Wife for a Week(40)

Nick pointed towards a grey velvet case on the counter.

‘Oh. You mean that jewellery.’ The jewellery she’d never seen. The jewellery he’d chosen without her. ‘I forgot about it.’

‘You forgot about it?’ Nick appeared disbelieving.

‘Maybe if I’d seen it I wouldn’t have,’ she told him sweetly.

‘You can see it now.’

Hallie walked over to the counter and her hands came up, seemingly of their own volition, to stroke the long velvet box, but then she hesitated.

‘What now?’ said Nick.

‘I’ve seen the necklace Jasmine’s wearing tonight and it’s very simple,’ she said with a frown. ‘I wouldn’t want to go overboard in comparison.’

‘Maybe this is simple too,’ said Nick. ‘Why don’t you open it and see?’

Why didn’t she? She was nearly bursting with curiosity, wondering what he’d chosen and whether she’d like it. Worried that she wouldn’t. More worried that she would. There was only one way to find out. Hallie opened the box with careful hands. And gasped.

The necklace was like a pearl choker in design, but where the pearls would have been there were diamonds, big carat-sized diamonds that glittered brilliantly in the light. As far as jewellery went it was exquisite, eye-pop-ping even, because Hallie was pretty sure hers were halfway out of her head. But it wasn’t simple.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked.

‘Are you serious? It’s absolutely gorgeous.’ He was taking it from the box, and putting it around her neck, his fingers warm and gentle against her skin as he fastened the clasp.

‘It suits you. I knew it would.’ He steered her towards the bathroom. ‘Go take a look in the mirror.’

Hallie went and looked, made a minute adjustment to its position. There, now it was perfect and now she was thinking Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Grace Kelly in anything, both of them as redheads, of course.

‘What do you think?’ said Nick from the doorway. He was leaning lazily against it, his smile indulgent and his eyes dark.

‘It probably wouldn’t do to bring it all this way and not wear it,’ she said, while the diamonds around her neck blazed with every movement she made. They probably wouldn’t overshadow Jasmine’s teardrop pearl all that much, she decided, a touch desperately. The diamonds were stunning in a different way, that was all. They might even complement Jasmine’s pearl.

‘There are earrings to match.’

‘Oh, well…’ May as well do things properly. A minute later she was wearing them too. ‘Do you think it’s too much?’

‘You could always take the dress off,’ he muttered. ‘That’d work.’

‘Focus,’ she said sternly. ‘You’re losing sight of the rules.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘You can look all you like,’ she said generously. ‘You even get to touch providing we’re in a public place and have an audience. You just don’t get to take at the end of the evening. It’ll be character building.’

And with a final sweep of the bedroom for the silk purse that matched the wrap, she headed for the door.



The ballroom at the Four Winds hotel was where British Colonialism met Asian Affluence and a spectacle of such unbridled opulence that it left Hallie gaping. There were champagne-glass pyramids complete with nervous waiters, elaborately costumed opera singers with faces whiter than snow. There were five-tier chandeliers and peacock feathers by the bucketful. There was a dance band over by the dance floor, and there were Hong Kong’s finest—dressed in their finest—mingling graciously.



‘How on earth am I supposed to go back to selling shoes after this?’ she murmured, desperately trying to commit it all to memory: the colours and textures, the scents and the sounds.

‘Maybe you won’t have to,’ murmured Nick and Hallie felt her heart skip a beat.

‘You’ll have enough money after this to get through your diploma without selling more shoes, won’t you?’ he added.

Oh. That was what he meant. For a minute there, she’d thought that Nick had fallen in love with her, and for a moment she’d wondered what it would be like to be Mrs Nicholas Cooper for real. For a moment there, she’d thought it would be just fine. But that was ridiculous. The whole point of agreeing to this charade in the first place was so she could focus on her real dream, the one that didn’t involve Nicholas Cooper and fairy-tale endings. The one that involved hard work, independence and the satisfaction that came with achieving one’s goals. ‘I’ll make it enough,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re right, selling shoes is over. Asian Art World, here I come. Here’s to you for helping to make it happen.’