‘Not at all.’ He sounded positively cool now. ‘Look after yourself.’
He had put down the phone before she could say any more.
* * *
SHOLTO must have been as good as his word. When Tara phoned the Herne Holdings warehouse on Monday morning and asked for Noel, she got a friendly greeting from a man who said he’d been expecting her call, and who failed to keep the curiosity out of his voice. ‘Sure,’ he said, when she asked for delivery of the goods she’d chosen. ‘No problem. They’ll be there this afternoon.’
When they arrived she arranged the cushions haphazardly in a corner, and placed some of the pearl shells with their trapped half-formed pearls on the two chests she’d moved into the window on Saturday. The single pearls went under the glass counter inside the door—it didn’t do to keep small, valuable trinkets where light fingers could easily transfer them to pocket or bag.
‘Nice,’ Tod commented, picking up one of the shells. ‘Where did you find them?’
‘Herne Holdings,’ she said briefly.
Tod, a rangy twenty-year-old whose olive skin proclaimed his part-Maori heritage and contrasted strikingly with light green eyes, pushed a long, glossy black curl off his forehead. She knew he thought it looked sexy, but he was forever shoving it away, torn between vanity and convenience. ‘They’re big importers, aren’t they?’
‘And exporters, yes.’
‘Didn’t know we dealt with them.’
‘We do now. At least we have, this once.’
Tod adjusted the brocade waistcoat he’d rescued from a box of assorted clothing and linen Tara had got for a song at auction, and checked that the rolled-up sleeves of his white silk shirt were at the right length for a look of casual elegance. ‘Thought they only supplied department stores and big furniture shops.’
Tara looked up from checking through her invoice book. ‘They seemed quite happy to supply me.’
Two customers wandered in, and Tod turned his attention to them. ‘Hi! Anything I can help you with?...Sure, you look around all you want, just give us a shout if you need information or anything, okay?’
He was a good salesman, not too pushy. She was lucky to have him, Tara thought. Sometimes a customer—usually an older woman—would string him along, asking questions, pretending to be interested in some purchase but unable to make up her mind, just to keep him dancing attendance because he was young and friendly and good-looking. When they left the shop he’d smile ruefully at Tara, and sometimes she’d tease him a little. Neither of them minded, really. There were a lot of lonely people in the world, and maybe another day the customer would come back and buy something.
Tod had been horrified at the news of the robbery, and bravely said that he wished he’d been there instead of Tara. ‘I’d have seen him off,’ he muttered darkly. ‘He wouldn’t have got me to open the safe.’
Tara tried to look impressed, biting her tongue. Mildly, she said, ‘If you are here and it happens again, I don’t want any heroics, Tod. Your life is more important than any amount of money. And that’s the boss talking, okay?’
‘Yeah, okay,’ he reluctantly agreed.
If nothing else, she thought, he could save face by referring to boss’s orders. Not, she hoped, that the situation would ever arise.
One of the pearls on a shell went that day, and two more on the next. ‘We should order some more,’ Tod said.
She’d contacted the woman who picked up shells, stones and bits of coloured glass washed up on beaches, combining them with gold or silver wire or chains to turn them into intriguing earrings, necklaces and bracelets. The craftswoman was thrilled at the idea of custom-made black pearl jewellery. ‘I’d love to try it,’ she said. ‘I could never afford to pay for the pearls myself.’
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