She threw on her coat and stuffed the dress into her bag before slipping out of the apartment. The lift had just arrived and she managed to squeeze in just before the doors closed. It was full and she edged away from the woman next to her, fearful that she would notice that her hands were shaking as she clutched her bag. As soon as she was out of the building she hurried across the car park to her Opel Astra GTC, a present from Leyland. She couldn’t believe that Andy had bought her story about it being a company car.
As she drove towards the city, she tried to calm herself. “You’ve still got time,” she kept telling herself,. “you can do this”. She had planned to drug Leyland’s drink – make sure he was out of it long enough for her to do the deal and get away. Now she didn’t know how long it would be before he came after her. She turned onto the M1 into Johannesburg, took the Corlett Drive offramp and pulled up outside Arthur Shane’s antique store.
The interior of the shop seemed dim after the bright sunshine outside. Two huge Chinese vases flanked the entrance door, and the ceiling was hung from side to side with crystal chandeliers. An elderly man emerged from the back of the door and hurried across to Heather.
“Mrs Amaratha, I didn’t expect you so early, but it is always a pleasure to see you.”
“Slight change in schedule – I hope it’s convenient,” Heather replied, hoping her anxiety didn’t come across in her voice.
“Of course, of course,” he said, leading the way into the back room.
Heather handed the bag of diamonds to the jeweller, who weighed it before tipping the stones onto a cloth and examining each of them in turn. Heather resisted the temptation to keep looking behind her, expected Leyland’s heavy hand to fall on her shoulder any second.
“Beautiful, beautiful,” Arthur said after what seemed like an eternity, “all perfectly in order. I know my client will be happy with these at the terms we agreed.”
The jeweller went across to his safe and took out a leather briefcase.
“I expect you will want to count the cash,” he said.
“No, that’s fine. I trust you implicitly, Mr Shane," Heather replied, smiling at the elderly gentleman, “and I know Mr Rondel does too”.
“Good day then, Mrs Amaratha,” said the jeweller. He watched Heather leave the shop. Something didn’t seem quite right; maybe he should call Leyland Rondel, he thought, just to check that everything was in order. Rondel had never trusted anyone in his life, and neither had Arthur Shane.