Dead Weight

by Kat Faitour

  He waited while she lifted the drape by one corner, carefully ensuring it didn’t snag on the canvas beneath. When she stepped back, he moved forward and closely examined the piece.

  It was breathtaking. Serene yet explosive. Calming yet disconcerting. A thousand neutrals were interrupted by one vividly red spot.

  He looked at Margaux, who waited expectantly.

  “Breathe.”

  She inhaled noisily. “Well?”

  “I love it.” He picked her up and spun her round. “You’re brilliant and talented and—”

  He loved her. He would have said so, except she grabbed his face and pulled him close to crush her lips against his in a devastating kiss that stole his breath.

  He smiled against her mouth. Words would come later.

  * * *

  Margaux cut into the homemade fennel sausage Thomas had prepared especially for her liking. Taking her first bite, she closed her eyes and savored the flavor.

  “My God. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  The old man beamed, obviously pleased.

  She took another bite, chewing slowly to better prolong her enjoyment. She groaned. “Well, this does it. I’ll have to start running if I’m to eat like this every day. I’ll gain a stone.”

  Thomas laughed. “You’re a born glutton, so don’t blame that on me. Besides, you don’t have a spare ounce of fat on you.”

  She forked another piece of sausage into her mouth, then rudely talked around it. “I will.” She smiled, uncaring in the least. “But keep it coming.”

  “Keep what coming?” Mason walked into the breakfast room, freshly showered and wearing dark jeans with a black, polo neck sweater.

  “Sit.” Margaux patted the seat next to her. When he was settled, she carried her fork—the tines stuffed with sausage—to his mouth. He obediently took it, his eyes going wide as the taste flooded his mouth.

  “Never, ever, EVER let that man go.” She gestured toward Thomas with the fork. He was fast turning an endearing shade of red. He quickly made his excuses, but she could still see his smile as he left the room.

  “You’re shameless. Flirting with an old man like that.” Mason snuck another piece of meat from her plate. He’d kept her fork. “Even Sherman is powerless around you.”

  She laughed. “Sherman has the soul of a Basset Hound. He couldn’t resist a flea.”

  A bell pealed somewhere in the house. Margaux turned to Mason. “Is that a doorbell?”

  “Kind of,” he said. “It’s the buzzer to one of the back entrances to the estate.” His brow wrinkled, and he straightened. “Only friends and those familiar to me and Thomas use them.”

  “Do you want to go see who it is?” Margaux could tell he was perplexed. The visitor was obviously unexpected.

  Mason made a visible effort to relax in his seat. “No, it’s okay. Thomas will see to whomever it is.” He reached for the carafe of coffee and filled his cup then topped of Margaux’s. She busied herself with stirring in some cream while wondering who would come visiting Mason so early on a Saturday morning.

  Her curiosity was partially satisfied when a striking young woman walked into the room, wearing riding jodhpurs, boots, and a crisp white button-down. Jet-black hair streamed down her back, straight as a pin. Her eyes were wide-set, their dark irises emphasized by sooty lashes that were almost too thick and luxurious for Margaux to think them real.

  She was stunning.

  Mason rose, his chair clattering back across the tiled floor. “Noor,” he said, surprised.

  The woman strode to the table and embraced Mason before looking pointedly at Margaux. The other woman’s gaze fastened on Margaux’s, as if holding her in place. Margaux had the odd sensation she was being inspected, and possibly found wanting.

  But no, there was no judgment in the woman’s eyes. Only an inquiring regard coupled with resigned acceptance. And suddenly, Margaux wondered if the woman was Mason’s mistress. Or had been at one time.

  She broke eye contact to observe Mason instead. But if there was any sign he knew the other woman intimately, he hid it well. Very well. In fact, though there was a distinct familiarity between the two, she’d guess his expression to be brotherly rather than loverly.

  Hmm.

  Well, there was only one thing for it. Never one to shy from a potentially clumsy situation, Margaux held out her hand to introduce herself.

  “Margaux Taylor.” She was pleased to find the other woman’s handshake slightly limp. Insubstantial, really.

  Margaux took heart.

  They were adults, after all. And whether this woman and Mason had once been lovers was none of her business.

  If the idea of that gnawed at her stomach, then she would simply ignore the hole it left behind.

  Because she also had a past. And she would be civilized, even if it killed her.

  “Noor Sanchez.”

  Mason performed the introduction. An unspoken question seemed to pass between the other two before he gallantly pulled out a chair at the small table so she could be seated.

  “Coffee? Breakfast?”

  The woman named Noor shook her head. The name suited her. Different and slightly exotic. Mysterious, like her eyes.

  Margaux might have to hate her.

  “No, I’m just here to visit the horses. It’s been weeks.” She smiled as Thomas entered the room, bringing a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Thank you, Thomas. You didn’t have to go to any trouble.”

  “It’s never any trouble.”

  At this point, Mason was starting to fidget, clearly uncomfortable. And Margaux was feeling more and more as though she’d tumbled down a rabbit hole.

  Who was this woman, and what was she to Mason?

  In the beginning, he’d assured her he was single. Uninvolved. And Margaux believed him. With quick insight, she decided she still did.

  His phone vibrated, moving across the glass tabletop where it lay facedown. Mason picked it up to check who was calling then frowned ferociously.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s important I take this.”

  “Fine.” Agreement shot from both women. Mason looked from one to the other. But he addressed Noor.

  “You’ll be okay here?”

  She smiled, serenely unconcerned with whatever bothered him. “We’ll be fine.” She waved him away. “Take your call.”

  He strode away, answering the call before he’d left the room.

  Margaux looked at Noor. Noor looked at Margaux.

  “It’s not what you think.” A shot, straight across the bow. But without malice.

  Margaux pursed her lips. “You don’t know what I think.”

  “Mason and I have known each other since we were children. Like the rest of us.” Margaux had no idea who she meant but kept quiet. “And he’s always been like a big brother to me. Now we’re partners.”

  “Partners?”

  “The business, the lab. We work together.” Her laugh tinkled out, the sound grating against Margaux’s nerves. “All of us do.”

  Again, Margaux ignored her vague references to others and singled in on the woman in front of her.

  “I’m sorry, what is it you do?”

  Noor laid a hand on her chest. “No, I’m the one that’s sorry. I assumed he told you about me. And I know you met Hope and Cullen.”

  Finally, something Margaux could grasp.

  “Yes,” she exclaimed. “Their work is fabulous. I’m happy to have them processing my latest batch of stones.”

  Noor smiled, her face open and friendly. “And I’m the appraiser. If needed, I can assist with auctioning them as well, but obviously that’s up to you.”

  Margaux exhaled, relief making her euphoric. “Of course. It never occurred to me to ask who would be doing the assessment.”

  “I think you’ll be tremendously pleased. Obviously, you’ll do your own evaluation, but the lot is impressive. And the one, well, it’s incredible. It’s so rare to find a colorless, internally flawless diamond o
f that size. I can’t wait to see what it fetches at auction. And the cut,” she sighed. “The emerald cut is perfection. Nothing else would do for a stone of that quality.”

  “You’ve seen it? It’s finished?” Margaux’s mouth was dry, her pulse racing. She’d known the rough was exceptional. She’d known it.

  Noor laughed again, and Margaux decided the sound wasn’t irritating at all but rather melodic, like wind chimes in a breeze. “I’ve seen them all. My appraisal is nearly complete.”

  A choked cough brought both women’s heads swinging to the doorway into the room. Mason stood there, slightly swaying. He was pale and sweaty, like he’d seen a ghost.

  Margaux rushed over. “Are you okay? Why don’t you sit down?” She didn’t give him a choice, just pushed him into a chair.

  “I’m fine.”

  Another chime rang through the house, this one louder.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s like a zoo around here.” Mason’s color was returning and with it, his irritability.

  Margaux pressed on his arm to keep him in place. “Stay here, I’ll find Thomas.”

  But Thomas was there, walking into the breakfast room with a stranger at his side.

  Wait, not a stranger. “Julian?” Margaux’s voice was strained.

  Julian looked terrible. His face was gaunt, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. His normal tanned athleticism had been replaced by frailty and pallor.

  “What’s happened?”

  A heavy weight seemed to have settled onto Margaux’s chest, robbing her of the ability to breathe. Suddenly, she wanted to run, to hide from whatever Julian had come to say.

  But it was too late.

  “It’s Andrew.” His breath caught, and he swallowed hard. “He died yesterday morning.”

  Chapter 8

  It had been a week since Margaux saw Julian. He’d asked for time and space, the opportunity to find peace after his prolonged bedside vigil with Andrew.

  In hindsight, she could see it had been too much. Guilt gnawed her conscience, for she knew she’d asked of Julian what she herself could not do. And he’d paid the price.

  She turned right on a side street and continued her way into Ballard Garden, a massive, permanent art installation in the midst of Antwerp. The name was misleading, for rather than a park with flowers and green space, it was a bleak and desolate landscape. Weathered concrete, recycled trash, and structures made to look abandoned contributed to a setting with the appearance of a futuristic dystopia.

  Walking by a drained, blue-painted pool gave Margaux the chills. There were no benches, no places to rest. But Julian loved it here, and he’d asked that she meet him.

  Echoing footsteps alerted her to his arrival.

  In the moments it took for him to reach her, she assessed his appearance. He’d regained some of his color, but his clothing still hung on his frame, and his hair was overgrown.

  Dark circles smudged the skin underneath his eyes. And there were lines alongside his mouth that hadn’t been there before.

  She met him halfway and took him into her arms. Margaux poured every ounce of affection she felt for Julian into her embrace. She was stricken and ashamed at the way she’d treated her assistant. She’d ignored his requests to leave and ordered him to remain in Johannesburg as her representative. And really, there’d been nothing he could do. Nothing except listen to the daily recriminations and accusations of Andrew’s family. And to watch the other man die.

  Julian stood stiffly within her arms, and after a few seconds, he firmly put her away from him.

  “Let’s walk.”

  Normally, she would have linked her arm through his. Instead, they walked side by side, with a respectable distance between them. Overhead, the overcast sky blended seamlessly into the gray concrete that surrounded them on all sides. A chill wind whipped around the corners, further contributing to the dull depression of the place.

  Margaux had no idea why Julian loved it here. But that wasn’t the point, so she pulled on thin, leather gloves and kept quiet. Julian seemed content to walk for the time being. And no matter how eager she was to smooth things between them, she allowed him his silence. She owed him whatever he needed.

  “Did you know Andrew was married? And had a newborn son?”

  Her head jerked. “No.”

  Julian smirked. “I doubted you would.”

  She swallowed the hurt his comment caused. “When is the funeral?”

  He stopped walking. “It was yesterday.” Ignoring Margaux’s gasp, he added, “It doesn’t matter, you know. You weren’t welcome. None of us were.”

  Julian turned to face her. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh. But it was hard, Margaux, to watch them. And I can’t say I blame them for being angry. He was young and loved. He didn’t need to die.”

  It was an odd way to phrase it, but Margaux understood. She nodded. “I’m sorry, Julian. It seems I’ve let everyone down lately.”

  She shivered and tied her scarf more snugly around her neck. It was true, what she said.

  Except for Mason. She thought of the pleasure in his face when he saw her. Even his horses, unwanted and rescued on their way to slaughter, greeted her with delight. And Thomas, who loved to tease but spoiled her rotten.

  When she least expected it, Mason had brought joy to her life. And she’d like to think she’d done the same for him.

  Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face. Julian’s mouth twisted. Margaux knew she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say.

  “While I was still in South Africa, I had so much time. I started doing some checking on your friend.”

  “My friend?”

  “Mason Graff. I thought it was the least I could do since you handed him your diamonds and hired his team.” Julian’s tone told her what he thought of her actions. “I tried to tell you before, but you wouldn’t listen. I’d like for you to hear me out now.”

  Considering what he’d been through, Margaux couldn’t deny such a simple request. But dread settled heavy in her stomach.

  “Did you know he grew up in Johannesburg?”

  Margaux found herself taking a step back. “I did. Yes.”

  “And did you know his father worked for one of the big diamond companies as a geologist? And that he was killed when one of the mines collapsed?”

  A plane buzzed overhead. Water lapped the edges of the concrete where they walked. It reminded her of a shallow pond with a dock. Nearby, the actual pool, painted a garish shade of electric blue, remained empty and stained by mildew.

  Margaux started walking again, determined to carry herself out of this place. Julian might like it, but she didn’t. And no matter how upset he was with her, she still counted. She was a human being, with faults and flaws and feelings. Yes, she’d made mistakes. But that didn’t give Julian—or anyone else—the right to trample her.

  She glanced sideways to see he’d moved along with her. “I know all that, Julian. Mason told me about his father before we’d ever left South Africa.”

  Julian seemed to hesitate, then kept walking.

  “Okay. And what about the rest of them?”

  Margaux was reminded of the frustrating exchange with Noor. Why was everyone around her determined to speak in riddles?

  “The rest of who?” Margaux rubbed her temple, where the beginnings of a headache had taken root. They’d reached the edge of Ballard Garden. Margaux walked under the giant, arching exit, relieved to be out of the art installation.

  The sun still hid behind piles of dark gray clouds, but Margaux swore it was immediately brighter.

  She plopped on a bench and draped one arm along its back as she waited for Julian to join her. Once he was settled, she asked, “Why don’t you say what’s on your mind?” She knew her tone was blunt but didn’t care. She’d grown impatient. “Come on. Out with it.”

  He stared, a glimmer in his bright-blue eyes.

  “All right,” he agreed. “You turned your diamonds over to Mason’s team. I beli
eve their names are Hope Junot and Cullen Callahan.”

  “Yes, yes.” Margaux was growing more and more tense. Julian wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. “And Noor. Hope and Cullen do the cuts and polishing. Noor Sanchez is an appraiser and trader.”

  “Ah yes, the teacher’s daughter.”

  Margaux cocked her head and waited. “You see, Margaux, they all grew up together. They’re not mere employees to Mason. In fact, it looks like they’re all equal share owners in his business.”

  “Okay.” She drew out the word, thinking. The fact they were business associates rather than employees was no surprise. Noor had said as much a week ago. The other woman had also indicated they’d known each other a long time. Since they were kids.

  With the arrival of Julian and the news of Andrew’s death, Margaux hadn’t really had time to think on it since. But did any of it matter?

  “Julian, I really don’t see—”

  “Margaux,” he grated, interrupting her. “They’ve known each other since childhood. They went to the same boarding school. Now they work together in the diamond manufacturing business. Only I think they do much more than that, not all of it legal. Like some sort of cabal.”

  Margaux snorted. Julian clearly needed more rest. “Hardly, Jules.” She slipped into using her old nickname for him. “There’s no cover up, no indication of misbehavior. Conspiracy theories are unnecessary.”

  “What if I told you their parents worked for diamond mining companies, in varying capacities?”

  Margaux was growing impatient. “So?” She rose, tightening the belt of her jacket. “Honestly, this is hardly groundbreaking news. Half the inhabitants of Johannesburg probably work for diamond companies.” She examined Julian, the man who’d been her assistant and friend for more years than she wanted to count.

  It was fairly true that all good things came to an end. And it might be past time for them to move on from each other. Not until Julian was recovered and whole, of course. She wouldn’t suggest he leave before then. But after.

  She patted his arm then pressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You need rest, Jules. And relaxation. I want you to take a long vacation. As long as you need.”