Catherine Steadman - Something in the Water - A Novel

I nod my head sagely, having a think, and I let them stew a moment.

“That sounds great, guys. Fantastic. I’ll have a chat with my husband about it tonight and see what he says and maybe pop back in tomorrow?” I give them a chummy smile—we’re all friends here—and pocket my stone.

Of course, I have no intention of coming back. I have no intention of selling two hundred diamonds one by one at various diamond markets. And as we’ve learned, the high-end traders won’t touch them with a barge pole. So, what we need is to find someone who will look the other way for the right percentage. I think of all the stories Mark’s told me over the years about the people he’s worked with, the people he’s worked for. The things they do, the things they’ve done. I’m certain we can find somebody.

Mark’s in the living room when I get home, full of renewed vigor. His business meeting went really well, apparently: thankfully, most of the industry regulations encourage and support new business; people are setting up their own firms more than ever before, and there’s plenty of demand for them in the current climate. He’s been working on his potential client list too. It’s looking very healthy, he says with a smile. His luck finally seems to have turned. A rich fug of coffee hangs in the air. He hands me a cup too, a welcome-home gift.

“Any luck with anything?” he asks. He leans against the side of the sofa, his arms folded across his chest with the low light from the setting sun illuminating him. We’ll have to turn the lamps on in a minute.

It’s funny how much we’re both enjoying this. It’s become a game; sometimes a game of skill, sometimes a game of chance. Maybe we like it so much because we’re winning it right now.

“I had an idea after I left you,” I say tentatively. “Bear with me. I went to Hatton Garden. Don’t worry—I didn’t do anything crazy. I just wanted to test the waters. I wanted to see if there were people who might be willing to look the other way on provenance. And, Mark, there are! There definitely are.” I smile at him, feeling my face flush. He doesn’t smile back.

I persist. “What we need is someone just the wrong side of legal to buy them off of us. Someone who wants the money and isn’t too worried about where they came from.” I try another tentative smile but he looks back at me blankly. Why isn’t he going with me on this?

He rises and starts to pace the room, lost in thought. Something’s not quite right. I bite my bottom lip and wait.

After a moment he turns and looks at me, his face unreadable.

“What is it, Mark? What’s bothering you?” It comes out slightly sharper than I’d expected. He looks away. I guess I can only hold so much in before it starts to seep out. I’m keeping too many secrets right now, the pressure too heavy in my head. We need to sell these diamonds as soon as we can so we can go back to our real lives. I don’t understand why he doesn’t see that. We were having so much fun together earlier. I don’t understand the sudden withdrawal.

He turns back to me. “I just can’t believe how incredibly stu—Nothing. It’s fine. No. You just carry on, Erin.” He stops and goes to his desk; he busies himself with work papers.

“How stupid what, Mark? What? Sorry if I’m not getting this but…Just say what you want to say to me, please. Today has been tough and I think I’ve played it pretty well, so if you have a problem with what I’m doing, then could you please tell me? Or better yet, why don’t you tell me your ideas, Mark?” I demand.

He stops what he’s doing and looks up at me.

“Erin, I found DCI Foster’s card in the pocket of your other coat.” He says this softly; he’s not angry, he’s disappointed, which is worse. He didn’t think we did things like this, kept things from each other. “I needed change, before you ask. When were you going to tell me about him, Erin? You scared the shit out of me! When did you stop telling me things?” Mark looks at me, hurt in his eyes. “First of all, I thought you’d been to talk to the police about the bag. I thought you’d told them everything. I had to Google the guy. Then I saw it was counterterrorism and I didn’t know what the hell was going on. And then I started thinking, is she having an affair with this guy or something? Why does she have his card? And then, like a pathetic moron, I look through your emails—and thank God! Thank God I saw your email to Phil about yesterday. About Holli. So, at least now, I know it’s just work you’re keeping from me. Which is fine, Erin, but don’t freeze me out, okay? I have a right to know what’s going on. Keeping secrets, especially about the police at a time like this, that…that is how things start to go wrong.” He frowns at me accusingly. “I wasn’t going to mention it, I was going to let you get around to telling me in your own time, but I guess we’ll just have to talk about it now. So, I’m sorry if I’m not completely ecstatic about what you’ve been up to all day, but I think you can see where I’m coming from, right? You’ll be all over CCTV in Hatton Garden, you know that, right?” He says this calmly, but his words pound in my head. “It’s not going to look good if they start looking into you. And it will definitely not look good if DCI Foster finds footage of you.”

He’s right, of course. I am acting like an idiot. I am so incredibly screwed if everything goes wrong.

“Just tell me we’re in this together, Erin. You’re not keeping anything else from me, are you? It’s just you and me, right?” It’s a serious question that requires a serious answer. I feel the importance of this moment. He’s putting himself on the line; I must take him or I leave him, he’s not offering half measures.

I still haven’t told him about the pregnancy, about Eddie knowing where we live, knowing everything about us, but I can’t tell him now, can I? I’m already on shaky ground. I’m the irresponsible one; I’m the one running around town risking everything, lying. Imagine if he knew I was doing it while I carry our unborn child. If I tell him now, I might break this fragile thing we have that we’ve spent so long creating.

He’s waiting for my answer. He’s genuinely concerned. I feel bad. So bad.

“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you after we’d sold the diamonds. I just didn’t want you to worry. And if I genuinely thought Andy—sorry, DCI Foster—was having me followed, I wouldn’t have gone to Hatton Garden, I promise. We really need to get the diamonds out of the house, though, you see that, right? Especially now.”

He’s hurt. I see that, even though he doesn’t want me to see that. But after a moment, he nods. He knows we need them gone.

I nod back in reply. “So we agree. We need to sell the stones as soon as we can. We need them gone, out of this house, and we need the money in the bank ASAP?” It’s a question. If he wants me to end all this now, I will end it. I love him too much to push it.

He pauses, briefly, and then nods again. “Agreed.”

“I should have told you about DCI Foster. I’m so sorry, Mark.” I angle for a half smile and he doesn’t let me down. God, I love him.

I cross the room to him and put my arms around him.

“Just don’t make a habit of it, Mrs. Roberts.” He pulls me close. “Let’s sell some sodding diamonds then.”

I press against him, relieved. “Do you know anyone who could help us do that?” I ask.

He looks down at me. “Do you?”

They lay her things out on the counter. Souvenirs of a life. We stand back and let her look through it all. She signs it out.