee Helene had left him for a stock broker a year or two ago he’d been obsessed with getting Huntleys finances under control and looking up. Fair enough.

  “Right-oh, then. On to business.”

  “Thumbs up or thumbs down?”

  “Bit of both, you could say.”

  “Out with it.”

  “Well, business is tracking okay. Wouldn’t say you’re setting any records. But it’s not too much lower than last quarter’s results. The big problem’s still your expenses. Jim’s drawing a pittance as usual, but I have to be clear about this. Will and your mother...”

  “What about them?”

  “All this travel.”

  “You know my mother. Loves her travel. She’s still decorating the Bowral place.”

  “In France?”

  “Loves a good French antique.”

  “Hmmm. Might wanna see if she’s ever coming home, James. Seriously. And what about Will? What’s he doing in the US now, month after month after month?”

  This time it was James’s turn to whistle through his teeth and stare out the window. If it was hard to rein in his mother’s spending, saying no to his brother was even more impossible.

  “You know Will. Runs his own show.”

  Scott remembered Will. Sporty. Bit of a rogue. Popular with the girls.

  “What’s he doing again?”

  “Finding new markets. Representing our brand.”

  “For Huntleys, or for himself?”

  “Yeah, I know... Sourcing suppliers. Growing our customer base.”

  “In the US? Look. Your family’s the biggest hole in your budget, James. Everything else is tracking okay. Well, not too badly, anyway.”

  “Nicole’s had a few good ideas, revamping the website, getting celebs involved.”

  “Clever woman.”

  James smiled at his old friend.

  “Always had a soft spot for our Nicole, didn’t you?”

  Scottie studied the spreadsheets, shuffled them a bit and handed a couple across.

  “So will we say you’re still solvent? You’re going to talk to Will and your mother?”

  “I’ll talk to them.”

  “Frankly, Huntleys can’t afford those open-ended expenses any more. You should know better than anyone there’s too much competition. Asia, India. Imports. You can’t afford it, and you’re leaving yourselves wide open to extra tax liabilities. We’re advising all of our clients with family businesses about this. You just can’t assume every member of the family has the best interests of the business at heart. Gotta limit those personal expenditures. We’d advise offering a cumulative monthly limit, or a small salary increase to offset removal of all expense reimbursement, James. We’ve had to do it in our own business. Beck abused my account big time, I’m ashamed to admit. It’s just a reality. Human nature.”

  James nodded. It made sense. Scottie was a great accountant. Already he was thinking how to broach it with his mother. Brother Will, though? Another matter entirely.

  “Who’s hitting it hardest, Scottie?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Will’s been in Vegas.”

  “Yeah.” Scottie handed across the spreadsheets and a graph. Will’s red expenditure line made an ugly red slash, dragging down the profits.

  “Christmas is coming.”

  “Have to be a good one to offset Will’s efforts, even if you halt him right now. Sorry, James. You’re too kind to him, but it’s gotta stop.”

  James nodded, grave. Will was a whole other story. If James’s life had changed when their father died, and it did, Will’s had changed even more. James had been practically an adult. Sure, he’d had to drop out of uni to take on the business, but Will was still at school. True apple of their father’s eye, Will could never do anything wrong. His athletic prowess made their father so proud. Will swam, sprinted, hurdled, high-jumped and swaggered around in a perpetual glow of podiums, trophies, representative championships and sporting scholarship opportunities, bound for glory.

  While James ran well in cross country, where he and Scottie forged their friendship, representing their school in the State championships, Will had shown true promise, basking in their father’s and the school’s glory from childhood.

  As their father steadily shrank, physically and mentally, far too rapidly, James threw himself into learning about the business. He spent more and more time at his father’s bedside, trying to glean the ins and outs of their family’s livelihoods.

  But when their father could no longer come to his games and carnivals, Will sulked and acted out, taking it all personally. His wins practically ignored for the first time in his life, he’d sought solace in parties, alcohol, drugs and sex, despite his young age. No one pulled him up on it. He had hero status at school, winning brilliant headlines and kudos, and he was almost 18 by the time Jimmy left them for good.

  “Look after your family, son,” Jim
my told James in those last terrible days of his life, and James was doing so, to the best of his ability. Scottie knew all this. He seemed to be watching James replay it all in his head as they sat and studied the spreadsheets.

  “You know it’s time, mate. Fix Will, or you’ll all go down.”

  James glanced across at him and nodded slowly, then stood, wrapping up their meeting.

  “Easier said than done, no doubt. Look after yourself.”

  “You too.”

  And James was out and down the stairs, all 21 flights of them, trying to block the black memories of his father’s last days; furious at the futility of his brother’s spending sprees; and brainstorming yet again how to tackle Will and his crazy lifestyle for good. It was grim, alright.

  He was still brooding as he approached Huntleys, expression black with worry. If his eyes flashed fire at the distraction of Stella’s bright stall and its flurry of activity outside his establishment, he was barely conscious of it.

  And if Stella unknowingly drew his attention once more, with her dark hair drawn up in an emerald green ribbon in the day’s heat, her throat and the delicate skin below her ear so exposed and delectable as he brushed past, a mere metre away from her; if her eyes sought out his, troubled at his scowl, concerned for him, still he stormed past her, wrenching open the doors to his building.

  Finance meetings always did this to him. No matter how hard he worked and how smart, Huntleys consumed him and challenged him further. Did everyone’s business pose so many problems? He’d have to confront his mother and Will. Sooner. Not later.

  Up on the top floor, in the corner of his father’s old office, behind the door where he kept coats and spare shirts and ties, he ditched his suit, changed into his board shorts and t-shirt and swapped the polished black leather shoes for runners, checking his watch. Huntleys had its compensations, so close to Bondi Beach.

  He was out the door and off again, in the opposite direction, to strip off the runners, burn the souls of his feet in the hot sand, dive into the breakers and dilute his worries in the great wide ocean till he was exhausted and tame again and ready to face the future.

  ...

  At her makeshift bench at her stall, Stella wrangled red and green beads and wire and spangles - trying out a Christmas brooch design. Fully focused, head down, she suddenly noticed James.

  “Surf’s up,” he said, absentmindedly pushing his towel against the back of his neck.

  Fresh and wild, his hair dark and damp, this merman was so different from the man in the grey suit, it took Stella a moment or two to recognize him. She could practically smell the sea and salt on him. She blinked, confused, but she’d know those blue eyes anywhere.

  “Bondi,” he explained. “The beach?” He waited while she registered, his eyes still dancing with the freedom of floating and diving in the frothy swell.

  The man was a complete distraction, devastating up close like this. If James in a suit was eye catching, James the runner and swimmer was a full-on alarm system, flashing lights, bells and whistles. She practically had to close her eyes, block him out of her vision. How on earth could she concentrate on her customers? Maybe that was what he wanted, to distract her out of her mind, and then out of business.

  A couple of beads detached themselves from her creation and rolled off the benching, bouncing across the concrete paving. She let them go, still mesmerized by his eyes and interest. She was speechless. Felt like an idiot.

  “‘Faux’s still selling well, I see!” he tried again. He didn’t seem hot and bothered, the way she was feeling. Did he even know what it was like to have to smile for customers even when you were exhausted? Stella was still puzzled. Was it an insult? She nodded warily.

  “Getting ready for Christmas?” he asked, still trying to elicit a response, wondering a bit at himself. He didn’t usually bother with small talk.

  He gestured at her stall and she realized she still hadn’t said a thing, fixated on the fine shape of his wrist so as not to stare at the rest of him.

  “Pretty impressive all your work’s original,” he said. “You ought to think about using more valuable materials, getting a better return for your labour.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Come with me some time,” he said. “Come swimming with me. Does you the power of good.”

  That smile. It seemed so genuine. She had no defences against this man.

  “Yes. Bondi,” she stuttered. “We went there with my nieces when I first arrived, a month or so ago.”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Perth.”

  “So that’s why I’d never seen you before!”

  She nodded.

  Huntleys door swung open and there was Nicole, this time in lime green. She scowled across at James, furious.

  “Great for a quick break. Does wonders. See you.”

  And he was gone, swallowed up by Huntleys and Nicole. It took her more than a couple of minutes to settle down. She stooped and retrieved the escaped beads and tried to focus again on her work.

  Chapter 9

  That afternoon, Stella took an early mark. So far, Thursday evenings were quiet. She was better off taking a breather.

  Back at the townhouse, Lucy greeted her with joy. She ran down the hall and returned, clutching a large envelope.

  “Parsooo. Parsoo!”

  “Parcel, Lucy. Thank you!”

  She hoisted little Lucy onto her hip, planted a kiss on her chubby cheek and placed the envelope on the high window ledge in her room, above the ironing board.

  Then they went together to the bathroom basin and lathered up the cake of soap for some serious handwashing, Lucy squealing with delight when the soap shot away and into the bath.

  “Come on, let’s wash this off, Lucy,” Stella said, marvelling at the chubbiness of Lucy’s fingers. “All clean.”

  “Aw keen.”

  “Very clean, Lucy. How about you go show mummy how clean your hands are!”

  As Lucy toddled off, Stella closed her door, sat on the bed and opened the envelope. Inside was an official letter from Exos, several bills and a cheery card featuring a cat and orange geranium in a pot, both soaking up sunshine.

  Dear Stella,

  Richie and I miss you. We’ve had a passing parade of polite English language students next door. I’m getting better at saying “Ni hao” (is that how you spell it?) but it’s not quite the same as having a bit of a chat with you. I think you might have forgotten to forward your mail. You’ll need to go to a post office. I left out the Aherns catalogues, but here’s the mail that looked important. Hope it’s all going well for you,

  Dulcie

  Richie was Dulcie’s fat tabby cat and the cause of their friendship. Always polite to Stella, Dulcie had invited her into her Perth apartment one day for morning tea complete with an embroidered tablecloth and fine china. Richie had kept to himself under a cane chair on the verandah among the geraniums, examining her with golden eyes. Stella agreed to feed him and water the plants while Dulcie visited her sister for 10 days down in Esperance.

  Stella loved letting herself into Dulcie’s tidy apartment, full of books and sunshine. The standoffish Richie eventually deigned to let her stroke his back and scratch him under the chin. Before long he was headbutting her ankles as she shook out his dry food and topped up his water bowl, and he would occasionally let loose a crackling old purr.

  Stella smiled. Which letter to open next? What could Exos possibly have to say to her? She was done with Exos. Exos and Damian were in the past, where they belonged. She put the letter at the bottom of the pile and ripped open a credit card statement.

  $14,784? No! Astronomical. Impossible. She’d tried to be so careful, keeping her expenses down, well below that $15k limit.

  She crumpled the envelope and threw the statement on her bed, before snatching it up again. Yes. It definitely had her name on it. Riffling through the rest of the mail, she found two other statements, heart sinking as she re
called all her purchases.

  She’d known that setting up a business would be expensive, and she’d tried so hard to keep it under control. She’d always been so careful with her money. Until she’d set up Stellar, she’d taken pride in paying off her credit card every month just before the payment was due. When she and Jeannie were children, pocket money was rare. What little she’d been given she’d saved and spent carefully. As a teen, she’d been aware of trends and fashions, but she’d managed to get “the look” with a needle and thread and some ingenuity, adapting simple black t-shirts from chain stores and pouncing on “finds” at the markets when not on duty with Flame.

  A respect for money was one of the few things she and Damian shared. Both had single mothers, both moved school too often, and both grew up wanting a different kind of life.

  Early on, as they’d lain on a rumpled king bed high in a Hong Kong Hotel, he’d confided how much it hurt to be called a “pov” at school, how it compelled him to outdo the rich kids in every aspect of their coddled lives.

  “We’re the same, you and I,” he’d said, stroking her thigh as if it were the bonnet of a luxury car. “We understand each other, Stella. We’re meant to be together.”

  At the time, she’d been thrilled, until she realized Damian’s quest for money was ruthless and never ending, unlike her own. Stella’s dreams were more nebulous. At first she wanted Damian. She’d dreamt of their home, their children, time together that was rich and full, not snatched from an already too-full schedule. Simple things. Pancake breakfasts around a big round table in a big old house with a verandah. A house they would own, not rent, where their children would have roots.

  Damian had no time for such fantasies. He’d quickly move the talk on to the benefits of the latest BMW engine, or the possibility of skiing in Japan if they attended this conference or that.

  This debt! If only she hadn’t gone in too deep when she’d finally escaped him, escaped Exos. She’d been careful with her financial planning, as she was with everything to do with money. It was what had made her such a great office manager. The way she balanced Damian’s books and office stock and payroll so successfully had been a great source of pride for her. She’d wanted to please him in every way, and since he adored money, he’d been pleased, alright.