Love, Life, and Jewellery

Chapter 4: Forbidden Thoughts

It was the death of day and the birth of night when Alastair finally returned to his estate by the river. Clouds now blanketed the sky, masking the moon and smothering the stars. A chilling wind pushed its way around London; with it was the scent of a cold winter approaching. It was with fumbling fingers and clumsy movements that Alastair hastily opened and closed the brass gates and let himself into his mansion. With a surge of spontaneous adrenaline, he half ran half leapt up the stairs to his study on the third floor, burst through the door and collapsed on the chair with the red velvet padding. 

It was not until this moment that Alastair had the chance to process the day's events. The intensity of that final moment of eye contact, instead of wearing off, had only become stronger as the day dragged on. Now, undistracted by his trade, he found himself analysing every minute that Natalia had been in the shop. He recalled the shininess of her dark hair, the elegance of her gait and the smooth flow of her curves revealed by her emerald frock. Most intriguing to Alastair however was the presence of something which could not be detected by the bodily senses: this girl had something special, something different about her that attracted Alastair the way no woman ever had in his long existence. 

What are you thinking? The rhetorical question echoed through his mind, drowning out all fantasies. You cannot touch a woman. The simple but hostile statement reverberated throughout his brain. In the past 150 years of his life, Alastair had not touched a single woman. This had not bothered him at all; for he was a different kind of man.

Growing up, he had always been ambitious. His father was an artist of the Renaissance style that boomed in France during the 18th century. Born and raised in Paris, Alistair was prone to the desperation that his father experienced in getting his artistic works to fund their lives. His mother, the daughter of a Scottish merchant, had died from typhoid shortly after his birth. Although he and his father always managed to scrape by, the lack of financial stability had lead to the formation of Alastair's obsession: an obsession to become rich beyond measure.

It was this that had led him to his jeweller's trade. He had watched his father paint portraits of women in dripping diamonds and shining gold, and the association of jewellery with wealth and prestige had fabricated a bridge in his conscience that had combined with the creative talents he inherited from his father. It was on that encounter 170 years ago with the old jeweller at the market that the 10 year old Alastair had decided he was born to be a jeweller; with this passion, he would become the wealthiest and richest man in the world. 

Alastair opened the drawer that contained the box which housed his unfinished masterpiece. He ran his fingers over the gold chain, and felt once again the craftsmanship of each charm and the cold hardness of each embedded gem. As ever, there was still the feeling that something was missing. This fact annoyed him intensely, but Alastair was not a man to leave a job undone. Once again he returned the necklace to its box and locked it in the drawer. Realising the hour, he left the study to prepare for rest. Once in his bed, Alastair could not sleep. One returning picture kept replaying in his head like a flickering silent movie: the final glimpse of Natalia before she turned to leave his shop, the swish of her skirt revealing the hilt of a dagger nestled firmly in her left leather boot.