Part 29 (2/2)

'No . . . it wouldn't.'

'What's your problem?' he asked. 'I can hear it in your voice.'

'Fear,' I said. 'Nicholas Loder was afraid.'

'Oh.' He was briefly silent. 'I could get the tests done anonymously, of course.'

'Yes. Get them done, then. I particularly don't want to sell the Ostermeyers a lemon, as she would say. If Dozen Roses can't win on his own merits, I'll talk them out of the idea of owning him.'

'So you'll pay for negative results?'

'I will indeed.'

'While I was at Milo's this morning,' he said, 'he was talking to the Ostermeyers in London, asking how they were and wis.h.i.+ng them a good journey. They were still a bit wobbly from the crash, it seems.'

'Surprising if they weren't.'

'They're coming back to England though to see Datepalm run in the Hennessy. How's your ankle?'

'Good as new by then.'

'Bye then.' I could hear his smile. 'Take care.'

He disconnected and left me thinking that there still were good things in the world, like the Ostermeyers'

faith and riding Datepalm in the Hennessy, and I stood up and put my left foot flat on the floor for a progress report.

It wasn't so bad if I didn't lean any weight on it, but there were still jabbingly painful protests against attempts to walk. Oh well. I thought, sitting down again, give it another day or two. It hadn't exactly had a therapeutic week and was no doubt doing its best against odds. On Thursday, I thought, I would get rid of the crutches. By Friday, definitely. Any day after that I'd be running. Ever optimistic. It was the belief that cured.

The ever-busy telephone rang again, and I answered it with 'Saxony Franklin?' as routine.

Derek?'

'Yes,' I said.

Clarissa's unmistakable voice said, 'I'm in London.

Could we meet?'

I hadn't expected her so soon, I thought. I said, 'Yes, of course. Where?'

'I thought... perhaps... Luigi's. Do you know Luigi's bar and restaurant?'

'I don't,' I said slowly, 'but I can find it.'

'It's in Swallow Street near Piccadilly Circus. Would you mind coming at seven, for a drink?'

'And dinner?'

'Well . . .'

'And dinner,' I said.

I heard her sigh, 'Yes. All right,' as she disconnected, and I was left with a vivid understanding both of her compulsion to put me where she had been going to meet Greville and of her awareness that perhaps she ought not to.

I could have said no, I thought. I could have, but hadn't. A little introspection revealed ambiguities in rny response to her also, like did I want to give comfort, or to take it.

By three-thirty I'd finished the paperwork and filled an order for pearls and another for turquoise and relocked the vault and got Annette to smile again, even if faintly. At four, Brad pulled up outside Prospero Jenks's shop in Knightsbridge and I put the telephone ready to let him know when to collect me.

Prospero Jenks was where I'd found him before, sitting in s.h.i.+rtsleeves at his workbench. The discreet darksuited man, serving customers in the shop, nodded me through.

'He's expecting you, Mr Franklin.'

Pross stood up with a smile on his young-old Peter Pan face and held out his hand, but let it fall again as I waggled a crutch handle at him instead.

'Glad to see you,' he said, offering a chair, waiting while I sat. 'Have you brought my diamonds?' He sat down again on his own stool.

'No. Afraid not.'

He was disappointed. 'I thought that was what you were coming for.'

'No, not really.'

I looked at his long efficient workroom with its little drawers full of unset stones and thought of the marvels he produced. The big notice on the wall still read 'NEVER TURN YOUR BACK TO CUSTOMERS. ALWAYS WATCH THEIR.

HANDS.

I said, 'Greville sent twenty-five rough stones to Antwerp to be cut for you.'

'That's right.'

'Five of them were cubic zirconia.'

'No, no.'

'Did you,' I asked neutrally,'swap them over?'

The half-smile died out of his face, which grew stiff and expressionless. The bright blue eyes stared at me and the lines deepened across his forehead.

'lllat's rubbish,' he said. 'I'd never do anything stupid like that.'

I didn't say anything immediately and it seemed to give him force.

'You can't come in here making wild accusations. Go on, get out, you'd better leave.' He half-rose to his feet.

I said, not moving, 'When the cutters told Greville five of the stones were cubic zirconia, he was devastated.

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