Diamonds Forever

by Justine Elyot

  There was general laughter, and some jokey questioning as to exactly how far the happy couple were prepared to go in their posing.

  ‘Hey,’ said Jason. ‘Didn’t you see enough of her last year?’

  The notorious Facebook shot had passed into legend, but it didn’t seem to have harmed Jenna’s public image – if anything, it had rather enhanced it, especially as it had such a feel-good love story to go along with it.

  More laughter, then a final question.

  ‘How do you feel about the Harville verdict?’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Jenna, hoping that her voice had drowned out Jason’s less press-friendly, ‘Fucking great!’

  ‘Justice has been done at last,’ she elaborated. ‘Though, as it’s sheer good luck that nobody died as a result of his actions, I’d have been happier with life. But twenty years is a long time. I just hope he’s feeling remorse, though he never seemed the type.’

  ‘What would you have given him, Jason?’ called another voice.

  ‘D’you want me to show you?’ growled Jason.

  ‘No more questions,’ said Jenna hastily. ‘Let the papping commence!’

  She and Jason entwined in a passionate, full-scale snog while the bulbs flashed and popped all around them. But it could have been a thunderstorm or a blizzard for all Jenna cared. When she and her man were connected so closely, nothing else could encroach on what they made each other feel.

  They ran through a selection of corny poses, heads on shoulders, foreheads together, Jenna held up in the air, until the five minutes had passed.

  ‘Here – catch!’ she shouted, flinging her bouquet into the crowd and using the uproar thus created to run, holding Jason’s hand, up the rest of the street to Harville Hall.

  ‘Do you think they’ll stick to the deal?’ panted Jason, as the security guards opened the gate.

  ‘They’d better, or I’m going to sue. I’ve given exclusive rights to cover the party to Greg. If anyone else tries on any of that zoom lens shit, I’m coming for them.’

  ‘Wouldn’t like to be in their shoes,’ said Jason, grinning as the gate clanged behind them. ‘Or yours, for that matter. Don’t those kill your feet?’

  He looked down at her stiletto slingbacks. Jenna had to admit, running in them had been a severe test of her ankle strength.

  ‘A bit,’ she said.

  ‘Come on then. I’ll carry you over the threshold.’

  ‘But we don’t live here any more,’ she said, giggling as he gathered her up into his arms and strode, to the applause of those onlookers who had gathered on the lawn with their champagne flutes, along the gravel path to the open front door.

  ‘It’s still my ancestral home, though, yeah?’ he said.

  Kayley and Deano, waiting for them on the front porch, joined in the applause.

  ‘Where were you?’ said Deano.

  ‘Bit of PR,’ said Jenna, as Jason swept her over the threshold. ‘You know how it is. Work, work, work. Never ends.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ said Jason, putting Jenna down and giving the newly refurbished Hall a good long once-over. ‘That’s hard work, that is. What do you think of the place then?’

  ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ enthused Kayley. ‘I did loads of the shopping. Sorry, “sourcing”, they call it now, don’t they? Basically posh shopping. What do you think?’

  ‘You’ve got a great eye,’ said Jenna, who had been happy to take a back seat on the project and concentrate on getting Jason’s career off to its optimally brilliant start. ‘Have you had the interiors mags in yet?’

  ‘No, first one’s next week. I can’t wait!’

  ‘Are you staying in Bledburn for a while longer, Deano?’ she asked her ex-husband.

  ‘Yeah, I’m taking a leaf out of your book. A year off – kind of extended honeymoon, but with work. Me and Kayley’ll see this place off the ground, then we’ll go on a really long tour of Asian beach resorts. I think she’s earned it.’

  ‘She has,’ said Jenna.

  ‘Are you going on honeymoon?’ asked Kayley.

  ‘Yes – a month touring the great art galleries of Europe. The Hermitage, the Uffizi, the Louvre … as many as we can cram in.’

  ‘How romantic,’ said Kayley. ‘That sounds boss.’

  ‘I’m especially looking forward to the hotel beds,’ said Jason into Jenna’s ear, and she elbowed him.

  ‘Don’t be rude,’ she whispered.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’ve got the rest of your life to be rude – can we just get through this wedding reception first?’

  He behaved impeccably through the greeting line, the photographs, the meal, the speeches and the cutting of the cakes. Only when he placed a hand on her ivory satin thigh after the final toast did she start to exchange the perfect magazine-cover Jenna for the woman behind her.

  ‘There’ll be dancing in about an hour,’ she said. ‘Are you ready for the first dance?’

  ‘I don’t know. What is it? Not one of Deano’s, is it?’

  She laughed.

  ‘No, but I bet his is. Isn’t it just fantastic that he and Kayley got together? They make such a lovely couple.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he’s not such a tosser as I used to think,’ said Jason. ‘He’s all right really. In his way.’

  ‘Kayley’s brought him back to Earth. She’s changed him, and now I like him all over again.’

  ‘Oi, don’t be falling for him,’ warned Jason. ‘You’re a married woman, don’t forget.’

  ‘I’ll never forget,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘Looks like the romantic atmosphere is working on some other people too.’

  In one corner of the light, flower-filled room, Mia was hanging on every word spoken by a much-recovered and very spruce Ross. His haggard and drug-addled look was no more, though he had to walk with the aid of a stick.

  Meanwhile, outside the French windows, Linda and Kayley’s dad were taking a cigarette break at rather close quarters.

  Jenna smiled to see them, and nudged Jason.

  ‘Your mum’s found a new friend,’ she said.

  Jason smiled ruefully and shook his head.

  ‘I hope he knows what he’s signing up for,’ he said.

  ‘Aw, come on. She’s calmed down a lot since I first met her. And she looks amazing after our spa weekend. She’s a highly eligible bachelorette these days, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not be thinking about my mum’s sex life on my wedding day. Or any day. Anyway. I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘Really?’ Jenna’s skin goose-pimpled at the low, seductive tone his voice had taken on.

  ‘Yeah. You know I’ve been coming over here every day for the last couple of weeks?’

  ‘Helping out with the interior design,’ said Jenna. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want you to see something. Come upstairs.’

  ‘Upstairs?’ Confused but intrigued, she rose from her chair, her silk column dress rippling down her legs as she did so, and followed Jason into the hall.

  ‘I thought it was all classrooms and music studios up there now?’ she said, ascending the staircase in his wake. ‘No more bedrooms. If that’s what’s on your mind.’

  ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I want you to see the art studio.’

  ‘Ah, I had a feeling you’d have a hand in that,’ she said, stepping up her pace as they wound towards the attic storey.

  At the top of the stairs, Jenna stood open-mouthed, looking around at the transformation. Everything was glass and light and bright whiteness where it had been shut up and shuttered and cobwebbed before.

  ‘This is stunning,’ she said. ‘But where …?’

  ‘This isn’t what I wanted to show you,’ said Jason. ‘Good, though, isn’t it? I want you to see this.’

  He ran with her along the length of the studio to a door at the end. Ah, now this – this was the attic room.

  He flung open the door and she saw the old space, though much bett
er lit now by a skylight in the ceiling, with its wonderful original frescoes.

  At once she was thrown back to the day she first found the place; the surprise of seeing these intricate, detailed artworks covering half the walls. Then the even stronger surprise of finding an unexpected lodger asleep on the floor …

  But there was an extra work to look at, a wall that had been blank when she had last seen it.

  ‘Oh God, Jason,’ she said, plucking at his cuff. ‘Is that …?’

  It was a full-length portrait of the two of them, naked but entwined in such a manner as to conceal anything really explicit. Their bodies were surrounded by tiny little scenes, all depicting something of significance to them, from a tableau of Deano on stage in a far corner, to a curled-up Bowyer at their feet. In other places, a crowd of protestors at the pit, Harville Hall on fire and some smiling kids on skateboards by the estate shops were part of the fascinating and highly detailed texture of the piece.

  ‘It’s about us. About everything that made us and everything that brought us together,’ he said. ‘And the way I’ve painted us puts us together forever. Nothing can break that apart. I wanted to show that … because …’

  But his voice had tailed off, broken with emotion, and Jenna had shut him up with a passionate kiss anyway, her arms flung around him.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Nobody ever had a better wedding present.’

  ‘Nobody ever had a better wedding,’ he whispered back. ‘Or a better wife.’

  ‘But … is this room … going to be in use?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, stroking her cheek. ‘It’s going to be the art students’ coffee room. Lucky bastards, eh, getting to look at us every day?’

  Jenna snorted with laughter.

  ‘Oh God. So the next generation of talented Bledburnians are going to go through life with this image seared on their brains?’

  ‘Dead right they are.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jenna philosophically, ‘I daresay they’ve all seen a lot more of me on the internet.’

  ‘True,’ said Jason. ‘But nobody gets to see it in the flesh, except me. Those poor saps are going to have to look at this, day after day, and know that they can never get any closer to you.’

  ‘I’ve already picked my artistic genius,’ said Jenna.

  Jason kissed her bare shoulder, then the side of her neck above her glittering necklace. He slid a hand to the back of her waist and began to lower it over her slinky silken rear.

  ‘Jason,’ whispered Jenna, her heart bumping.

  ‘Do you remember?’ he whispered back. ‘Finding me in here?’

  ‘I’ll never, ever forget it,’ she said. ‘I had the shock of my life.’

  ‘But you didn’t call the police. Imagine if you had. Everything would’ve been so different.’

  ‘Don’t. I don’t want to think about that.’

  ‘Neither do I. But I want to think about how my life has changed since that day. And I want to apologise as well.’

  ‘Apologise?’

  ‘For all the times I acted like a dick with a chip on my shoulder. It’s like, when you’ve been down all your life, it takes a while to believe anyone would really have faith in you.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jenna softly. ‘But I wasn’t perfect either. All that stuff trying to change you and make you socially acceptable. It must have hurt you.’

  ‘Well. Not that badly,’ he said, with a wink. ‘I got my own back.’

  She smiled, remembering the London sex shop they had so memorably visited.

  ‘Ah, water under the bridge,’ she said. ‘Shall we promise to just love each other from now on?’

  ‘I thought we already did. Marriage vows? Ring any bells?’

  She laughed and laid her head against his shoulder.

  ‘You’re right. We’ve got all our lives ahead of us now, to spend just loving each other. Just you and me.’

  ‘Just you and me,’ echoed Jason, with a kiss of her lips. ‘And Bowyer.’

  He jumped as the cat sprang on to their feet and rubbed himself, purring, around their ankles.

  ‘Yes. You and me and Bowyer, forever.’

  Hungry for more?

  Read on for an excerpt from Justine Elyot’s historical novel

  FALLEN

  Available from Black Lace

  Chapter One

  A SMALL CROWD was gathered outside the premises of Thos. Stratton, Antiquarian and Dealer in Rare Books, of Holywell Street, Strand. Largely composed of legal clerks taking their lunch hour, it jostled and catcalled beneath the Elizabethan gables from which one still expected to hear a cry of ‘gardy loo’ before slops were emptied onto the cobbles.

  Some would argue that the shop itself was little better than those aforementioned slops, an abyss of moral putrefaction and decay. Despite the passing of the Obscene Publications Act some ten years previously, many windows still displayed explicit postcards and graphic line drawings. The object of the crowd’s interest today was a tintype image of a young woman. She was naked and sprawled in an armchair, luxuriant flesh hand-tinted to look warm and inviting. One of her legs dangled over a chair arm, revealing split pinkened lips beneath a dark bush of hair. Her nipples had been touched up, too – in a figurative sense – improbably roseate against alabaster skin. Most shocking was the positioning of her hands, one of which cupped a breast while the other delved inside that displayed furrow. If she had derived any pleasure from her explorations, it did not show on her face, which was blank and stony. But nobody was looking at her face.

  A woman, smartly but not showily dressed all in black, cut a path through the grinning throng. The young men fell back naturally, tipping hats and begging her pardon. A less formidable-looking woman might have found herself joshed or even groped, but nobody would have dreamt of doing any such thing to this lady.

  She paused to evaluate what had been creating the sensation and the men around her looked away or to their boots, suddenly sheepish.

  ‘For shame,’ she said, then she put her hand to the door of the shop and entered to the dull jink of rusty bells.

  A pasty young man whom nobody had cautioned against the excessive use of pomade double-took at the sight of her.

  No woman had ever crossed the threshold of the shop before.

  Panicking, he came out from the behind the counter.

  ‘I think you may have the wrong address, madam,’ he said, placing himself between her and a display of inflammatory postcards from which a portly woman wielding a whip glared out.

  ‘I wish to speak with Mr Stratton.’

  ‘Oh.’ The youth found himself at a loss, his eyes darting wildly around the room at all the potentially feminine-sensibility-violating material on display. ‘He is out.’

  ‘When do you expect him back? I am able to wait if he will not be too long.’

  Two of the clerks entered, throwing the shop boy into worse throes of confusion.

  ‘Oh dear, customers. Perhaps you might wait in the back room? But it is not comfortable and … oh, it is not a place for a lady. Pray, put that down, please, gentlemen, it is not for common perusal.’

  He spoke the word ‘perusal’ with absurd emphasis, as if bringing out a rare jewel from the duller stones of his workaday vocabulary.

  ‘What, is it too dirty for the likes of us?’ said one, sniggering.

  ‘Please bear in mind that there is a lady present,’ begged the shop boy.

  The lady in question simply swept onwards into the back room.

  Oh, if the clerks could have come in here, then they would see how tame, how positively innocent the self-loving young lady in the window display was.

  The woman in black sat by the grimy back window and cast her eye over a box of postcards. Far from averting her gaze, she picked one out and examined it. A woman in a form of leather harness knelt behind another, younger, girl. This one smiled sweetly and broadly towards the camera whilst on her hands and knees. And behind her, the other woman pivoted her hips f
orward, ready to drive a thick wooden phallus directly into the rounded bottom of her playmate.

  The visitor’s lips curved upwards.

  ‘Lovely,’ she breathed.

  The rooms above the shop had been used, over the years, for various purposes. They had been stock cupboards, brothels and family dwellings but never, until that late spring day in 1865, had they been used as a schoolroom.

  On that afternoon, however, James Stratton had tidied away all the ink-stained papers from his well-worn desk and replaced them with a slate and chalk and an alphabet primer, with which he was doing his utmost to teach the buxom young woman beside him to read.

  ‘I do know me letters, though, Jem,’ she said, declining to place her fi nger beside his underneath the A. ‘I can tell that much. It’s just putting ’em together I ’as trouble with.’

  ‘So if I wrote a simple three letter word, such as this …’ He paused to write the word cat in as perfect a copperplate hand as the sliding chalk would allow. ‘You could tell me what it said?’

  She leant closer to him, very close, so that he could smell that cheap musky perfume all the fallen girls wore, mixed in with sweat and last night’s gin and last night’s men and, way beneath it all, a faint whiff of soap. He knew why she was doing it. She wanted to distract him with her breasts, and very fine breasts they were too, but today he was fixed in his purpose and he intended to achieve it.

  ‘Why, that curly one’s a c, I think, and the middle is definitely an a. Yes, definitely. The one at the end, I don’t know, it might be an f or a … but caf don’t make sense, so it must be a t. Cat!’ She spoke the word triumphantly, beaming up at him with teeth that were still good, lips that were still soft and plump.

  ‘Very good, Annie. I’ll make a scholar of you yet.’

  ‘That you won’t. Who wants a whore what’s read the classics anyway?’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ he said, his lips twitching into a smile. Annie always had this uniquely cheering effect upon him for some reason, though what kind of a man this made him he didn’t dare explore. She’d made her living on her back since she was fifteen and now, at twenty-two, she was quite an old hand at the game, yet somehow she refreshed him.