while looking was apparently non-negotiable—but Meg couldn’t relax and enjoy. Excruciatingly aware of the security cameras whirring and homing in, and more than aware she couldn’t afford as much as a keyring, all Meg wanted was out.
But Jasmine had other ideas. ‘Oh, would you look at these? Have you ever seen anything as beautiful?’
Never.
Peering into the glass display cabinet, even Meg, who was itching to escape, was momentarily transfixed; on simple black velvet hung a pendant and earrings and, even to a novice like Meg, their worth was clearly more than the entire shop put together.
‘They are very beautiful, yes?’
‘Stunning!’ Meg watched as her breath fogged up the glass, eyes widening as the assistant pulled out a key from her belt and opened the display cabinet.
‘Clearly you appreciate the finer things—these are pieces from some of the Niroli royal family’s collection. You can hold them for a moment—but that is all.’
‘We can actually hold them?’ Meg blinked.
‘The king tries to make things more…’ The assistant snapped her fingers as she attempted to locate the word she was looking for, and then settled for a longer version. ‘He tries to let his people closer to the family—these are not the best pieces, of course.’
And this wasn’t your average jeweller’s, Meg thought. They were locked in, cameras were everywhere, but even so holding such treasures even for a short while was a rare treat.
‘How much are they worth?’ Jasmine asked as the assistant placed the jewels in Meg’s hands, the cool of the perfect stones heavy in her heated palms, and Meg knew the answer before the assistant even spoke.
‘They are not for sale. We are honoured to have them for a short while.’
‘They must be insured for a figure,’ Jasmine rudely pushed as Meg handed the treasures back.
‘Their street value is not relevant,’ the assistant answered tartly. ‘These jewels stay within the royal family.’
‘Snooty madam!’ Jasmine declared once they were outside. ‘I wonder what they are worth…’
‘What does it matter?’ Meg asked. ‘I can’t believe we actually got to hold them—I wish I’d brought my camera.’
‘You probably wouldn’t have been allowed to use it,’ Jasmine pointed out. ‘Right, enough of window-shopping. I’m tired of looking at things I’ll never be able to afford!’
‘Let’s go and buy a drink,’ Meg suggested.
‘Let’s not!’ Jasmine laughed, steering a bemused Meg out of the shopping mall and through a gaming room towards a bar. Supremely self-conscious, Meg took a seat on a bar stool, pulling her skirt down over her thighs, then fiddling with her earrings, aware that they had been noticed. More than a few heads had turned as they’d walked into the room but, instead of boosting Meg’s confidence, it merely heightened her already nervous state, especially when Jasmine assuredly summoned the bartender and loudly ordered two glasses of their most expensive champagne.
‘We’re on a budget,’ Meg whimpered, aware that the slender glass the waiter was pouring the pale golden liquid into was undoubtedly worth her entire night’s spending money.
‘Relax, will you?’ Jasmine giggled, pulling a sequinned purse out of her evening bag, but before she’d even opened the zipper, before the drinks had even been put down on the placemats, the bartender halted her.
‘It has already been taken care of.’ He gestured to a nearby table, where four middle-aged businessmen sat, staring openly at them with knowing smiles.
‘Salute!’
‘Cheers!’ Jasmine held her glass up in acknowledgement to the nearby table, then winked at an appalled Meg. ‘Come on, drink up. There’ll be plenty more where that came from.’
‘At what price, though?’ Meg bit the words out—she could feel the colour mounting on her cheeks, torn between wanting to send the drinks back and not wanting to make a scene. ‘Jasmine, they’re going to want something….’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Meg! Will you loosen up? For God’s sake, they bought us a drink. Can’t you just say thank you? It’s just a bit of fun.’
Only it wasn’t.
As Meg had predicted, as soon as the glasses met their lips the men made their way over, sleazy chat-up lines were followed by sleazy chat-up lines, a bottle of champagne soon appeared, and all she wanted was to get the hell out, knowing the money that was being spent on them had nothing to do with their engaging conversation, nothing to do with a man wanting to get to know a woman. It had been a mistake to come—a horrible, horrible mistake.
‘They want us to play the tables!’ Jasmine said gleefully as Meg bit back a smart retort. ‘Come on!’
She was tired of pointing things out to Jasmine—tired of acting like a boring big sister when Jasmine clearly didn’t want to hear what she had to say.
‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Bed!’ Jasmine gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘It isn’t even midnight. Come on, Meg. It will be fun.’
‘It’s not my kind of fun,’ Meg answered. ‘Look, Jasmine, I’m tired and I don’t particularly like the company we’re keeping. If you want to stay on, then that’s up to you. Just be careful.’
‘Five minutes,’ Jasmine pleaded. ‘Then slip away—pretend you’re going to the loo or something.’
They were already at the gaming area, Jasmine’s eyes glittering from the champagne and attention as Meg attempted her excuses. There was nothing subtle now about the men’s advances—one of them offered her a chip to play the roulette table, which Meg refused, a prickle of fear running down her spine as Jasmine accepted. Things were really starting to get out of control.
‘Thirty, red.’ Jasmine kissed her chip and placed it on the table as Meg watched on. She’d never played roulette. Oh, she’d seen it on films, but she had no idea of the rules and absolutely no desire to find out, but her escort was insistent, pushing the chip into her hand.
‘No!’ Meg almost shouted the word and flung the beastly chip at him. She wanted nothing from him, nothing at all. And, boring or not, she was going to get Jasmine out of here and tell her she was flirting with danger. Once this beastly game was over, even if she had to frog-march her to the toilet, that was what she was going to do!
‘Your bet, please.’
As the businessman who had latched onto Meg pushed the chip back into her hand, Meg again shook her head, but table etiquette demanded she now play, and if Meg didn’t want to make a scene then she had no option but to place her bet. ‘Black seventeen,’ she said, plucking a number from midair and pulling out her purse, refusing to baulk when the croupier informed her of the minimum bet and handing over her entire night’s wages plus a touch more.
Meg barely watched as the wheel spun. Her eyes were seemingly on it, but her mind was elsewhere. Sensing the leering stares of her companions, feeling a hand lingering too long as it brushed her back, she wished this moment over, willed the ball to stop anywhere, for this awful night to end.
Tomorrow she was leaving…. The wheel was slowing down as her jumbled thoughts assimilated into some sort of order, her mind calming as she worked out a rudimentary plan: her job in the kitchen was over, when she didn’t show up in Luca’s office tomorrow she’d be out on her ear anyway, and tonight Jasmine had delivered the last straw. She was tired of Jasmine, tired of Niroli come to that—she’d had nothing but trouble and disappointment since she’d arrived. First thing tomorrow she’d head to back to the port, catch a boat to Mont Avellana perhaps. She’d heard there was seasonal work there…. Only the ball was moving now, rattling around the stilling wheel and even though the tension