Four Warned

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 will 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 accustomed to 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 gained 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.

Jeremy stood nervously on the pavement and waited for a gap to appear in the traffic, then nipped across the road. He came 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.

Jeremy 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. 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 bought 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 showed 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 helpfully.

‘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.