by Susan Lewis
‘I asked him to marry me,’ Rhiannon repeated, her eyes shining with laughter.
Lizzy waited. ‘So, what did he say?’ she prompted.
‘What do you think he said?’ Rhiannon cried.
‘Well I guess, by the look of you, it has to be yes,’ Lizzy replied. ‘Jesus Christ, why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Because you’ve been in such a shitty mood all day, that’s why,’ Rhiannon retorted.
‘But what on earth made you ask him? I mean . . . Well, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t . . . But, hell, Rhiannon, you didn’t even tell me you were planning it.’
‘I wasn’t planning it,’ Rhiannon responded. ‘It just came out. We were talking on the phone and . . . God, I can hardly remember what I said now. I think it was something highly original like: “Shall we get married?”’
‘And he said?’
Rhiannon laughed and felt her heart falter and swell as she remembered. ‘At first there was just dead silence at the other end,’ she said, ‘during which I died several times. Then he said . . . “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”’
Lizzy was laughing and shaking her head and showing nothing of the misgivings she was feeling inside. ‘Rhiannon, I’ve really got to hand it to you,’ she said. ‘Not: “Oliver, what the fuck is going on around here, are you involved in something shady or aren’t you?” but: “Oliver, will you marry me?”’
Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed as she pulled a face. ‘I wish you didn’t have such a down on him,’ she said. ‘He’s really fond of you, you know, and if I am going to marry him then it’s going to be really important to me that you two get along.’
‘Which we will,’ Lizzy promised getting to her feet. ‘Just find out what’s going on, is all I ask. And do it before you tie the knot, not after. OK?’
‘I’d better do it right away then,’ Rhiannon said, bunching her hair on top of her head and clipping it into place.
Lizzy stopped and let her eyes travel back to Rhiannon. ‘Are you telling me you’ve already set a date?’ she said.
Rhiannon laughed. ‘Not exactly,’ she answered. ‘But as neither of us wants much fuss we thought we’d go for the first available slot at Chelsea Register Office.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Lizzy murmured, ‘you really aren’t wasting any time, are you?’ Quite suddenly her face came alive. ‘You’re pregnant!’ she cried.
‘Wrong,’ Rhiannon laughed. ‘Just in love.’
Lizzy grimaced. ‘Then I guess we’d better get these shots in the can and get you back to him as fast as we can, hadn’t we?’ she said, struggling to suppress a sudden and irrational longing for Andy, as the dread of losing Rhiannon began to bind itself tightly round her heart.
It was only when they joined up with Hugh and Jack in the cool, shadowy chamber of the wine cellar that she realized with a shock that the longing had been for Andy, not for Richard.
The roar of the Atlantic hurling huge crashing waves over the shore was coming through the open french windows as Randy Theakston let herself quietly into the room. Pausing, she looked around, her hands unconsciously clenching with nerves. At the far end of the elegant split-level hotel room that overlooked the white sandy beach of Cape Town’s Camps Bay the curtains fluttered in the breeze, as dazzling sunlight pooled over the peach and pastel-green furnishings of the room.
Through the wall beside her she could hear the fast jets of water telling her that Oliver Maguire was in the shower. She knew it was him because she had watched him check in a few minutes ago, before following him up in the lift. According to reception, Rhiannon and the others were out filming and wouldn’t be back for at least another couple of hours.
Moving stealthily forward, Randy’s harsh grey eyes hunted around for the briefcase. It was almost sure to be locked if the diamond was inside, but Straussen had provided her with the combination, so all she had to do now was hope it was right.
Her heart contracted as she spotted the briefcase on a chair beside the TV and starting towards it she felt her hands beginning to perspire at the idea of touching it. Suddenly realizing that she’d stopped listening for the shower she froze her hand in mid-air and checked. It was still going. She had to be quick now if she was going to get that diamond out of the case and . . . She stopped abruptly, almost gasping as the sudden shrill of the phone electrified her nerves. Sprinting quickly down the steps that divided the room, she ducked in behind the cabinet that contained the mini-bar. The ringing stopped and a surge of relief set her heart beating again as she heard Oliver’s voice in the bathroom.
Perspiring badly now, she ran back to the briefcase, spun the locks, bungled it, spun them again, then flicked the clasps and pushed the lid open. She rummaged around, digging in amongst the papers, casting aside velvet bags and rolls, boxes and tissue paper. Hearing the telephone go down in the bathroom her heart gave a jolt of panic and she was about to slam the case shut when she noticed a leather pocket stitched to the upper lining. Digging her fingers inside, she pulled out a small leather box. Bingo!
Getting to her feet, she let the briefcase lid drop, rapidly spun the locks and turned to the luggage rack where Rhiannon’s open suitcase was dripping underwear and dresses and jeans. Finding a small beaded evening bag, Randy was about to pick it up when the handle on the bathroom door started to turn. Her eyes rooted to it in horror. Her heart stopped beating and the corners of the leather box dug painfully into her palm. The bathroom was between her and the door, there was no way of getting out without being seen.
She waited. Her mind was turning numb, her instincts were failing. She had to get away before Maguire saw her. The door was partly open, it seemed he’d turned back for something. Now was her chance. Seizing the beaded purse she tore open the zip, stuffed the box inside, then ran swiftly and silently to the door. As it clicked shut behind her Oliver came out of the bathroom, towelling his hair.
It was around seven in the evening when Oliver discovered the diamond was missing. Rhiannon had already gone downstairs, leaving him to wrap up on the phone while she joined the others for cocktails by the pool. When he finished his call he went to his briefcase to consult a fax from an associate in Hong Kong and the instant he lifted the lid he knew that someone had been there.
His fingers went immediately to the pouch where he’d hidden the diamond. The shock of finding it gone came as such a blow that his breath stopped dead in his lungs. His face turned ashen, his heart began galloping dangerously fast. Taking a breath he pushed his fingers into his hair; he was starting to shake; his skin was breaking out in a nervous sweat. The diamond was worth over fifty thousand dollars and for the moment at least, it was uninsured.
It was several minutes before his mind began to surmount the shock. He had to think this through, had to try and work out what could have happened before he started calling in security, or the police. He picked up the phone, intending to get Rhiannon back to the room, but half-way through dialling he cut himself off, his blood turning to ice in his veins.
He didn’t want to believe that Rhiannon had taken the ring, but she was the only one who’d been in the room with him since he’d checked in. Except she hadn’t known the diamond was there. At least, he hadn’t told her.
Feeling a wave of nausea sweep through him he buried his head in his hands. It was hard to make himself accept that Rhiannon would trick or deceive him the way his suspicions were suggesting, but he had to face the possibility that she might have. This could all be some kind of foul and brilliantly stage-managed conspiracy aimed to discredit and humiliate him in a way that . . . His breath caught on the fear of it, even as his mind recoiled from the idea that Rhiannon would do this.
But never underestimate Straussen, he thought grimly to himself as he got to his feet and wondered how in the hell he should handle this now. He was sure that by removing the diamond they had set some kind of trap for him, though for the life of him he couldn’t fathom what the trap might be.
‘What did she say?’ Hugh
cried, his greasy hands pausing in mid-air as he looked at Jack, then Lizzy, then Oliver. ‘Did she just say what I thought she said?’ he demanded.
Rhiannon was laughing. ‘I’m serious,’ she told him. ‘That’s our schedule for tomorrow.’
‘She’s gone insane,’ Hugh declared, cracking open a langoustine and rapping Jack’s knuckles as he tried to steal the delicious-looking flesh.
‘Do you want me to run through it again?’ Rhiannon offered, pulling in her chair as someone tried to squeeze past.
‘I don’t know that I’m ready for it,’ Hugh grumbled, winkling a couple of mussels from their shells and popping them in his mouth. ‘I mean, I was about to get seriously stuck into this wine, weren’t you, mate?’
‘I’m already there,’ Jack answered, waving the empty bottle of Nederberg at the waiter.
They were at Quay Four, a lively Waterfront restaurant, where the heavy beat of live rock from the bar downstairs vibrated the floorboards and a tangy sea breeze wafted in through the wide-open windows. The clatter of cutlery and crockery, coupled with the general rowdiness of the place and the occasional ship’s whistle blasting through the harbour, meant that they were having to shout to make themselves heard above the din.
‘Have you tried that calamare steak?’ Lizzy drooled. ‘It’s heaven. Hugh, that’s the third langoustine you’ve had and I haven’t had any.’
‘Try the lobster,’ Rhiannon recommended, dipping her fingers into the lemon bowl in front of her and drying them on her napkin. ‘Don’t you want any more?’ she said to Oliver who was leaning back in his chair and clearly only half listening to what was being said.
Shaking his head he picked up his wineglass and drained it.
Rhiannon watched him, wishing she was sitting next to him rather than opposite so that she could let him know how fed-up she was becoming with his moodiness. OK, they should have gone out alone tonight if they were supposed to be celebrating the fact they’d decided to get married, but there were only two more days left in Cape Town and this wasn’t a holiday!
She looked at him again and a sudden bolt of unease twisted through her heart. Please God he wasn’t regretting saying he would marry her? She dismissed the thought quickly, refusing to give in to the damnable lack of self-confidence that always seemed to be lurking somewhere in the corners of her mind. Then her heart relaxed as, catching her eye, he winked and reached across the table for her hand.
‘OK, Rhiannon,’ Hugh said, covering a burp with his napkin as he sat back in his chair. ‘I think I’m pissed enough to handle it now. What was tomorrow’s schedule again?’
Tearing her eyes from Oliver’s Rhiannon picked up an oyster and dousing it with shallot vinegar said, ‘OK, tomorrow.’ Tossing the oyster back she swallowed it whole, then wiping her hands in her napkin she began. ‘We’re interviewing the minister for culture at seven at the Mount Nelson. After that it’s Kirstenboch to see some of the world’s rarest and most beautiful flowers. Someone from the tourist office will meet us there and stay with us as we go on to a couple of craft and flea markets and the Houses of Parliament which, I am assured, are quite stunningly Corinthian. If there’s time before lunch we’ll take a boat ride over to Ellis Island where Mandela was held prisoner, if not we’ll do it straight after. They know we’re coming so there shouldn’t be any problem and it’s a great opportunity to turn the cameras back on the mainland and get some shots of Table Mountain.
‘When we come back we’ll do some GVs and VOX POPS of tourists around the Waterfront. A couple of local celebrities will be joining us – a wine merchant, a TV presenter, a rock singer and a Penthouse Pet no less – then we’ll get the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain to take a look at the view and the dassie and . . .’
The what?’ Jack interrupted.
‘Dassie. Rock rabbits. And hopefully we’ll be blessed with a sunset. Oh, that reminds me,’ she said, going to her bag for her notebook, ‘I need to find out what time the sun actually sets tomorrow. Have you got everything so far?’
‘You mean there’s more?’ Hugh gasped, horrified.
‘Just some early evening atmos around the Waterfront again,’ she answered, rummaging for a pencil. ‘Oh, and there’s one other thing I forgot to mention: if there’s time . . .’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Hugh cried.
‘If there’s time,’ Rhiannon repeated, looking down at her hand to see what the small square object was, ‘we’ll go back to the Mount Nelson,’ she went on, turning the box over curiously, ‘to film Cape Town society at tea. The day after tomorrow, by the way, we’ll be driving along the peninsula to the Cape of Good Hope and coming back via Simonstown and the beach where penguins take priority over humans and a . . .’ Her voice was slowly losing momentum as she let go of her bag and using both hands carefully prised open the leather box.
The instant she saw the diamond her heart stopped beating. Her eyes flew to Oliver. Strangely, there was no expression on his face. She looked at the ring again and suddenly there was so much chaos in her mind that she barely knew what she was thinking. Dimly she was aware of the others murmuring in amazement and awe as tiny sparks of light seemed almost to animate the ring.
‘Oliver,’ she murmured, glancing at him as she gently lifted the ring from its velvet crease. ‘I – it’s . . .’ She started to laugh. ‘Oh God, I’m shaking.’
‘Just put it on, will you,’ Lizzy demanded.
Rhiannon looked at Oliver again and wondered why he wasn’t smiling. Then suddenly it was as though she could read what he was thinking and as his shock and confusion settled around her heart she felt her insides turning cold. She couldn’t get a complete picture on this yet but what she was having no problem discerning was that he’d had no more idea that there was a ring in her bag than she had. Yet the ring was something to do with him, at least she presumed it was . . .
Putting a hand to her head she felt herself turn hot as she heard Lizzy say, ‘Would someone mind explaining what’s going on here, because I’m kind of lost.’
‘It would appear,’ Oliver responded, summoning a smile to mask the edge in his voice, ‘that Rhiannon doesn’t like her engagement ring.’
Rhiannon looked at him.
‘Either that,’ Oliver said, taking the ring and sliding it on to her third finger, ‘or the shock of finding it has just been too great for her.’
Rhiannon smiled weakly and stared at him as his eyes bored into hers. Then suddenly he started to smile. Rhiannon blinked and tried to stop her mind reeling. What on earth was going on? One minute he’d looked as appalled as if she’d stolen it, the next he was laughing and joking as though he’d planned the whole thing.
‘Shall we go?’ he suggested.
‘Yes,’ she responded, finding her voice at last. ‘Yes, I think we should.’
‘What I want to know is how the hell it got into your bag,’ Oliver demanded, following Rhiannon into their room and slamming the door behind him.
‘I told you, I don’t know,’ Rhiannon cried. ‘You saw what happened. I put my hand in the bag . . .’
‘It’s OK,’ he interrupted, putting a hand up for her to stop. ‘I was just thinking aloud. I know you didn’t put it there . . .’ He raised his eyes to hers and gave a surprisingly sardonic smile. ‘Your face when you saw it more than proved that,’ he told her, ‘but I have to tell you it was a pretty big shock to me too.’
‘So where did it come from?’ she said, aware of the diamond weighing heavily on her finger, but not quite wanting to look at it. ‘I mean it is yours, isn’t it?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘No, darling, it’s yours,’ he reminded her.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said, lifting her hand to look at it. ‘God, Oliver, it’s so beautiful,’ she whispered.
Taking her fingers he looked down at the exquisite champagne-coloured stone, watching the ephemeral pinpoints of light sparkle and glimmer with each tiny movement.
‘If I’m reading this correctly,’ she s
aid, raising her eyes to his, ‘then the general thinking is that someone broke into the room, took the diamond from your briefcase and put it in my bag?’
Oliver looked at her.
‘Well is that what you’re thinking?’ she pressed.
‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose it is. I mean how else can it have got there if neither of us put it there? What are you doing?’ he asked as she reached for the phone.
‘Calling security,’ she answered. ‘If someone’s been in this room we ought at least to report it. Hello? Yes, can you connect me with security please.’ Turning back to Oliver she said, ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t report it the instant you realized it was gone. I mean, I don’t know what it’s worth, but . . .’
‘A little over fifty thousand dollars,’ he said, taking the phone from her and hanging up. ‘There’s no point getting them involved,’ he told her. ‘It’ll only confuse things even further.’
Rhiannon was gaping at him. ‘Are you serious?’ she breathed, tearing her eyes from his and looking down at the ring. ‘My God, I think I’m going to faint. A fifty-thousand-dollar ring disappears from your briefcase and you don’t tell anyone?’ Suddenly her eyes were back on his. ‘Oliver,’ she said quietly, her insides starting to churn, ‘please tell me it’s not stolen.’
He laughed. ‘No, it’s not stolen,’ he assured her. ‘But it is illegally in this country.’
Rhiannon blinked. Then deciding this was all starting to get wildly out of hand she said, ‘Would you mind pouring me a drink?’
‘Scotch?’ he said, walking down the steps to the mini-bar.
‘Brandy,’ she answered. ‘What do you mean the ring isn’t legally in the country?’ she said.
‘I haven’t paid any duty on it,’ he answered. ‘I will when we get to England, but I don’t want to go through the hassle or the expense of paying it twice.’
‘You’d have to do that?’ she said.
‘Possibly.’
‘So how did it get here?’
‘A contact of mine brought it in from Australia a couple of days ago,’ he answered, bringing their drinks back up the steps and sitting on one of the candy-striped sofas.
