Folly by Jassy Mackenzie

obviously costume. The beads aren’t even strung properly, and that clasp is probably made from nickel.’
    I could feel my face going crimson. I wanted to get up and bolt outside, slamming the door behind me, running away from the humiliation and the awfulness and the impossibility of what had just happened.
    Instead, I sat and watched while he pressed buttons on a calculator and wrote down an amount that I could already see would be too little. I needed more to start up my business.
    The pearls. What had happened to them?
    There were only three explanations I could think of.
    One, Mark had lied to me, which I hoped and prayed was impossible.
    Two, Mark had been lied to by the supplier, which since they were reputable, was also unlikely.
    Three, at some stage, someone had switched the original necklace for this pretty but worthless string of beads. Now that I thought about it, did I remember the pearls themselves as being slightly smaller? Ever so slightly less symmetrical? And the clasp … had it been a solid-looking, golden, fish-shaped oval? A fish-shaped oval was definitely sounding familiar now that I thought about it. On the other hand, I might simply be imagining what had never existed.
    â€˜Sorry about that,’I said to the pawn shop assistant, trying to claw back what remained of my dignity.
    â€˜It happens,’ he said, and now I knew what that expression was.
    It was sympathy.
    I was not going to cry. I was not . Tears would not be useful here; that I had already seen. Instead I breathed in slowly, raised my chin and looked him directly in the eye.
    â€˜I need more than what you’re giving me,’ I told him. ‘I was expecting some value from the necklace as well.’
    â€˜Even if it had been genuine, I wouldn’t have been able to offer you much for it. There’s a very limited market for second-hand pearls. Diamonds and gold are easier to sell.’
    â€˜I need this money to get back on my feet. I lost my job in September. Now I’m starting up a business venture that is already looking promising. I’ll keep paying the monthly interest on the rings until I can afford to reclaim them. You’ll see.’
    I was begging, I knew, but I kept my voice strong while I did so, and firmly blinked back the tears that were pricking at the corners of my eyes.
    â€˜Look …’ He picked up the engagement ring again, tilted his head sideways, gave it a final considering glance. ‘ok. I’ll add ten per cent to my original offer. I can’t do more than that.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ I said.
    I filled in the forms and he counted out the payment in cash. Some banknotes crisp and new, others creased and sad-looking.
    â€˜Good luck,’ he said.
    I scraped the chair back and got up to leave, taking care not to look too hard at the sweaty-faced man in a wrinkled business suit who was next in the queue.

Chapter 8
    T he now-empty folly reeked of spaniel. Armed with rubber gloves, dusters, a vacuum cleaner, a broom, buckets of soapy water and a scrubbing brush, I set to work cleaning the smelly interior. On my knees and scrubbing the floor, it was bizarre to think that in less than a week’s time I’d be watching, whip in hand, while a slave paid top dollar to do what I was doing now. I tried to focus on the positive fact that money would finally be coming in. I didn’t want to dwell on the details of how I would be earning it. In fact, now that I was preparing the dungeon, I was beginning to feel more and more terrified about coming face to face with my clients, seeing them naked, exposed, aroused. To be in a room with strangers who were paying me to fulfil their perverted sexual needs. On the other hand, imagining who they were at least helped me to get to grips with my fears.
    Lowly had been very softly spoken, and although he hadn’t said much, I’d picked up a hint of an accent in his voice that told me he was Indian. I guessed