Jeremy returned to the royal enclosure for a third time in the hope of seeing the lovely woman again. He searched the paddock full of smart men dressed in morning suits with little badges hanging from their lapels, all looking exactly like each other. They were accompanied by wives and girlfriends adorned in designer dresses and outrageous hats. Each one was trying desperately not to look like anyone else.
Then he spotted her, standing next to a tall, aristocratic-looking man who was bending down and listening intently to a jockey dressed in red-and-yellow hooped silks. She didn’t appear to be interested in their conversation and began to look around. Her eyes settled on Jeremy and he received that same friendly smile once again. She whispered something to the tall man, then walked across the enclosure to join him at the railing.
‘I hope you took my advice,’ she said.
‘Sure did,’ said Jeremy. ‘But how could you be so confident?’
‘It’s my father’s horse.’
‘Should I back your father’s horse in the next race?’
‘Certainly not. You should never bet on anything unless you’re sure it’s a certainty. I hope you won enough to take me to dinner tonight?’
If Jeremy didn’t reply immediately, it was only because he couldn’t believe he’d heard her correctly. He eventually stammered out, ‘Where would you like to go?’
‘The Ivy, eight o’clock. By the way, my name’s Arabella Warwick.’ Without another word she turned on her heel and went back to join her set.
Jeremy was surprised Arabella had given him a second look, let alone suggested they should dine together that evening. He expected that nothing would come of it, but as she’d already paid for dinner, he had nothing to lose.
Arabella arrived a few minutes after the appointed hour, and when she entered the restaurant, several pairs of male eyes followed her progress as she made her way to Jeremy’s table. He had been told they were fully booked until he mentioned her name. Jeremy rose from his place long before she joined him. She took the seat opposite him as a waiter appeared by her side.
‘The usual, madam?’
She nodded, but did not take her eyes off Jeremy.
By the time her Bellini had arrived, Jeremy had begun to relax a little. She listened intently to everything he had to say, laughed at his jokes, and even seemed to be interested in his work at the bank. Well, he had slightly exaggerated his position and the size of the deals he was working on.
After dinner, which was a little more expensive than he’d anticipated, he drove her back to her home in Pavilion Road, and was surprised when she invited him in for coffee, and even more surprised when they ended up in bed.
Jeremy had never slept with a woman on a first date before. He could only assume that it was what ‘the set’ did, and when he left the next morning, he certainly didn’t expect to ever hear from her again. But she called that afternoon and invited him over for supper at her place. From that moment, they hardly spent a day apart during the next month.
What pleased Jeremy most was that Arabella didn’t seem to mind that he couldn’t afford to take her to her usual haunts, and appeared quite happy to share a Chinese or Indian meal when they went out for dinner, often insisting that they split the bill. But he didn’t believe it could last, until one night she said, ‘You do realise I’m in love with you, don’t you, Jeremy?’
Jeremy had never shown his true feelings for Arabella. He’d assumed their relationship was nothing more than what her set would describe as a ‘fling’. Not that she’d ever introduced him to anyone from her set. When he fell on one knee and proposed to her on the dance floor at Annabel’s nightclub, he couldn’t believe it when she said yes.
‘I’ll buy a ring tomorrow,’ he said, trying not to think about the awful state of his bank account, which had turned a deeper shade of red since he’d met Arabella.
‘Why bother to buy one, when you can steal the best there is?’ she said.
Jeremy burst out laughing, but it quickly became clear Arabella wasn’t joking. That was the moment he should have walked away, but he realised that he couldn’t if it meant losing her. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this beautiful and intoxicating woman, and if stealing a ring was what it took, it seemed a small price to pay.
‘What type shall I steal?’ he asked, still not altogether sure that she was serious.
‘The expensive type,’ she replied. ‘In fact, I’ve already chosen the one I want.’ She passed him a De Beers catalogue.
‘Page forty-three,’ she said. ‘It’s called the Kandice Diamond.’
‘But have you worked out how I’m going to steal it?’ asked Jeremy, studying a photograph of the faultless yellow diamond.
‘Oh, that’s the easy part, darling,’ she said. ‘All you’ll have to do is follow my instructions.’
Jeremy didn’t say a word until she’d finished outlining her plan.
That’s how he had ended up in The Ritz that morning, wearing his only tailored suit, a pair of Links cufflinks, a Cartier Tank watch and an old Etonian tie, all of which belonged to Arabella’s father.
‘I will have to return everything by tonight,’ she said, ‘otherwise Pa might miss them and start asking questions.’
‘Of course,’ said Jeremy, who was enjoying becoming accustomed to the trappings of the rich, even if it was only a fleeting acquaintance.
The waiter returned, carrying a silver tray. Neither of them spoke as he placed a cup of mint tea in front of Arabella and a pot of coffee on Jeremy’s side of the table.
‘Will there be anything else, sir?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Jeremy with an assurance he’d gained during the past month.
‘Do you think you’re ready?’ asked Arabella, her knee brushing against the inside of his leg while she once again gave him the smile that had so captivated him at Ascot.
‘I’m ready,’ said Jeremy, trying to sound convincing.
‘Good. I’ll wait here until you return, darling.’ That same smile. ‘You know how much this means to me.’
Jeremy nodded, rose from his place and, without another word, walked out of the morning room, across the corridor, through the swing doors and out on to Piccadilly. He placed a stick of chewing gum in his mouth, hoping it would help him to relax. Normally Arabella would have disapproved, but on this occasion she had recommended it.
Jeremy stood nervously on the pavement and waited for a gap to appear in the traffic, then nipped across the road. He came to a halt outside De Beers, the largest diamond merchant in the world. This was his last chance to walk away. He knew he should take it, but just the thought of her made it impossible.
Jeremy rang the doorbell, which made him aware that his palms were sweating. Arabella had warned him that you couldn’t just stroll into De Beers as if it was a supermarket. If they didn’t like the look of you, they would not even open the door. That was why he had been measured for his first hand-tailored suit and bought a new silk shirt, and was wearing Arabella’s father’s watch, cufflinks and old Etonian tie. ‘The tie will ensure that the door is opened immediately,’ Arabella had told him, ‘and once they spot the watch and the cufflinks, you’ll be invited into the private salon, because by then they’ll be convinced you’re one of the rare people who can afford their wares.’
Arabella turned out to be correct, because when the doorman appeared, he took one look at Jeremy and immediately unlocked the door.
‘Good morning, sir. How may I help you?’
‘I was hoping to buy an engagement ring.’
‘Of course, sir. Please step inside.’
Jeremy followed him down a long corridor, glancing at photographs on the walls that showed the history of the company since its foundation in 1888. Once they had reached the end of the corridor, the doorman melted away, to be replaced by a tall, middle-aged man wearing a well-cut dark suit, a white silk shirt and a black tie.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said, giving a slight bow. ‘My name is
Crombie,’ he added, before ushering Jeremy into his private lair. Jeremy walked into a small, well-lit room. In the centre was an oval table covered in a black velvet cloth, with comfortable-looking leather chairs on either side. The assistant waited until Jeremy had sat down before he took the seat opposite him.
‘Would you care for some coffee, sir?’ Crombie enquired helpfully.
‘No, thank you,’ said Jeremy, who had no desire to hold up proceedings any longer than necessary, for fear he might lose his nerve.
‘And how may I help you today, sir?’ Crombie asked, as if Jeremy were a regular customer.
‘I’ve just become engaged . . .’
‘Many congratulations, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jeremy, beginning to feel a little more relaxed. ‘I’m looking for a ring, something a bit special,’ he added, still sticking to the script.
‘You’ve certainly come to the right place, sir,’ said Crombie, and pressed a button under the table.
The door opened immediately, and a man in an identical dark suit, white shirt and dark tie entered the room.
‘The gentleman would like to see some engagement rings, Partridge.’
‘Yes, of course, Mr Crombie,’ replied the porter, and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.
‘Good weather for this time of year,’ said Crombie as he waited for the porter to reappear.
‘Not bad,’ said Jeremy.
‘No doubt you’ll be going to Wimbledon, sir.’
‘Yes, we’ve got tickets for the women’s semifinals,’ said Jeremy, feeling rather pleased with himself, remembering that he’d strayed off script.
A moment later, the door opened and the porter reappeared carrying a large oak box which he placed dutifully in the centre of the table, before leaving without uttering a word.
Crombie waited until the door had closed before selecting a small key from a chain that hung from the waistband of his trousers, unlocking the box and opening the lid slowly to reveal three rows of assorted gems that took Jeremy’s breath away. Definitely not the sort of thing he was used to seeing in the window of his local H. Samuel.
It was a few moments before he fully recovered, and then he remembered Arabella telling him he would be presented with a wide choice of stones so the salesman could estimate his price range without having to ask him directly.
Jeremy studied the box’s contents intently, and after some thought selected a ring from the bottom row with three perfectly cut small emeralds set proud on a gold band.
‘Quite beautiful,’ said Jeremy as he studied the stones more carefully. ‘What is the price of this ring?’
‘One hundred and twenty-four thousand pounds, sir,’ said Crombie, as if the amount was not worthy of note.
Jeremy placed the ring back in the box, and turned his attention to the row above. This time he selected a ring with a circle of sapphires on a white-gold band. He removed it from the box and pretended to study it more closely before asking the price.
‘Two hundred and sixty-nine thousand pounds,’ replied the same honeyed voice, accompanied by a smile that suggested the customer was heading in the right direction.
Jeremy replaced the ring and turned his attention to a large single diamond that lodged alone in the top row, leaving no doubt of its superiority. He removed it and, as with the others, studied it closely. ‘And this magnificent stone,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Can you tell me a little about its origin?’
‘I can indeed, sir,’ said Crombie. ‘It’s a flawless, eighteen-point-four carat cushion-cut yellow diamond that was recently extracted from our mine in Rhodes. It has been certified by the Gemmological Institute of America as a Fancy Intense Yellow, and was cut from the original stone by one of our master craftsmen in Amsterdam. The stone has been set on a platinum band. I can assure sir that it is quite unique, and therefore worthy of a unique lady.’
Jeremy had a feeling that Mr Crombie might just have delivered that line before. ‘No doubt there’s a quite unique price to go with it.’ He handed the ring to Crombie, who placed it back in the box.
‘Eight hundred and fifty-four thousand pounds,’ he said in a hushed voice.
‘Do you have a loupe?’ asked Jeremy. ‘I’d like to study the stone more closely.’ Arabella had taught him the word diamond merchants use when referring to a small magnifying glass, telling him that it would make him sound as if he regularly went to such places.
‘Yes, of course, sir,’ said Crombie, pulling open a drawer on his side of the table and extracting a small tortoiseshell loupe. When he looked back up, there was no sign of the Kandice Diamond, just a gaping space in the top row of the box.
‘Do you still have the ring?’ he asked, trying not to sound concerned.
‘No,’ said Jeremy. ‘I handed it back to you a moment ago.’
Without another word, the assistant snapped the box closed and pressed the button below his side of the table. This time he did not indulge in any small talk while he waited. A moment later, two burly, flat-nosed men who looked as if they’d be more at home in a boxing ring than De Beers entered the room. One stayed by the door while the other stood a few inches behind Jeremy.
‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to return the ring?’ said Crombie in a firm, flat, composed voice.
‘I have never been so insulted,’ said Jeremy, trying to sound insulted.
‘I’m going to say this only once, sir. If you return the ring, we will not press charges, but if you do not—’
‘And I’m going to say this only once,’ said Jeremy, rising from his seat. ‘The last time I saw the ring was when I handed it back to you.’
Jeremy turned to leave, but the man behind him placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him back down into the chair. Arabella had promised him there would be no rough stuff as long as he did exactly what they told him. Jeremy remained seated, not moving a muscle. Crombie rose from his place and said, ‘Please follow me.’
One of the heavyweights opened the door and led Jeremy out of the room, while the other remained a pace behind him. At the end of the corridor they stopped outside a door marked ‘Private’. The first guard opened the door and they entered another room which once again contained only one table, but this time it wasn’t covered in a velvet cloth. Behind it sat a man who looked as if he’d been waiting for them. He didn’t invite Jeremy to sit, as there wasn’t another chair in the room.
‘My name is Granger,’ the man said without expression. ‘I’ve been the head of security at De Beers for the past fourteen years, and I used to be a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police. I can tell you there’s nothing I haven’t seen, and no story I haven’t heard before. So do not imagine even for one moment that you’re going to get away with this, young man.’
How quickly the fawning sir had been replaced by the demeaning young man, thought Jeremy.
Granger paused to allow the full weight of his words to sink in. ‘First, I must ask if you are willing to help me with my inquiries, or whether you would prefer us to call in the police, in which case you will be able to have a solicitor present.’
‘I have nothing to hide,’ said Jeremy haughtily, ‘so naturally I’m happy to help.’ Back on script.
‘In that case,’ said Granger, ‘perhaps you’d be kind enough to take off your shoes, jacket and trousers.’
Jeremy kicked off his loafers, which Granger picked up and placed on the table. He then removed his jacket and handed it to Granger as if he was his valet. After taking off his trousers he stood there, trying to look appalled at the treatment he was being subjected to.
Granger spent some considerable time pulling out every pocket of Jeremy’s suit, then checking the lining and the seams. He failed to come up with anything other than a handkerchief. There was no wallet, no credit card, nothing that could identify the suspect, which made him even more suspicious. Granger placed the suit back on the table. ‘Your tie?’ he said, still sounding calm.
Jeremy undid
the knot, pulled off the old Etonian tie and put it on the table. Granger ran the palm of his right hand across the blue stripes, but again, nothing. ‘Your shirt.’ Jeremy undid the buttons slowly, then handed his shirt over. He stood there shivering in just his pants and socks.
Granger checked the shirt, and for the first time the hint of a smile appeared on his lined face as he touched the collar. He pulled out two silver Tiffany collar stiffeners. Nice touch, Arabella, thought Jeremy as Granger placed them on the table, unable to mask how annoyed he was. He handed the shirt back to Jeremy, who replaced the collar stiffeners before putting his shirt and tie back on.
‘Your underpants, please.’
Jeremy pulled down his pants and passed them across. Another check which he knew would reveal nothing. Granger handed them back and waited for him to pull them up before saying, ‘And finally your socks.’
Jeremy pulled off his socks and laid them out on the table. Granger was now looking a little less sure of himself, but he still checked them carefully before turning his attention to Jeremy’s loafers. He spent some time tapping, pushing and even trying to pull them apart. But there was nothing to be found.
To Jeremy’s surprise, he once again asked him to remove his shirt and tie. When he had done so, Granger came around from behind the table and stood directly in front of him. He raised both his hands, and for a moment Jeremy thought the man was going to hit him. Instead, he pressed his fingers into Jeremy’s scalp and ruffled his hair the way his father used to do when he was a child, but all he ended up with was greasy nails and a few stray hairs for his trouble.
‘Raise your arms,’ he barked. Jeremy held his arms high in the air, but Granger found nothing under his armpits. He then stood behind Jeremy. ‘Raise one leg,’ he ordered. Jeremy raised his right leg. There was nothing stuck under the heel, and nothing between the toes. ‘The other leg,’ said Granger but he ended up with the same result. He walked round to face him once again. ‘Open your mouth.’ Jeremy opened wide as if he was in the dentist’s chair. Granger shone a pen-torch around his cavities, but didn’t find so much as a gold tooth. He could not hide his worry as he asked Jeremy to accompany him to the room next door.
Four Warned Page 3
