Читать книгу Bride By Design - Leigh Michaels - Страница 7

HE WAS used to glitter, for it surrounded him always. He had grown accustomed to the iridescent mystery of opals, the sullen fire of rubies, the icy brilliance of diamonds, the chilly gleam of platinum and the quick warmth of gold.

But he had never seen anything like this jewelry store—a store so well known that its formal title didn’t bother to specify exactly what it was. Instead, it was simply known as Birmingham on State. The proprietor’s name and the street, that was all—for nothing else was needed. Everyone knew that Birmingham on State was the place to go for jewelry—if one wanted the beautiful, the unique, the costly, or the innovative.

It didn’t look like the usual jewelry store, either, but more like a fashion salon. There were no display windows in front, facing onto Chicago’s famous State Street. Inside, instead of rows of display cases, there were only half a dozen individual glass boxes, each perched atop a gray marble pillar at perfect viewing height and each containing only a few items. The boxes were scattered seemingly at random across an expanse of plain blue-gray plush carpet. Nearest the door, the only case he could really see held an inch-wide diamond choker draped across a velvet display board so that it looked like a waterfall of fire under the spotlight above it.

A man in a dark suit approached him, his steps hushed on the thick carpet. “May I help you, sir?”

David was still looking at the choker. There was something unusual about the way those stones were set. Even from several feet away, he knew it as clearly as if the necklace had spoken to him. But he didn’t know exactly what made it different. His fingertips itched to get hold of the necklace, to take a closer look at the workmanship, to see if he could figure out precisely how it had been done.

But he hadn’t been invited to fly out here from Atlanta to inspect Henry Birmingham’s merchandise and learn all the old man’s tricks. At least, he didn’t think that was why he was here—but the truth was, he really didn’t know why he’d been summoned, out of the blue.

“David Elliot to see Mr. Birmingham,” he said.

“Oh, yes. He’s expecting you.” The man led the way across the acre of carpet and around the artfully designed end of a wall into a tiny room which hadn’t even been visible from the main entrance. It contained three small but comfortable-looking armchairs and—between the chairs—a small table with the top half draped in velvet the same color as the carpet. In one of the armchairs was Henry Birmingham. At the moment, the old man looked as if he was playing tiddledywinks with a dozen diamond rings.

David stopped in the doorway. Henry pushed the rings aside into a careless heap and stood up.

David had seen Henry Birmingham from a distance, of course, at jewelers’ conventions and seminars, but he’d never before come face-to-face with the king of jewelry design. He was startled to see that the man was smaller than he’d expected—both shorter and slighter, his spine slightly stooped with age. But his hair, though it was iron-gray, was still thick and unruly, and his eyes were as brilliant as the stones he worked with.

The old man’s gaze focused narrowly on David. For nearly ten seconds he simply looked, and when at last he smiled and held out a hand, David felt as if he’d just finished running a quarter-mile high-hurdle race blindfolded, and still managed to come in the winner.

“Welcome to Birmingham on State,” Henry said. “And thank you for coming all the way out here to see me. Have a chair.” He sat again himself and looked contemplatively at the rings spread in front of him. “A most unusual request, this one. The lady gathered up all the rings she’s acquired through the years—family pieces that have been handed down, her own wedding rings from her first couple of marriages, that sort of thing. Not a valuable one among them, really—the gold is all right, but they’re of ordinary design, set with undistinguished stones. Certainly there’s nothing here she’ll ever wear again. But instead of leaving them at the bottom of her jewelry case to gather dust for even more years, she brought them here and asked me to make them into a piece she will enjoy.” He looked up. “Any ideas?”

David smiled slightly. “I don’t think you invited me to Chicago because you need my advice on how to design a piece of jewelry, Mr. Birmingham. You’ve been in the business fifty years longer than I have.”

“Call me Henry. Everyone else does.” Henry Birmingham sat back in his chair. “No, I didn’t invite you because I was stumped over this project. But I would like your opinion.”

David leaned forward and picked up the nearest ring. The shank was worn thin, and the brushed-gold pattern which had once surrounded the stone had been almost rubbed away through daily wear. The small diamond was, as Henry had said, ordinary in cut and color and clarity, and one of the prongs that held it was almost worn through. He put it down and picked up another. Even without getting his loupe out of his pocket so he could take a closer look, he could see that this diamond was chipped along the girdle.

A quick glance told him that the rest of the assortment was much the same—the cuts of the stones were old-fashioned, the workmanship both commonplace and well-worn. “There’s not much here to work with. What does she want? A brooch? A pendant?”

“She left the matter completely up to me.”

“So if she doesn’t like the finished product she can blame you.”

“Perhaps.” Henry leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands tented under his chin. “What would you do?”

“Take the stones out. Melt each ring separately, and pour the gold into water so as it cools it will form a random-shaped nugget. Then I’d reset the stones into the nuggets and string them together with a nice heavy chain to make either a bracelet or a necklace. If she’d rather have a showier piece, then I’d make one big nugget.” David tossed the ring back into the pile. “So do I pass your test?”

“Test?”

“Does that suggestion make the cost of my plane ticket worthwhile to you?”

Henry sat silent, while—too late—David thought better of the flippant question. Of all the stupid things to say…He didn’t even know the man, much less have an idea of why Henry Birmingham had asked him to visit his store. It was no time to be making wisecracks.

“If I hadn’t already concluded that the plane ticket was money well spent,” Henry said finally, “I wouldn’t have asked your opinion about the rings. Let’s get out of here so we can talk. It’s a little early for lunch, perhaps, but we can have a drink.” He left the rings scattered on the velvet, picked up a gold-topped ebony cane that had been leaning against the end of the table, and led the way out of the little consultation room.

David hesitated. “Shouldn’t these be put away securely before you leave? Even if they’re not collector’s items, they have value.”

“One of the clerks will do it.” Henry’s smile was quick. “That’s the good thing about being the boss, and—even more—being thought to be a genius. I’ve got my staff convinced that I’m too busy creating to be bothered with details like picking up after myself.”

David glanced back over his shoulder as they crossed to the main entrance and saw a woman in a black dress going into the small room.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if Henry had taken him to the fanciest private club in town—he was sure the man must belong to them all, since that was where his clients were to be found. So he was startled when instead of hailing a cab, Henry strode down the block to a side street and turned into a little tavern that looked as if it had been there for a hundred years.

Henry shot him a look. “Not much atmosphere here. But the food’s good, the beer’s reasonably priced, and the staff doesn’t hassle you to hurry, which is more than you can say for most of the fancy spots.” He headed toward a booth in the far corner. “What would you like, David?”

“Coffee, please.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with drinking a beer? Or something stronger?”

“Not at all, under the right circumstances. Today I think I’d be wise to keep a very level head.”

To his surprise, Henry laughed. “Not a bad idea, that.” He waved a waitress over and asked her to bring a pot of coffee and two cups. “Then we can sit as long as we like and not be disturbed at all. So—I imagine you’re wondering why I invited you to fly out here today, and why I suggested you not tell your boss where you were going.”

“Both of those questions have occurred to me,” David said dryly.

The waitress brought their coffee, filled the cups, and went away without a word. Henry stirred sugar into his cup. “You’re a very talented young designer.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“In fact, you’re probably one of the three most talented of your age and experience in the country right now.”

“I’m honored that you noticed me.”

“I probably wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t decided to enter your own designs in that contest last spring, instead of the stuff you’ve been doing for your employer.” Henry leaned forward. “The fact is, David, as long as you stay in the job you’re in, you’re going nowhere, because the firm you work for is too staid and conservative to let you spread your wings.”

He hit that one right on the nose, David thought. But he said levelly, “My employer has never been unfair to me.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “You’re too loyal to say anything bad about them?”

“Yes, I am, as long as I’m drawing a paycheck. I’ve always believed if I wanted to bad-mouth a boss I should resign first.”

“I’d heard that about you,” Henry murmured. “Loyal to the core. Well, the situation with your employer is neither here nor there. You know they’re hide-bound, and I know it—so there’s no further need to discuss it. Let’s talk about you instead. Are you content to spend the rest of your life creating infinite tiny variations on a theme that was boring to start with?”

Cruel-sounding as the statement was, David had to admit that it fitted his job description uncomfortably well. “When you put it that way, no—of course I’m not content. And I’m open to other possibilities. However, any employer will place certain restrictions—”

Henry interrupted. “Then why haven’t you struck out on your own?”

“Started my own firm, you mean? With all due respect, sir, even you didn’t do that. You didn’t have much of a base to build on, I grant, but you did have your father’s tiny storefront and a few customers already established.”

Henry chuckled. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

“Everybody in the industry knows all about Birmingham on State. In contrast, I’d be starting from scratch—zero. Today the capital required to start up a new firm and carry it through until it developed a solid customer base would be immense, far larger than you needed fifty years ago.”

“So you have thought of it.”

“Of course I have.”

“Ambition’s a good thing.” Henry refilled his cup. “Did you like what you saw of Birmingham on State?”

David nodded, a bit puzzled. “If I had the money to take off on my own, your business would be the model I’d use. Why?”

“How would you like to have it?”

David’s ears began to buzz. Had he possibly heard what he thought he had? “Have it?” he asked cautiously. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Have it.” Henry’s tone was impatient. “Run it. Own it.”

David stared at him. Had the man gone mad? He hadn’t heard any rumors about Henry Birmingham having lost his marbles. Of course, if it had been obvious that he’d blown his circuits, someone would have done something about it, and he wouldn’t be running around loose. But if he was just quietly going kooky…

David kept his voice very calm, as if he were talking to a child. “I’ve already told you I can’t scrape up money to start on my own. It might be a little easier to convince a bank or a venture capital firm to lend me money to buy an established business somewhere, but not Birmingham on State. The amounts we’re talking about would be astronomical. I don’t think I have the backing to borrow that sort of—”

“My business is not for sale,” Henry said.

“But then—” David shook his head. “Then I really don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I’m offering to give it to you, David. Half of it, I should say—but you’d have complete freedom where your designs are concerned. Of course, there are a few…conditions. Want to hear about them?”

Henry had been gone for a full quarter of an hour when David’s head finally stopped thrumming and he could begin to think straight again.

It isn’t Henry Birmingham who’s gone around the bend, Elliot—it’s you.

What in hell had he agreed to do? he asked himself in despair. And why?—though that was a foolish question. Dangling Birmingham on State in front of him had been like tantalizing a shark with a big chunk of raw tuna, and Henry had known it. Though it actually wasn’t the business itself that David had snapped at, tempting though it was. It was the freedom Henry had offered, a freedom that he chafed for and knew that he would never find unless he could be his own boss.

The man was a mesmerist, that was the only explanation. Henry had hypnotized him into thinking that the offer he had made was feasible, when in fact…

He should get out right now, while he still could. Stand up and walk out of the little tavern. Hail the first cab he saw and get himself to O’Hare and onto the next plane back to Atlanta. Shake the dust of the Windy City off his feet and never look back.

But he didn’t move.

Birmingham on State. Handed to him on a platter…with a few conditions, of course.

Conditions that she—Henry’s granddaughter—would never agree to.

An odd mixture of disappointment and relief trickled through him. He didn’t have to walk out, he thought. He could sit here and wait for half an hour, just as he’d promised Henry he would. And when she didn’t show up…well, he’d have done his best—wouldn’t he?—and Henry couldn’t blame him.

David checked his watch. Twenty minutes had gone already. All he had to do was wait another ten, and it would be over.

But he had to admit to a pang. Birmingham on State…For a few brief, brilliant moments he had hoped. He had seen a vision of the wonders he could create—if only he had the freedom and the opportunity and the backing.

A low voice spoke beside him. “David Elliot?”

He looked up almost hopefully, expecting the waitress. Perhaps Henry’s granddaughter had at least called the tavern and sent him a message to say she wasn’t coming. It would be the decent thing to do, instead of leaving him dangling. It wasn’t as if he was to blame for her grandfather’s crazy ideas, after all.

But the woman who stood beside the booth wasn’t wearing the tavern’s uniform. She was dressed in a dark green suit that hugged her in all the right spots, and a string of perfectly matched pearls peeked out from inside the high collar of her jacket, right at the base of her throat. She was small-boned and petite. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes as green as the suit and fringed with the darkest lashes he’d ever seen, and her pure-black hair was drawn back into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.

“My grandfather sent me,” she said.

David felt as if someone had plunged a very sharp, very thin knife into the sensitive spot just beneath his ribs. He didn’t know what he’d expected Henry Birmingham’s granddaughter to be like—in fact, he’d had no expectations, for he hadn’t given the matter an instant’s conscious thought. He only knew that this woman wasn’t anything like he would have anticipated. This woman would turn heads in a morgue.

She said, “He suggested we chat over lunch.”

David scrambled to get to his feet, belatedly trying to at least look like a gentleman. “You’re…Eve,” he said, and felt as foolish as he must have sounded.

“Yes. Eve Birmingham.” Her gaze was as direct and intent as Henry’s, her eyes as bright and searching. But her face was curiously still. “May I?” Without waiting for an answer, she slid into the seat across from him.

David was glad he could sit down again himself, for his knees had gone a little weak. He had never dreamed she would actually come…

Just because she’s here doesn’t mean she’s agreeable, he reminded himself. She might just be too polite to leave me stranded. Or maybe she doesn’t even suspect what Henry’s got in mind.

Eve asked the waitress to bring her a pot of tea, and David used the interval to collect himself.

“I understand you and Henry have had a heart-to-heart talk,” she said as she filled her cup.

“He had some interesting proposals,” David said, and caught himself. Bad choice of words, Elliot. “I mean…Look, I don’t know if he’s told you what this is all about.”

Eve set the teapot down. “Henry keeps very few secrets from me.”

“This may be one of them.”

“I’ve known for quite a while that he was thinking about retiring, and that he didn’t want to sell the business and take the chance that it would become something less than what he’s worked so hard to maintain. He told me some time ago that he was looking for a young designer, an artisan who shared his vision of what jewelry could be, to carry on for him.”

“What about you?” David didn’t realize until the words were out that the question had been nagging at him ever since Henry had made his crazy offer. “Don’t you want the job?”

Eve shrugged. “I know good design when I see it, but I could no more produce it myself than I can fly to the moon. Those genes passed me by.”

“You sound very calm about it.”

“I’ve had years to come to terms with the idea that my talents run in other directions. So has Henry, as a matter of fact—he realized long since that I wasn’t able to be quite what he needed.”

“But you must have feelings about him bringing a stranger in.”

“Of course I do. As a matter of fact, I’m very involved in the business—I manage the staff, I handle customer service, I watch the bottom line. But I have to agree with Henry. Much as it would hurt me to close down Birmingham on State, I’d rather see that happen than have it be merged into one of the companies that mass produces jewelry for the lowest common denominator.” She looked at him across her teacup. “If he thinks you’re the right man, then I’m quite happy to endorse his choice.”

David rubbed his knuckles against his jaw. “If you’re serious about that, then he can’t have told you his whole plan.” He poured himself more coffee. He’d had too much already, he knew. His nerves were jangling. On the other hand, that would probably be happening even if he hadn’t consumed any caffeine at all.

Her voice was calm. “If you’re asking whether he’s confided in me that he wants me to marry his chosen successor—”

David dropped his spoon. “You know about that, too?”

The look she gave him was almost sad. “I did tell you that he keeps very few things from me.”

“You can say that again. You must think it’s a little medieval of him.”

She looked as if she was thinking it over. “He has his reasons,” she said finally. “His own marriage was arranged by his family, and it was successful—so of course the idea occurred to him when he began thinking of the future of Birmingham on State. Legal partnerships have their shortcomings, while a marriage would be safer for the business. A stranger who marries into the family isn’t a stranger anymore. I couldn’t toss you out on your ear if you displeased me, but you couldn’t take over the firm and cut me out, either.”

“He obviously hasn’t heard about this thing called divorce.”

“He sees no reason why a marriage which is arranged to achieve good and sensible goals, and entered into with both parties’ full knowledge and agreement, should ever dissolve. And I must say I agree.”

“My God, you don’t only look like the ice queen, you’re frozen all the way through.”

The words were out before he’d stopped to think, and for an instant he thought he saw the glint of tears in Eve’s eyes before she looked away. Regret surged through him. It wasn’t like him to be carelessly rude.

But before he could speak, she’d faced him again, and her gaze was resolute. “Of course, you should also understand that Henry is looking to the future of Birmingham on State. Beyond his lifetime—but also beyond yours and mine. A legal partnership can’t create an heir for the business, but a marriage could.”

The woman was obviously serious. Along with being crazy as a loon, he thought. He set his cup down with a click. “And you still don’t think he’s a little twisted?”

Eve’s voice was cool. “I think that what Henry doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“In other words,” David said slowly, “whatever Henry has in mind, you’re planning on a marriage in name only.”

She nodded.

“Why?”

Her composure seemed to slip. “You mean why don’t I want to…to—”

“No, I’m not asking why you don’t want to sleep with me. I want to know why you’d settle for a marriage that isn’t a marriage.”

Her fingers tightened on her cup till her knuckles were white. But her voice was once more steady. “I don’t think that’s any of your business. Let’s just say that I have my reasons for wanting the protection of a wedding ring, without emotional entanglements.”

You poor deluded darling, he thought. To think that a ring will keep men from hitting on you, the way you look…Of course, once a man actually got close enough to realize that underneath the gorgeous, intriguing exterior lay the soul of a glacier, he probably wouldn’t come back for more. But there would always be another man in line…

Then her words echoed oddly through his mind. I have my reasons for wanting the protection of a wedding ring.

“I think I see,” he said gently. “You may as well tell me, Eve. Do you know that you’re pregnant or are you just afraid you might be?”

She drew in a sharp breath and for a moment he thought she was going to throw her teacup at him. He watched with fascination as the color rose in her cheeks, as she fought for and regained self-control. So she wasn’t quite as chilly as she’d seemed; the glacier appeared to have a crack or two.

“Neither,” she snapped.

“That’s good. I’ve never given much thought to the idea of raising kids, but I guess if I was stuck with a couple of rug rats I’d rather they be mine.”

He could almost hear the tinkle of ice in her voice. “You certainly won’t have to worry about rug rats.”

“You’re pretty certain I’m going to agree to this crazy plan.”

“It would be very foolish of you to walk away. To be Henry Birmingham’s hand-picked successor is a solid-gold opportunity.”

“I wonder what he’d do if I turned him down,” David mused.

Eve shrugged. “Probably work his way on through his list.”

“What list?” He recalled a comment Henry had made almost carelessly. At the time David had been too flattered by the idea that the king of jewelry design had noticed him at all to pay much attention to the details. But suddenly he remembered the remark all too well. Henry hadn’t just told David he was talented. He’d said something about him being one of the three best young designers in the country. So Henry had a list of three…at least.

Eve’s gaze flicked over him. “Don’t take it personally. You can’t think you’re the only gifted young man in the country. Or that Henry would gamble the future of his business on the first man who seemed to meet his specifications, without looking any further.”

“How far down his list was I?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Her voice was calm and level.

“I see. That’s one of the few things he didn’t share with you.”

“Quite right. If it makes you feel any better, you’re the first one he’s asked me to meet.”

So if there had been others higher on Henry’s list, they hadn’t passed all the hidden tests along the way. “That’s a relief. I think.”

“Anyway, now that he’s made the offer, it doesn’t matter where you ranked. Any designer with sense wouldn’t worry about how his number happened to come up, he’d gladly give an arm for this opportunity.”

“Actually,” David mused, “you’re wrong about that. Henry isn’t asking for an arm—just a rib.”

She fidgeted with her teacup, turning it ’round and ’round on the saucer. “As far as that goes,” she said. Her voice was different, almost hesitant, and he was intrigued. “I don’t expect there would be much contact, really. We’d have to share a house, I suppose.”

“I think Henry would notice if we were living in separate suburbs, yes.”

“But I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t be civil about it.”

“Roommates,” he said thoughtfully.

“If you want to put it that way. And what he’s asking is nothing, really, weighed against Birmingham on State.”

It all came back to the business, David knew. Eve was absolutely right. Henry Birmingham’s offer presented a chance he could never have achieved on his own. It was an opportunity he could not refuse, whatever the cost—because to turn it down would be to sacrifice his dreams and throw away his talent. There would never be another opening like this.

He looked across the table at her and felt his future shift—as if he had slid into some kind of time warp—and settle into a new pattern. A pattern that included Birmingham on State. And Eve.

“Let’s have lunch,” he said, “and plan a wedding.”

Not that there was much to plan as far as the wedding went, and Eve thought it best to make that clear from the beginning. “I don’t intend to play silly games,” she said. “There will be no white satin beaded with pearls, no train-bearers, no morning suits and spats, no orange blossoms, and no—”

“No illusion.”

She looked at him sharply, studying him for the first time. He was good-looking enough, though perhaps his face was just a little too roughly cut to be considered exactly handsome. He had ordinary brown hair and anything-but-ordinary brown eyes, flecked with gold and surrounded by long, curly lashes. And the air of self-confidence he projected gave him a certain presence.

“Isn’t that what they call the stuff they make veils out of? Illusion?” He sounded quite innocent, but there was more of an Atlanta drawl in his voice than Eve had detected before. “I’m sure I’ve heard that somewhere.”

No illusions…. That was what he’d meant, of course. But since it was exactly what she’d been getting at, Eve could hardly take offense. “None. Also no bridesmaids, no wedding cake in little decorated boxes for guests to take home, no romantic first waltz, no garter to remove and throw to the bachelors in the crowd—”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me,” he said.

It obviously hadn’t been a question, but Eve thought she saw puzzlement as well as a tinge of relief in his eyes. The puzzlement annoyed her just a little. Did he really believe that the height of every young woman’s ambition was an elaborate wedding ceremony, no matter what circumstances lay behind the marriage?

The relief he displayed, however, she had no trouble understanding. She didn’t doubt that if she insisted he would have agreed to the most formal wedding ever organized —even if he’d had to grit his teeth and get half smashed to make it through the ceremony—for no price would be too high in return for what he was getting. A wedding was only one day. Birmingham on State would be forever.

But Eve was glad that she’d thought it all through ahead of time and made her decision. Their reasons for marrying were perfectly good ones, but the world would never understand them. And standing in front of an altar, making solemn religious vows and pretending starry-eyed love—or even fondness—that they didn’t feel, would be sheer hypocrisy. Far better to have a low key and private civil ceremony, and let the world think what it liked.

“And, of course, no guest lists of thousands,” she finished. “So if your mother is the managing type who’ll be disappointed that she isn’t the general in charge of an extravaganza, you can tell her from me that it isn’t going to happen.”

“She died when I was eighteen,” David said quietly.

Eve caught her breath with a painful gulp. “I’m sorry. I let myself get carried away, and I never stopped to think…”

“You couldn’t have known.” He toyed with a bread stick. “You didn’t mention a ring in that catalog of traditions you don’t plan to indulge in.” He was looking appraisingly at her left hand, which was lying cupped on the red-checked tablecloth.

She looked down at her bare fingers and summoned all her self-control to keep from moving her hand out of sight. “If you’re already turning over designs in your head for some stunning engagement ring, don’t bother.”

He frowned. “You don’t want a ring? Henry Birmingham’s granddaughter not wear an engagement ring? Besides, it’s what I do, Eve. People would expect—” He stopped suddenly.

“Exactly. And while you were creating it you’d be thinking not of what I liked or wanted, because you don’t even know that. You’d be thinking of the impression it would make on the people who saw it. Thanks, but I’d just as soon not be a walking billboard.”

“Dammit, Eve, you’re making some pretty big assumptions here—such as concluding that I wouldn’t even ask what you’d like to wear.”

“You want to know? Fine, I’ll tell you. I want a platinum band.”

“Much better for your coloring than gold. What about a stone? A diamond, or would you rather have color?”

“Just a band. A plain platinum band. No diamond, no decoration.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and then he said, sounding grim, “Purely utilitarian. Just like the marriage. I’m beginning to get the picture.”

“Good,” she said. “Because then we understand each other.” And, with her hand shaking only a very little, she picked up her cup and sipped her lukewarm tea.