Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries 6

The customer was intrigued. “This is the one that I liked,” he said, indicating the diamond ring, “yet this solitaire is almost twice as much. Why is that?”

“The stone is of a far higher quality, sir.”

“But it’s smaller than the cluster.”

“Size is not everything,” explained Ives. “If the solitaire were identical to the one that first caught your eye, then the price would be considerably higher.”

“Really?”

Customers did not often show such a genuine interest in the trade, so Ives made the most of his captive audience. He talked at length about the virtues of the respective diamonds and drew the attention of the young man to the way that they were cut.

“Fascinating!” said the other.

“All that glitters is not gold, sir,” said Ives complacently.

“I’ll remember that, old chap. Well, it looks as if you’ve saved me from buying the wrong one.” He indicated the solitaire. “Is this the best one you have in the shop or do you have any others?”

“We do keep a small selection in the safe.”

“That’s all right,” said the customer airily as the other man raised a questioning eyebrow. “Money is no object. There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned.” He laughed. “Heavens above, one only gets engaged once in a lifetime! Why spoil the ship for a ha’p’orth of tar?”

Ives ventured a smile. “I think you’ll find it will be rather more than a ha’p’orth, sir. But, as you say, it’s a unique occasion.”

“Let me see what you have.”

“I will, sir.”

Albert Ives moved to the back of the shop and drew back a small curtain that hung at waist height. A large safe came into view. After using a key to begin the opening process, he then twiddled the tumblers until he found the correct combination. The heavy door swung silently open. Ives was about to reach into the safe when he realized that his customer was now standing directly behind him. Before he could turn, he was knocked unconscious with a vicious swing of a cosh. The safe was ransacked within seconds.

After checking into their hotel, the Hilliers had a light lunch before sauntering along to the theatre in the bright sunshine. The river swarmed with activity. Young men in baggy trousers, white shirts, and boaters were showing off their punting skills to decorous sweethearts who lounged on leather cushions under their parasols. An occasional rowing boat went by. Gaudily painted barges were moored along the towpath and swans glided effortlessly past, viewing the invasion of their territory with utter disdain. Crowds milled on both banks. Invisible to the eye, Shakespeare was nevertheless a discernible presence.

The Memorial Theatre commanded a fine view of the river. Opened six years earlier, it was a big, solid, unimposing structure. The Americans were very disappointed. Having walked along streets that were filled with half-timbered Tudor houses and dripping with character, they found the stark modernity of the theatre rather incongruous. Mary Anne turned to her husband.

“Why didn’t they build it like an Elizabethan theatre?”

“I guess they had their reasons, honey,” said Cyrus.

“It’s such a letdown. The architect missed a golden opportunity. He should have designed it like the Globe playhouse.”

“The architect was a woman-Elizabeth Scott.”

“Then she should have known better,” said Mary Anne.

“Let’s not condemn it on its exterior,” he suggested. “That would be unfair. The only way to judge a theatre properly is to watch a play being performed there. Come on.”

They joined the throng that was converging on the building. The Memorial Theatre could accommodate thirteen hundred people and it seemed as if every one of them was in the lobby. It was so congested that Cyrus and his wife had difficulty getting in. Over the heads of the crowd, he saw a counter where programs were being sold.

“Stay here, honey,” he advised. “I won’t be long.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I can’t move.”

Cyrus forced a way through the press with polite firmness and joined the queue at the counter. A familiar face materialized beside him. Rosalind Walker gave him a warm smile.

“How nice to see you again!” she said.

“Hello, Rosalind. Is it always as crowded as this?”

“One gets used to it.”

“The lobby should have been bigger.”

“That’s only one of its defects. The seats could be more comfortable, the upper balcony is too far from the stage, and-forgive my being indelicate-the ladies’ cloakroom is woefully inadequate for this number of people.”

“It’s the stage that worries me. Proscenium arch, I’m told. Poor old Will wouldn’t even know what that was. Why not try to re-create the performance conditions of his time?”

“A good question.” After chatting for a couple of minutes, they got to the counter and bought their programs. Rosalind looked around. “Where’s your wife?”

“Over by the door,” said Cyrus. “If I can get back to her.”

“Tony is out on the terrace, enjoying a cigarette.”

“Wise man. Best place to be.”

“I’m sure that he’d like to meet you. In the interval, perhaps.”

“Yes. That would be nice.”

“Where are you sitting?”

“Front stalls.”

“We’re at the back,” she said easily. “And don’t worry about the hordes. A lot of these people have actually got tickets to the balcony so they won’t be down here in the interval. People in the stalls usually make a beeline for the bar.” She moved away. “Enjoy the play.”

“Oh, I will,” he promised her. “Every moment of it.”

Mildred Conroy was a full-bodied woman in her early sixties with a romantic streak. She always took a particular pleasure in selling engagement and wedding rings. When the couple entered her jewelry shop that afternoon, she sensed the distinct possibility of a sale. The young man was clearly a person of means and the two of them were evidently in love. The woman was darting affectionate glances at him and he kept his arm around her waist.

“Can I help you?” asked Mildred with professional sweetness.

“We’d like to look at some engagement rings,” said the man.

“Of course, sir. Does the young lady have any preference?”

“Well, I rather hope it’s for me, actually.”

“Oh, David!” scolded his companion as he burst out laughing at his own joke. “That’s not what we were being asked and you know it.” She turned an apologetic smile on Mildred. “Do excuse him. Perhaps we could look at some of those in the window?”

“Of course.”

Mildred unlocked the glass doors and lifted out a display unit that held a dozen diamond engagement rings. The woman gazed at them with fascination and began to examine each in turn. When she asked for the respective prices, the man did not blench at the high cost. Mildred was encouraged. She was both furthering their romance and doing good business at the same time. While the woman was full of questions about the various stones, the man simply looked on. He was there to pay. All that he wanted was for her to be happy.

“While we’re here,” said the woman, “we may as well see them all. Could I trouble you to get the others out of the window as well?”

“Of course,” replied Mildred. “Look at the full range.”

“They’re so beautiful!”

“Just like you,” said the man into her ear.

Mildred heard the surreptitious whisper and smiled. They seemed such a happy couple. There were three more trays of rings in the window and she had to stretch in order to retrieve them. It took her a little while before all four displays were side by side on the counter. Some of them could be discounted immediately, but the woman did pick out a sapphire ring to try on. After flexing her hand, she showed the ring to the man.