The New Collected Short Stories Read online

  Jeremy had never slept with a woman on a first date before. He could only assume that it was what ‘the set’ did, and when he left the next morning, he certainly didn’t expect ever to hear from her again. But she called that afternoon and invited him over for supper at her place. From that moment, they hardly spent a day apart during the next month.

  What pleased Jeremy most was that Arabella didn’t seem to mind that he couldn’t afford to take her to her usual haunts, and appeared quite happy to share a Chinese or Indian meal when they went out for dinner, often insisting that they split the bill. But he didn’t believe it could last, until one night she said, ‘You do realize I’m in love with you, don’t you, Jeremy?’

  Jeremy had never expressed his true feelings for Arabella. He’d assumed their relationship was nothing more than what her set would describe as a fling. Not that she’d ever introduced him to anyone from her set. When he fell on one knee and proposed to her on the dance floor at Annabel’s, he couldn’t believe it when she said yes.

  ‘I’ll buy a ring tomorrow,’ he said, trying not to think about the parlous state of his bank account, which had turned a deeper shade of red since he’d met Arabella.

  ‘Why bother to buy one, when you can steal the best there is?’ she said.

  Jeremy burst out laughing, but it quickly became clear Arabella wasn’t joking. That was the moment he should have walked away, but he realized he couldn’t if it meant losing her. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this beautiful and intoxicating woman, and if stealing a ring was what it took, it seemed a small price to pay.

  ‘What type shall I steal?’ he asked, still not altogether sure that she was serious.

  ‘The expensive type,’ she replied. ‘In fact, I’ve already chosen the one I want.’ She passed him a De Beers catalogue. ‘Page forty-three,’ she said. ‘It’s called the Kandice Diamond.’

  ‘But have you worked out how I’m going to steal it?’ asked Jeremy, studying a photograph of the faultless yellow diamond.

  ‘Oh, that’s the easy part, darling,’ she said. ‘All you’ll have to do is follow my instructions.’

  Jeremy didn’t say a word until she’d finished outlining her plan.

  That’s how he had ended up in the Ritz that morning, wearing his only tailored suit, a pair of Links cufflinks, a Cartier Tank watch and an old Etonian tie, all of which belonged to Arabella’s father.

  ‘I’ll have to return everything by tonight,’ she said, ‘otherwise Pa might miss them and start asking questions.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jeremy, who was enjoying becoming acquainted with the trappings of the rich, even if it was only a fleeting acquaintance.

  The waiter returned, carrying a silver tray. Neither of them spoke as he placed a cup of mint tea in front of Arabella and a pot of coffee on Jeremy’s side of the table.

  ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Jeremy with an assurance he’d acquired during the past month.

  ‘Do you think you’re ready?’ asked Arabella, her knee brushing against the inside of his leg while she once again gave him the smile that had so captivated him at Ascot.

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Jeremy, trying to sound convincing.

  ‘Good. I’ll wait here until you return, darling.’ That same smile. ‘You know how much this means to me.’

  Jeremy nodded, rose from his place and, without another word, walked out of the morning room, across the corridor, through the swing doors and out on to Piccadilly. He placed a stick of chewing gum in his mouth, hoping it would help him to relax. Normally Arabella would have disapproved, but on this occasion she had recommended it. He stood nervously on the pavement and waited for a gap to appear in the traffic, then nipped across the road, coming to a halt outside De Beers, the largest diamond merchant in the world. This was his last chance to walk away. He knew he should take it, but just the thought of her made it impossible.

  He rang the doorbell, which made him aware that his palms were sweating. Arabella had warned him that you couldn’t just stroll into De Beers as if it was a supermarket, and that if they didn’t like the look of you, they would not even open the door. That was why he had been measured for his first hand-tailored suit and acquired a new silk shirt, and was wearing Arabella’s father’s watch, cufflinks and old Etonian tie. ‘The tie will ensure that the door is opened immediately,’ Arabella had told him, ‘and once they spot the watch and the cufflinks, you’ll be invited into the private salon, because by then they’ll be convinced you’re one of the rare people who can afford their wares.’

  Arabella turned out to be correct, because when the doorman appeared, he took one look at Jeremy and immediately unlocked the door.

  ‘Good morning, sir. How may I help you?’

  ‘I was hoping to buy an engagement ring.’

  ‘Of course, sir. Please step inside.’

  Jeremy followed him down a long corridor, glancing at photographs on the walls that depicted the history of the company since its foundation in 1888. Once they had reached the end of the corridor, the doorman melted away, to be replaced by a tall, middle-aged man wearing a well-cut dark suit, a white silk shirt and a black tie.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said, giving a slight bow. ‘My name is Crombie,’ he added, before ushering Jeremy into his private lair. Jeremy walked into a small, well-lit room. In the centre was an oval table covered in a black velvet cloth, with comfortable-looking leather chairs on either side. The assistant waited until Jeremy had sat down before he took the seat opposite him.

  ‘Would you care for some coffee, sir?’ Crombie enquired solicitously.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Jeremy, who had no desire to hold up proceedings any longer than necessary, for fear he might lose his nerve.

  ‘And how may I help you today, sir?’ Crombie asked, as if Jeremy were a regular customer.

  ‘I’ve just become engaged . . .’

  ‘Many congratulations, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jeremy, beginning to feel a little more relaxed. ‘I’m looking for a ring, something a bit special,’ he added, still sticking to the script.

  ‘You’ve certainly come to the right place, sir,’ said Crombie, and pressed a button under the table.

  The door opened immediately, and a man in an identical dark suit, white shirt and dark tie entered the room.

  ‘The gentleman would like to see some engagement rings, Partridge.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mr Crombie,’ replied the porter, and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

  ‘Good weather for this time of year,’ said Crombie as he waited for the porter to reappear.

  ‘Not bad,’ said Jeremy.

  ‘No doubt you’ll be going to Wimbledon, sir.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve got tickets for the women’s semi-finals,’ said Jeremy, feeling rather pleased with himself, remembering that he’d strayed off script.

  A moment later, the door opened and the porter reappeared carrying a large oak box which he placed reverentially in the centre of the table, before leaving without uttering a word. Crombie waited until the door had closed before selecting a small key from a chain that hung from the waistband of his trousers, unlocking the box and opening the lid slowly to reveal three rows of assorted gems that took Jeremy’s breath away. Definitely not the sort of thing he was used to seeing in the window of his local H. Samuel.

  It was a few moments before he fully recovered, and then he remembered Arabella telling him he would be presented with a wide choice of stones so the salesman could estimate his price range without having to ask him directly.

  Jeremy studied the box’s contents intently, and after some thought selected a ring from the bottom row with three perfectly cut small emeralds set proud on a gold band.

  ‘Quite beautiful,’ said Jeremy as he studied the stones more carefully. ‘What is the price of this ring?’

  ‘One hundred and twenty-four thousand, sir,’ said Crombie, as if t