Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(55)

Bernard was relaxed, as if they’d stopped by merely to have a visit with him. He flicked Ben an amused glance as he came to stand behind Marcie, curling his hand over her shoulder. The amusement became warmer as Marcie automatically reached up to link fingers with Ben, while her other hand remained in the grasp of Bernard’s.

“Has he told you how we met?” the jeweler asked Marcie.

“You know, I can cancel the check,” Ben said.

“You paid with a credit card,” Bernard said without a blink.

Though Ben could still feel the shimmer of tense excitement under his hand, Marcie leaned into Ben’s touch and smiled at Bernard.

“He hasn’t. I’d love to know.”

“I can dispute the charge,” Ben put in. He saw Winston bite back a smile as his father completely ignored Ben.

“When he was a very young lad,” Bernard told Marcie, “he did what grown men could not. He managed to take something from my store. One of my employees, a lovely young lady with a good heart, Emily, had a necklace out on display for Mrs. Butler. She has since left us, God rest her soul—Mrs. Butler, that is—but she had excellent taste in jewelry. It was a heart pendant, silver with a ruby and diamond placed inside the open curve. A piece I designed myself.”

His fingers tightened on Marcie’s hand, his voice reflecting a craftsman’s pride. “That is what makes us so special. I am both a jewelry designer and maker, though I admit, with my eyesight and the steadiness of my hands not what they once were, I have capitulated to my son’s wisdom and now have several trusted people who work with me to bring my designs to life.”

He sent his son a fond look. “He follows in his father’s footsteps, and sometimes surpasses him, such that some of the pieces you see around you were designed and made by him. But,” he brought his attention back to Marcie, “I made Mr. O’Callahan’s order myself. With his input.”

Marcie swallowed, that vibration beneath Ben’s touch increasing. Bernard’s hand tightened on hers, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I won’t go on too long, angel. But I must help him, by building your anticipation.”

Winston had been standing behind the counter in his dress shirt, slacks and tie, as if he could comfortably remain in that position forever. Bernard’s son had already put in a decade of learning the family business, and had his father’s dignified demeanor. However, he appealed to their younger clientele with some subtle differences, like the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt and a rakish hair cut with longer side burns. But despite the different look, the store was an equal calling to him.

Proving it, the younger man had somehow disappeared and reappeared without being noticed. He brought out a glass of wine and a small dish of Belgian seashell-shaped chocolates, placing both next to Marcie and Bernard’s clasped hands. He also had a photo album. Circling around Ben to stand before his father and Marcie, Winston opened the album to show the silver heart piece Bernard had described.

“Oh, it was lovely,” she said sincerely. “So delicate.”

“When she commissioned it, Mrs. Butler said that she wanted it no bigger than her largest fingernail, because she said women who wore pendants bigger than a fingernail, or a diamond larger than a teardrop, were gauche, and she was not a gauche woman.” The lines of Bernard’s face crinkled in fond memory. “No, she was not. Not in the least. But very strong-willed, and knowing what she wanted. That’s the best kind of woman.”

Bernard sent Ben another significant look. The cagey old bastard. “Anyhow, the young rascal came in, telling Emily he had lost his mother, and he needed her help. She and Mrs. Butler were so busy clucking over him, they didn’t notice him pocket the necklace. After that very moment, he glanced outside and exclaimed, ‘There she is,’ and darted out. Only then did Emily realize the necklace was gone, but he had disappeared into the ether.” Bernard waved a hand to illustrate.

Marcie tipped her head back to give Ben an incredulous look. “I think he’s suffering from early dementia,” he said in an affected stage whisper.

“I am fifty-nine years old, you impertinent boy,” Bernard said.

“I did say early.”

Marcie chuckled, but returned her attention to Bernard. “So, you caught him eventually?” she ventured.

Ben snorted before Bernard could answer. “No one catches me.”

Well, no one except Jonas Kensington, but he wasn’t going to bring up the exception right now.

“Don’t interrupt the story,” Bernard admonished. He tapped Marcie’s hand. “We did not catch him. A thousand-dollar necklace, poof, gone. I had to write it off as a loss. Had a grown man done it, I would have thought dark thoughts, hoped for his ill-gotten gains to turn on him. But young Emily, when I questioned her, only remembered one thing about him. ‘He looked hungry,’ Mr. Bernard,’ she said. ‘And alone.’”

Okay, that was an unexpected turn. Ben’s gut tightened. He wondered why the old man was getting this personal, but then again, he should have known. Bernard was testing Marcie, seeing what kind of person she was. Ben would have put an end to it, but Bernard met his gaze briefly and lifted a finger, suggesting forbearance.

“Nearly two decades later, this young man walks into my store,” Bernard continued. “In an expensive suit, looking like a well-heeled client, instead of a street urchin. He asks for me, and tells me he was the boy that stole from me. He apologizes, and hands me the price of the necklace. What it would cost today.”