I Am Gold

by Bill James

  As everyone would expect, Manse had called on his own at Percy’s shop a while ago to tell him he and Naomi might be along and wanted to see only true stones, and true stones without no ram-raid or hold-up tasty tales to them, whatever the danger discount. Clearly, this was not the kind of statement you could give over the phone, on account of that sod Iles and the taps he might arrange on Percy’s line or Manse’s – illegal, but this didn’t bother dear fucking Desmond Iles. That’s how you got to be an Assistant Chief with gold leaf on your cap, knowing what was legal and what wasn’t, and then being able to pick the illegal aspects you could get away with. Of course, Perce went all hurt and said he would never have such articles on his premises, not for any customer, but especially not for Mansel. ‘I just thought a word at this juncture might be useful, Perce.’

  ‘Be at ease, Mansel,’ Percy had replied.

  ‘Thank you, Perce.’

  ‘Totally at ease, Mansel. It goes without saying.’

  ‘Thank you, Perce. And I don’t want no diamond made in a factory – one of them synthetics, as they’re called. This diamond got to come out of a mine somewhere, such as South Africa.’

  ‘Undoubtedly, Manse.’

  Because of the various factors, Manse would go to 85 percent in trusting Perce, or even 87. Just the same, Manse wished he could concentrate more on the rings now in the shop, but them anxieties about Naomi’s return to London did grab some of his brain. He thought he’d be able to spot a phoney diamond, or other jewel, straight off, even if a truly brilliant fake. This was not the chief trouble, though, was it? Where the jewels came from – that question bothered Manse most. And because some of his mind was switched to thoughts about Naomi’s next day plans, he found it hard to remember the full list of gems lifted in recent, successful British hits, and their descriptions in the press.

  It would be bad if the police or insurance nigglers came down on Percy for dealing stolen items, and took back stuff he’d sold lately, including Naomi’s ring, a splendid token from Manse, her extremely devoted fiancé. He could soon get her a replacement from a different shop, yes, but to have something as serious and joyful as an engagement kicked about and dirtied like that would be inappropriate. He’d noticed the way some very top people used this word, ‘inappropriate’, to mean bleeding horrible, but they couldn’t say that owing to their environment.

  Most probably, Naomi would think protection by bodyguards a nuisance and not necessary at all, so it would have to be secret, if possible. And the point was he’d prefer it to be secret because he’d like to know if the hop to London had another side to it, not just the paper. In the early days when Naomi returned to London on a visit, he used to be afraid she might have someone else up there, a man. He would get nervy and jealous until she returned. London was full of sex. You could feel it hanging about everywhere, whether you went by taxi or bus or tube train, even in Hackney. Why did they need all them taxis except to get people from here to there for sex? They used to have smog. Sex took over. Think of that Fenton piece or her arse-proud secretary, Angelica, with the horny pink pen. And, naturally, there’d be men around who considered they had a right to all the available meat. He’d always worried she might be in this sort of scene, such as – ‘Naomi! Splendid! Great to see you again! Feel like another fuck?’

  His fear now, though, was not about that kind of carry-on – not to do with leg-over, casual or long-term. No, he wanted to find out if she ran a sort of business sideline, fixing for celebrities to get fixes. He would not be angry with her, if so. In the world of commerce all sorts happened. Trade had to be kept moving at a sweet and strong rate, or things in many areas might seize up. Life was complicated, nobody could deny this, surely, with all sorts of things affecting other sorts of things in them many areas, and so on, and then so on some more. It was known that the Great War, with all the mud and casualties and bayonet charges, started just because some foreign sod got shot on the way to his car in a next-to-nowhere place abroad.

  Mansel did reckon he ought to have the full picture of Naomi’s career, though, so he could know how to take care of her. No question, it could be a fucking dangerous bit of facilitating she was into if she was. Manse wouldn’t be able to tail her hisself. He’d be too easy to recognize. If she noticed him from a side glance or a reflection in a shop window, she’d be disgusted to find her lover could try such smelly tricks. Kibosh for him, most likely. And it wouldn’t be no use saying to her in an open, jolly way, ‘I’ll come with you to London, just for an outing, Naomi,’ because, suppose he did go along, she might change her programme, if she regarded some of this as confidential and didn’t want him inspecting it.

  Manse thought he might tell Hubert V.L. Camborne to get behind her, perhaps with Quentin Noss. They’d both need to be weaponed or the bodyguarding would not add up to much at all, would it? He’d give them something each from behind the Arthur Hughes, including a very decent helping of rounds. If you expected gunfire you had to make sure the gunfire coming from you or yours would be a real gunfire blast which could go on and on until the opposition had enough gunfire holes for the Guiness Book of Records.

  He would advise Hubert and Quentin they better be always ready to get theirselves to positions near her which would be like a wall against any bullets aimed at Naomi. There’d be a risk bonus of £377 each for this job, plus all private medical costs including surgery and convalescence up to a fortnight in a Majorca four-star if one or both of them got hurt through protecting her. He wouldn’t speak to them about possible death from this duty, because it might make them jumpy and less use at the job, their gun arms shaking, like that hopeless jerk Fredo’s in The Godfather on the movie channel, when he was supposed to be guarding his dad from killers sent by the Turk. But Hubert and Quentin would be sure to know from previous slip-ups that the firm would take on all funeral expenses with a class undertaker, and see women and children all right for at least five and a half years in that unfortunate event.

  Shale said: ‘Naomi and I talked the other day, Percy, about the way your name goes right back in history and used to belong to truly distinguished families and perhaps still does.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘I often feel that link. It’s like a responsibility, although in my case only a first name, not the family name.’

  ‘Just the same, it gives like a tone, Perce,’ Manse said. ‘People will know they are dealing with someone straight and of honour.’

  ‘I hope they would know this anyway,’ he said, ‘whatever my name.’

  ‘Very true, Perce,’ Manse said. ‘Many buy their engagement rings online these days, I know. But to me that would never seem right. It’s more suitable to go to someone we know and trust. Or that I know and trust anyway, and Naomi will agree that anyone I know and trust will be completely worth knowing and trusting. The choice here, on your premises, Perce, seems to have a kind of … well, yes, a kind of blessing to it, a blessing from the one who has up till now looked after the ring in his personal shop, like waiting to match this ring to the right person and finger.’

  ‘This is very much how I see it, too, Manse,’ Percy said. ‘A privilege, the kind of which doesn’t come all that often to Nash Street, and is, therefore, the more prized when it does.’

  Manse had wanted to give Perce a way to spout something holy like that in front of Naomi, so she might feel OK about buying here. But, of course, she was in the press and people in the press didn’t believe a fucking word anyone said, which was why they made up theirselves most of what they put in the paper. ‘There’s a Mr Percy, or, more like it, Lord Percy, in one of the plays by that well-known writer many years ago, William Shakespeare, Naomi tells me,’ Manse replied.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘You read a lot, do you, Naomi, and go to the theatre?’

  Obviously, Manse could tell this was Perce doing some digging. Manse didn’t mind it too much, although what damn right did Percy have to dig? He was here to flog stuff, that’s all. It looked like he definitely believe
d the name Percy made him special owing to a family way back and William Shakespeare. Manse had the idea Percy felt surprised that someone who was a reader, and even went to the theatre for heavy stuff such as William Shakespeare, would be teaming up with him, Manse Shale – not really a scholar at all, Manse would admit that – and maybe leading to marriage. Perce might think it must be a money thing – she being after Manse’s. He wouldn’t know Naomi could have plenty of her own through sale of that share in a London paper, and consulting, and perhaps helping trade up there, also in London, through facilitating. Most probably Perce wouldn’t even know what facilitating fucking meant. He could do smarmy sale jabber, yes, but facilitating he wouldn’t have no idea about.

  And he wouldn’t know, either, that Manse and Naomi was brought together in a very strong and lovely way by art, and especially the Pre-Raphaelites. He wondered if someone like Perce would be able to understand that. Also, he wondered if someone like Perce had ever heard of the Pre-Raphaelites or facilitating. Percy thought all the time about prices and profits and shafting the customers, plus perhaps memories of when he used to get himself high and noisy and optimistic through very honest coke. It was a tease, really, kidding him along that he belonged to some greats in history. He was underweight and tall with a face so thin and bony and hard-looking you would think you could cut out fretwork models with it.

  ‘Ah, I see you already have some rings, Naomi,’ Perce said. More dig, dig.

  ‘Yes, I’m fond of them,’ Naomi said, like that would be enough, thank you, Percy.

  ‘The opal, beautiful. Red on black, so rare,’ Percy replied, if you could call it that. He took her right hand and lifted it so he could get a full gawp. It was undoubtedly physical and offensive, or almost. Percy sounded like he wanted to ask her who coughed up for it, the cheeky bastard. Manse wanted to ask who coughed up for it, but that was different, clearly – he had a right. This was a woman he allowed to make a home in the rectory and was buying an engagement ring for, although the divorce from Syb still had to be absoluted.

  ‘I like them both equally, the opal and the amethyst,’ Naomi said. She took her hand back.

  ‘Oh, certainly,’ Perce said. ‘Most rings carry a story with them, perhaps a precious story, even a semi-precious stone like the amethyst.’

  ‘So, what you got in the way of diamonds, then?’ Manse replied.

  She liked them, the opal and the amethyst, did she, and would she like this engagement ring better than either of them or both? This question gave Manse some torment. His spit turned sour. Spit could be such an indicator, couldn’t it? He began to wish they’d gone to another jeweller, one with not so much chat and knowledge.

  ‘Opal, the gemstone of Australia,’ Percy said.

  ‘Yes, I believe so,’ she said.

  Did she have something going with Aussies then in the past – them tanned bodies by surfing so much at Bondi beach? Would she of met someone from there through the paper? Did Australia have any celebs? Or was he someone she knew through facilitating?

  ‘And are you from this area, Naomi?’ Percy said.

  ‘London,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, the big, big city. People from there often miss it when they move. Do you have to get back now and then to enjoy the flavour again for a while?’ Perce said.

  Which flavour? Manse would like to know. Was he talking oral, the sod?

  ‘For work occasionally,’ Naomi said.

  ‘A business connection?’ Perce said.

  ‘So what you got in the way of diamonds, then?’ Shale replied.

  Percy said: ‘I like to chat with a customer, a new customer, such as Naomi so I can make a guess at the kind of jewellery she might prefer. We know about the opal and the amethyst, yes, but now I have to make a judgement on the kind of diamond settings to show her. I don’t say I’m infallible at this kind of guesswork, but I do have some experience, some considerable experience. A moment.’

  He went to a display, unlocked the glass door and pulled out a tray of rings, with quite a bit of gesture, like a magician getting an egg from some old lady’s earhole. He put the tray on the counter in front of Naomi. ‘Voilà, madame,’ he said. He stood back, so pleased with his gawky self, and with what he most likely thought was a smile on his razor-wire fucking face, teeth definitely on view, yellow and big and oblong and shaky-looking, like a knacker’s-yard horse. ‘This is what is known as a triple, Naomi,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it magnificent? This is a ring that via its cluster signals not only the splendid nature of the occasion, but, through the harmonious bringing together of three diamonds, speaks also of the enduring harmony of the relationship, engagement, marriage. They do not compete with one another, are not engaged – engaged! – in rivalry or upstaging, they are three and yet they are one, as though meant for one another, yes, from the moment they were mined.’

  ‘Attractive. But I think I’d prefer a solitaire,’ Naomi replied.

  Manse really adored her for this. He had an idea ‘solitaire’ meant one diamond on its own, no tripling up and getting fancy and numerous. The French did quite a bit with jewellery, so words like ‘solitaire’ was borrowed from them. He would not never of told Naomi a single jewel was what he wanted her to want but now she showed she wanted that he felt truly pleased and did not mind if Perce saw how pleased he was to have that triple idea chucked into the ditch.

  He reckoned Percy deserved this because, when he talked about the enduring harmony, he was obviously taking the piss – more or less saying he hoped the thing with Naomi worked and didn’t turn out the same as with Sybil, where enduring harmony became a bit fucking scarce, and so did she, as was fairly well known. Although Manse had naturally given Lowri, Carmel and Patricia some jewellery, he never brought them to Percy’s shop for it. That would not of seemed at all right because he had been here before with Syb. But to bring Naomi was totally OK because she would be like permanent. She had an undoubted right to go in any shop in the city, either with Manse or on her own, using card or cash.

  All right, they had to put up with a lot of bullshit from Percy through coming here, but this was still the best jewellery shop in the town and none of the others would really be good enough for Naomi. For quality, the Nash Street shop was like that terrific restaurant in London she took him to on exes, hers, so coming here was kind of equalling up. Somebody ought to say to Perce, but in a completely helpful, understanding way, that he should try not to smile, or if he did smile not to open his gob so wide in case people got scared some of his teeth might fall out on to a jewels tray. That would be a lovely fucking triple, wouldn’t it, not diamonds but Perce-style front gnashers?

  ‘Or a solitaire!’ Percy said. ‘In my head, when I was guessing at your taste, Naomi, I thought either a triple or a solitaire, I swear. I’ll confess I got it wrong – but not so very, very wrong. Marginally wrong. A solitaire, because it stands alone, unclutteredly magnificent and strongly simple, will tell the world that this is a relationship bound to continue, and, in its unobtrusive but confident fashion, to thrive.’

  Manse hated the way he kept on about enduring and continuing, like he didn’t believe things between Manse and Naomi would endure or continue, so he had to state over and over that they would, like drunks who never stopped telling you they wasn’t drunk. But at least Perce didn’t start mentioning Syb’s name to Naomi and saying he felt sure she and Mansel would last much better, which would obviously mean he didn’t feel sure of it and neither would anyone else. He knew he had to go delicate if he’d like to sell a pricey ring now, and if he’d like to know Manse would always be there with good gear in case Perce decided to get his habit moving again. Although Perce could be a right prick, Manse always felt a powerful, warm sense of community when entering his shop. Up to a point many people that Manse knew helped one another, and only became cruel and destructive when truly necessary because of a disagreement or for self-defence.

  Manse considered the ring Naomi chose looked entirely right on her finger. He didn’t t
hink he’d ever seen a ring look more right for the finger it was on. He could tell, too, that Perce saw how wrong the triple would of been on that finger – fussy, common, crowded. She held out her hand in front of him and Shale and Manse muttered, almost to himself, ‘Yes, oh, yes, yes.’

  Percy said: ‘Oh, yes.’

  The diamond was square but not in a boxy, pushy, sort of way. The angles of it was nicely rounded off. Sometimes Manse did a bit of imagining and fancy thinking and he decided now that the silver claws holding the stone looked proud to do it. So they bloody should! The gleam off the diamond was a true gleam, steady, superior, pure, full of genuine cost. Manse knew that some referred to this gleam as a diamond’s ‘fire’. He liked that. This one had plenty of fire. Percy didn’t put no price tags on his rings, and Manse thought that was wise, because a man wouldn’t want his fiancée’s choice influenced by such a grubby matter. When Naomi went over to the shop window to get the light better on the diamond, Perce came closer to Manse and said quietly, ‘Seven and a half grand normally, but seven to you, Mansel, for old time’s sake and your kind remarks about the history of my name.’

  ‘Six,’ Manse replied.

  ‘Six and a half,’ Percy said.

  ‘Six two five.’

  ‘Six three,’ Percy said.

  ‘Done, and a written, signed affidavit showing where it come from, what’s known as provenance, Perce.’ This word you noticed a lot in art – the ‘provenance’ of a picture, meaning its total history, showing it was not a copy – a phoney. That would be nearly the same for the ring, but, instead, Perce had to make clear it had not been nicked in some raid, possibly where the owner or guards was pistol-whipped, or their balls electrocuted to make them cough the code, or even shot dead. He would not want a tainted ring like that on Naomi’s finger, nor ripped off of Naomi’s finger by police sent by that sod Desmond Iles, who’d get a big giggle from this brand of unpleasantness. One of the things about the ring was, when clients that she might be doing a facilitate with saw it, they would know she was used to bloody good money, so they’d realize her commission had to be something very worthwhile, thank you.