House of Diamonds

by Amber Jakeman

  To his astonishment, as he sipped the cool wine he found himself telling Stella all about Helene, the daughter of a family friend; how they’d invited each other to their end of school dances at their parents’ suggestion and had ended up at the same uni, studying different things, but running into each other often enough to be considered a couple. A few years later, they’d gone to so many friends’ engagement parties and weddings together, they’d been on the point of getting engaged themselves.

  By then his father had died and he’d taken on the business. At first Helene had been thrilled, but she’d shown no interest in retail and was jealous of all the time he’d had to devote to the business, learning all about payroll and supply chain, balancing the books and dealing with the employees and customers. The last straw had been when she’d finally realized he wasn’t just an heir who could go around spending a fortune on her.

  “Yep. Helene only wanted the good times. Turned around and targeted one of my old uni mates whose father owned a big freight company.”

  Stella carved some cheese for him, placing it on a biscuit and handing it across.

  “Broke your heart?”

  “Not really. I don’t reckon she had my heart in the first place, now I think about it. More like left it cold. There hadn’t been a lot of loving in our relationship. Not through thick and thin or anything. As I said, Helene was only there for the good times. Turns out there’s no shortage of company like that.”

  “Playboy,” she teased him with an edge of challenge, topping up his wine. She was beautiful in this late dusk, her curves emerging from the shadows, arms and shoulders bare, with that low cut top and the flash of scarf. Alluring.

  “It’s my brother Will who’s the big playboy. Not me. So go on,” he said, drawing up his knees and topping up her own glass. “Your turn. Do you always buy Margaret River wines for your beach picnics?”

  ...

  Stella took a sip. What question was he really asking? The view was mesmerizing as the last notes of twilight faded in the west, beyond the bridge. She usually felt sad as the final golds and pinks of the sunset drained away, but this evening, all the street lights, headlights and windows across the water sparkled like fairy lights, while the red and green channel markers created such a cheerful display, she was enchanted.

  “What was that?” They were both sitting now, leaning closer to each other as they shared the food. He’d been sincere with her. “Do you rescue a lot of women, James Huntley, the Third?”

  “Should I?”

  “I’m glad you rescued me.”

  “It was very difficult,” he smiled.

  “It was. What about your suit? I bet it shrank. You were wet through.”

  “There were compensations if I remember correctly.”

  “There were?” Was he talking about the “almost” kiss? It burned there between them. Maybe it hadn’t been an accident on his part after all.

  “You know there were.”

  “Maybe I’ve forgotten.”

  “I remember.”

  “Mmmm. Maybe you need to help me remember.”

  “Mmmm. Maybe.”

  So close already, she could sense his warmth in the cool night air, warmer still as they leaned in closer.

  His lips tasted every bit as good as the wine, and this time, there was no rain, no pain and no need to stop. Oh. In an instant, the stars, the sparkling surface of the water and the humming dusk were sucked into the vortex, as his hand came gently to her shoulder and brought her closer, and she wove her fingers into his hair, hand on his neck to kiss him more deeply, and one sweet moment became the next, as their bodies opened to each other, so alive, asking and responding.

  James, James, James. This man was delicious. More. She wanted more.

  Yes. But ... Something. What was it? Careful. She’d wanted to be careful. Not rush in as she’d done with Damian, to her lasting regret.

  “Wait,” she said, dizzy, breaking away.

  “Really?”

  “Really. Chocolate?”

  “Chocolate?”

  “Yes. They’re in here somewhere.” She burrowed in the basket, catching her breath. Yes. This was better. She needed to use her brain.

  “I need to ask you something, James.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Do you know Donna? Another stall holder. She sells hats and sarongs and things, past Fritz.”

  “Well, I’ve seen her there. Yes. I didn’t know her name. And I’ve never been on a beach picnic with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No. That’s good to hear. I was just... Well, Donna told me she heard something. About my stall. Heard someone might want to close me down.”

  “Go on...”

  “Well, can they do that? I’ve got a licence. Isn’t that a guarantee? I’ve paid a small fortune. I had to pay six months in advance. How can anyone shut me down? Don’t worry if you don’t know... I wondered if you might have heard something...”

  His dark silhouette was devastating. All she wanted to do was lean back in there again, and mend that broken kiss. But she did have to address this problem. Maybe he could help, and at the very least, it gave her a chance to collect herself again, not go to putty in the dark. Her body was protesting, quietly crying out for his.

  James sat up, touching the back of one hand to his lips.

  “Stella. The only way a stallholder can be shut down that I know of is if a competitor lodges a complaint.” He sounded serious.

  “But my only competitor is ...”

  He sat up on his haunches.

  “I haven’t launched a complaint against your business,” he said. “Did you think I did? Is that what all this was about? Is this why you came out with me tonight?” His voice was short, angry.

  “No. This was about thanking you for your help the day of the accident. What else would it be? But if you think I want Stellar to close, you’re wrong. I can’t afford to stop trading.”

  She began to pack up their picnic, snatching at the towel and shaking it.

  James stood silent, so she stooped and tossed the empty wine bottle back in the basket, hastily wrapping the cheese and standing tall to confront him again. Was he telling the truth? Or was he just like Damian, manipulating her for sex?

  The wine went to her head and she spoke out loud.

  “Huntleys tried to push me around since the very first day I opened my stall. You’ve always resented me being there. You’re forever putting your nose into my designs and telling me what I’m doing wrong, how I’m pricing myself too low or how I should be using mass production, but what gives you the right, James Huntley? What? From what I can see, Huntleys isn’t doing so well. You’re hardly in a position to tell me how to run my business.”

  James stood, still as a sentinel.

  “Is that what you think of me? Go on. Or have you quite finished?”

  She felt spent. She marvelled at his self control. She could sense his mood, a kind of black despair. She was torn. Ashamed. She’d said too much. Accused him of lying. Told him his business was failing. Now she wanted to comfort him, kiss him again, anything to stop this confrontation. She hated it. There. Sex. Men. Relationships. Fraught. Too hard. Wrong wrong wrong.

  And he’d just opened up to her about Helene. His familiar silhouette against the night sky was so controlled. It was all she could do not to go to him and put her arms around him. How she’d love to rewind the clock, unsay her words. Her body was crying out for his. She didn’t want to fight like this. She wanted to be back in his arms, not standing here awkwardly, their picnic feast in tatters between them, the magic of the night ripped apart by her words. But she couldn’t unsay them now. Wasn’t sure she wanted to. The prospect of her stall having to close horrified her. And if it had been Huntleys...

  “I’ll take you back.” His tone was terse, controlled. It was a monotone. Robotic. Devoid of emotion.

  “I didn’t mean that about your business,” she said. She wanted to rescue the situation i
f she could. It came out lame.

  “You’re right about my business, and that’s not the half of it,” he snapped.

  “You can tell me, James.”

  “Why would I tell you anything? You’re just like Helene. Only interested in the good times. And you’ve just told me you have no respect for my comments. You think I’m just a liar.”

  “That’s not true and it’s not fair.”

  “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. We’ll go now. You’ve taken me for dinner alright, Stella Rhys. And now I’ll take you back.”

  Chapter 18

  “Where am I taking you?” James ventured as the residential and office towers of Bondi Junction rose up. His voice was a monotone. No smile. He’d do the right thing and nothing more.

  The evening’s promise was ruined. It surprised him now much he missed their earlier, easy company. Acutely.

  “I’d appreciate a ride to my sister’s place, please, James.” Formal. Prim. Nothing more from her, either, then. “Randwick. Carrington Road, please.”

  He sprung around to the side of her car to let her out, standing well back, avoiding her eyes. There would be no kiss, such a loss. Like part of him was missing. He’d hoped for a different ending.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  If his body was still longing for hers, he ignored it, turning to the boot, retrieving the picnic basket. What had it all been about? Business?

  Their hands brushed as she took the basket, but she kept her eyes down.

  “Thanks,” she said again, but without a trace of warmth, as she opened the door, stepped inside and closed it.

  James was surprised at his disappointment as he drove away.

  He really thought he’d got over caring what women did or didn’t do in his company.

  Served him right for expecting something more of Stella. He’d hoped she might be different, but she even named it, the fact his business wasn’t doing all that well at the moment. So. She only cared about his money. Same as Helene. For all her free spirit, flat sandals and untamed hair, she was no different. Curse them all.

  As he accelerated out of Randwick and back to Bondi Junction, he couldn’t help noticing the balmy evening, the beauty of the brightest stars as they punched their way through the ambient light of the city streets.

  He could still feel Stella in his arms, her unruly hair brushing against him as they’d explored each other’s bodies in the soft seclusion of the shoreline. Despite himself, he shivered, clenched his teeth. She’d kept him wanting more alright, and why?

  Had she assumed he was trying to close her down? Had she used her body like a weapon, a bargaining chip? What a fool he’d been to stoop so low.

  If he’d just wanted sex, he knew how to find it any time. So what had he wanted from this evening? He’d wanted more. Respect maybe. Understanding. Acceptance. A soul mate, even. How high his hopes had been.

  He shook his head bitterly as he parked the car under his apartment, staring at the bland grey concrete that surrounded his life. He punched in the numbers of the ordinary elevator to his characterless penthouse.

  He poured himself a whisky and stood at his balcony, studying the dark water and city lights.

  He couldn’t bear to look back at his empty king-sized bed with its fresh sheets, and the silver champagne cooler he’d set up on the marble kitchen bench with so much hope, earlier in the day. It was a beauty, a gift from his mother the last time she returned from the south of France, a flea market find, the ultimate bachelor’s accessory.

  What had his mother said to him when she’d handed it across like some kind of trophy during her most recent visit? “Bon chance pour l’amour, mon fils.” Pretentious nonsense. She’d even had the gall to hint she was ready for grandchildren. Maybe if she stopped spending the family fortune on French antiques he’d have a hope of making the business boom and actually attract someone suitable.

  He fought with himself as Stella came to mind unbidden, with her bright eyes and sass, not to be pushed around. The smell of her, the whisper of her hair against his cheek, her smooth skin, the soft weight of her in his arms, like she belonged.

  Absentmindedly he picked up the cold, heavy cooler, testing its weight in his hands, the cold burning his fingers. Replacing it, he reached for the whisky and wandered over to the sliding doors, opening them to step out onto the balcony and stare at the night.

  Someone.

  Someone like Stella, so different to those shallow women he usually met, the fawning sycophants who targeted him for his name, and the spoilt ones he went to school with, always too self-obsessed to settle to anything, always off to the next best party.

  This Stella. Feminine yet firm. Direct. She had grit. Determination. He would never forget her eyes.

  Smart. Independent. Creative. Imaginative. Energetic. An ideas woman. Stella could do a lot more for Huntleys than provide his mother with the coveted grandchild.

  He swirled the whisky in the glass and downed it. The lights of the last ferry of the evening winked as it sauntered down Sydney Harbour.

  When he finally flopped onto his bed, he couldn’t stop his mind turning it all over and over. What had gone wrong?

  Stella had been worried about that comment she’d heard, about her stall having to close. Had she assumed Huntleys would do that to her? Had she suspected him? Had she tried to seduce him, to bribe him, to stop a potential closure? Was that all she’d thought of him, that he could be charmed and manipulated! Would she really use her body as a weapon?

  But why would she even think he’d want to close her down? Hadn’t he made it clear how much he admired her skills? He’d even taken inspiration from her designs. Oh. Maybe that had been part of the problem. But jewelers always did that. Like fashion designers. It worked both ways. She could be inspired by their designs, too. Maybe she didn’t realise that. She’d only been trading for a few months after all...

  ...

  Saturday morning James was wearing his sunglasses as he entered the mall, nursing a hangover, but not altogether despondent. He made for Stella’s stall, prepared to be friendly despite that lacklustre farewell the previous evening, but he was in for a surprise.

  There was no sign of her, nor of her jaunty diamante “back in 10 minutes” signs. No sign of her at all.

  Except for the day she’d been in hospital, every Thursday, Friday and Saturday since she’d opened, she’d been there. This morning though, even though it was almost 10am and the mall was full of shoppers, There was no sign of her, the standard stall empty and featureless without her flashing sign and glittering wares, without her bright personality. The mall was bland without her. This morning, especially, he’d had plans, things to tell her.

  Uncharacteristically rudderless, he wandered across to Fritz’s stall to enquire. Maybe he’d heard something. But no. Nothing. Fritz had just shrugged.

  Nicole was up in the staff room, humming to herself and checking the quality of her latest nail polish, pale brown.

  “There you are, Nic. Stay right there. We need to talk.”

  Unusually content, she glanced up at him and gave a little smile.

  “Good night, then?” he asked her.

  “Yeah. Surprised myself.”

  “Wanna tell me who? Is it who I think it is?”

  “Scottie.” Her smile was full now.

  “My old mate? Finally?”

  “The very one.”

  “Well, Scottie’ll be pleased. He’s had his eye on you since you were about thirteen.”

  “I know. He told me. Sweet.”

  “I remember you telling me he wasn’t exciting enough for you,” said James. “Something changed?”

  “Dunno. Sick of being treated badly, maybe. Thought I’d see what it’s like to be dated by someone who likes me for a change.”

  “Be gentle with him, Nic. Scottie doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. A genuine nice guy. Hate to see you hurt him.”

  “Yeah. Sweet. Divorced. We talked about all that. I’m sick
of it, too. People treating me badly. Sounds so simple really. We could just be nice to each other.”

  “You should,” said James, opening his laptop.

  “So, what about you? Hot date last night?” Nicole opened a packet of biscuits.

  “None of your business.”

  “Sure, James. Why don’t you just admit you’ve got the hots for her?”

  Jim came into the room behind them and switched on the electric kettle.

  “Nicole, my girl! James, my boy! Keep your voices down. You sound like bickering children. What’s this? What’s this?” Jim was making himself his usual 11am instant coffee, adding two heaped spoonfuls of sugar and stirring the brown liquid noisily against the edge of his sturdy old mug.

  “Just asking James about his date with Stella.”

  “Who?”

  “Stella from Stellar. Faux jewelry,” Nicole clarified. “You know, the stall down there with the brightly lit sign.”

  Jim moved to the window and peered down at the abandoned stall, nodding and turning back to them.

  “Stella. The bright one. Fresh ideas.” He turned and pinned his grandchildren with his blue eyes, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet as he sipped his sweet coffee.

  They stared back at him, as if they were being compared, accused of not being up to scratch. They weren’t the ones lacking in effort. What about Will, James wanted to say, but the comment would have sounded as childish as Jim had just suggested.

  “While you’re both here, I need to brief you,” said James. “On our latest figures. Scottie reckons we need fresh ideas fast.”

  “He was telling me the same thing,” said Nicole. “Well. Stella stole my best idea. Antoinette. Can’t say I’ve forgiven her, actually.”

  “I’ve met this Stella,” said Jim. “Met her. Yes. She brought in a customer for us. Brought in a repair, then rushed away before I could thank her. Isn’t she the one whose designs you got me to create in real gems, James? The one who came in again recently. Ended up buying one of her own designs, didn’t she? Isn’t that right, my boy?”

  James nodded, feeling churlish. Wished he’d convinced her to take it for nothing. Then remembered her coldness. He had to fix their misunderstanding. Surely that’s all it had been.