Copyright © April 2021 by CiaoSteve
CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Author's Notes
This is a fourth part to the series. Although it is self-contained from a story perspective, I would recommend you read the earlier chapters as there will be references which make more sense if you have read the earlier parts.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
While Kirsten was being led by a leash up the cabin stairs, back in the city, another young woman was also being led. Her name was Sophiya, Soph to her husband, or Sophie to her friends. It was her husband, her hand in his, who was leading her up through the busy designer department store.
Heads were turning, usually young and male, as the couple wound their way from floor to floor. Was it surprising? She was young, early twenties, tall and slim, with long shiny black hair tied up in a loose bun. Was that it, or was it the look? Everything about the young woman oozed class. Even in casual attire—Sophiya was wearing a trendily baggy white blouse with the top few buttons undone, a short black leather skirt and white trainers—she stood out from the rest. Add to that the obvious logo on the handbag she carried over her shoulder, a logo which for sure didn't come from a cheap copy.
If it wasn't the look, then it had to be something more natural which had people noticing her. Maybe it was the light Indian complexion, the almost tanned appearance to her young skin. Perhaps the seemingly endless legs, perfectly toned, seductively disappearing up inside that short skirt. Or, most likely, it was the hips and chest, curves which belied her slender stature.
If she exuded class, then Mukesh, her husband, radiated wealth. His choice of attire wouldn't have looked out of place in an office rather than a shop, even an upper-class store like this one. He wore a blue jacket over a smart white shirt, the buttons of which matched the colour of the jacket. Down below Mukesh donned a pair of stone-coloured slacks, and smart brown sneakers. It was the wide brown leather belt which co-ordinated the couple's outfits. There, for all to see, was a silver interlocking-C designed buckle, the same as the logo on Sophiya's bag.
It was Saturday afternoon, and the store was buzzing with customers. There were those for which window shopping was an ideal way of passing away a few hours, with no intention to buy anything, nor the means to make a purchase given the prices in this place. Others would be on a bit of a binge, baskets full as they overdosed on retail therapy. Then there were those with a mission in mind, but not knowing what it was that they wanted until they found it.
Sophiya and Mukesh were the latter, intent on finding the perfect outfit, or at least Mukesh was. Sophiya though was just a little indifferent to the whole idea.
"Here," Mukesh addressed his wife as he held up a red cocktail dress, "how about this one?"
"I've got one just like it at home," was the put down aimed towards his latest choice. "Why do I need another dress anyway. I've got a wardrobe full of them. Surely one of those will do unless you want to buy me something suitable for an interview."
"We've had that conversation, Soph. You don't need to work."
"It's not that I need to work. God knows how much money we have. It's that... well, Mukesh... it's that I want to work, to have some company during—"
"Not today, Soph," Mukesh interrupted. "You know what I think about you having to work. Anyway, it's your birthday, and I want you to feel a million dollars. We've got the theatre, then out for dinner at
the
most wonderful restaurant."
As if to say the matter was closed, Mukesh gave Sophiya a sensitive kiss on the cheek.
"But Mukesh. I mean it, I've got—"
"Can I help you sir... madam?" came a female voice from behind.
In tandem, the two shoppers turned around, expecting to be met by the usual green-between-the-ears young shop assistant, intent on nothing more than making a sale. Imagine the surprise when they were met by... well, you had to say she was a seasoned professional, as mature in stature as she must have been in age.
"It's fine, we were just l—"
Sophiya was cut short as she started to make excuses that they were about to leave.
"Looking for a—"
Even Mukesh's intervention was cut short.
"A dress," interrupted the sales assistant, in a most surprisingly direct yet friendly manner. "Yes, yes, I could see that, but if you don't mind me saying, you're not going to find anything suitable among these."
The look on Mukesh's face said it all. Did she know who he was? Money wasn't an object if that was what she thought. The only question was how to say it to her nicely.
"What do you mean? I've never had anyone questioning my ability to buy my wife a dress. I have more mon..."
The reaction of the sales assistant—she started to smile; the merest grin morphed into an infectious chuckle—broke Mukesh out of his remonstration.
"Oh, no, I think you misunderstand. I am not questioning your ability. I just don't think these dresses are right for somebody as beautiful as your wife." The assistant turned to Sophiya. "I hope you aren't offended by me calling you beautiful."
"No, no," Sophiya responded.
Sophiya wasn't offended; embarrassed or flattered may have been suitable emotions, but not offended. In fact, what shocked her the most was the way this stranger had managed to shut Mukesh up. Once Mukesh got a bee in his bonnet, there was usually no stopping him. She was right about the dresses, though. Sophiya had used the excuse that she had many at home—it was a half-truth as she did have many similar dresses to the ones Mukesh had been selecting—but really it was her way of saying that she just didn't like his choices.
Turning back to Mukesh, the sales assistant continued in her direct manner.
