Джеффри Арчер - And Thereby Hangs a Tale

‘Bryant has made a full confession,’ said Detective Inspector Matthews, ‘including where we’d find the diamonds. Half a dozen of them were missing, of course. I presume there’s no chance of retrieving them.’

‘None,’ said Benny with a sigh. ‘It broke my heart to watch him flushing them down the toilet. But, Inspector Matthews, I was thinking of the bigger picture.’

‘The one where you leave this place in a few weeks’ time?’ suggested the detective inspector.

‘I admit it had crossed my mind,’ said Benny. ‘But I’m still curious to know what happened to the rest of the diamonds?’

‘The insurance company sold them back to Mr Abbott at a slightly reduced price, on the understanding that neither side would refer to the matter again.’

‘That’s a relief,’ said Benny, ‘because I’ve got a favour to ask you, Inspector Matthews.’

‘Isn’t two years off your sentence enough to be going on with?’

‘It certainly is, Inspector Matthews, and don’t think I’m not grateful, but it won’t be long before Bryant works out the reason you haven’t arrested Abbott is because the diamonds are kosher, and I double-crossed him.’

‘Go on,’ said the detective inspector.

‘I just wondered if you could find it in your heart, Mr Matthews, if I was ever foolish enough to be found wanting again, to make sure that I’m never sent back to Belmarsh.’

Matthews rose from the bench at the far end of the gym and looked down at the old con. ‘Not a hope, Benny,’ he said with a grin. ‘I can’t think of a better way of ensuring that you finally get yourself a proper job and stay on the straight and narrow. And by the way, there may even come a time when you want to come back to Belmarsh.’

‘You must be joking, Mr Matthews. Why would I ever want to come back to this shit hole?’

‘Because the judge was as good as his word,’ said Matthews. ‘He’s cut Bryant’s sentence in half. So, with good behaviour, he should be out in a couple of years’ time. And when he is, Benny, I have a feeling it won’t be Mr Abbott he comes looking for.’

When the doorbell rang, Julian Farnsdale looked up.

The first decision he always had to make was whether to engage a potential customer in conversation, or simply leave them to browse. There were several golden rules that you adopted after so many years in the trade. If the customer looked as if he needed some assistance, Julian would rise from behind his desk and say either, ‘Can I help you?’ or, ‘Would you prefer just to browse?’ If they only wanted to browse, he would sit back down, and although he would keep an eye on them, he wouldn’t speak again until they began a conversation.

Julian wasn’t in any doubt that this customer was a browser, so he remained seated and said nothing. Browsers fall into three categories: those simply passing the time of day who stroll around for a few minutes before leaving without saying anything; dealers who know exactly what they are looking for but don’t want you to know they’re in the trade; and, finally, genuine enthusiasts hoping to come across something a little special to add to their collections.

This particular customer unquestionably fell into the third category.

Julian studied him out of the corner of one eye, an art he had perfected over the years. He decided he was probably an American — the tailored blazer, neatly pressed chinos and striped preppy tie. The man may have been a browser but he was a browser with real knowledge and taste because he only stopped to consider the finest pieces: the Adam fireplace, the Chippendale rocking chair and the Delft plate. Julian wondered if he would spot the one real treasure in his shop.

A few moments later, the customer came to a halt in front of the egg. He studied the piece for some time before looking across at Julian. ‘Has it been signed by the master?’

Julian rose slowly from his chair. Another golden rule: don’t appear to be in a hurry when you’re hoping to sell something very expensive.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Julian as he walked towards him. ‘You’ll find Carl Fabergé’s signature on the base. And of course the piece is listed in the catalogue raisonné.’

‘Date and description?’ enquired the customer, continuing to study the egg.

‘1910,’ said Julian. ‘It was made to celebrate the Tsarina’s thirty-eighth birthday, and is one of a series of Easter eggs commissioned by Tsar Nicholas the Second.’

‘It’s magnificent,’ said the customer. ‘Quite magnificent. But probably out of my price range.’

Julian immediately recognized the bargaining ploy, so he mentally added 20 per cent to the asking price to allow a little room for manoeuvre.

‘Six hundred and eighty thousand,’ he said calmly.

‘Pounds?’ asked the man, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes,’ said Julian without further comment.

‘So, about a million dollars,’ said the customer, confirming that he was American.

Julian didn’t reply. He was distracted by a screeching sound outside, as if a car was trying to avoid a collision. Both men glanced out of the window to see a black stretch limousine that had come to a halt on the double yellow line outside the shop. A woman dressed in a stylish red coat and wearing a diamond necklace, matching earrings and dark glasses stepped out of the back of the car.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ asked Julian.

‘Looks like it is,’ said the customer, as the woman stopped to sign an autograph.

‘Gloria Gaynor.’ Julian sighed as she disappeared into the jewellery shop next door. ‘Lucky Millie,’ he added without explanation.

‘I think she’s doing a gig in town this week,’ said the customer.

‘She’s performing at the Albert Hall on Saturday,’ said Julian. ‘I tried to get a ticket but it’s completely sold out.’

The customer was clearly more interested in the jewel-encrusted egg than the jewel-covered pop star so Julian snapped back into antique-dealer mode.

‘What’s the lowest price you’d consider?’ asked the American.

‘I suppose I could come down to six hundred and fifty thousand.’

‘My bet is that you’d come down to five hundred thousand,’ said the American.

‘Six hundred and twenty-five thousand,’ said Julian. ‘I couldn’t consider a penny less.’

The American nodded. ‘That’s a fair price. But my partner will need to see it before I can make a final decision.’ Julian tried not to look disappointed. ‘Would it be possible to reserve the piece at six twenty-five?’

‘Yes, of course, sir.’ Julian pulled open a drawer in his desk, removed a small green sticker and placed it on the little description card fixed to the wall. ‘And when might we expect to see you again, sir?’

‘My partner flies in from the States on Friday, so possibly Friday afternoon. But as he suffers badly from jetlag it’s more likely to be Saturday afternoon. What time do you close on Saturdays?’

‘Around five, sir,’ said Julian.

‘I’ll make sure we’re with you before then,’ said the American.

Julian opened the door to allow his customer to leave just as Miss Gaynor walked out of the jewellery shop. Once again she stopped to sign autographs for a little group that had gathered on the pavement outside. The chauffeur ran to open the door of the limousine and she disappeared inside. As the car slipped out into the traffic, Julian found himself waving, which was silly because he couldn’t see a thing through the smoked-glass windows.

Julian was about to return to his shop when he noticed that his next-door neighbour was also waving. ‘What was she like, Millie?’ he asked, trying not to sound too much like an adoring fan.