The Diamond Secret (11 page)

When I think of her now, I realize what a small-minded person she was, but then, all I knew was another slam, and she saw to it that I felt betrayed by Paul.

It happened this way. The last week before I was to join my father, who had finally dried out, cleaned up and was living back in San Francisco, Paul made it a point to spend as much of each day with me as he could take from his businesses.

We picked our favorite spots and visited each one—the French crown jewels in the Galerie d'Apollon, and then to a café across the way that had the very best hot chocolate on the planet, served in china cups in a room so bright with gilt and mirrors that one could barely look at it. We ate crepes—mine chocolate, Paul's ham and soft Gruyere—from a stand nearby Ste. Chapelle, a church with splendid stained glass, on a bench on the Ile de Cite, where we watched tourists and housewives march along with their shopping on their arms and the businessmen in good suits annoyed with them both.

The evening before my departure, Paul meant to give me a lovely evening out. I would be sixteen soon, he said, and it was time I had the pleasure of a fine dinner on the town. My birthday was in August; Paul said he and my father would take me to supper as the young lady I was becoming, and then my father and I would return to our base in San Francisco.

I didn't want to go back with my father. For the first time since my mother's death, I had been very happy. I determined there must be some argument I could find to convince everyone that it would be a good idea for me to stay. As the date neared, I thought carefully.

In the meantime, Paul had other activities planned. First, he took me shopping for a dress. Mariette offered to do it, but he refused and I was secretly very pleased.

It was that outing when I began to understand how my feelings had shifted over the summer. We had been shopping. Late summer light turned the bricks of the buildings a rosy golden shade, and there tourists and youths crowding the streets. I carried a tiny handbag made of knotted antique ties.

We paused to join a crowd gathered around a mime performing with two cats. It was astonishing and delightful—the man was clearly fond of his tabbies, and they of him. Who knew cats could be trained? I was amazed by them, and so was Paul, and we were laughing and laughing at them. He put his arm around me, in a friendly way, and gave a little squeeze to my shoulder, pressed a kiss to my temple, as he had a thousand times before.

And—who knows why—it was different. I was suddenly, acutely conscious of his hand on my arm, of his lips against my temple, of a sudden, irrevocable shift of life as I knew it, as if everything on earth had abruptly slid to the left.

I closed my eyes against it, my face flushing. I'd known this feeling. I was nearly sixteen, after all, and had had my fair share of crushes and "boyfriends" here and there. I'd even kissed some of them, and there had been one in Rio, a protector, who had kissed my throat, then my breasts, and I'd enjoyed it very much.

So the sudden flush of awareness toward Paul alarmed and upset me. I tried to block it out. He did not seem to notice anything awry, and there were only a few days left until my departure. I was shocked and ashamed.

And conversely, as hungry to spend time with him as I ever was. I read aloud to him in the evenings as he sorted through paperwork and organized his collections. I ate with him as always, each morning running down the stairs to the bakery for croissants.

I wanted our dinner for my birthday. In my own mind, even if it was wrong, I could have my little fantasy of a handsome prince taking me to the ball.

I'd given up many things in my life.

Not this.

Chapter 14

The popularity of diamonds surged during the Middle Ages, with the discovery of many large and famous stones in India, such as the Koh-I Noor and the Blue Hope. Today India maintains the foremost diamond polishing industry in the world.

—www.costellos.com.au

W
hat felt like a dozen years later, my arms and shoulders were burning with exhaustion as I pulled into the grim industrial town of Ardrossan. It was quiet, though not entirely shut down for the night. Maybe feeling the slowing of the car, Luca sat up, blinking. "Where are we?"

"Androssan," I said. "End of the line for you."

He grunted, pressed fingers to his right eye.

As we passed through the center of town, I spied a filling station that was still, by some miracle, open. "I have to get some petrol. We'll see about hotels there."

He nodded.

I pulled into the station. A man in a plaid jacket was filling the tank of what was obviously a work truck. He looked done in. Tugging the emergency brake, I glanced at Luca, thinking about asking him to fill the tank while I went inside, but one glance was enough. He looked awful, his skin the color of egg whites, his cropped dark hair clumped with dried blood.

Maybe it was dangerous for him to have come anywhere near the Katerina. He wasn't even holding on to it and he was getting pretty battered. "I'll be right back."

I looked the car over, wincing at the long scratches on the right, the dent on the left fender where I'd smashed the side of the hill when I spun out. Mud splatters marred the red paint, and the driver's side window was smashed from Frankenstein's fist.

Vaguely, I thought again, where were these guys coming from? Who sent the thugs?

But I couldn't really hold the thought. I was too tired. Taking the nozzle out to fill the tank, my arms felt like they weighed 10,000 pounds each.

Or maybe that would be 10,000 tons.

The liters clicked away, adding up obscenely, and I resolved, as I always did, to never complain again about the price of gasoline in America. The overhead fluorescents beat down on the scene with their usual depressing cast, and I huddled into my damp coat, putting my back to the icy wind. I glanced at Luca through the windshield, and he had his eyes closed.

Could it only have been six hours since we'd met?

Inside, the clerk was obviously performing the last tasks of the day, wiping down the counters, straightening the stock.

"Hi," I said, stomping off the chill.

She nodded and went back to her tasks. From the counter, I picked up a couple of bottles of water and a packet of chocolate biscuits and handed them over. I pulled out a credit card to pay, and realized with a cold shiver that it would be a way to track me if someone was inclined. "Wait," I said. "I'll pay cash."

"Thank you," she said, taking the notes.

"Is there a hotel close by?"

She had hair as shiny red as a setter, which she flipped away from her thin face. "Ye can try the Carrick B&B." She gave me directions.

"Thanks," I said, depositing my change.

Back in the car, Luca stirred when I opened the door, rousing himself. I gave him a bottle of water, feeling a wreck with my wet hair and wet feet and makeupless face. "I hate not having my things," I said, looking into the rearview mirror and poking at my hopeless hair. My lips were as pale as chalk. "Ugh."

His smile was half-hearted as he unscrewed the lid of the water. "You're lovely even when you look like a drowned cat."

"At least I don't look dead, like some people in this car."

"
Un
dead, remember. I am from the land of Count Dracula."

"Ah, I knew I should have recognized that accent."

We drank water silently for a minute. "Do you want me to get out now?" Luca asked.

"It would be best," I said, "but I don't seem to have the heart to make you do it."

He looked at me. "No?"

"Don't get any ideas." I put the water bottle down and fit the key into the ignition. "I can't turn you out on the streets when you're bleeding and exhausted, but it's not because I'm entertaining thoughts of bliss in your arms."

"You have a sharp tongue!"

"Aye," I said wryly in Scottish. "Just so ye understand I ken yer motives."

"Do you?" he asked quietly. "I wonder if you do."

"You can't bear to touch this jewel. You want me along to be your courier." I frowned. "Not that it seems a particularly good idea for you to be this close to it. Have you noticed?"

That startled him. "I had not thought of that."

"Yeah, well, maybe it's the curse after all."

"I don't believe in the curse," he said.

"Oh,
really?
" I rolled my eyes.

He blinked lazily. "Do not be arrogant, Sylvie."

"I wasn't. I mean, I just thought…it's your Achilles' heel."

He sipped his water, then nodded. "Perhaps the Katerina is the weakness in my family."

"So why risk it, Luca?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It is, as you say, a long story."

"Okay." I pulled out. "The girl said there's a hotel on the High Street. We should be able to get a room there."

I had to get the proprietor out of bed, and I wisely used my Scottish accent because she was grumpy and xenophobic when she looked out the window and saw the swarthy—and grimy-looking—Luca sitting in the car. "My husband," I said with a wicked lift of my eyebrow. "Handsome, isn't he?"

Her watery blue eyes said she was too polite to disagree to my face. I paid her in cash, and she gave me a key. "Ye don't mind seeing yerself upstairs, d'ye?"

"Not at all."

The room was small, she said, with only one bed—and I couldn't very well complain after saying he was my husband, could I?—but it had an en suite bathroom, and that was a major plus. I thanked her profusely.

Luca barely could walk up the stairs. He had to lean on the railing unsteadily and haul himself up a stair at a time. He must have taken quite a battering in the car accident.

Or, I remembered, at the hands of the thugs. I'd have to remember to ask him what had happened there.

We let ourselves into the room, plain and square and old, smelling of damp plaster and mildew. It was cold. A sagging double bed covered in a white chenille spread from the old days of chenille occupied the place of honor.

But it was very clean. Every surface was dusted and polished, and the curtains were crisply pressed. On the dresser was an electric kettle and a basket of tea bags, individual tubes of sugar and packets of dried cream. Very civilized.

Luca limped into the room and settled with a groan on the chair. I squatted to turn on the fire. "How did you get away from those guys?"

"You took care of one very well, and I got away from the one outside and stole the car."

"So they're still back there, somewhere?"

He lifted his shoulders, let them drop. "What will they drive, hmm?"

In the light, he looked very grim indeed. "Why don't you go shower?" I said. "It will be warmer when you come out."

"Thank you." He peeled off his coat and spread it over the chair. "For everything, Sylvie. I did not earn it."

"I know."

He disappeared into the bathroom, and I stripped off my own coat and the sweater below it so I could warm up. I shivered there next to the gas flames for a few minutes, but the room did take to warming very quickly. I moved to the mirror.

I looked worse than I expected. So bad, really, that it surprised me that no one had commented. My right eye was a little battered, though not so much as my chin, which had taken the brunt of my fall at the caravan. It was quite purple.

Not to mention, every scrap of makeup I'd put on had been washed away, and I looked about sixteen.

In the bathroom, I heard the water go on, and took the chance to strip off my T-shirt, too, and examine my wounded breast. The Katerina made a nice lump in the silhouette of the bra, and I slipped it out, wincing. It hurt to take it out, and I was afraid to look at the tender flesh. Visible above the fabric of the bra was a finger of red.

It didn't matter—once the jewel was in my hand, I forgot all but the Katerina, all 80 magnificent, humming karats. She captured me, again. The play of light which makes diamonds so appealing was multiplied a hundredfold. Even the most desultory diamond clasps the light, returns it back to you.

And this one—I loved the simple table cut that allowed the rainbows of light to enter and exit with such elegant directness, the quality of sparkle, glints of rainbows. There in the middle, the dark red ruby, suspended like blood, a heart. A tear.

"Where do you want to be, my beauty?" I asked her.

Every jewel, left loose or made into a ring or a brooch or a necklace designed to hang between the breasts of a woman, has a story. The geological story to begin, of course, all those forces coming to bear, transforming elements into something rare and fine.

Then the discovery, the raw ore yielding something huge and impressive to be shaped and sawed and illuminated.

"She has seduced you, hasn't she?" Luca said from behind me.

I jumped—I hadn't even heard the shower turn off!—and covered my chest with my shirt hastily. I needed to put it on, but the idea of trying to straighten the wet fabric was too much to contemplate. Mostly covered, I turned. "Perhaps."

He was shirtless, too, and damp from the shower. His hair, towel-dried into ringlets, made me think of a Renaissance painting. He'd slipped back into his jeans, but the shirt was flung over one shoulder. His chest was beautiful. Supple skin covered toned pecs, and there was exactly the right amount of dark hair scattered in an artful triangle between his nipples.

He came closer and looked at the diamond, careful not to touch it. "I have never seen anything so beautiful," he said.

"I know, I am, aren't I?"

He bent and kissed my shoulder. "You are attracted to me, I think."

"Yes," I said, and moved away from his reach. "But it doesn't matter. You're a criminal and you used me."

His lips quirked in appreciation, and he hesitated, then cocked his head. "Will you mind if I kiss you just once as a real thing, just to see what might have been?"

"I do mind," I said, and picked up the jewel to tuck back into my bra. For a moment, I'd forgotten the injury, and sucked in my breath at the pressure. "Ohh, other side, I think."

"What happened?"

"Nothing much. An encounter with the floor." I vaguely indicated my chin. "No big deal."

"Shall I look at it for you, hmm?"

"Very funny. How's your head?"

"I'm fine." He tossed his shirt on the bed. "I assume we will share the bed?"

"Not much choice, is there?"

He shook his head.

"I'm going to shower," I said.

I felt superstitious about the jewel, and took it into the shower with me. The water was good and hot, and I felt tension and cold and long hours of driving and travel pour down my arms, my legs, and go down the drain. I dried off, then wiped clean a spot on the mirror so I could look at my poor bruised breast.

Not pretty—but it was remarkable. The jewel had left an exact imprint on the white flesh of my breast, a purply-green rectangle. With a star of broken blood vessels in the middle, bright pink.

Eerie. For a long moment, I stared at it, wondering if there was any truth to that curse. Would I, too, meet a gruesome, violent death?

I thought of the thugs again. How had they tracked me to the hotel? To the caravan, which was out in the middle of nowhere? And what—

Stop. I had to get some sleep before anything else happened. Wearily, I pulled on enough clothing to be decent—bra and underwear, basically, and even those were damp, but I'd at least have semi-dry clothes tomorrow morning if I left them all spread out in the room. Tucking the Katerina back into my bra, I carried my T-shirt into the other room and spread it over the night stand, close by the fire.

"Are you warm enough?" I asked Luca, who had climbed into bed and was watching television, one arm propped behind his head. There was something so intimate about the casually exposed hair beneath his arm. I had to look away, an odd heat in my cheeks.

"Finally, yes," he said. "The blankets are warm, too. Come." He clicked off the television with the remote control, and pulled back the covers for me.

I hesitated. What did he have in mind?