The Bejewelled Bride. Lee Wilkinson
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and like him and they had been out together on quite a number of occasions but she saw him as nothing more than a friend.
‘Bethany?’
She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody. She sighed, ‘Yes, I’m back.’
‘It doesn’t sound like you.’
‘I’m a bit tired.’
He went on regardless, seemingly oblivious to her overwhelming tiredness. ‘I tried to phone you earlier. Been home long?’
‘No.’
‘Care to go out for a spot of supper?’
‘I don’t think so, Michael.’ She wasn’t in the right kind of mood to go out.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘I was just on my way to bed.’
‘Bed?’ he exclaimed, surprised. ‘But it’s barely eight o’clock. Look, what if I pop round now and pick you up?’
‘No, thank you. I’m tired.’ Then, aware that she’d sounded a bit curt, she added apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m even more tired than I thought.’
‘Sure I can’t change your mind? Going out might be just what you need to liven you up.’
‘I doubt it.’
He was a young man who was used to getting his own way with women. But this woman was special, not like the rest, and he didn’t want to spoil his chances.
‘In that case,’ he said reluctantly, ‘let’s make it tomorrow night.’
‘Well, I—’
‘What if I pick you up around seven? We’ll go to the Caribbean Club and have a good time.’
Before she could argue, he was gone.
Sighing, she replaced the receiver.
If she found she couldn’t face it, she would just have to call him and put him off.
But what would she do if she did stay at home? What was she likely to do?
Mope. Which would get her precisely nowhere.
Going out with Michael had to be preferable.
After first thinking him somewhat cocky and immature, she had come to enjoy his company and almost envy his carefree, sybaritic attitude to life.
They had first met when, after inheriting his grandmother’s house and its contents, he had brought a blue and white porcelain bowl into Feldon Antiques, saying he needed to raise some ready cash.
Bethany, who had been in the shop at the time, had thought the bowl was Ming, which would have made it extremely valuable. But an expert on Chinese porcelain that Tony had later taken it to had identified it as Qing, which made its value a great deal less.
However, it was still worth a considerable amount and Michael had been more than happy to part with it.
After selling them the bowl, he had produced several smaller items which Tony had dismissed but Bethany had been pleased to buy for her collection.
The bracelet Joel had admired had been one of them.
But where was the bracelet?
A moment’s thought convinced her that she had taken it off in the bathroom the previous night before getting washed. She hadn’t noticed it that morning, nor had she given it a thought, but she had had other things on her mind.
Just to be on the safe side, she found her shoulder bag and searched through it, but there was no sign of the bracelet in its capacious depths.
She must have left it at the hotel.
It was a blow, even though she hadn’t really expected to find it—looking in her bag had been an act of sheer desperation.
If it were possible, her spirits sank even lower. Until then, despite all the pain, she hadn’t shed a single tear, but, as though leaving her bracelet was the last straw, she began to cry.
She cried until she had no more tears left, then, feeling empty, drained, hollow as a ghost, showered and crawled into bed.
In the morning she would have to try and get in touch with the caretaker…
Following closely on that thought came a sense of helplessness. She didn’t even know the name of the hotel they had stayed at. All she knew was that it lay at the foot of Dunscar.
But if she contacted the nearest information centre, supposing there was one open in early February, they should be able to give her the name of the place…
After a night spent tossing and turning, Bethany got up feeling heavy-eyed and heavy-hearted. Though she had no appetite, before setting off for the shop, she made herself eat some breakfast—a triumph of common sense over despair.
It was a bleak, grey morning that perfectly matched her mood. The only bright spot was when Tony, still noticeably surly, announced that when he’d dealt with the morning’s mail he was going out and would be gone for the rest of the day.
After working several weekends in a row, she was entitled to three days off, which meant she wouldn’t have to come in again until Monday, and, as things were, she could only be glad.
In their absence, her colleague Alison had been her usual efficient self and there was no backlog of work.
With nothing pressing to do, Bethany set out to find the name of the hotel at the foot of Dunscar. The area’s central information bureau was open and able to tell her that it was called The Dunbeck. They even provided the phone number.
Somewhat heartened, she dialled the number.
There was no answer.
Though she tried periodically for the rest of the day, she met with no success.
Just as she was about to close the shop a couple of browsers came in and it was turned six before she was able to lock up and leave.
By the time she reached her basement flat, tired and frustrated, it was almost six-thirty and Michael would be picking her up at seven.
CHAPTER THREE
FEELING anything but sociable, Bethany was tempted to ring and put Michael off, but better sense prevailed. It would do her a lot more good to go out than sit at home brooding.
Her decision made, she drew the curtains against the dark, frosty night and went into the bathroom to have a quick shower.
Dried and scented, she touched a mascara wand to her long lashes and glossed her lips with pale, shiny lipstick. Then, as though making up for her previous lack of enthusiasm, she donned her best dark blue cocktail dress and fastened pearl studs to her small, neat lobes.
Leaving her hair falling loosely around her shoulders in a dark silky cloud, she was ready when the bell rang.
She opened the door to find Michael was waiting beneath the lantern, a bouquet of crimson roses in his hand.
‘Wow!’ he exclaimed at the sight of her. ‘You look fantastic!’ Then, handing her the flowers, ‘I hope you like roses?’
‘Thank you, I do. They’re lovely. If you come in for a minute I’ll put them in water.’
Following her inside, he leaned against the kitchen counter while she stripped off the cellophane and found a vase to arrange the roses in.
Slimly built and a couple of inches taller than herself, he was well-dressed and well-groomed, a personable young man with dark curly hair and more than his fair share of charm.
From a wealthy background and with a private income, he was, she supposed, quite a catch.
Watching her arrange the flowers, he queried, ‘Was it a successful trip?’
She