“‘jewelry wars’?” Stella snapped her head around, finally giving him her full attention.
“Yeah. Good one, eh? Bit of an exaggeration, maybe, but that’s why they pay me. I keep things interesting. See you.”
And he was gone, working his way back down the plaza on the hunt for more stories.
...
Neither Stella nor Ruben noticed they were being watched. From the third floor of Huntleys, James glanced down. He’d been helping clear away some of the empty champagne bottles and glasses, stacking them in the little staff kitchen on the side. There’d been a few old customers and some of the younger ones, Ruben and a fraction of the other media they’d invited. The turnout wasn’t as large as they’d hoped, even with Antoinette as the drawcard. Still. Events were like that. You never knew what would happen.
He’d often looked out this window at the weather, at a passing seagull or a lost balloon drifting into the sky past the towering new apartments, but rarely did he peer straight down like this, right into the mall.
He rested his hand on the window sill, tension tightening his grip. From here he could see exactly how their PR stunt went wrong. That new stall was in exactly the wrong place, smack bang in the path of the movie star. No wonder Antoinette stopped and took a look. She could barely have avoided it.
Even from here, the bright new stall was attractive, sparkling in the spring sunshine. What did she call herself? Stella? She was still busy.
And there was Ruben, James noticed, moving closer to the window. That man’s whole life was a newsreel. He was glad he’d turned up to interview Antoinette, like he’d said he would. That was something. Nicole would be pleased.
A bright bird flashed across the window, shrieking, then clung to the edge of the gutter, green tail feathers teetering. It squeezed itself into a hole in the eaves. Must remember to mention it to Jim. The building was falling apart.
Chapter 5
Sunlight flashed off Huntleys’ ornate door handles as they swung open. Out came Nicole in her mustard suit. She stared straight across at Stella, displeased, openly hostile. Stella recognized fury when she saw it. Nicole practically snarled.
Stella caught her breath as James emerged from behind Nicole, immaculately dressed in that perfect suit, carrying a big, black briefcase. Inscrutable. Those blue eyes. No smile for her this time. Not at all. They locked gazes, both lifting their chins, defiant. Well, if there was to be a challenge, she’d be up for it. This was the new Stella. She was immune to handsome men, men like James. Men like Damian. Besides, she’d done nothing wrong.
The couple disappeared around the corner, Nicole holding James’s arm tightly with one hand as she minced along in those high heels; and pointing her phone at Stella with the other, turning her head back to nod at Stella’s stall. Stella had the distinct impression Nicole was talking about her, and that the comment wasn’t pleasant. Who was Nicole, anyway? A supplier? An employee? Maybe James’s partner. They seemed pretty familiar with one another, unusually close for a boss and an employee, not that Stella had any great interest in James and his relationships. Why should she?
Surely they couldn’t think she’d deliberately snaffled Antoinette’s attention. And what could they possibly have against her? She wasn’t even competition. Her jewelry cost a fraction of the prices they’d be charging. They wouldn’t even attract the same customers, would they?
Huntleys was old money, old world, so Ruben said. Top line. They’d done very little to make their store welcoming for everyone - well, apart from their expensive publicity stunt - so why should they give her a hard time?
They could do with making their wares more obvious for window shoppers. Why didn’t they even have windows on the mall level? Were they worried that they’d be smashed and their jewels stolen? Or were they just marketing to the rich and famous? Was this a Sydney snob value thing? Did only certain people with a lot to spend venture inside?
The mall dragged her attention away from the mysterious Huntleys. There was the constant sound of traffic trundling along the cross street, and the passing parade of potential and actual customers. It was a fantastic meeting place, a brilliant location for her stall. Here were people of all ages and backgrounds. Some in a hurry, and others with all day to wander and browse, with or without a coffee, some with strollers and shopping bags of every kind.
It was thirsty work, selling jewelry. Stella couldn’t believe her early good fortune.
In the wake of the excitement of Antoinette’s appearance, the crowd was still primed to buy, and her stall was perfectly placed, all her goods celebrity endorsed. The new earrings almost sold out, along with everything else emerald green - the rosette chokers, brooches and rings. Everyone wanted a memento of the moment, their own Heist souvenir. She couldn’t have planned it better if she’d tried.
Flat out trading, she’d had no time to glance across to Huntleys again, nor even to wonder where the celebrity who’d blessed her stall with a touch of magic had gone.
Once school was out she even attracted a few browsers in their uniforms as they headed for the buses and trains. Two were meeting behind the little trees, having a flirt and trying out cigarettes, thinking they were invisible.
It was 4pm before the crowd thinned. By the time she looked up again, the red carpet had disappeared. Her stomach rumbled, her throat was parched - Fritz’s gift of a drink long gone - and her fingers fumbled with exhaustion.
So many sales! Elation and adrenaline kept her on her toes, trading faster than she ever dreamed possible, but now, she was tired. Worse, she needed to find a toilet.
Glancing up and down the mall to ensure no other customers were heading her way, Stella stacked her trays into her wheelie bag. Matt had been so helpful. His clever solar panel and ritzy LED-lined letters proclaimed her business name on both sides, Stellar, winking and blinking even in daylight.
She slipped her smart card reader into the bag with her cash takings, looped it over her shoulder and waved across at Fritz at the next stall, who gestured at his lineup of refrigerated bottles. When she nodded at the lemonade, Fritz had the top off and hissing before she got there.
A man of few words, Fritz was a stalwart of the mall, who knew its crowds and moods in every season. She’d met him the day she’d arrived, when she’d applied for the permit. Stella felt lucky to be stationed next to him. She held her hand to the wiggling nose of his old dog, Rex, who allowed her to pat his head, then dropped his greying snout back on his paws to snooze again.
“Heist, yah?” He winked at her and gave her a thumbs up, then stood and offered her his stool. She couldn’t be more grateful, sinking onto it like a deflated balloon.
“It wasn’t deliberate, Fritz. It all just happened. I’m practically out of stock. I’ll be busy all night bringing out replacements and giving them a good polish, ready to sell.”
“This is good, yah. First day.” Fritz also benefited from the media moments, drawing in five times his usual custom, he said.
“Couldn’t be better. Honestly, I had no idea. None at all.” Fritz's cold drink was delicious. The problem was, she needed a toilet. Quickly. When she asked Fritz, he pointed at Huntleys.
She raised her eyebrows. Surely not. Maybe Fritz hadn’t seen the altercation with James, that withering stare he’d given her after she’d stolen his media moment, and Nicole’s hostile gestures. Stella hadn’t planned to steal their show, but that’s what had happened. Yes. “jewelry wars.” Ruben Slavonicus had summed it up perfectly, unfortunately.
“Third floor,” he nodded.
Recalling James’s icy glare, she frowned.
“Really?”
“Closest restroom,” he nodded again.
Stella knew her other option was two blocks away, at the railway station. It was one of the reasons she could afford her location, at this end of the mall, far from such services.
Could she bear to face James’s hostility? Of course. This new Stella was strong, she told herself. She was perfectly
innocent, after all. She had every right to visit the famous jewelers, didn't she? Didn’t all retailers want potential customers? “Footfall?” In fact, hadn’t James just gone to great lengths to attract customers? He must have paid a small fortune for Antoinette’s appearance.
But her resolve wavered. Who was she kidding, thinking she could afford the kind of jewelry sold in Huntleys? The place reeked of wealth and power. Then again, her bag was bulging with cash and the card purchases had been even more lucrative. Maybe she was in the market for a diamond necklace after all, she realized with a burst of excitement. Sure, it wasn’t her real motive for entering those “you wish” doors, but it wasn’t a bad cover.
Stella stood and pushed back her shoulders, resolved. Fritz had already offered to keep an eye on her stall and takings, and she told him she’d gladly do the same for him in return. Anticipating the rush of energy from the drink to replenish her strength, she ran her tired fingers through her hair, then headed towards the Huntleys’ grand doors, adding her empty bottle to the recycling bin with a clunk on the way.
The heavy doors were intimidating. She placed her hand on one ornate brass handle, then hesitated. Turned. From here, her stall was so much smaller. Yes, the lit sign was bright and bold, but it was such a tiny venture, whimsical, more of a hope than an establishment. Too bad. This was what she was doing now. Damian, be damned! Making jewelry was her real passion, and she’d finally unleashed it.
Her sign flashed out in the sunshine, up in lights, solar powered and powerful.
Stellar. Dazzling. Excellent.
From here, though, she couldn’t help reconsidering her extraordinary morning. Hers was a standard stall, metal framed with canvas skirting, easily moved. Together, she and James could have pushed it along a bit, then brought it back, after Huntley’s stunt. Stella bit the side of her bottom lip. She had to admit she felt a tiny speck of shame at her reluctance to cooperate. Then again, what did she owe James?
I’m tired of simply complying with men and trying to please them just because they always expect it. Damian spoilt all of that. For good. I’m never going there again, demeaning myself for nothing, for years. Forget it.
Now, sheer urgency forced her to find that toilet.
When she pulled open the grand Huntleys door with its big, cold brass handle, she entered another world, a world of glowing wood, glass and gleaming brass. It was cool in there and dark, despite the shiny white marble floors. Behind more glass doors there was a gleam of old wooden and glass cabinets where she glimpsed jewels nestled in plush velvet.
With her stall waiting outside, browsing through the Huntley jewels would have to wait for another day. For all the pomp and hefty prices, the Huntleys offerings were probably not so different to her own, she reasoned - enticing trays of baubles to embellish people’s bodies.
She inhaled the faint smell of brasso and timber polish. Just being in this building, her hope for her own venture soared. If the Huntleys could trade for three generations, surely she could make it through the summer. Six months. That was the plan. Learn all she could about customers and trade, and build her online business, doing what she loved. What a start she was already making!
She headed straight for the grand old elevator, pressing the polished brass button with anticipation. It was so quiet in Huntleys, away from the bustle of the traffic and busy mall. A hush of air conditioning added to the atmosphere of comfort, subtle and expensive.
As she waited for the ancient elevator to rumble its way up from the basement, she smoothed her hands on her simple dress, anticipating the joy of washing them in a proper sink after handling all that cash. She was sticky from her hours of trade - couldn’t wait to freshen up to see how evening trade might turn out. She would stay till 7pm and catch the office crowd as they set off home, maybe even make some sales to people going out for dinner. She let her face relax. She’d been smiling with customers, helping them with their choices, enjoying their delight in her products, thrilled there’d been so much interest.
But now, no longer flat out dealing with the public, she noticed her muscles were aching. Elation had pulled her through, hour after busy hour, but now she was plain tired.
When the elevator doors finally opened, there was already someone inside - tall. It was that pale grey suit again, right there in front of her. James. He must have come back in again through a back door, or when she’d been busy with her customers. Awkward. Worse, the interior of the thing was fitted on all sides with bevelled mirrors. There were dozens of grey-suited men. Everywhere she looked, James stared back, scrutinizing her.
Well, so what? She lifted her chin and pulled back her shoulders, defiant. She had every right to be here, and nothing to hide.
He was studying her every detail, from her windswept hair to her flat leather sandals. With all those mirrors, her skin prickled as he took in her ankles, the compact shape of her, her hips and waist, the soft pull of the bodice of her cotton dress, the set of her neck and shoulders, straight, unyielding, even the beat of her pulse at her throat.
Two can play this game, she thought, as the elevator rose, oh so slowly. They were trapped inside. Together. Butterflies surged in her stomach.
She studied his hands, the long fingers, wondered whether he too made jewelry, or whether he only sold it. She remembered the lovely warmth of his hand from their handshake this morning. Her eyes sprang to his. Stella couldn’t believe their depths of blue. She wanted to decipher all those shifting thoughts.
“Stella,” he said. It wasn’t a friendly tone. More of an accusation. Possibly even a hiss.
“James,” she responded in the same tone, lifting her chin.
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” His voice was deep, mellifluous. In other circumstances she would have enjoyed sparking a longer conversation, just to hear him speak. It was a cultured voice. Well educated. That same half smile.
“Getting to know the neighbors?” she ventured. She didn’t want to confess the real reason.
“Really?”
This was way too close to be standing. James was far too attractive. Dangerous. She never, ever wanted to make that mistake again, of falling for someone so powerful, however gorgeous he might be.
Not. Going. There. Not noticing at all the slight wave in his hair, and the crinkles at the edges of his eyes, as if he smiled a lot. Nor the way he looked at her. Even so. She hadn’t crossed the country to fall right back into some kind of silly love trap again. It wasn’t what she needed right now. Far too distracting. She had a business to build, and it was off to a flying start. Why take her eye off the ball, even for an instant?
It was a slow old contraption. It stopped and opened at the next floor though no one was waiting. Here were more rows of glass cabinets, one or two black-clad salespeople, and a section in the corner where an old jeweler with a magnifying glass might be changing a watch battery or making a repair.
Otherwise, it was alarmingly quiet, given there’d been a function there earlier in the day. There was a whiff of ancient carpet and Stella glanced down. Royal blue, but it had clearly seen better days. Near the elevator, it had worn so thin the underlay showed.
As the doors took forever to close, she chanced a glance at James’s face in mirrored walls again. It was troubled, as if his thoughts reflect her own observations. Where were his customers?
Traces of worry etched the handsome face, and she felt a pang of empathy for him. Maybe inheriting a business wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, as Ruben Slavonicus had been saying. She could hardly bear the worry of employing herself, let alone take responsibility for employing others, week after week, year after year. And what must the upkeep on this place cost? Was James as invincible as he looked, she wondered.
The silence was excruciating. When the elevator doors finally closed again, she was more aware of him than ever, could feel him there, all six feet of him, could smell that expensive cologne. More worrying, he returned her scrutiny in the reflection, taking in her own face, sh
iny from the heat of the day, her too-bright eyes, intense with lack of sleep from working most of the night polishing and packing stock.
She was exhausted from selling, selling and selling all day. She placed them in her pockets, fingering her phone, wishing she’d taken the stairs, wishing to be anywhere but here.
It was the intensity of his attention, unstinting, yet giving nothing away. Hostile, not at all warm like the charm he’d tried on her this morning. So. What should she have expected? She’d refused to move her stall for him. Would it have hurt her to be more gracious? Why had she been so stubborn? This was just plain awkward.
When the doors opened on the next floor, he waited like a gentleman for her to step out first. Dignified, she headed straight for the privacy of the Ladies with a sigh of relief.
She entered the quaintly named Ladies Parlour immediately, grateful to Huntleys for providing it. Too bad James now knew her true reason for visiting his establishment. So be it.
Here, too, the age of the place was evident. There was one small sink and an ancient tap and the mirror was mottled with age. She’d imagined something grander. Did James ever notice how shabby it looked? Even the old chaise lounge was worn, long due for a re-cover. Not quite “shabby chic”- more forlorn. Despite the former grandeur of this original powder room, it could definitely do with an overhaul.
So could she. She frowned at her reflection, pushing her dark waves into place again, and splashing water onto her tired face. The water was refreshing. She ran it over her wrists and then held it in her palms, pressing her eyes again for a few moments with her fingertips, then drying her hands on her dress.
Relieved and reinvigorated, she stepped out, peering around at the third floor offerings, the VIP room, smaller than she would have imagined, but still with the grace and style of a respected establishment, if a little faded. Behind an old ornate screen there were some smaller rooms, perhaps an office and storerooms.
Inside the VIP room, large windows on two sides were flanked by velvet curtains, and there was gilded fretwork and a large chandelier reflected in the other two walls, hung with two enormous, gold-framed mirrors. Two pull-up banners featured the Huntley’s brand in gold copperplate, showcasing exquisite rings against a ruffled purple velvet backdrop. There was still the faint scent of expensive perfume and champagne.
House of Diamonds Page 5
