Authors: Jan Bowles
With not a moment to waste, she quickly continued and then gathered her possessions together. She went over to the drinks cabinet and looked at the telephone number she’d written on the notepad the night before. She tore the page from the pad and then scribbled Trent a quick message. With one last look around the wonderful apartment, she made her way to his private elevator and pressed the ground floor button.
During the descent, she stared at her pale face in the elevator mirror. She felt terrible. Had she done the right thing? When he woke up, would he be furious? Instinctively, she covered her reflection with her hands and lowered her head. She did not wear guilt well.
In Swedish, she chanted out a mantra. “It’s better this way. It’s better this way.” Only she didn’t feel better. She just felt empty.
* * * *
The sound of the elevator groaning into life roused Trent from his sleep.
He stretched and rubbed a hand over his face. He guessed it must be his cleaner coming to work. Time to get up. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see it was still dark. It couldn’t be Connie.
He turned and stared at the empty bed beside him. The pillow where Mia had lain still retained her warmth and perfume. He moved from the bed and began searching the apartment for her. After several minutes, realization dawned. She had already left.
He wondered why she hadn’t said goodbye. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to wake him. He noticed the notepad left on top of the drinks cabinet. At least he had her telephone number. He walked across and picked it up. Still half asleep, he just stared at the message, trying to make out the words. Surely that couldn’t be right.
His blood ran cold as he read.
You were so wonderful, Trent.
Please forgive me, and keep the dream alive.
Really, I’m not worth it.
Mia
Trent flicked through the notepad. The page with her telephone number was missing. Why? What on earth was she hiding? Could she be married? He hadn’t thought so at the time. Perhaps she didn’t like him. He dismissed that idea, too. They had shared something very special. He shook his head. Yeah, so special she’d just left without a backward glance. He remembered how hesitant she’d been when he’d asked her to go away with him. Now he knew why.
He went over to the sophisticated and very expensive CCTV system and rewound the last half hour. With over two million dollars worth of art in his apartment, his insurers had insisted it be installed. It was a condition of his policy. It was very discreet. No one would even know it was there. When he caught a glimpse of Mia leaving the bedroom, he began playing the recording. He watched her put her clothes on and then collect her things. She stopped walking and stared at the notepad. He zoomed in and thought that somehow she looked sad. Folding his arms across his chest, he observed her tear the page from the pad and drop it into her purse before writing the message.
Then she headed for the elevator. Well, one thing was for sure. She wasn’t an art thief. If she’d been so inclined, she’d have been able to remove several priceless pieces. The camera on the elevator had been installed behind a two-way mirror for extra security. It was the only way into his apartment and the only way out. Perfect for recording a close-up of an intruder’s face. This time it had caught Mia. He moved closer to the screen. Were those tears running down her cheeks? He had no way of telling because she placed her hands right where the camera was concealed behind the two-way glass. All that was left was the sound of her voice repeating something in Swedish over and over again, and then she was gone.
Trent figured there was more to this woman than first met the eye. Could she be in trouble? There was no way he would let this go. He would get to the bottom of the mystery. He rubbed the tight band that had developed across his temples. He would track Mia down, of that he was certain, and find out why she’d acted in this way.
So just what had he got to go on?
Well, he had a Bellini dress. Luckily he’d noticed the label when he’d slipped it from her shoulders. He also had the 3G gala event. Everyone who attended had bought a ticket. It was just a matter of sifting through the clues.
Trent had no doubt he would succeed.
Chapter Seven
As soon as Mia arrived at Madame Monique’s, she laid the ruined dress on the workbench. She studied the gaping tear in terrified silence. No amount of needlework could hope to repair the damage.
There was only one thing for it. She picked up the telephone, and with her heart in her mouth, dialed Monica’s number.
Monica’s familiar voice burst onto the line on the second ring. “Hello, Monica Weston speaking.”
After some pleasantries were exchanged, Mia breathed in and owned up to what had happened. Even then, she thought it best not to tell her she’d been wearing the dress. “I’ve had an accident, Monica. I’m afraid I’ve torn one of the dresses.”
Silence filled the receiver then a deep breath.
“Which one?”
“The red Bellini—”
“Not the creation belonging to Sophia Petrov.”
Mia closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable tirade. “Yes.”
“You stupid, stupid girl. My most treasured customer and you ruin her dress. Are you trying to bankrupt me? My name will be mud. Mud, do you hear me?” Her voice rose higher and higher with each word. “How did it happen?”
Mia hedged around the truth. “Does it really matter? It’s torn and is due for delivery on Friday. What should I do?”
A pause followed. “That dress is worth fifty thousand dollars. I’ll have to fly back straight away. I need to handle this myself. Otherwise, I won’t have a business left. How could you be so clumsy, Mia? Luckily my grandchildren will have their father to look after them now. He’s just returned from Paris this morning.” She took another deep, ragged breath
.
“Mia, I might have known I couldn’t trust you. You’d better have a good excuse,” she warned.
Suddenly, the phone went dead with a loud click. Mia stared at the receiver. This perfect fantasy she’d had was slowly starting to unravel. She thought of Trent and the few wonderful hours they’d spent together. At least she had that unblemished memory to comfort herself with.
Within four hours, Monica stormed through the doors, a scowl on her face. Mia’s heart sunk, but she knew Monica wouldn’t say anything while there were customers present.
When they were completely left alone, she demanded, “Mia, show me the damage.”
Stealing herself, she showed Monica the dress. It had been her responsibility to look after the expensive designer garment, and she’d ruined it. Whatever action Monica took now, she deserved it. She only had herself to blame.
“Disgraceful, disgraceful.” Monica held up the dress. “If word gets out, I’m finished, ruined.” She pointed a finger at her. “You will pay for this, Mia. Clients trust us to clean their most treasured garments. These aren’t ordinary, common people. They are the elite of society.” She shook her head. “I will have to contact the designer to see if anything can be done and pray that word doesn’t get out. If a repair can be made, then mark my words, Mia, it will come out of your wages.”
After a long, frantic telephone call, Monica snatched the dress from Mia’s grasp. “I’ve got to drive across New York in the rush hour now, thanks to you. Ricardo Bellini’s assistant has told me if I get it to him straight away, he’ll see what he can do.
She gave Mia a withering look. “Make sure you’re here when I get back. I haven’t finished with you yet.” With that she stormed from the shop, the words, “Stupid girl,” on her lips as she slammed the door on the way out.
Mia could only assume Monica would fire her once she returned. Tears sprang to her eyes. How would she pay for her apartment then? It would be impossible. Her fanciful dream had cost her dearly. Surely unless a miracle happened, she would have to return home to Sweden now.
With her anxiety mounting by the second, she feverishly attended to her work, hoping to atone for her stupid mistake.
* * * *
Trent replaced the receiver. Now that had been an interesting conversation. He swiveled in his chair and stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows in his penthouse apartment. Manhattan looked tired and gray as the last vestiges of daylight began to fade. Soon the night would take hold, and New York would portray a different persona entirely. Then the glitz and the glamour would sparkle and shine well into the early hours. Just as it had last night, when he had met the most beautiful and intriguing woman of his life.
Mia.
What had happened to her, and where was she now?
He evaluated what he had learned so far. A journalist friend had given him a complete list of the guests at the 3G gala event. Mia Johansson, whoever she was, had not been invited.
He rubbed a hand through his hair. The mystery deepened. The telephone conversation with the Bellini fashion house had turned up some interesting facts. The dress had been a one-off design created for the society heiress, Sophia Petrov, who at this very moment was out of the country. Rumor had it she was on a skiing holiday in Aspen. Of course, it was nothing for haute couture dresses of this quality to exchange hands several times. So it might not still belong to the Russian heiress. Strangely, a dry cleaning company who had it in their care had brought it in for repair that very day.
So the plot had thickened. Monica Weston, the woman who owned the dry cleaning company, had indeed been on the guest list for the charity event. Was she really Mia? And if she was, why had she changed her name? Just as easily the dress could belong to someone else entirely. Perhaps she had changed her name in order to remain anonymous. If that was the case, he hoped the dry cleaning company would give him an address. It was a long shot, he knew, but he thrived on speculation. Just the thought of unraveling the mystery urged him on.
His plan was to visit Madame Monique’s today and find out for himself. Whatever he turned up would be fascinating. The enigma that was Mia Johansson was driving him to distraction. All he could think about was her. He looked at the note she’d left,
“keep the dream alive.”
It had spurred him on. He wanted to believe. He really did.
* * * *
When Monica returned, Mia could see she was in a foul mood. A huge scowl creased her brow as she looked at her. Mia guessed she would now learn her fate.
“Mia, you’ll be pleased to know that a repair can be made to the Bellini,” she said, spitting venom. “Ricardo Bellini’s assistant is going to make it his top priority.”
She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but even she knew there was more to come. There had to be a huge “but.”
Monica continued, “But because of the short notice, this will cost me dearly. Quality doesn’t come cheap.”
“Oh, dear.” Mia swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, oh, dear, indeed. It will all have to come out of your wages, Mia.”
“But—”
“There’s no buts, girl. You will have to pay back every last cent.” She shooed her away with her hands. “Be gone. Get back to work. You owe me big time. When it’s paid back, I’ll start paying your wages again.”
“I can’t survive without money, Monica. How can I pay my rent?”
“That’s really not my problem.” Monica Weston looked irritated. “This is all of your own making. Now get out of my sight.”
“Should I take my break now? I haven’t had one yet.”
“You’ve got a nerve. No, you don’t deserve a break.”
Mia went into the back of the shop to where the heavy dry-cleaning equipment was housed. After four years she’d, never really gotten used to the smell. It always made her feel sick and light-headed. Now it looked like she’d be banished here permanently.
Her dream had turned into a nightmare. Just how would she survive?