Rosie

by Alan Titchmarsh

  The three walked down the long corridor towards Rosie’s bed, Victoria in the middle, holding Nick and Alex’s hands.

  As they rounded the corner, they saw Rosie lying in bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows. She raised both hands in greeting, and Victoria rushed across to plant a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart!’ Rosie murmured. ‘How lovely to see you.’

  Nick and Alex bent down and kissed her too, then Nick darted off to find three chairs. When he came back he asked, ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know.’ She looked and sounded weak. She wore little makeup, and her hair had not been combed. Each time he came he hoped to observe some sign of increased strength, but so far he had not.

  ‘Need to get you back on your feet,’ he offered.

  Rosie nodded. ‘A bit feak and weeble,’ she said to Victoria, who grinned at the little joke.

  ‘Mummy’s been finding things out,’ volunteered Victoria. ‘About your mummy and daddy.’

  Rosie’s face brightened and a light shone in her eye. ‘Have you?’

  Nick cut in: ‘She’s been working very hard, but I think we should tell you later when you can take it all in.’

  Rosie did not demur. She half closed her eyes. ‘Weary. Sorry.’

  Nick glanced at Alex, who read his mind. ‘Come on, Victoria. We’ll let Rosie rest for a while. We’ll come back later.’ And then, softly, to Nick, ‘We’ll wait for you by the car.’

  He nodded in agreement, and they left with a wave. Then he swapped chairs so that he was closer to Rosie’s head.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ she whispered. ‘I’m done in.’

  ‘Ssh! You get some rest. It’s too early, really.’ It was a quarter to ten. ‘We should have let you sleep.’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘Plenty of time for that later. It was lovely to see them both.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lucky boy.’ She nodded in the direction Alex and Victoria had gone. ‘Special. Very special.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Lucky girl, me. Very lucky girl.’

  He stroked her cheek lightly. ‘You sleep now,’ he said. ‘We all need you better.’

  She smiled weakly and closed her eyes.

  ‘Would you come with me to the jeweller’s to have them valued?’ he asked.

  ‘But isn’t it a bit personal? I mean, do you really want me to know?’

  They were sitting on the veranda at the Anchorage, sipping coffee after an early dinner. They had walked the old path from Yarmouth to Freshwater in the afternoon, alongside the river Yar, past the old mill, between the reed beds, as far as Freshwater church, where Victoria had found it impossible to believe that the large stone tomb in the graveyard should contain Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s widow but not Tennyson himself.

  ‘I think it’s awful.’

  ‘But he’s in Westminster Abbey. In Poet’s Corner.’

  ‘Well, he should be here. He shouldn’t have left her alone.’

  Alex and Nick had shot each other a sympathetic glance. It had occurred to them both that their current proximity was due in no small measure to Victoria’s romantic leanings.

  ‘Quite right,’ they said in unison, then laughed.

  Right now, Victoria was sitting in the dinghy, pulled out from beneath the veranda and beached on the rough grass in front of the house. Her head was buried in a book, and she absentmindedly curled a strand of hair around her index finger as she read.

  ‘I don’t want to have any secrets from you. Not even financial ones.’ Nick was adamant.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Could you bear to come over again tomorrow?’

  Alex smiled resignedly. ‘I’m turning into a commuter. But I’ll have to be back for Victoria coming out of school. If I catch the nine o’clock ferry over, I could take the two o’clock back. Would that be OK?’

  ‘Fine. I shall miss you, though, when you go. I always miss you.’ Nick stood up, lifted her off her chair and sat down with her on his lap.

  ‘Hey!’ she said. ‘I’m far too heavy for this. You’ll regret it.’

  ‘Never.’ He put his arms round her waist, and they watched Victoria in the boat until the sun sank behind the Dorset hills and it was time for the mainlanders to go home.

  34

  Fortune’s Double Yellow

  . . . best grown with support.

  Nick was nervous. He had the entire contents of the bank safety-deposit box in the inside pocket of his jacket and he had no idea what Elliott Williams would say either about their value or that they were in Nick’s possession.

  Before they made their way to the jeweller’s he opened the bag in the car to show Alex.

  ‘Oh, my God, they’re huge!’ she said. ‘Are you sure they’re real?’

  ‘Well, no, I’m not – apart from the one Rosie gave me, which she said was real.’

  Alex pushed at them with her finger, the better to make them sparkle. ‘I’ve never seen anything like them. Not even in a jeweller’s window.’

  ‘It’s a bit scary, isn’t it?’

  ‘And you don’t know where they came from?’

  ‘Not exactly. Rosie said she converted her savings into diamonds – bought in London presumably – then handed them to Dad for safekeeping, but she kept mine back to give me on my birthday. That’s this one.’ He indicated the smallest of the five stones. ‘Rosie reckoned this was worth twenty-five grand. I don’t know what the others are worth, or why there are five altogether. There was supposed to be one each for Alice, Sophie and me.’

  ‘And you think these came from Russia?’

  ‘That’s what the hotel writing-paper said.’ Nick had already explained about the visit from his father and the two heavies who had come to collect the packet.

  ‘So these ones just turned up out of the blue? In the post?’

  ‘Yes. Recorded delivery.’

  ‘And the note said nothing about where they were from?’

  ‘Here it is.’ Nick pulled the note from the small linen bag and handed it to Alex. ‘See what you make of it.’

  Alex read it. Then she repeated: ‘“The enclosed were given to me by Rosie to take care of. Well, their friends were.”’

  ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? These aren’t the diamonds Rosie gave him.’

  ‘Yes. But are they better ones or fakes?’

  Alex looked thoughtful. ‘Well, he wouldn’t have sent fake diamonds by recorded delivery, would he?’

  ‘Unless he wanted me to believe they were real.’

  ‘Would your dad really do that?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘No. At least, I don’t want to believe he would.’ He tipped the stones back into the bag. ‘But there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?’

  Elliott Williams was as welcoming and urbane as he had been on their first meeting, and especially solicitous to Alex. Coffee was made promptly on their arrival by another bright young thing (Elliott clearly had a private supply), and then he said, ‘Right. Let’s have a look at the stones.’

  He reached under the counter and took out a roll of dark blue velvet, which he smoothed out across the glass surface.

  Nick handed him the small linen bag and watched as he undid the top and tipped the stones out on to the fabric. They fell silently, and then picked up the light from the overhead spotlights and he suppressed a gasp.

  At first Elliott Williams said nothing. He put the magnifying loupe into his eye and held up each stone to it for what seemed an age. As he finished with each one he laid it down on a different part of the velvet.

  As he lowered the last of the five stones, he removed the glass from his eye and cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well . . .’

  Nick and Alex hung on those words. All sounds, except the ticking of the long-case clock in the corner of the shop, had subsided.

  ‘We have here three different grades of diamond.’ He gently pushed t
he one Rosie had given Nick towards the front of the cloth with his little finger. ‘This one is pretty good. A VVS1, if you remember what that is?’

  ‘Very, very small inclusions?’ offered Nick. Alex looked impressed.

  ‘Precisely. Not flawless, but very fine nevertheless. Value? Around the twenty to twenty-five thousand mark.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Nick, involuntarily.

  Elliott Williams shot him a look. ‘Oh, only because that’s what my gran – that’s what I was told it was worth when it was given to me.’ And then, to reassure the jeweller that he was not wasting his time, ‘That’s the only one I was given a value for. I haven’t a clue about the others.’

  ‘Right. These three here . . .’ he pushed a matching trio forward ‘. . . are internally flawless and worth probably around seventy-five thousand apiece.’

  ‘Gosh!’ Nick tried to hide his surprise.

  ‘And this one,’ Elliott pushed forward a diamond the size of his fingernail, ‘is flawless. Quite beautiful and very well cut. It will be worth between seven hundred and seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds.’

  Alex gasped. Nick said, ‘Good God!’ and Elliott Williams said, ‘You’re a very lucky man.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose I am.’ And then, ‘Are you sure I don’t owe you anything for the valuation?’

  ‘Absolutely not. It was my pleasure to see them. And if you need them set – in a ring or a pendant – I’ll be happy to do the job for you.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes. Thank you very much.’

  Nothing very sensible seemed to be coming out of Nick’s mouth. Nothing at all was coming out of Alex’s, which hung slightly open.

  Then Nick saw the questioning look on Elliott Williams’s face. He felt obliged to give some explanation. ‘I suppose it all looks rather suspicious . . .’

  ‘Oh, I never ask questions, sir.’

  ‘They were left to me by my grandmother. Well, she’s still alive but . . . and she wanted . . .’

  ‘Really, sir, it’s a private matter and I quite understand.’

  Nick realized that anything he said would sound even more unlikely although it was truth, so decided to quit before he dug himself into an even deeper hole.

  The jeweller scooped up the diamonds, tipped them back into the bag, pulled the drawstring tight and handed it back over the counter. ‘I’d get to the bank as soon as you can, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Thank you. We will. And thank you again.’ Nick and Alex left the shop, doing their best not to look like the Lavender Hill Mob. When the diamonds were safely back in the custody of Lloyds TSB, they treated themselves to lunch in a wine bar, with a particularly fine bottle of sauvignon blanc.

  Once Alex was safely on the ferry to Portsmouth, Nick drove to the hospital, and was delighted to find Rosie sitting up in bed, hair and makeup in apple-pie order. ‘Look at you!’ he said.

  ‘I did. In the mirror. Much better,’ she retorted.

  ‘Are you back to your old self?’ he asked.

  ‘Getting there. Oh, I did feel ropy, and I’m still not a hundred per cent, but I’m on the mend, I think.’

  He bent to kiss her, and was relieved to smell Chanel No. 5 once more, instead of the sanitized aroma of hospital. ‘You really had us worried,’ he said, patting the back of her hand as it lay on the covers.

  ‘Oh, I’m a tough old bird,’ she said, but he noticed that her voice did not hold its usual conviction. ‘What have you been up to?’ she asked.

  ‘I found a girl, and she found me.’ He sat down, and tried not to sound too pleased.

  ‘Anyone I know?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He beamed.

  ‘Two girls, then? That’s nice.’ Evidently she was happy for him.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asked. Something about her seemed not quite right.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I’m glad about you.’ She smoothed the blanket. ‘You said yesterday that you had some news for me, didn’t you, about my mother? Or was I dreaming?’

  Nick hesitated. ‘Yes. But only when you’re ready.’

  ‘I’m ready. Go on. Tell me.’

  The prospect of disappointing her filled him with dread, but he told her of Alex’s researches, the delegation and George Carmichael. Then he mentioned Mathilde Kschessinska. He stumbled over the pronunciation. ‘MK, the same initials.’

  ‘Well I never. So instead of using my real mother’s name, Tatiana, they used one belonging to the Tsar’s previous mistress to avoid suspicion?’

  Nick found it impossible to contradict her: she thought the naval attaché had had an affair with Grand Duchess Tatiana and that the Tsar’s former mistress had been brought in as a smokescreen. What was the point? What good would it do? And he wanted her to get better, not to brood on a distant past that had no bearing now on her life.

  He shrugged. ‘That’s as much as we’ve been able to find out,’ he said.

  Rosie’s eyes were shining now. ‘So they did exist. This man, George Carmichael, did go there. And it’s true.’

  Nick could only smile, he hoped not deceitfully.

  ‘Oh, what a relief.’ Rosie flopped back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

  After a few moments she opened them. Her face was relaxed now. The pinched look had gone. She put out her hand and took his. ‘I knew you’d come through for me.’

  ‘Not me. Alex.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Good girl. I knew she would, too.’ She looked at him pleadingly. ‘Do something for me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘When you next hear from your dad . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  She beckoned him closer. ‘Thank him for sorting out the diamonds.’

  ‘What?’ He was astonished.

  Rosie pointed to her bedside cabinet. ‘There’s a letter from him in there.’

  Nick opened the door, and among the cotton wool, tissues, Lucozade and wet wipes, he found a letter on identical stationery to the one he had received from his father.

  ‘How did he know where you were?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, your father seems to know everything. I’ve never dared ask him how. Open it.’

  Nick did so, and unfolded the letter. The writing-paper bore the name and address of the same Moscow hotel.

  Dear Rosie,

  I hope this finds you well. I took care of the little stones as you asked, but I had an opportunity to make them grow a bit. Don’t ask how. I know you always worried about my schemes, but if I learned one thing from you (and you probably thought I learned nothing at all) it was never to leave until tomorrow what you could do today. Carpe diem and all that.

  There was nothing underhand about the deal (and I know you worry about that, too!), but I’ve been doing a bit of business over here – Russian capitalists are grateful for all the help they can get from wide-boy westerners like me, and they have interesting ways of showing their gratitude.

  I’ve sent the stones back to Nick – the slightly better versions of them – and told him to put them in a bank for safe-keeping. He’ll probably wonder what they’re all for, but I’ll leave you to tell him that.

  See you soon. And don’t worry.

  Your boy Derek xxx

  ‘So, does Dad keep in touch with you then, when nobody else knows where he is?’

  ‘Sometimes. When he feels like it.’

  ‘But the diamonds . . .’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I had them valued today.’

  ‘Did you? Well, don’t tell me,’ said Rosie. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘As well as the one you gave to me, there are four, one large one and three smaller ones.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what to do with them?’ he asked, exasperated.

  Rosie frowned. ‘If you’ll give me a chance to get a word in edgeways.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Rosie grinned. ‘You look just like you did when you were a little boy and I told
you off.’ Then her face became serious. ‘Now, the diamonds. Can you make sure that, of the three smaller ones, one each goes to Sophie and Alice – wherever they happen to be. I know Sophie’s gone off on the toot again because she came and told me. And Alice is in South . . . well, you know.’

  ‘I’ll make sure they get them,’ he assured her.

  ‘And you’ve got yours, haven’t you?’

  Nick nodded.

  ‘But it was a bit smaller than the ones your dad sent back, or so he said.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ he said, dismissively.

  ‘Well, hopefully it doesn’t. You see, the third one is for Alex.’

  At first he thought he had misheard her. He wanted to ask, ‘Alex who?’ Instead he blurted out, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I could see that you two were made for each other, even if you couldn’t.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘And it wasn’t just that you were called Nicholas and Alexandra. I’m not that stupid.’ She looked reflective for a moment. ‘Odd, yes, but stupid, no.’

  ‘You can’t . . .’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid I can. Old lady’s prerogative. You can’t stop me.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘And the last one . . .’

  Nick had barely had time to keep up with the last bombshell, when Rosie said, quite calmly, ‘The last one is to be sold and the proceeds are to be put into a trust fund. I don’t know what it will amount to, but it should make sure that the brightest little girl I’ve ever encountered gets a decent education.’ She looked hard at Nick. ‘I take it you’re managing to keep up?’

  ‘Victoria?’ he asked.

  Rosie nodded. ‘Yes. Something tells me that she’s going to be very special.’

  ‘But this is so sudden! How do you know—’

  ‘How do I know that you’ll stick together?’

  Nick nodded.

  ‘I don’t. I just have a feeling. And it’s such a strong feeling that I see no reason to question it. Sometimes you have to rely on your instincts. I’ve always done that. You’re a good man and she’s a good woman. You’re also crazy about each other, and the child. Anyone with half a brain can see that. You’ve got your heads screwed on. You’ll manage.’

  Nick’s face bore the expression of someone with concussion.