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‘He’ll get bored of you soon enough,’ she sniffs, ‘Do you honestly think he’ll settle for a skivvy when he can have this?’ She indicates her long, lithe body.
‘You . . .’ I move forward threateningly, set on ripping her head off her shoulders.
But Becker catches me before my claws make it to her. ‘Easy.’
‘She’s asking for it!’ I shout, pushing him off me.
‘Eleanor,’ Becker yells, losing his patience. ‘Nothing she can say will make any difference.’ He grabs my hand and yanks it up, pointing to my ring. ‘No difference, Eleanor.’
I snap my mouth shut, reading his thoughts as he raises his eyebrows, warning me to leave it there. I look at Alexa, seeing her displaying all the signs of shock I would expect. If she didn’t get the message after watching Becker screw me blind, then she has now.
‘I’ll tell—’
‘Tell who, Alexa?’ Becker snaps impatiently. ‘You knew about the fake, too. And just like me, you said fuck all. That makes you just as guilty as me.’
Her eyes widen, the reality hitting home. ‘But you bid on it. Pushed the price up.’
Becker smiles, bright and happy. ‘Why, Alexa,’ he croons sweetly. ‘That’s because I thought it was real.’ His expression straightens into a deadly serious one, as horror washes over Alexa’s. ‘I’m a respected dealer. Wouldn’t dream of condoning a fake. You are nothing more than a scorned ex-lover looking for revenge.’ Becker squeezes my hand, almost too tightly. ‘Come on, princess. Let’s get out of here. I’m beginning to itch.’
‘Excuse me?’ Alexa cries, outraged.
Flexing his fingers to get a good, solid hold of me, he leads me out, purposely taking a wide berth around Alexa in a further silent insult. ‘Well, that was interesting,’ he muses as we stride down the corridor, peeking down at me. ‘I feel like I need fumigating.’
I manage to laugh past my easing rage. ‘I think you’ve just lost thirty-five million.’
‘Better than losing you,’ he replies simply, giving my hand a squeeze.
That’s sweet. So sweet. I’m costing this man a fortune. But . . . ‘Aren’t you worried?’ I ask. ‘About Brent knowing?’
‘No. He’d never share his acquisition of a fake and lose face. His ego’s far too big. But I can guarantee that he’ll be hell-bent on getting revenge.’ He looks down at me. ‘And he knows my one and only weakness now.’ Becker smiles mildly, though it’s tinged with worry. ‘I can also guarantee that he’ll be hell-bent on finding the real Head of a Faun.’
‘So he can replace the fake?’ I ask.
‘And then no one will ever need to know the dickhead paid fifty million for a forgery.’
Becker stares forward as we wander away from the smoking room, and I can virtually see his mind racing. He’s right. Brent will now be going all out to find the real Head of a Faun.
And I wonder . . .
Does this change Becker’s resolute vow to abandon his mission to find it himself?Chapter 34Becker glances down at his antique Rolex as we arrive in the grand entrance hall of Countryscape. ‘Time to show you the Heart of Hell.’
‘Sounds ominous.’ I shudder as we pass through the crowds, and as soon as we enter the gallery, I note firstly how busy the walls are – papered in detailed print with gold-gilded framed portraits at every turn. The edges of the room are lined in roll-back day couches, all with carved wooden legs, all upholstered in garish velvets, and a mammoth rug covers virtually the whole floor space, leaving only a slither of the original wooden planks exposed around the circumference of the room.
And in the centre of the rug, flanked by two mean-looking security guards, is a glass cabinet containing the Heart of Hell. Even from the other side of the room I can see the shards of light reflecting off the glass from the precious gem, and despite there being scores of people scattered around admiring the ruby, it’s quiet, just a light buzz of chit-chat.
Once Becker has led me to the front of the crowds and I catch my first peek, my breath is robbed from me. ‘Oh my God,’ I breathe, feeling like I’m immediately falling under its spell.
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’
‘It’s beautiful.’ I can see now where its name comes from. The fiery splinters of red lights hitting the surrounding glass are breath-taking. I’m unable to rip my eyes away.
Becker’s front meets my back, his mouth coming close to my ear. ‘You’re giving that beautiful red stone a run for its money.’
I smile, spotting a man on the other side of the cabinet, looking at the gem, as awestruck as everyone else in the room. ‘Who is he?’
‘He’s the curator of PGS.’
Of course. The Precious Gem Society. I shake my head, my enchanted gaze falling back to the ruby.
