She was in a dream. “That one,” she said.
James extracted a key from his breast pocket. “Allow me,” he said, unlocking the cabinet. From beneath it, he pulled out a swathe of black velvet, laying it gently on the counter top, as if he’d done this countless times. He’d probably been helping out since he was a child, she reasoned. Maybe he’d done this every school holiday and every trading Saturday and every other day of his life. His hands were so smooth, so clean. He wasn’t the jeweler, that was for sure. The manager. The owner.
Was he taking extra care for her, or did every customer receive this special treatment?
Gently, he lifted out the dancing blue piece and placed it on the velvet in front of her, then waited, hands behind his back so nothing distracted from the beauty of the piece itself, waiting there to be claimed.
She gazed at it there between them, mesmerising, this thing of her own imagination, more beautiful even than she envisaged it could be.
She put down her heavy bag of cash beside it, then stooped to place it between her feet on the floor. On the counter, the object was still there, James behind it, his face inscrutable.
“This is very beautiful,” she said, picking it up and twisting it backwards and forwards in the light, watching it shoot sharp sparks from every facet.
“It’s a new...”
“... my design,” she cut him off, her voice every bit as sharp as the platinum setting. But something was different at the back of it. Her tension dissipated as she explored it. She was intrigued. It had a tiny clip. Ingenious. The piece could be worn as a pendant, a choker, or even a brooch.
“Oh. This is clever. Who ...? How?”
“Jim’s the goldsmith. I’ll introduce you.” James gestured, and Jim prepared to come across, slowly removing his magnifying headset and apron and pulling on a formal jacket.
“Your design skills are excellent, Stella,” James said. “I was going to show you this display, but it’s not quite complete. Jim’s been working on creating some rings to match. Rings are his specialty. Jim, this is Stella, from the mall.”
“I believe we’ve already met.” Jim’s blue eyes sparkled as he took Stella’s small hand in his own, strong and gnarled with a lifetime’s work. “You brought in the lady with the broken locket. So, it is you. You’re the one whose work James brought to me? The one with the earrings Antoinette loved so much? James is right. You, my dear, are extremely talented. I don’t say this to many people, but I haven’t had such joy creating a set for many, many years.”
“But ... but...,” Part of her was horrified. Furious. Fighting for control. But part was proud. Amazed. She couldn’t attack Jim, such a gentleman, so sincere in his praise. She would have to save her fury for Mr Perfect. “I’m honoured. Thank you, Jim.”
“Don’t thank me, my dear. You’re the one who deserves all the thanks. Stirred us all up with your shop in the mall. Stellar. Clever. Yes. Very clever.” He took a breath. “Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must finish this repair by lunch time.” And he took her hand again, as if he were going to kiss it. He bowed instead and returned to his counter.
Disoriented, she turned back to James.
“Don’t get me wrong, James. It’s very flattering. But can you really just copy my designs like this? Isn’t this breaching copyright?”
He drew back, defensive.
“jewelers have been gaining inspiration from each other since the dawn of time, Stella. You’ll find your own ideas have stemmed from others. There’s rarely anything so original it can’t be traced back to someone else’s work, to another design era or culture. The human body remains roughly the same, as do the ways we adorn it. And as you see, Jim’s made a few changes, due to the different properties of the materials, and to use some of the gems we had in stock.”
“So...” It bristled to be buying her own design. Shouldn’t she be using every cent to pay down her debt? But how she wanted that little choker! Couldn’t put it down. It would be perfect for Jeannie. She’d adore the fact it was a proper jewel - something of true value, that would last forever. And the fact it was based on her own design made pride surge up through her from her toes to her fingertips. She stood taller.
“So, how much is this?”
“Be my guest. Take it. You must have this one.”
Stella was angry now. She wouldn’t let herself be patronized. James Huntley, with his manners and his class... Did he think she was a charity case? She’d been treated that way before. School mothers taking pity on her when she and Jeannie and Flame rolled into town, so obviously lacking in normal things, like black lace-up shoes. Jeannie never minded when a friend handed over something spare, but Stella always found it awkward. For a moment she remembered how relieved and grown up she’d felt when she received her first regular pay cheques and could finally pay her own way. There was so much to be said for holding down a real job, whatever the limitations. Her wage was lifeblood to her, a reassurance she was valued, and an insurance for all the days ahead. The Exos letter inviting her back still weighed heavily on her mind. Every day she wondered whether she shouldn’t just go back, face up to Damian with all his imperfections, clear her debt and recalibrate her future.
No.
There it was again, that tug of independence, the voice inside her urging her to have the courage to forge her own way. Maybe there was more of Flame in her than she realized, that call of the wild, the winds from afar that fed her dreams of a more creative life. She had her pride.
James stood as she turned the jewel over and over in her hands. Her voice was quiet.
“You think I can’t afford it. You’ve told me already. You think I’m going broke.” Her contempt for him could not be greater, her voice ice. Even if he was right, she was over being treated like the poor girl. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to shop in a place like Huntleys?
“No...”
“I asked, ‘how much is this one?’ Don’t you want a sale?”
“It’s retailing for $1,199, but for you, Miss Rhys...”
“I’ll buy it.”
She stooped and lifted her bag again. She brought out a few notes from the day’s sales, a few 20s stacked like slices of smoked salmon. That way she would only be putting a few hundred on her credit card.
She counted them out in front of him, and handed them over, seeing again all her eager customers, and all those days and nights out west working like a madwoman creating stock until her fingers ached and eyes watered. It was a small fortune. But she wouldn’t accept his charity. He was just a merchant after all. She was a designer, a creator. He’d said so himself. She might have an insurmountable debt but otherwise, she was free as a bird, living her dream. She stared at him till he dropped his gaze.
“Well then, Stella. Would you like it gift wrapped?”
“I would.”
He had the grace not to recount the money in front of her. He brought out a leather case and nestled the jewel inside it slowly, as if it were priceless, immeasurably beautiful. And it was. To Stella. She was thrilled to imagine how Jeannie would react when she opened it.
He brought out tissue paper, finely watermarked with the age-old Huntley’s H insignia, then he placed it in a paper gift bag, shiny black, with the gold H on two sides, and handles of rounded gold trim.
Although there were a few normal cash registers, James rang up this part of the sale on an old cash register, expertly tugging the crank and working the levers, till the tray shot out with a bang and the dinging of a tiny, tiny bell. He hand wrote a receipt in a book with carbon paper, placing it inside the bag.
Their fingers touched with a zing and their eyes caught again as he handed it all across to her. A grandfather clock clicked.
What did she see behind his eyes? Audacity? Shame? Remorse? Pity? Pride? There was no question the display looked brilliant. Was he pleading with her? Was he measuring her naivety? Did he really think he could steal her design with no consequence? Was Huntleys so desperate for fresh ideas th
ey had to copy the works of a street seller?
What might he be seeing in her own eyes? Pride? Contempt? Fury? Confusion? Triumph? Satisfaction?
She held his gaze, trying to fathom it.
“I believe in ‘win win’ transactions, Stella,” he said, breaking their stalemate.
“Do you, James Huntley ... the Third?”
What must it be like to grow up rich, she wondered. To inherit a whole business, functioning if not thriving. To own a multistorey building and all its contents, not just the use of a few square metres for a few months?
“You underrate your talents, Stella,” he said. “You’re underselling yourself out there in the mall.”
She was silent, astonished.
“Your designs are outstanding. Fresh. Every one of them. Did you design this piece?” he gestured at her neck, and she felt the warmth of him, so close, the almost-touch of his hands on her decolletage in the still air of the showroom. She held her own fingers to her necklace, remembering the piece, the faux sapphires and pearls, interspaced with chain.
What was this? It felt good, but dangerous. It felt like seduction. Was he flirting with her? Weren’t he and Nicole an item? The last thing she wanted was another affair. She closed her eyes, clenched her fists.
“A bit late for flattery, don’t you think?” Her voice was low, quiet, controlled, each word a barb. “How dare you steal my designs!”
He stepped backwards, withdrawing his hands. “I thought you’d be pleased. Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. Besides. This is actually an ancient design. Not yours at all. And you’ll see we’ve made modifications. Improvements. There’s no copyright issue, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She turned on her heel and marched out, her footsteps echoing across the checkerboard floor.
...
BACK AT HER STALL, Stella wondered what she’d done. $1,199! With all her debt!
But every time she thought of the piece, she was thrilled. She knew she’d bought something she truly treasured, so she knew Jeannie would adore it too. On the other hand, the money had all gone to Huntleys, while her own debt had grown considerably. She shook her head at herself, at her pride. She felt ill.
Stella’s phone rang, interrupting her reverie. An unidentified number. Normally she ignored those calls, but she thought it might be the police. Maybe they’d found her bag!
“Did you get my offer?”
Stella was speechless. She knew that voice. Too well.
“We need you back. Exos needs you.”
“I ...”
“And you need us.” Had Damian been stalking her? Social media was like that. You never knew who was watching.
“How did... You didn’t arrange that robbery did you? Damian?”
“You were good here with us. You were meant for this role. The team misses you.”
“I ...”
“Come back to us, Stella. That bonus. We’re doubling it. For you. $50k.” Silence.
She could imagine him waiting, eyes hooded.
“You can’t just ...” Bile rose in the back of her throat. He might not know about her credit card debt, but he would know that most sole traders struggled in their first year or two, and that many collapsed. How dare he tempt her like this! Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Suddenly she guessed. It might have been that little chat she’d had with the office assistant just before she’d left.
“She won’t sleep with you, will she? Lexie.” She spat it out, lips tight with hate.
Damian stayed silent.
“I want the money, Damian, but I don’t want you.”
“Don’t be so quick to decide,” he said. Conciliatory. “Maybe you do still need us, need me.”
“Never. Not any more.”
“Come on. We belong together, you and I, Stella. We’re two of a kind. Remember? I remember. So. How’s your little business?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Keep it as a hobby. That’s my advice. Shame about the robbery. Not easy, is it, being in business? Now you’ve tried it, got it out of your system, you can come back to your real career. Office manager. You were good at it. Excellent. The best. I know you miss it.”
“I don’t miss it. And I don’t miss you.”
She hadn’t meant to even answer. Why couldn’t she just hang up? She wasn’t done with Damian after all. She wanted him to know the depth of her contempt for him.
“How’s your new PA, Damian?” She regretted her question the moment it was out of her mouth. She should have shut down this conversation before it even began, but she wanted to shame him, to lash out at him somehow, excoriate him with the depth of her hatred.
“Fine. Perth’s fine. The office. We miss you.”
“Well, I’m fine, too,” she lied. Her finances were far from it. Her burgeoning debt made her reel. “I don’t miss Exos. Nor you. At all.”
“Think about what you’re saying, Stella. We had something special, you and I. Offer’s still there. In fact, I’m prepared to more than double it. $50k. And the payrise. And that title. Office Director. But it won’t be forever. Come back now and you could hit the ground running. Big conference in California coming up shortly. You’d love it. But that’s my final offer. Think about it.”
“This is about your damned pride, Damian!” she said. But he’d already hung up. She felt sick. What Damian hated most was losing a deal. Why couldn’t he just accept he’d lost her?
Bastard. When they’d first met, back in the days she’d just left school and was temping where he was working, she’d once confessed to him her childhood dream of going to Disneyland. Did he think she was still that young, still that shallow? Was she really that impressed by money and the things it could buy? Not any more.
Her fingers were white on her phone, tight with anger. She’d been so dazzled by him back then, so grateful he’d even stop to talk to her. He’d been reeling her in even then, with his talk of their similar childhoods. Had her own poverty been so obvious? He’d had a sheen about him, of the up and coming go getter. How proud he’d been of his first Rolex - so not about telling the time.
“We’ll go places, you and I,” he’d said to her once, leaning his forearm on her desk so she’d notice it. He’d worn it like a talisman, as if it made him better than all the other middle managers, gave him the confidence to hand pick his future slaves and then never set them free. $50,000. Did he actually think she was for sale? Was she? Maybe... The idea disgusted her.
Stella was so preoccupied she hadn’t paid close enough attention to a group of school girls who’d been admiring her stock. They’d turned their backs and were already at the other end of the mall when she noticed three of her rings were missing. She clutched the edge of her counter, furious. What a day. What was the saying? Caveat emptor? Buyer beware? More like “seller beware.” She wasn’t going to tell Damian about it, that was for sure.
Even when she’d hung up on Damian she could still picture his superior expression. He might like to make her think he understood everything about her and always knew best, but she was wise to that now. She shoved her phone down onto her counter as if it was red hot. Maybe it was. Damian knew his offer was tempting her. Bonus? Bribe more like. Money for sex. Money for slavery. Money to tempt a girl who’d grown up with so little of it she was still in awe of its power.
Not the best of days. And when she arrived home, another credit card statement was waiting for her on her bed that evening. Imagining little Lucy delivering it there for her softened her rage. She tiptoed in to see the girls that night, stayed and smelled their washing powder fragrance, listened to their soft snores, gradually calming herself down.
Chapter 13
As if to echo her mood, a southerly swept in overnight. Unwelcome. Bitter.
Worried about her finances, Stella was up all hours polishing her dwindling stocks and trying to make a few more of the simpler things, some twisted wire pendants of
celtic knots, quick but effective, and reasonably lucrative. And replace those alphabet rings the schoolgirls found so attractive, and make a few more. Who knew. Maybe those girls would start a trend, increase demand for her special rings. She might as well think positive. At least they’d wanted her work.
Her makeshift workbench was in Jeannie and Matt’s cramped garage. Matt had rigged up some bright lighting. She hadn’t noticed the time - well past midnight. Her neck ached from working such long hours. All the while, unbidden, memories of Damian kept resurfacing.
When she’d finally got to bed, eyes streaming from exhaustion, her mind was roiling, the dread of her credit card debt making sleep impossible. What was she doing with her life? Had working with Exos really been so bad? Maybe if she just went back to Perth for the three months, banked the bonus, and then worked strictly 9 to 5, building up more stock after hours, she could return to Sydney again and make it all work.
No. All that was over, and good riddance. What she needed to think about was making more stock, selling more stock. Paying off her debt. Create. Sell. Survive.
She rose and went to the kitchen for a drink of water, passing the girls’ bedroom and listening again to their quiet noises of simple, untroubled slumber. If she hadn’t come east to chase her dreams, she never would have been able to spend so much time with them, never would have witnessed Lucy’s joy toddling up to her in the mornings with a book for them to read together. And little Sienna’s gummy smiles melted her heart every time.
She was loved in different ways here in Sydney, in healthy ways that left her free to be herself and live her own destiny, however challenging that was proving to be.
The fridge was full of chicken wings. Of course! Jeannie’s birthday party was on Saturday. She pulled out a mixing bowl. She’d make that cake for her with cinnamon and instant coffee between the layers. It was easier to slice if it was made a couple of days ahead.
...
A darker dawn than usual fooled her body clock.
Half asleep from only a few hours of sleep, Stella rushed and fumbled through her routine. She’d grabbed the first thing at hand, a summer frock from earlier in the week. There’d been no time to eat breakfast, let alone hear the weather report or check her weather app.
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