now, and then manage to force my legs to carry me into the corridor. I find the bathroom and, after locking the door behind me, I crumple to the floor. My whole body is trembling. Tears fly uncontrollably down my cheeks. I feel like such a disaster – he played me right from the start in the personal shopping suite. Banking on my stupidness and desperation. The feeling of self-loathing is unbearable. I’ve ruined everything.
After what feels like an eternity I manage to haul myself back up onto a chair. I sit and stare at myself in the mirror, trying to unravel what just happened. And I get it. Of course. He was lying. I let out a laugh. A horrible, hysterical laugh. There is something he wants, something money can’t buy, not even his vast fortune. He wants respectability. And respectable people don’t resort to underhand tricks to get what they want. No wonder he was so happy to develop sudden memory loss over having given me the necklace. Thank God he didn’t want it back. It’s a small comfort, though, seeing as I’m now going to be looking over my shoulder, forever wondering what his next move might be.
When I return to his suite the drinking is in full swing, but I can’t see Maxine or Malikov. Oh Jesus. What if he’s busy stitching me up right now? As I’m working myself up into another state of frenzy, a door at the far end of the room opens and Maxine appears. She does her model walk towards me, closely followed by Malikov, but I can’t quite see her face through the thick of the crowd mingled together with the Valentine’s balloons. I pray my hunch is right and he’s kept his mouth shut.
‘Time to go,’ she says, without a trace of knowing. I smile, and quickly glance at Malikov, who ignores me and turns his attentions on Maxine. ‘One of my assistants will be in touch,’ she says, sounding showy. ‘I do hope you enjoy your opera this evening.’ She treats him to her pageant smile and a big hair toss. He kisses the back of her hand, lingeringly, gazing up at her face from under his fleshy eyelids.
‘Enchanted,’ he says to Maxine, before throwing me a quick look of disgust. He turns back to join his friends.
‘I’m going to be managing his shopping requirements from now on. Seeing as he’s such a big customer,’ Maxine says, tossing her hair around again as we leave the room and make our way towards the foyer.
‘Oh, OK,’ I say, tentatively.
‘It’s not a problem, is it?’ she says, breezily.
‘Err, no, should it be?’ I ask, wondering where she’s going with this.
‘I don’t think so.’ And then she hits me with it. ‘But of course the necklace will need to be returned. You know the rules.’ My blood runs cold, the acid taste of bile swirls into the back of my throat. So she did hear him after all. But I can’t return it, Malikov will go mental, especially after his ‘nothing’ comment. And I can’t afford to buy it back in any case, even if the jeweller hasn’t sold it on. My head spins, and the saliva drains from my mouth.
‘But I didn’t accept it … he, err …’ She whips her hand up and I immediately stop talking. Fear fills every single pore on my body. Please don’t let her sack me. Please don’t let her sack me. I say it over and over, in synch with my hammering heart. Then I hold my breath, waiting for her to say the words, that she’ll be informing security or, God forbid … the actual police!
‘Whatever. Give it to me and I’ll make sure he gets it back.’ My heart skips a beat, forcing an involuntary cough to escape. ‘We’ve all done it. In fact, you remind me so much of myself at your age. The secret is to not get caught.’ She turns her face towards mine and does a little Joan Holloway pout. ‘Oh, don’t look so worried. Your secret is safe with me. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.’ My heart nose-dives. I can’t bear it. Maxine’s hold grips even tighter now, like a hangman’s noose. And I don’t want to be like her. Participating in mutual back-scratching sessions. Game-playing and manipulating. I feel as though I’m suffocating and there’s no way out of this nightmare that I’ve got myself into.
‘Thank you,’ I say, silently praying the jeweller still has the necklace. I can’t even imagine what she’ll do to me if I fail to produce it.
‘Good, then we’ll say no more about it,’ she says, and I’m sure I detect a hint of satisfaction in her voice. Something else she has over me, and I swear I can feel the pressure of the thumbscrews as she tightens them just a little bit more.
*
The very minute my toe is over the threshold of my doorway I race down the hallway and into the lounge. Panic-stricken, I glance around and catch my reflection in the window. I quickly race over and activate the blind to shield my shame from the lights twinkling outside in the dark. Then, tearing at the bookcase, I manage to retrieve the first card I hid after grabbing and shaking out several books. I’m drenched in sweat, fear gripping my stomach as I run into the kitchen and fling open the freezer door. I grab the tub of ice cream and, after ripping the black masking tape from the lid, I claw at the rock-hard yellow mixture. My fingertips sting as I try and push down further. But it’s no use. I run over to the sink and shove the tub under the hot tap. Eventually the ice cream starts to thaw, and there it is, dazzling like a proud Arabian palace in the desert. The second one that I hid: my gold credit card.
24
I’ve been standing outside the jeweller’s shop since eight a.m. Pressing my nose up to the window, like I have a million times in the last hour as I check for signs of activity, when I suddenly hear the sound of a key. The jeweller comes into view as he ambles through the shadowy shop towards me. As soon as he unbolts the door and flicks on the lights, I tear through into the shop.
‘Whoah! Where’s the fire?’
‘I need the necklace back. Have you still got it?’ I pant, pleading with my eyes for it to be here.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Oh, thank God. Here, you’ll have to spread the cost over these credit cards,’ I puff, shoving them at him. ‘Please, I have to have it straight away,’ I beg, as if getting it back absolves me of ever having sold it in the first place.
‘But I thought you preferred the money?’ he says.
‘I did, but that was then, and things have changed,’ I say, not daring to look him in the eye. I wish he would just get on with it. I didn’t sleep at all last night and my body is trembling with exhaustion. He scribbles on the pad and thrusts it towards me. ‘Hang on. But that’s more than you paid me for it,’ I say, willing the panic to subside.
‘That’s what it’s worth. If you remember, you gave me a discount because I paid you in cash,’ he says, sounding indifferent. I stare at him, unable to get my head around his logic.
‘Yes, but I didn’t give you a discount as such. You told me …’ I attempt to argue my case, but a slow cold trickle of realisation washes over me.
‘Now, if you want to buy it back for cash, then that’s different of course.’ He looks blankly, waiting for my response. I shake my head. This can’t be happening.
‘But I’m not sure the cards will cover that amount though,’ I say, in a hollow voice. I feel so foolish. The money I originally sold the necklace for just about managed to clear the store card and to take my credit cards back to zero.
‘You could finance the shortfall,’ he says, making it sound as though he’s doing me an enormous favour in ripping me off. Tears threaten, and my heart plummets. Not only am I back to square
