The New Collected Short Stories Read online

  A few moments later, Arabella was standing outside De Beers. The door was opened immediately: the Van Cleef & Arpels necklace, the Balenciaga bag and the Chanel watch all suggested that this lady was not in the habit of being kept waiting.

  ‘I want to look at some engagement rings,’ she said shyly before stepping inside.

  ‘Of course, madam,’ said the doorman, and led her down the corridor.

  During the next hour, Arabella carried out almost the same routine as Jeremy, and after much prevarication she told Mr Crombie, ‘It’s hopeless, quite hopeless. I’ll have to bring Archie in. After all, he’s the one who’s going to foot the bill.’

  ‘Of course, madam.’

  ‘I’m joining him for lunch at Le Caprice,’ she added, ‘so we’ll pop back this afternoon.’

  ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you both then,’ said the sales associate as he closed the jewel box.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Crombie,’ said Arabella as she rose to leave.

  Arabella was escorted to the front door by the sales associate without any suggestion that she should take her clothes off. Once she was back on Piccadilly, she hailed a taxi and gave the driver an address in Lowndes Square. She checked her watch, confident that she would be back at the flat long before her father, who would never find out that his watch and cufflinks had been borrowed for a few hours, and who certainly wouldn’t miss one of his old school ties.

  As she sat in the back of the taxi, Arabella admired the flawless yellow diamond. Jeremy had carried out her instructions to the letter. She would of course have to explain to her friends why she’d broken off the engagement. Frankly, he just wasn’t one of our set, never really fitted in. But she had to admit she would quite miss him. She’d grown rather fond of Jeremy, and he was very enthusiastic between the sheets. And to think that all he’d get out of it was a pair of silver collar stiffeners and an old Etonian tie. Arabella hoped he still had enough money to cover the bill at the Ritz.

  She dismissed Jeremy from her thoughts and turned her attention to the man she’d chosen to join her at Wimbledon, whom she had already lined up to assist her in obtaining a matching pair of earrings.

  When Mr Crombie left De Beers that night, he was still trying to work out how the man had managed it. After all, he’d had no more than a few seconds while his head was bowed.

  ‘Goodnight, Doris,’ he said as he passed a cleaner who was vacuuming in the corridor.

  ‘Goodnight, sir,’ said Doris, opening the door to the viewing room so she could continue to vacuum. This was where the customers selected the finest gems on earth, Mr Crombie had once told her, so it had to be spotless. She turned off the machine, removed the black velvet cloth from the table and began to polish the surface; first the top, then the rim. That’s when she felt it.

  Doris bent down to take a closer look. She stared in disbelief at the large piece of chewing gum stuck under the rim of the table. She began to scrape it off, not stopping until there wasn’t the slightest trace of it left, then dropped it into the rubbish bag attached to her cleaning cart before placing the velvet cloth back on the table.

  ‘Such a disgusting habit,’ she muttered as she closed the viewing-room door and continued to vacuum the carpet in the corridor.

  THE QUEEN’S BIRTHDAY TELEGRAM*

  2

  Her Majesty the Queen sends her congratulations to Albert Webber on the occasion of his 100th birthday, and wishes him many more years of good health and happiness.

  ALBERT WAS STILL SMILING after he’d read the message for the twentieth time.

  ‘You’ll be next, ducks,’ he said as he passed the royal missive across to his wife. Betty only had to read the telegram once for a broad smile to appear on her face too.

  The festivities had begun a week earlier, culminating in a celebration party at the town hall. Albert’s photograph had appeared on the front page of the Somerset Gazette that morning, and he had been interviewed on BBC Points West, his wife seated proudly by his side.

  His Worship the Mayor of Street, Councillor Ted Harding, and the leader of the local council, Councillor Brocklebank, were waiting on the town hall steps to greet the centenarian. Albert was escorted to the mayor’s parlour where he was introduced to Mr David Heathcote-Amory, the local Member of Parliament, as well as the local MEP, although when asked later he couldn’t remember her name.

  After several more photographs had been taken, Albert was ushered through to a large reception room where over a hundred invited guests were waiting to greet him. As he entered the room he was welcomed by a spontaneous burst of applause, and people he’d never met before began shaking hands with him.

  At 3.27 p.m., the precise minute Albert had been born in 1907, the old man, surrounded by his five children, eleven grandchildren and nineteen great-grandchildren, thrust a silver-handled knife into a three-tier cake. This simple act was greeted by another burst of applause, followed by cries of speech, speech, speech!

  Albert had prepared a few words, but as quiet fell in the room, they went straight out of his head.

  ‘Say something,’ said Betty, giving her husband a gentle nudge in the ribs.

  He blinked, looked around at the expectant crowd, paused and said, ‘Thank you very much.’

  Once the assembled gathering realized that was all he was going to say, someone began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’, and within moments everyone was joining in. Albert managed to blow out seven of the hundred candles before the younger members of the family came to his rescue, which was greeted by even more laughter and clapping.

  Once the applause had died down, the mayor rose to his feet, tugged at the lapels of his black and gold braided gown and cleared his throat, before delivering a far longer speech.

  ‘My fellow citizens,’ he began, ‘we are gathered together today to celebrate the birthday, the one hundredth birthday, of Albert Webber, a much-loved member of our community. Albert was born in Street on the fifteenth of April 1907. He married his wife Betty at Holy Trinity Church in 1931, and spent his working life at C. and J. Clark’s, our local shoe factory. In fact,’ he continued, ‘Albert has spent his entire life in Street, with the notable exception of four years when he served as a private soldier in the Somerset Light Infantry. When the war ended in 1945, Albert was discharged from the army and returned to Street to take up his old job as a leather cutter at Clark’s. At the age of sixty, he retired as Deputy Floor Manager. But you can’t get rid of Albert that easily, because he then took on part-time work as a night watchman, a responsibility he carried out until his seventieth birthday.’

  The mayor waited for the laughter to fade before he continued. ‘From his early days, Albert has always been a loyal supporter of Street Football Club, rarely missing a Cobblers’ home game, and indeed the club has recently made him an honorary life member. Albert also played darts for the Crown and Anchor, and was a member of that team when they were runners-up in the town’s pub championship.

  ‘I’m sure you will all agree,’ concluded the mayor, ‘that Albert has led a colourful and interesting life, which we all hope will continue for many years to come, not least because in three years’ time we will be celebrating the same landmark for his dear wife Betty. It’s hard to believe, looking at her,’ said the mayor, turning towards Mrs Webber, ‘that in 2010 she will also be one hundred.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said several voices, and Betty shyly bowed her head as Albert leaned across and took her hand.

  After several other dignitaries had said a few words, and many more had had their photograph taken with Albert, the mayor accompanied his two guests out of the town hall to a waiting Rolls-Royce, and instructed the chauffeur to drive Mr and Mrs Webber home.

  Albert and Betty sat in the back of the car holding hands. Neither of them had ever been in a Rolls-Royce before, and certainly not in one driven by a chauffeur.

  By the time the car drew up outside their council house in Marne Terrace, they were both so exhausted and so full of salmon sandwiches