Emma Darcy: The Pleasure King's Bride

Vikki Chan would never say how old she was. Probably in her eighties, Jared guessed, though still incredibly spry and full of a zest for life. She’d be on the telephone right now to her seafood supplier, demanding the very best and threatening terrible fates if it wasn’t delivered. The pencil she invariably poked through the bun that kept her scraggly grey hair under tight control would be down in her hand, making notes no one else could read.

Chinese, she said, but Jared had learnt to speak and read Chinese proficiently and he could never decipher what she wrote. It gave Vikki an enormously smug pleasure to keep her little secrets, while worming out everyone else’s. Though not even she had managed to learn anything about Christabel beyond what Jared had learnt himself.

Which wasn’t much.

She knew Amsterdam. A conversation on diamonds had dropped that fact. Singapore was another piece of the jigsaw, perhaps simply a stopover on her way to Australia. Wherever she had learnt it, she had an extensive knowledge of jewellery and a keen appreciation of how it was valued.

He parked the car in Carnarvon Street, crossed the road to Cocos Ice Cream Parlour, bought two individual tubs of chocolate chip for good measure since Christabel might like it, too, plus several cones in case licking was preferred to spooning.

From there it was a short drive up to the bluff where the old Picard home overlooked Roebuck Bay. Prime position, Jared always thought appreciatively, though the house itself was not a particularly impressive place, just a big, rather ramshackle wooden building, surrounded on three sides by wide verandas that could be shuttered against inclement weather.

Still, it held a lot of history for his mother and it was large enough to accommodate the whole family with space to spare whenever his brothers came to Broome. Tonight it was going to accommodate Christabel Valdez and her daughter, for as long as they were willing to stay. As long as he could make it , Jared privately vowed as he headed inside to the kitchen with the ice-cream supplies.

Vikki was chopping vegetables at her workbench. “Everything okay?” he asked, crossing to the freezer.

“Of course.” She eyed him critically. “You look very hot, shirt sticking to your back. You need a shower and a shave.”

Having put the ice-cream away, he placed the cones on the bench and shot Vikki a teasing grin. “I think I can remember to brush my teeth.”

Unabashed, she returned an arch look. “That cologne you have...it is very nice. Definitely a subtle come-on.”

“I’m glad you approve my choice. Been sniffing it, have you?”

She humphed. “You need all the help you can get to make the most of this night.”

“Not artificial help. It won’t impress Christabel one bit. Nothing has...not who I am or what I am or any material advantages she could get from me.”

“Maybe...maybe not. I’m thinking a clever woman doles out a long rope for a man to hang himself with. You are a prize, Jared, and it occurs to me no other woman has ever tied you up this firmly.”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t see me as a prize. That’s not where it’s at.”

She raised derisive eyes. “The executive head of Picard Pearls? A man with his own custom-fitted Learjet? One of the Kings of the Kimberly?”

“It’s all irrelevant to her. I’d know if it wasn’t. I’m not a fool, Vikki.”

“Men in love can be blind.”

“Not that blind.”

There was a loud rap on the back door. “Ah, the prawns and the fish!” Vikki made a shooing gesture as she moved to answer the summons. “Go off with you, Jared. And if you want my opinion, if your Christabel doesn’t know you are a prize, she is a fool.”

Not a fool, Jared thought, leaving the kitchen to go to the suite of rooms he’d made his. Christabel operated on values that had nothing to do with wealth. That had been clear to him from the beginning, and her independent stance had remained consistent ever since. This was a woman who thought for herself, acted for herself and was wary of allowing any outside influence into her life.

He dumped his briefcase in his home office, stripped off in his bedroom and moved automatically towards showering and shaving, his mind occupied with memories....

* * *

The necklace...looking up from the paperwork on his desk and seeing it around his secretary’s throat...

“Where did you get that piece of jewellery?”

“Oh, sorry!” A fluster of guilty embarrassment. “I know I should be wearing pearls...”

“It’s all right. I just want to know. The design is very striking.” Artistic, elegant, cleverly leading the eye to the enamelled pieces it featured.

“Yes. I love it and couldn’t resist buying it.”

“Where from?”

“At the Town Beach markets on Friday night.”

“The markets?” It was not market goods. It was class. High class!

“Yes. Usually there’s only cheap, fairly tacky stuff, but there was this rather small collection of really super costume jewellery on the stall that sells velvet jewellery bags. I would have bought more but this was seventy dollars.”

“Locally made?”

“Well, the person who made it is a newcomer, though she’s been here a while now. Lives in the caravan park. Very exotic-looking. Comes from Brazil, someone said.”

Exotic...he’d imagined some over made up woman in a multicoloured floating garment...yet that design had tugged him into reconnoitring the market stalls at Town Beach the following Friday evening.

His first sight of her...like a magnet pulling him, his heart hammering, pulse racing. She’d been chatting to her co-stall holder. Had she felt him coming? Her head turned sharply. Their eyes met. An instant sexual awareness. Electric. How long had it lasted? Several seconds? Then she stiffened as though suddenly alert to danger, and her lashes swept down, shutting him out.

The abrupt switch off paused Jared in his tracks. It was wrong, unnatural. He sensed a shielding that was determined on blocking him out, and the urge to fight it welled up in him. She didn’t know him, he realised, and he didn’t know her. He tempered his more aggressive instincts, listening to the one warning him that storming defences was not a winning move.

He slowed his approach and made a casual study of the jewellery on the trestle table she stood behind. Each piece, to his eye, was a unique design, displaying a creative artistry he found almost as exciting as the woman. Part of her, he thought, an intrinsic part of heart, soul and mind woven into patterns and fashioned with exquisite taste. He couldn’t resist touching them.

“You made these?”

Her lashes lifted. “Yes.” She stood very still, her eyes alert, reminding him of a cat’s, watching what his next move would be.

He smiled. “Your own designs?”

“Yes.” No smile in response. A waiting tension emanating from her. “Are you interested in buying?”

She wanted him gone, which seemed so perverse it intrigued Jared even more. “You must have had training,” he remarked.

She shrugged. “I am now self-employed. Do you wish to buy?”

“You come from Brazil, I’m told. Perhaps you worked with H. Stern in Rio de Janeiro?”

More tension. A flat-eyed stare. “Why are you inquiring about me? Who are you?”

“Jared King. I head the Picard Pearl Company here in Broome. I’ve been looking for someone. Someone special. You...I think.”

A flare of alarm...recoil in her eyes.

The personal element was backfiring on him. He instantly slid into business. “I want a unique range of jewellery designed, featuring our pearls. I think you might be the right person to do it.”

No hesitation, not the slightest pause or flicker of interest. “I am not the person you want, Mr. King.”