Cometh the Hour (The Clifton Chronicles 6)

“And put them on the bill.”

“As you wish, my lady.” She handed the maître d’ a pound note, painfully aware that he was probably better off than she was.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Virginia returned to her place and quickly guided Cyrus back onto his favorite subject—Cyrus. She allowed him to talk about himself for the next twenty minutes, only interrupting with carefully prepared questions.

Over coffee, Virginia leaned across to Bofie and said, “I’m going to take Cyrus shopping this afternoon.”

“Where will you start?” he asked.

“Asprey, Cartier, and possibly Cellini.”

“Cellini?” said Bofie. “Aren’t they a little nouveau?”

“I’m sure you’re right, Bofie, but I’m told they now have the finest selection of stones.”

“Then let’s start there,” said Cyrus as he got up from the table, seemingly unaware that several of the guests hadn’t yet been served coffee. While he was being helped on with his raincoat, the maître d’ deftly handed her ladyship a Fortnum’s bag. Once Virginia had kissed Bofie on both cheeks, she linked her arm into Cyrus’s and led him up the path to Bond Street.

They glanced in the windows of Cartier and Asprey, but didn’t go in, as Cyrus seemed set on Cellini. When they arrived outside the thick glass door displaying a large golden “C,” Virginia rang the bell and a moment later a man appeared, dressed in tailcoat and striped trousers. When he saw Virginia, he immediately unlocked the door and stood aside to allow them to enter.

“Mr. Cyrus T. Grant and I,” she whispered, “are looking for an engagement ring.”

“Many congratulations, madam,” said the assistant, whom Virginia didn’t disillusion. “Perhaps you’d allow me to show you our latest collection.”

“Thank you,” said Virginia. They were guided toward a pair of comfortable leather chairs next to the counter, before the assistant disappeared into a back room.

Cyrus, clearly not a man who liked to be kept waiting, began to fidget, but he perked up the moment the assistant returned carrying a tray displaying a large selection of magnificent diamond rings.

“Wow,” he said. “Now that’s what I call spoiled for choice. Where do I start?”

“They’re all so beautiful,” purred Virginia. “But I’ll leave you to decide, my darling,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

Cyrus stared down at the sparkling stones for some time before he selected one.

“A fine choice, if I may say so,” said the assistant. “Every other woman will be certain to admire it.”

“They’ll be as jealous as hell,” said Cyrus.

Virginia certainly agreed with that.

“Shall we try it on the lady’s finger, so you can see how it looks?”

“Good idea,” said Cyrus as the assistant placed the ring on the third finger of Virginia’s left hand.

“And its provenance?” asked Virginia, looking more closely at the huge diamond.

“The stone is South African, my lady, from the Transvaal. 6.3 carat, certified rare yellow, unblemished. VVH2.”

“How much?” asked Cyrus.

The young man checked his coded stock list and said, “Fourteen thousand pounds, sir,” as if it were loose change for a customer who shopped at Cellini.

Cyrus whistled through his teeth.

“I agree,” said Virginia, as she admired the ring on her finger. “I expected it to be far more, and it certainly would have been, had we gone to Cartier or Asprey. How clever of you, Cyrus, to have chosen Cellini.” Cyrus hesitated. “If someone wanted to marry me,” she said taking his hand, “this is exactly the sort of ring I would want.”

“God damn it you’re right, Ginny,” he said, taking out his check book. “Wrap it up.”