Pillow Talk

by Freya North

  Eric did tell Petra that Arlo was more than welcome to stay at the flat that weekend and initially Petra accepted on his behalf. But then Arlo told her that his mother had invited the two of them to stay with her and when Eric saw Petra as excited as if she was going to Buckingham Palace for the weekend, he decided not to be insulted that his offer had been rejected.

  ‘Love suits her,’ Gina said to Kitty as they admired Petra's advanced mock-up of the tanzanite piece. ‘It's obviously fanning her creative flame. Golly, she's worked fast.’

  ‘It's stunning,’ Kitty said.

  They took it in turns to try it on, moving the boiled sweet this way and that.

  ‘Has she decided on platinum? I think she should. She'll be able to charge thousands – tens of thousands.’

  ‘She'll be able to retire,’ Gina laughed.

  ‘Up to North bloody Yorkshire.’

  ‘Actually, she'll never retire, Kitty.’

  ‘Maybe so – but once she's sold this she'll be able to afford a house up there plus kit out a state-of-the-art studio.’

  On the Friday lunch-time, Petra had finished the design. She felt euphoric, triumphant, and she lapped up the praise and wonderment from her Studio Three. She took the bracelet straight to Charlton who considered it in silence for an inordinate amount of time.

  ‘Do you have your tanzanite on you?’

  ‘Yes, of course – you don't think I'd leave it under Eric's spare-room mattress, do you? He has a cleaner twice a week.’ Petra took the velvet pouch from her bag and tipped the stone into Charlton's hand.

  ‘You could just sell me the stone, you know.’

  ‘Charlton – how many times?’

  ‘I know, love, I know.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Can you stick around, Pet? There's a certain someone due in, any time now. Someone you should meet. Someone who's going to like this very, very much.’ His mobile phone rang which he answered briefly before making his way to the back entrance.

  Petra prayed she didn't blush when Charlton brought his client through. A British actress married to an American actor, the pair of them never far from the covers of the glossiest magazines. The woman was gracious and, Petra noticed, had the most beautiful forearms. Clever old Charlton. Petra's jewellery would be perfect.

  ‘This is Petra Flint,’ he introduced and Petra feared she'd just curtsyed unintentionally. ‘Have a look at this,’ Charlton said to his client. ‘May I?’

  Petra handed over the cardboard box. The actress lifted the lid and it was as if a light was concealed within it – her face was immediately illuminated with delight. She took out the bracelet and her smile spread to prodigious proportions. ‘How do you—?’

  ‘Here,’ Petra said to her, ‘let me show you.’ She popped the subtly hidden clasp and wrapped the bracelet around the woman's wrist. Then she turned the section with the sweet. ‘You have a go.’

  The woman twisted it and turned it and held her wrist up to the light and let it swing down by her side. She walked about the gallery, glancing at her wrist in the mirrors, in the reflection from the display cabinets. She walked back to Petra and Charlton. ‘It's the most stunning thing I've ever seen. I have to have it.’

  Petra beamed at Charlton who was cleverly wearing his nonchalant salesman's face.

  ‘But,’ the actress faltered, ‘what is this exactly? Is it white gold?’

  ‘No, it's metal.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ The actress looked a little confused. ‘And is this a real sweet?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Petra. ‘The Assay Office would grade it with a run of E-numbers.’

  The actress laughed extravagantly. ‘Well, I love it anyway. Can I take it today?’

  ‘You dizzy bimbo,’ Charlton stepped in. Petra baulked until she saw that the actress had taken this as flattery. ‘This is the working model, darling. Petra was thinking platinum for the real thing. Platinum – and this.’ He clicked his fingers and Petra passed over the velvet pouch as if it was a move they'd rehearsed in honour of the actress's visit. Charlton tipped the tanzanite into the actress's hand.

  She sat down breathless, as if the sheer beauty of the stone was felt as weight. Petra was pleased to see that she placed the stone along the line between her fingers, examining it methodically. ‘This must be 35 carats?’

  ‘39.43 carats,’ Charlton said, without needing to look at Petra for confirmation. ‘It's incredibly rare. A vBE EC – violetish blue exceptional, eye-clean. A beautiful pear cut of ideal proportions –50 per cent table width, crown height 1/3, pavilion depth 2/3.’

  ‘Oh. My. God. Oh my God oh my God!’ The actress looked up at Charlton and Petra with tears in her eyes. ‘I always thought myself a ruby kind of girl – but this is stunning. Stunning. I have to have it. Christ almighty. It's out of this world!’ She put the tanzanite into the palm of her hand, folded her fingers around it and clutched her fist to her heart. She addressed Petra. ‘I want it in platinum – or white gold. Actually, I don't care, really – I'll leave that part to you. But can I have it soon? I need it.’

  ‘It'll cost you,’ Charlton laughed.

  She brushed the air dismissively with her other hand. ‘Darling, I'm going to be fifty this autumn. Mr B said he'd buy me the world. I told him I'd happily settle for a yacht. But what I want now is this.’

  ‘You're mad,’ Charlton said. ‘A yacht costs far more. Get Mr B to buy you the yacht for your birthday. You can buy this for yourself with the change from your latest movie.’

  ‘You're right!’ she said. ‘All girls should treat themselves every now and then.’ She turned to Petra, gave her back the velvet pouch with a look of theatrical reluctance. ‘You are a genius,’ she said in the tone she probably used for her plastic surgeon too. She came up close and put her hand on Petra's cheek. ‘You are blessed,’ she whispered, ‘and I'm honoured to have met you.’ She kissed her and Petra wondered whether her burning cheeks had scalded the woman's mouth. No, that was probably just the sumptuous colour of her meticulously applied lipstick. And perhaps a little Restylane too.

  ‘Champagne, darling?’ Charlton interrupted. ‘Petra? You too?’

  ‘Oh no thanks,’ Petra said. ‘I think I'll just – I'll just.’ What she wanted to say was, I think I'll just race back to the studio and tell my Three all about this.

  ‘Her beau is coming down from Yorkshire,’ Charlton told the actress.

  ‘How romantic,’ the actress murmured, whilst clocking the brand of Charlton's champagne with approval.

  ‘Come on, your highness,’ Charlton said to her, ‘come through to my office. I need to take a hefty deposit from you.’

  ‘Thank you, my darling girl, thank you.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Petra, ‘and thank you.’

  The actress blew her a kiss. Charlton winked at her and made a telephone gesture with his hand.

  The Studio Three had not expected to see Petra back that afternoon. Nor had they ever seen her looking so red and shiny.

  ‘What's happened?’ Gina asked.

  ‘Have you taken drugs?’ Kitty asked.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Eric asked.

  ‘OK?’ Petra could only squeak. ‘OK? I've only just gone and sold the piece!’ Out tumbled the story. By the end of it, the Studio Three were as flushed as she.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Esther Savidge wasn't sure quite what to expect. It had been surprise enough to have her son phone, mid-term, and announce he'd be in London the coming weekend. But it had been something of an outright shock when he'd declined to stay at home because he'd be staying with his girlfriend.

  ‘Girlfriend? You don't have a girlfriend, darling. Do you?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, I do. I told you about her at Easter.’

  ‘The schoolgirl? I mean, the girl you knew from school?’

  ‘Yes. Petra.’

  ‘That's Greek for “rock”.’

  ‘That's quite interesting, actually. Her surname is Flint.’

  ‘What does she do, darling? This Petra F
lint of yours?’

  ‘She's a jeweller, Mum. Amazing.’

  ‘Well, with a name like that, she couldn't find a better vocation.’

  ‘But shall we come and visit you, anyway?’

  ‘You want me to meet her? Already?’

  ‘It's not “already”, Mum. It's been going on some time.’

  ‘Since Easter?’

  ‘Yes, give or take seventeen years or so. But anyway, Mum, the point is – I want her to meet you.’

  Then Arlo had phoned the next day saying he wasn't sure if he was coming down to London because Petra's ceiling had fallen in. And it was only natural for Esther to say, But darling, why don't you both come and stay here. And it warmed her heart when her son so readily accepted.

  So now, on Friday afternoon, Esther was pottering around the house plumping cushions and straightening pictures. She always left the framed photos until last because they took the longest. It was impossible to dust them, to place them, without lengthy contemplation. He's bringing a girl home, Esther told a photo of her late husband. I wonder what she's like, Esther asked a photograph of Arlo at twenty-one. And what do we do with you? she asked a photograph of Helen. We'll never pretend that you don't exist.

  She flicked the duster across the mirror, caught sight of herself, touched her earrings – small diamonds simply set – twirled her plain gold wedding band around her finger. A jeweller – this girl of Arlo's, she thought to herself. Well, isn't that something.

  Any nerves Petra had had during the week at the thought of not simply meeting Arlo's mother for the first time but also staying in his family home, were quickly dissolved by the glut of excitement from her afternoon with Charlton. Meeting Arlo at King's Cross station, she gabbled fifty to the dozen as they changed platforms for Potters Bar.

  ‘I hope you're not all talked out,’ Arlo said to her as they alighted and Petra became anomalously quiet. ‘My mum's a great one for a chinwag.’

  Petra stopped. She looked suddenly perplexed.

  ‘What's up?’

  ‘Will she like me?’

  ‘She'll love you, Miss Flint.’

  ‘You're lucky to have a mum with whom you have such closeness.’

  ‘I know I am,’ said Arlo. ‘She's the best. You'll see.’ With that, he took her hand and they walked up a neatly tended path to the front door of Arlo's home.

  The first thing Petra noticed was the smell. It was gorgeous and it proved to her how she'd become inured to the smell of chicken shit in her own mother's home. Her father's house just smelt, oddly, of nothing. Esther watched, initially baffled then touched, as Petra stood in the front room inhaling thoughtfully.

  ‘What a beautiful scent,’ she said.

  ‘It's Jo Malone,’ Esther said, turning in the direction of the candle.

  ‘Oh, I love Jo Malone,’ Petra said. ‘My friend Eric buys me their bath oil each Christmas and I try and make it last the year through.’

  ‘Do you succeed?’ Esther laughed.

  ‘I fail – spectacularly. It's all gone by Easter.’

  ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please. Oh, I bought you these.’ Petra gave Esther a tin of fancy chocolate biscuits. ‘Your son mentioned you like your chocolate.’

  ‘Isn't that how you met – or re-met, I believe? Choosing Easter eggs?’

  Petra blushed and nodded. ‘I paid for his.’

  ‘And then he gave it to me!’ Esther exclaimed, hands on her hips. ‘Cheeky monkey – has he reimbursed you?’

  Petra had to think about it. Easter seemed such a long time ago. ‘Do you know – he hasn't.’

  Arlo reappeared from upstairs. His mother and his girlfriend were looking at him accusatorily. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ they both said with a conspiratorial glance at each other.

  Arlo showed Petra around.

  ‘It's such a lovely, peaceful home,’ she said, ‘with such a welcoming smell about the place.’

  ‘That'll be Mum and her candles,’ Arlo said.

  ‘No – it's something else. It's warmth – that's what it is.’

  ‘This is my room,’ Arlo said, ‘and I'm sorry, Petra, but unless you can cope with sharing a single bed, you'll have to sleep in the spare room.’

  Petra looked at him as if he was joking, but he was very serious. ‘It's my room,’ he said. ‘I can't come home and not sleep here.’ Petra looked put out. ‘Much as I'm desperate to ravish your body,’ he whispered, coming close to her, kissing her and making a lusty grab at her bottom.

  ‘I suppose I could sneak into your bed, let you do the ravishing, then sneak out again and get a good night's sleep in the spare room?’ Petra said, between kisses.

  ‘Sounds like a good idea to me.’

  ‘What will your mum think?’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Well, what'll she think if we don't sleep in the same room?’

  ‘Oh, my mum's quite used to my foibles.’

  ‘What if I sleepwalk?’

  ‘The floorboards in the hallway are creaky – I'll hear you.’ Petra looked at Arlo's bed. It was most certainly just a regular single bed. With a Tottenham Hotspur duvet cover. ‘Anyway, I can't sleep under that,’ Petra declared. ‘I'm an Arsenal girl.’

  *

  While Arlo took a shower, Petra went back downstairs and asked Esther if she could help. Esther gave her cheese to grate and as they prepared supper, they gamely chatted.

  ‘I don't mind telling you I felt a bit anxious when Arlo told me you were a jeweller,’ Esther said. ‘I don't really know much about jewellery. In fact, I'm pretty much wearing all that I own.’

  ‘But why would you be anxious?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I'd feel the same if you were a fashion designer – I'd suddenly feel rather frumpy. Or if you were a chef – what would I do for supper?’

  ‘You don't need to drip with diamonds to get into my good books,’ Petra said. ‘I'm a tanzanite girl anyway.’

  ‘Tanzanite?’

  ‘The rarest gem on earth. In a few years' time, it'll all be gone. There will be no more tanzanite at all.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me more. Here – grate these.’

  ‘Tanzanite is only found in one location in the whole world – in a three-mile area in the foothills of Kilimanjaro. Not only that, it's only found in a specific part of the rock. Look!’ Petra grabbed a tea towel, not noticing that Arlo had reappeared. She pleated the fabric so it resembled a ruff. She pointed to the centre of the looped sections. ‘Tanzanite is only found in what is called the boudins of the rock. It's all to do with the pan-African event 585 million years ago and a freak geological phenomenon. It's thought that in a couple of decades it'll all be gone. Finished.’

  ‘What's it like? I don't think I'd know tanzanite if a great lump of it fell onto my lap.’

  ‘Well, part of its uniqueness, why its beauty is so exclusive, is that it's trichroic – it has a different pure colour on each of its axes. Predominantly blue tanzanite is the rarest as the blue axis is oriented along the width of the crystal not the length – so there's more wastage, therefore, to cut for this. It's easier to cut along the violet axis. Do you see?’ She paused, wondered if she was babbling, but her audience seemed captivated. ‘Geologically speaking, it's a blue zoisite. But Henry B. Platt – grandson of Louis Comfort Tiffany of Tiffany's, New York – chose to market the gem as tanzanite. It was 1967 and he claimed there were only two places on earth you could find tanzanite – Tanzania and Tiffany. He worried that “zoisite” sounded a bit like “suicide”!’

  Esther tried the word out loud and laughed.

  ‘It was only discovered in 1967 – and there's only one generation's mining. But over and above the amazing facts of its creation and its discovery – and its imminent disappearance – is the pure romance of the gem. It's wrapped with beautiful Masai legend. They say a magical fire struck Kilimanjaro and when the embers died down, the hill sparkled with vivid blue
–violet stones amidst the ash. Masai women are given tanzanite on the birth of their children. Blue is a very sacred colour to them – the women only wear it once they've borne children. The Masai believe the stone has healing powers. It's also the birthstone for December. And that's when my birthday is.’

  Esther was just about to suggest they eat when Petra sallied forth again. ‘You know something else – and this is fundamentally important when one considers the atrocities of conflict diamonds, blood diamonds – but tanzanite is the most ethically mined gemstone. It's carefully governed and a percentage of the profit is put back into the Masai community.’

  ‘This is fascinating, Petra,’ Esther said. ‘Was this part of your degree?’

  Petra smiled and shook her head. ‘It's part of my childhood.’ She paused. ‘The stories – and the passion – were passed down to me. It pretty much dictated what I'd do with my life.’

  ‘Are your parents jewellers too? Gemmologists?’ Esther stopped herself. She remembered what Arlo had said about Petra's childhood.

  But Petra's laugh put her at her ease. ‘Hardly,’ she said and then she told Esther all about Mrs McNeil.

  When she'd finished, Arlo interjected: ‘That's how we came to know each other, Mum. Petra would come to my school and do pottery after visiting the famous Mrs McNeil.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her, darling?’

  Arlo shook his head.

  ‘What a pity,’ Esther said. ‘Her generation had so much to impart. Our lives have had a paucity in comparison.’ She poured wine for the three of them and raised her glass. ‘To Mrs McNeil, then.’

  Petra surged with emotion.

  After supper, Petra showed Esther the bracelet. She didn't tell her about the actress and the commission because actually, the thought of who would buy the piece and at what price had been so far from the work's conception and creation as to seem strangely irrelevant. Petra put the bracelet on an awe-struck Esther. It was the first time that Arlo had seen it and he swelled with pride. As Petra bolted upstairs to find the tanzanite, Esther turned to Arlo.

  ‘She's not just a pretty face,’ she said with a wink.